#texting the most ridiculous things like

[cwtchzl]

richie the type of guy to create numberless different accounts on every social media platform possible and lie his ass off about his personal information/day-to-day life just because he can

[slow-reader-reads-books]

At this rate I feel like we need to give Nightwing like a half skirt or even a full skirt just to give his ass some privacy, goddamn

[affluent-havoc]

Ramble time about Makoto and a little mini headcanon I came up with cus why not B]

Sometimes, I like to believe that Makoto gets really deep into stuff. Basically him in his own little world, hyper-focused to the max such as him cleaning, research, planning. Stuff like that. In the peak level of him in this state, he'd go, burst into a room, rummage around for anything he might need, and leave all while anyone who was in the now ransacked room is just 100% ignored. Bursting into rooms with the determination of the Kool-Aid Man (def not the strength tho) Makoto doesn't even remember that there were people in the room either. He could have been in a room with 58 other people for instance and if you quizzed him on how many people were in that room he'd just blank out like "People? What people?" This applies to whoever he lives with as an adult as well as way back with his parent's and sister. I can see his parent's never getting why he'd zone out like this. Like, they've tried to get it cus they of course wanna understand this weird part about their oldest child. They never really succeeded with it though and just accepted it as one of his weird quirks. Meanwhile, Komaru teased the shit about it to him cus of course she would. After all, it's the little sister privilege to completely dunk on the older sibling. 'Tis the law. Plus, it's not like it's the biggest piece of ammo she has on her older brother. This is Makoto we're talking about after all. Also, cus why not, (might as well be a BIT self-serving hehehe) I'm slipping in my mini headcanon of Makoto, Kyoko, and Byakuya living together casually in the same apartment/small house. Plus, it's funny imagining these two experiencing Makoto's little moments like this. Feel Kyoko would be more used to Makoto basically forgetting her existence when he gets into these hyper-focusing grind moments. Even when she first learned about it, I doubt it'd affect her much. Like, what is she gonna do? Have a little grudge for a solid week and a half with her roommate and lowkey boyfriend? And, besides, what idiot would have a grudge going on for that lon- oh right... Byakuya exists. Yeah, unsurprisingly, the heir is the type to be petty as shit about something like this. Has 100% without fail been disappointed to some extent and bummed out whenever he gets ignored like this. Or ignored in general. At the end of the day, he's a bit of an attention whore (the bit taking it lightly) It's his tsundere way to act like a needy, bastard cat. He'd basically take it personally while Kyoko's shaking her head cus he's taking it personally and Byakuya's all like "Tch. Stop making the assumption I'm taking it personally" and they go back and forth about it during the week all while Byakuya side eyes Makoto who's very much not aware he's even done anything wrong. His little stunt only happened once that week and he doesn't even remember Byakuya being in the room with him while he was rushing about their living quarters looking for junk like some toothpaste and a hanger. And this goes on until the week ends until Byakuya's basically over it, Kyoko gives him the whole "I told you so" look which for her is just her regular expression but with one of her brows slightly raised which she may or may not be actively trying to raise it higher but can't cus that's as far as it goes. Also this is a common occurrence for them all at least once a month. Oh, and the week is the minimum amount of time for Byakuya to hold a petty grudge for and they've lasted way longer ^v^

[sysig]

Coding woes (Patreon)

[willowfey]

starting to think maybe waking up with an anxiety stomachache every single morning and then needing to spend the entire day trying to get rid of said anxiety just to maybe have a few minutes in the evening of feeling relaxed before going to bed is perhaps not normal

[dykeofmisfortune]

i wish i could already exist in a dynamic (homoerotic) with someone i'm totally compatible with without the tedious ordeal of Intentionally getting to know them. like going into the relationship wanting to be romantic? booooooooo. dating apps are not for me. i prefer courting people the old fashioned way by framing them for murder and gutting them on my kitchen floor

[moonsidesong]

i think its kinda funny that ibis paint is regarded as the Broke Artist App or whatever (as opposed to more mainstream programs like csp or procreate) because its free and because of how popular it is with phone + finger artists while im jusg sitting here having used ibis for a cool eight years on purpose.

like i have an ipad and an apple pencil and all theyre very nice and i absolutely could move to a more powerful program i have the resources to do so but my change averse brain has decided they like it here a lot and im not leaving

[no1ryomafan]

Playing more umbraclaw and after beating two bosses suddenly some gunvolt looking ass furry reject just showed up and made things harder he has three health bars which isn’t normal for the bosses and he showed up first at the start of one stage I just got to what the FUCK is going on

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC this chap- 11.5k (longestt)

Warnings- WOW this chap has it all, heed the warnings - filming porn masturbation ( m) oral (m and f receiving) spit kink HIGH KEY, mentions of cum, multiple rounds, switching positions, size kink, swallowing (M and F) explicit sex, feral Gojo, squirting, mating press, tummy bulges, lots of fucking goddamn- Gojo is whipped mutual pining, obsessive Gojo. Angsty asf in places, lots of jealousy

A/N- Taglist closed- This was so smut filled I took MULTIPLE breaks aha, maybe my most smut filled one ever? don't read in public actually - please comment/rb if you enjoy <3

<<<Chapter Two - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Four>>> (coming soon)

Chapter Three

You can’t escape the desire you have, even in your dreams.

Waking up cumming was not just new, it was ridiculous, and you didn’t even know that happened until this morning. Waking up with your cunt throbbing around nothing, and gushing arousal, as your dream was filled with Satoru kissing you, fucking into you with that thick, huge cock, hitting spots deep inside that felt real even in your dreams.

That’s it, sweetheart, cum all around my cock, hmm? Lemme feel her- there you go, baby.

That had done too much to your sleeping brain apparently, because you couldn’t stop cumming either, crying out and whining when you’d touched your cunt and felt the slick coating everything. After shaking violently from it, you’d peeked and seen a good morning text from him, all while you had to go get cleaned up, trying to compose yourself before you texted back.

Jenna calls now, shaking you out of your reverie, and the two of you plan lunch the next day. “You’re having dinner with him?”

“Yeah, but as a… friend?”

“Oh baby, you’re too cute.” You sigh, leaning back as you stir up some dough for cookies you were baking later, the sunlight filtering in through the little kitchen window you have open wide. You peer out into the sky, thinking it’s not as pretty as Satoru’s eyes.

“I do really feel things, but Jenna I can’t not be near him, if it’s as a friend, then it’s as a friend.” Jenna sighs louder than you did. “Are we having a sighing contest?”

“I’ll win any loud moan contest, but your sighs are cuter.”

“Jenna!”

You both laugh then, and a beep sounds on your phones. “Ah, looks like he’s going to stream. Gonna go watch your friend?”

“You’re an instigator. Maybe.” She giggles again, as you finish preheating the oven, scooping the dough onto the parchment paper.

“Be careful, you’re a grown woman, and things change, but don’t forget yourself, okay?” You pause then, emotions catching in your throat at her words. “I’m not trying to be the ‘mom’ I swear.”

“I know, Jenna. I love you, see you soon?” You end the call after she says goodbye, popping the cookies in the oven and turning them on. You set up your laptop, deciding to do some work for the weekend on a project your friend hired you for, but the temptation of seeing Satoru keeps nagging at your mind.

The man certainly has a pretty cock, but you think it’s the way he looks at the camera that fucks you up, it’s probably why he’s so good at it, his job. And he clearly enjoyed it, even though you know he was having a little difficulty with the last shoot, perhaps he prefers solo lately? To think you had anything to do with that was foolish, so you wouldn’t allow the thought.

The timer beeps, you stand up and stretch, turning off the timer and oven then, grabbing a bright red oven mitt and pulling out the sheet pan, smelling delectable, the steam hot and rising, scent filling your nostrils. You loved to bake, especially when you were stressed, and you suppose you were, having feelings for a man currently stroking his cock for the camera was conflicting at best.

You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s not feelings, that you’re inexperienced and confused, but you know you’re lying to yourself. You eye that silver laptop again, remembering the last time, the image of him sucking his own cum off his fingers is burned deep, a core memory at this fucking point. You shake it off, then sigh, giving into temptation.

You’d just tip him a hundred again to be supportive, you tip Jenna all the time, it’s fine, it’s something a friend can do.

Right?

You log in to the onlyfans platform, the black and blue OF making you just a bit nervous, clicking on the stream then, taking several breaths as you click on it. Fully prepared to be soaking wet, the sight that greets you is not Satoru stroking his cock, it’s another woman, her thighs spread, while Satoru runs circles on her clit. She’s propped on his lap, her head against his bare collarbones, moaning.

Your heart shatters then, and it shouldn’t, no you’re so stupid!

You are Satoru’s friend, and it was your choice to check his stream, to tip and be supportive but ultimately you know what you potentially signed up for. You saw him with Jenna, and for whatever reason that had not bothered you- maybe because it was before he touched you, looked at you like that.

The girl in front of him has two of his fingers shoved deep as he has her feet propped up on his thighs while you blink away stupid tears that shouldn’t exist, there’s no anger but there’s so much jealousy you shock yourself. You’re a girl’s girl, you’re supportive, what is this!? You’d like to rip her right off his lap, and you hate yourself for it right now.

You shake it off, looking away as the cookies fill your home with the sweet scent of sugar and chocolate. It should be a cheery morning, but you can’t even focus on anything but the conflict in your heart. You stare back again, hearing Satoru’s soft, husky voice, watching all the comments in the chat while he grips one of her breasts in his big hand.

Her head falls forward, and the way you vividly imagine it being you instead has you heating up, in more ways than excitement, embarrassment - you’d never be that girl for him, you wish you could be that way. But Satoru and you together felt too special, especially to share, how could you fall when this was your idea!?

You can’t be upset.

You take a breath, shutting your eyes and looking away as his voice resonates through the laptop’s speakers, echoicing in the quiet. If you were crazy enough you’d say it sounded different than with you, that he let go more, that you were even wetter when he touched you, but you’re starting to think you’re delusional.

“So, we wanna hit this spot right here, for any men watching, you’re gonna curl up here, that spot feels good, doesn’t it honey?” Your jaw sets, swiping tears from under your glasses now.

“Ah, y-yes Gojo!” Her moan echoes too much, he pauses then, the squelching of her cunt stops, it’s all quiet as he just stares at the camera like he’s staring at you, his lips parted, eyes widening just a bit, but there’s no way.

You’ve lost it.

You tip him the hundred as you’d intended to, quickly shutting your laptop and damn near hyperventilating. What’s wrong with you!? His job is to fuck women, so you saw him touching one, what do you expect? The man had a gang bang scene just yesterday, and dinner with you tonight. You have to shove it all down then, you have to remember what he does.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t special though, for you.

Did he do things off camera with-

Stop it!

The phone rings a few minutes later and you just stare at it, lost in your own head, wishing you could compartmentalize it so much better, that you could separate the two. You were so stupid for engaging and knowing, but at the same time, to not have Satoru seems like something you can’t compute, even if it is just as a friend, even if you can’t be sexual.

Maybe you read it all wrong, that night.

Satoru calls again, shaking out his hand as his co star is now fucking herself quite expertly on a dildo, since Satoru can’t get hard for anything - it’s worse today than yesterday - he decided to turn it into a guided masturbation video. At least his fucking fingers still work, despite jerking off to you so much his cock is raw, remembering your lips surrounding it.

Even fingering her he’s picturing your pussy, fuck he wants to just bury his face in it again, he knows the two of you are ‘friends’ or whatever the fuck this was, but it’s exceedingly difficult when it’s affecting him like this. He keeps wondering if you all sleep together, will it make it worse or better? Was he all in his head, as if you would go for someone like him if he did date.

What was he thinking lately?

He saw your name in the stream and his stomach had dropped - and why, you’re just a friend, it was fine if you wanted to see a bit of a stream and tip, he knows it is to be supportive. You’re supportive and sweet, so sweet, god your taste and scent still haunt him, he’s been dying to see you tonight, in any capacity, but when he saw the name he felt awful.

He only wants to fuck you, touch you, but he has a career and commitments, to get her to agree to this instead of fucking was already difficult and he was slowly losing it as his cock kept refusing to work. Even if he could get it up, he didn’t like the idea of fucking someone else at all, after the debacle of a gang bang yesterday. But even touching someone was doing nothing for him.

Now he saw you leave so quickly, and decided to gently smack his co star’s ass, smiling as he bent her over, murmuring he needs a break. She eagerly took over the spotlight, the opportunity was a huge one for her anyway as a smaller star. Satoru keeps staring at your picture, sighing as he notices the little reflections in your glasses, touching the screen softly.

You saw him touching someone, did you care, did it bother you-

Why is he thinking like this!?

He calls again, and you answer, much to his relief, as his hands let go of the bathroom counter he’d gripped too tightly. “Hey Satoru, sorry I popped in, I thought it was um… you…”

“Jerking off?” He finishes the sentence, leaning back against his wall and shutting his eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you did um… shoots at home. You should get back to it, why are you calling me, silly? Looks like um… you were, ah… doing… good.” You’re breaking out every voice, cursing yourself quietly, why can’t you just speak? You’re shoving it all down, trying not to cry - there’s no reason to!

“Ah, yeah I thought I’d try to teach people how to make women cum, they fail often you know.” He tries to make it light, as his stomach clenches, a sick feeling when he hears your forced laugh.

“That’s very true. Someone should give you a Nobel prize for this work.” He snorts then, as the laughter becomes a little more genuine. “No you’re amazing at that. Why not show them how?”

“You thought I was amazing, hmm?” His tone changes, cock throbbing when he just hears your sigh, picturing you vividly in his mind, while the sounds of his co-star echo, moans and squelching wetness that does nothing for him.

Didn’t he used to enjoy all of this?

“You know I thought that.” Your heart pounds, you have to remember, Satoru is amazing and just because you’re hurt, you can’t be mad or upset at him. He’s not yours in any way, even if you’re starting to wish he was. “Isn’t your co-star waiting?”

“She’s occupying herself fine. It’s not… sex…” Because I can’t get hard unless it’s you. “It’s just a tutorial.”

“Oh,” your relief shouldn’t exist, you shouldn’t care, but to hear that does make you slump over just a bit, before taking a breath. “Do you want to do dinner another day, it’s already four-”

“No, no!” Satoru panics then, since when does smooth pornstar Satoru freak the fuck out and act desperate? “I mean, no. I want to see you tonight. I have time to shower and get there.”

He wants to wash any of this girl off, frantically actually, he wants you all over him, even if it’s just him pleasing you more. But moreso, even if you just wanted to have dinner and that was it, he’d be happy, though the thought of fucking you with his fingers while you eat dessert is insanely tempting, making his tip drool precum quite annoyingly as he glares in the mirror.

“Okay good, I was looking forward to it.” Your whisper is soft and genuine, as he sees the red on his cheeks, the black pupils, just thinking of you shifts his entire face.

Fuck.

“I’ll start getting ready, I think it’s time you see I can get dressed up.” You tease softly, swiping stupid tears and trying to plaster a bright smile on your face as you stare in your mirror. Your eyes are puffy, the color drained from your face, lips trembling - just seeing that has affected your entire face, taking off your glasses so you don’t even have to look at yourself for a moment.

“I bet you’re gonna kill me, you look so pretty any time I see you,” his voice is hoarse, as he spills the vulnerable truth, and the two of you shut your eyes, leaning against your bathroom counters. “But I’m excited to see you dolled up.”

“Are you, Satoru?” You try to hide the insecurities haunting you, hearing his sexy, heavy sigh on the other line.

“Very excited. I’ll see you soon, sweets.”

The two of you hang up and you sigh, eyeing the clock now - you have about two hours to get ready, and you’re so nervous your palms are sweaty and numb. It may just be two ‘friends’ having dinner, but you want to shove that image back you just saw, and focus, and try to look beautiful tonight.

Satoru’s own hands are numb, as he curses, slamming a hand on his forehead, unable to think of anything but you, barely able to pull himself together. When he walks out, Suguru is there, nibbling in the kitchen, raising a brow at him. “You good, Satoru?”

“Fine, I… you wanna finish that for me?” He gestures to the room, while Suguru sips down water. “I think I have a kind of date or something.”

“A date!? Huh?” Satoru just looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I don’t think it’s a date, it’s friends or something? Maybe... I don’t know. Is dinner a date if it's not with a costar?” Suguru rolls his violet eyes, sighing as he washes his hands now, patting them dry with a paper towel.

“You’re acting weird as fuck lately, that cute little good girl got you simping?” Satoru scoffs, rolling his blue eyes now.

“Suguru, just do me a solid.” Satoru pouts, earning Suguru’s scoff.

“Fine, fine, but you owe me one.” Suguru and Satoru enter the room, as Satoru eases the transition, the notes in the chat are going insane, he can’t help but exhale in relief, before pausing at the thought.

Was there some way to save his malfunctioning dick?

*****

Satoru whistles when he meets you at the restaurant that evening, running just a little late, you're sitting there nibbling on your thumb, peering at the menu when he arrives. Your eyes light up behind a different pair of glasses, these have cute red rims, matching the red dress you're wearing that's making him ache.

He hasn't seen you in something like this, not that you weren't always pretty, but when you stand up and he sees how it fits your body it almost takes him everything to hold back. Vividly picturing bending you right over that table and fucking you in front of the entire restaurant, gripping the red shimmery fabric that drapes across every line and curve of that body.

He can't form a word, notoriously known for never shutting up, but he can't think of anything to say, when you shyly look down, hands fidgeting in front of your lap, and he’s standing there sputtering. It’s awkward even, until the waitress comes up and smiles over at Satoru, gesturing to a seat, saying - ‘This must be the friend you were waiting for!’

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, you look beautiful.” He says finally, pressing a kiss to your cheek, feeling it heat up against his lips. You shake your head with a sweet turn of your lips, kissing his cheek in turn.

“You’re fine, Satoru, I still haven’t learned LA time.” He chuckles at that just a bit, sitting across from you now, before deciding to sit next to you instead, shoulders brushing together.

“This feels more comfy? It feels all formal the other way.”

“Does it feel too… date like?” He falters then, because that was not it, but the doubt has crept in on your face, when the waitress asks you all for your order, and he has to blink back the confusion. “What do you suggest?”

“Want me to order for you?” You nod shyly, god the submissive nature of you makes him ache in way too many ways, knowing how perfect of a girl you’d be for him in every aspect. “We’ll have this,” he says, pointing to the menu now. “And bring two glasses of champagne please.”

“Are we celebrating?” You tease, handing the waitress the menu, Satoru chuckles a bit, shaking his head while you take in how handsome he looks, brushing your fingers against his suit jacket. “You look so good, Satoru.”

“Thank you, sweets.” He holds your hand then, fuck it feels too good, pressing it against the dark red suit jacket that truly only he could pull off, black button down shirt left open, showing enough of his chest to make anyone die over. Your eyes look at it now, a few of the chains he wears resting along the strong muscles, settling between his collarbones. “You’re making me look bad, wearing in that dress.”’

“No way!”

“Absolutely, you are. You’re so pretty, fuck…” He’s brushing back a tendril, as you eye him, that look that drives him insane, the look that’s ruined him since he met you. He tries to smirk, to act calm, teasing, “I look that good?”

“Yes, shit. Sorry.” He laughs softly, shaking his head when you pull your hand back gently.

“We match, great minds you know.”

“Indeed, we clearly coordinated telepathically!” He laughs then, and it's just like that first night, when you and him just hit it the fuck off. It’s comfortable, it’s fun - so fun - that people smile at the two of you, as you laugh like friends for years. It’s how it feels, like you’ve known him, a way you can’t explain.

But you wished it was just the friendliness, not the heat in your tummy when he wipes a droplet of clear, bubbly champagne from his plump lips, if every time his thigh brushed yours you didn’t melt. Someone comes up then, a really pretty girl, and you feel Satoru stiffen a bit, making you tense, sipping on the tart champagne and averting your eyes a bit.

“Gojo, it's been what, a year?!” He smiles with ease, standing and kissing her cheek, hugging her tightly.

“It has been, shit, how you been?” It’s all very Hollywood, their exchange, you feel you’ll never figure it out, the two years you’ve been here after relocating and you still couldn’t get being kissy on everyone.

It makes you think of him earlier, his fingers in that-

Stop that!

He’s saying your name you errantly realize, you plaster on a smile as she looks at you curiously, eyeing you up and down. “Co-star?”

“No, no, she’s my friend. She’s a good girl.” He winks down at you, and she giggles then, holding her hand out.

“It’s awesome to meet you!”

“You too. Are you um…”

“A former co-star, yeah. Satoru is the best in the industry.” Ah, so she fucked him, too. You want to be petty and scowl and you hate yourself for it more.

You never, ever are like this.

You never have been.

She’s touching his shoulder and making you sick, when your eyes catch a familiar face, a man standing with a group of other men, smiling over at you, he’s one of your co-workers that is always working. You wave at him while Satoru finishes his conversation, and he adjusts his tan jacket, touching the arm of one of the men, letting them go as he walks to you.

You tense just a bit, while the girl finally leaves, and Satoru’s sitting next to you once more, as his phone rings. He turns it off, jaw tensing when a blond man takes your hand and bends down at the waist, like some old school gentleman, pressing a kiss to the back of your delicate wrist, the pretty bracelet slides down your arm as he does it, and he watches your blush.

The fuck.

He was trying his best to get that girl to go on, so he could get back to talking to you, but now some random guy has your attention, and Satoru doesn’t like it, not one fucking bit. “Nanami, this is Satoru.”

“Nanami, huh?” He leans back, flipping off his phone again, you look at him curiously.

“Need to grab that?” You ask, and he shakes his head, swiping it off once more, ignoring his manager while this Nanami guy eyes you behind green glasses.

“You look stunning, is that alright to say?” You giggle again, Satoru glares at you, how dare you giggle at him!?

He told you that you looked beautiful. Did you giggle?

He wants to punch this smirking man in the face.

What’s wrong with him!?

“Thank you, Nanami, I guess you don’t see me too dressed up at work, huh? You always dress so well.”

“Oh stop, you’re flattering me. And this is your…” He trails off, looking at Gojo, who has to wipe the glare off his face for a moment.

Say it, Satoru.

More than a friend.

You look at him then, as if you’re waiting for him to say that, to say something, while Nanami’s lips quirk up just a bit, making Satoru want to smack him again. He takes a breath, smiling then instead of glaring, but his hand is on the small of your back. “We’ve become close friends, very quickly.”

“Oh? I’ve known her for a long time,” Nanami says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. You look at Satoru, whose phone starts ringing again, and he curses, rolling his blue eyes. “Need to take that?”

“It’s my manager, they have horrible timing. I’ll be right back.” He murmurs, you smile understandingly, while his manager trips on him about earlier.

He knows his dick doesn’t work, and now he knows he hates touching anyone, but he doesn’t know how to explain it to anyone when he has no fucking clue why this is happening. He’s obsessed with a sweet, shy little thing that is currently getting hit on by a dude buffer than him.

Maybe he’d be good for you.

Satoru is too petty to admit it though, glaring instead while his manager goes on and on. “Listen, I get it, you need content.”

“We need you with women, a lot of your viewers are men, they’re not gonna tune in to watch you solo. Find someone that works for you, I don’t care who at this point, but we’re just not gonna make profit if you keep turning down roles. Or, I heard, you shoved a girl off on Geto.”

“I didn’t… shove her off, I just…” Satoru frowns again, the blond man is sitting next to you in the other seat, your eyes are on Satoru however they turn away when he catches your gaze.

He just wants to fuck you right in front of that fucking man now. God, if you would be interested in starring in something, you’d make bank, it’s not just his obsession, your pussy is the prettiest one he’s seen. Your tits, your body, they’re all so sexy, and your pretty face with those glasses? You’d kill any sexy nerd shoot there was.

“Satoru!”

Shit.

He can’t get the vision of you in some slutty ass librarian outfit from running through his head.

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll try to get something going, I mean I was gonna do a solo tonight anyway.”

“That’s fine, but remember you’re a lot more than just Onlyfans. You’re a star, Satoru, that comes with a certain level of appearances. So whatever is going on, you gotta get it together, or we’re both not making shit.” He sighs, leaning back against the wall now, eyes going back to you, giggling at something he’s said.

He’s too close to you.

Why does he mind so much?

“I’ll get a shoot done.” The words feel horrible, the thought of fucking anyone else just seems like an impossibility, and he doesn’t know how to compute it in his mind.

What did you do?

“Alright, I expect some video with a woman - not with Suguru. Though…”

“I’m not fucking Suguru.” He chuckles as people look at him a bit, running a hand through his white locks. “He is pretty but not my type.”

“He’s gonna be your type if you turn down every other actress.”

“Ugh.”

“Mmhmm, talk to you later.” He hangs up, frowning at his phone, trying to gather himself before he does something so stupid, jealousy filling him and for what?

You’re talking. You’re not his. He had his fingers buried in a girl this morning, why does he care if you did anything? He knows you’re not that girl, though, but you choose to be with him. It makes him feel far, far more special than he’d admit, the fact that you want him, that you trust him. Was he mistaking the look in your eyes, was it just desire there?

“If you are single, would you mind a date sometime? I haven’t had so much fun talking in a long time.” Nanami says softly, making you look down shyly, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks from the soft lights hanging above you in the dimly lit, pretty restaurant. “Am I too bold?”

“No, no. I just haven’t been on a date in forever.” Satoru feels like he’s been punched in the chest as he hears, nearing the table and acting like he didn’t wanna yank you to him and kiss you then and there.

But he chose to tell him you’re friends, that’s what you were, a friend he wants to fuck all night in every position imaginable. Then lick his own cum out of your cunt, abused from his cock, and fuck you all morning. God he can’t stop thinking about them all, have you dragged on his face, his hands on your waist, let you ride his mouth till he couldn’t breathe.

Real fucking friendly.

Satoru’s hands grip and release while he hears your answer, “I will think about it, Mr. Nanami, it may be fun.”

That’s almost a yes.

Fuck.

“Think about what?” He asks with a smile, leaned back in the booth, a hand brushing your bare thigh under the table, where your dress had slid up from you sitting, he feels it tense while he drags his fingertips across it, eyeing you then.

Was Satoru trying to confuse you more? You look at him again, some toxic part of you that you don’t recognize wants him to claim you, what the fuck was that!? You have never been that way, you’ve never been a lot of things until you met this blue-eyed man, however, and even with a handsome Nanami flirting, you can’t get Satoru’s moans out of your mind.

Snap out of it!

“A date with your lovely friend. You two are just friends?” He looks between the two of you now, and Satoru opens his mouth, but what can he say?

It’s what you ‘are’.

Would he be worthy of dating you if he wanted to, when his job was fucking other women? You didn’t deserve that, you deserved to be the only one, fuck you literally had become his one singular, consuming thought. He smiles good naturedly, eyeing you now, watching you bite your lower lip, teeth digging into the plush of it, while your thighs tremble just a bit.

“We just met at a party a few weeks ago, but we are really close. Quickly.” He murmurs.

“Can’t see you partying.” Nanami’s hand comes to touch your other thigh, and for a girl who hasn’t had any in forever, the sensation of two big hands on your thighs is addling your mind. “No offense, darling you seem a little straight laced…” his words are trailed off with his hand squeezing gently.

Satoru scowls at him.

Is he touching you!?

Do you like it?

“I don’t party, it’s true.” You smile now, a hand over his, thumbs brushing his knuckles, while Satoru’s squeezing so hard you wince before he realizes it, letting go of his grip, but the hand staying on your knee. “I think we could go on a date sometime, as long as it doesn’t make work weird.”

“Not at all, all right I’ll leave you two to hang out then,” he stands, holding out a hand for Satoru, he squeezes the shit out of Nanami’s hand with a forced smile, only for Nanami to squeeze tighter. And fuck he’s strong. Then, he takes your hand, murmuring a - “I’ll see you at work, then,” and kissing the back of your hand. “Darling.”

Darling.

Satoru will show him darling.

You giggle, only pissing him off more, nodding shyly, fuck you’re cute even when you’ve made him furious. He’s shared women so many times he can’t count, even girls he got closer to, regular girls that you could almost say he ‘dated’ he’d still regularly bang out with his friends. He’s not possessive in general, he’s open minded and a free spirit.

Or he was!?

“Sounds good, Mr. Nanami.” He hates how you say his name, when the man in the khaki suit and dumbass cheetah tie leaves, finally. “He’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, so sweet.” You look at him then, narrowing your eyes curiously.

“You don’t like him?”

“I don’t know him. Seems boring, pretentious.” You blink in confusion, eyeing the retreating figure walking out, he even waves at you, which you return.

“He doesn’t seem like either to me. Satoru, you said we are just friends, are you worried that we won’t… do all that we do if I date someone?” Your words drop to a quiet murmur, and he sighs.

“Yes I would be very upset if I didn’t get to taste you again, why wouldn’t I be? It’d be a fuckin’ tragedy, sweetheart.” His words are too husky, when he leans against you, turning just so, his fingers slipping up your inner thigh, a side of sweet, nice Satoru you hadn’t seen yet, you almost think he looks…

He can’t be jealous.

Right?

You're delusional.

“I don’t just sleep around, so if we went on a date I wouldn’t do that. But, if I hit it off, and got serious, I wouldn’t continue our… lessons. I can only be with one person at one time.” He tenses then, is he going to lose you before he even gets you? “I don’t care if you do the same, I know it’s your job, but I couldn’t.”

“I’m not fucking anyone right now. My manager is bitching at me about it.” You tilt your head curiously, the chandelier earrings dancing in glittering prisms along your neck as you study him. “I’m having issues on set.”

“Is everything okay?” You ask, concern in your voice now, as he shakes his head. “Satoru, what's wrong?”

“I’m not in a good headspace it seems, the gang bang I failed, and I pushed the girl this morning on Suguru. So if I don’t give my manager something, they’re gonna be pissed. And no money for us if I can’t show up.”

“What’s wrong though, you seemed fine with Jenna in what I watched? Is this a new problem?” God you’re clueless to your effects, aren’t you? You touch his thigh too, instantly making his cock hard, looking down and getting flustered, he feels your heat, just making him harder. “You seem to work fine to me. Are the cameras getting too stressful?”

“I don’t know, but it really is a problem. Do you think… you could help your very handsome, amazing friend out?” You look up at him, curious.

“Help how?”

“Your good video skills, film a hot jerk off stream, good angles? Maybe that will get enough money he’ll chill some until I get over this.” You look away, the images of Satoru stroking his cock are burned in your brain. “Too much?”

“No, no. I can help, I feel I am taking up your time-”

“You’re not.” He cups your face then, turning it to him. “You’re never taking up my time, I enjoy being here. Okay?” You exhale, fuck had you been worried about that!?

How could you not know how badly he craves your presence?

“I feel bad that you’re going through this, is it the lesson?”

“The lesson did bring your taste into my mouth, and maybe no one tastes as sweet, it’s true,” his thumb brushes across your jaw line, smiling at how embarrassed you get then. “I think your taste would help me out.”

“Then, I’ll film you, but I can’t guarantee the quality.”

“It’ll be impeccable.” He raises two fingers, making your mind go to places it shouldn’t, you know another ‘lesson’ or session, or any time at all with Satoru was dangerous.

You’re teetering on the edge of feelings constantly, but you can do this, right, separate the two? He seems so good at it, at being your friend and then doing more, and you almost failed completely. You almost couldn’t say yes to Nanami because you are currently so delusional you think this star is so interested in you for more.

You have to accept him for who he is, no matter what, this was your choice to join his life at all. You take a breath now, trying to flip that switch off, the one that can’t stop thinking how much you’d love to kiss him, every minute of every day. The side that’s upset his fingers were inside someone, you have to throw her aside, and enjoy what’s here while it’s here.

He makes you question so much constantly, like every minute spent under that cerulean gaze brings out a side of you that you never knew of, some inner sexual side that only he can ignite. It’s so beautiful and special, his breath against your lips, you want to press them to yours, but so unsure, was he not about to be affectionate in public with you?

Was this just left for home?

He changes your thoughts when he kisses your forehead, far too sweet, then your cheeks, hot to the touch, down to your nose, making you giggle, relax. “You never ever waste any time.”

“I needed that.” You exhale, kissing his lips quickly as he smiles against your lips, and you pull back quickly. “I’d love to help you out.”

“I’ll make it worth your while, pretty.” His thumb brushes the slick on your upper thigh, right by your panties, watching your lashes flutter shut, as you take a shaky breath. “Come back to my place?”

“For the night or…”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure-”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Satoru’s paying the bill, signing a signature and leaving a hefty tip, then, holding out a hand for you.

“Did you drive here?” You shake your head, and he smiles, snatching up his phone now. “Perfect, I’ll have my driver take us over.”

*****

The second time coming to Satoru’s home was a little different, you were more comfortable, slipping off your heels now, he bends down to help you again, kissing your knees as he does, hands slipping up your thighs. Your hand brushes a lock of his white hair back, the unreal way you feel this comfortable, this drawn to him, makes your heart ache.

You’re so scared you’ll get hurt more, but you can’t stop yourself from being near him, from him looking at you like you’re the only fucking girl there is, are you so delusional?

Just enjoy it.

You close your eyes, sighing as he stands, kissing your lips again, easing your hand bag off your shoulder, brushing his thumbs across the mark it’s left on your shoulder. “Want another drink?”

“Yes please, if I’m going to be a porn director.” He laughs softly, shaking his head and taking off his suit jacket, laying it across the back of a chair when he pulls out the same bottle you’d sipped last time.

“You liked this one, hmm?” You nod, surprised he’d remember, taking the sweet liquid in the crystal glass, fingers brushing now. “Don’t get drunk though, I can’t have a shaky ass camera.”

“So demanding already, you really gonna make it worth my while you say?” You’re trying to tease back, like you can breathe or function in his presence, he just sighs, brushing back your hair behind your ear.

“That and more, sweetheart. We have hardly started doing things together, there is so much I can think of,” his hands slip lower, down the side of your neck, watching the goosebumps raise as he does, sighing at how perfect you look in his kitchen. “So many positions.”

“How many are there!?” He laughs now, at your embarrassed little look, pressing a boop to your nose.

“You’re endlessly adorable. Corruptible.”

“Oh!” He’s taking his own glass now, guiding you by your hand.

“Suguru’s out for the night, so we won’t get interrupted.” He’s leading you to his room, yanking off that black top, pausing as he sets up the ring light and grabs the camera, handing it to you, fingers brushing against each other. “You ready?”

“Ready,” your squeak of an answer makes him pause, taking your free hand, putting it on his bare chest as your heart hammers, trailing the hand lower to his belt and swallowing. “Need help?”

“Yes, I do.”

He needs you.

He’s desperate for you, fuck.

You’ve helped him undress, on your knees on the soft, plush carpet, when you start the stream, and he starts stroking that long, thick length right in front of you, he keeps looking at you, even when you gesture to the camera. He’s moaning, spitting on his tip, making it slicker for his big hand which still can’t come close to covering it, twisting and moving it all for you.

For his fans.

It’s hard to remember them when your cunt throbs, when you’re so overheated you can hardly stand it, and Satoru’s talking, low and hoarse. “Gonna cum so much, fuck…”

When he’s cumming you damn near do just looking, thighs pressing together for that friction, mouth fucking dry when your shaky legs nearly give out, while you come from a lower angle, reading the comments of his spurting cum, shooting up against his silvery happy trail, sticking all over, making you ache to drink it up.

“Fuck, I’ve made a mess, need someone to clean me all up.” Satoru whispers, while you barely are able to hold up the camera any longer, the livestream is avid with questions, namely - who is filming Satoru Gojo? And offers from many viewers to lick every bit of him up.

Satoru should stare at the camera, but he’s looking up into your eyes instead, stroking his cum soaked length slowly, just pumping more cum out of his tip, so much it’s ridiculous, dripped down to his balls and inner thighs. You swallow nervously, tummy clenched with desire, knowing you needed to stay quiet for the stream of curious viewers.

Satoru murmurs cut then, and  you do just that, shutting off the feed, and setting down the phone with a shaky hand, clearing your throat. “They loved it I think.”

“C’mere.” He crooks two fingers, and you eagerly obey, walking up to him now, tempting him to no end with the way your eyes drink him in. “On your knees, sweetheart.”

You obey again, eagerly in fact, looking up at him under lowered lashes as his clean hand slips up the side of your pretty neck, then around to the nape of it, entangling in your locks. Your soft whine and shift of your hips are all he needs to know you’re enjoying it, your hands obediently on your thighs, as if waiting for his every order, so sexy he feels his cock twitch back to life.

“Do you want to clean me up?” He asks softly, but the command in his tone is there, you nod and he exhales, tugging you towards him then. “Then do a really good job, sweets. Lick every bit clean like a good girl, and I’ll reward you.”

“I’ll do a good job.” Your whisper wrecks him, as he guides your head down, and you suck him, still hard, into your hot, eager mouth. Your soft whine vibrates around him, his head falling back as your mouth moves.

He can’t help but think of earlier.

A date, you were gonna go on a date, and he hates the idea, no, he fucking detests the idea in fact, the rage alone making him fuck your throat deeper, harder, feeling you gag and choke on him instead of anyone else. He shouldn’t feel possessive over his friend, a friend who’s sucking his cum, who’s swallowing him up, all he can think is his, his, his.

But you weren’t his.

How could you ever be?

Satoru’s never felt anything better than your throat, except he’s a million percent sure your cunt is better, he knows it would suck him up so greedy. When tears fall from your pretty eyes, it’s hotter than any blow job he’s had on set, the eagerness and desperate need to please far surpasses experience, your glasses fogging up when you pull back to take a breath then.

Satoru looks at his slick, spit covered cock, to thin trails of saliva disintegrating between your lips as you pull back, swiping at your lower lip. “How did I do?”

“Perfect.” His whisper is genuine, the words feel too good, you know you should stop, that you already wish he was yours, but you’re too addicted to how those blue eyes make you feel like you’re the only girl there is.

Even if it’s an illusion, a trick of your brain, or a practiced look.

The feeling is too euphoric not to be corrupted by it.

“You did such a good job, look at it, not any cum left. You sucked it all down, so greedy huh?” His hand comes under your chin, squeezing your neck gently yet so possessive, he wants to say it - his - but he knows he can’t. But it’s too easy to teeter off the edge, when your breaths come faster, breasts pressed up in that dress, rising and falling with each one.

“Satoru… I can keep going.” Your soft voice nearly ends him, little hand stroking his cock again.

“I was thinking of something, but if you don’t want to, it's okay.” You blink a bit then, tilting your head, tendrils falling against your bare shoulders.

“What is it?”

“A scene with me, but not showing your face at all,” your gasp and pull back makes him sigh. “It’d be like me eating your pussy, we could have it zoomed so no one sees your face.”

The thought, along with Satoru's sweet cum down your throat makes your tummy clench, while he brings out more and more of you that you didn't know existed. Your hands tense on his thighs now, taking a shaky breath, fingers along the downy hair on his thighs. “I don’t… Satoru you have a million options for costars-”

“I want yours. It’s the prettiest I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“Satoru…”

“It is. Wanna argue about my expertise here?” You just get more flustered and flushed, looking down nervously, but he tilts your chin with his big hand, angling your gaze upward. “I’ll split all the pay, you get eaten out, and anonymously. I’d never tell anyone, I’d never risk your career or anything. But I do need to do one, and I hate the thought of it not…” Satoru trails off now, the words sinking in.

“You like eating me out that much?” Your whisper makes him chuckle then, nodding and swallowing nervously.

“That pussy is perfect. How about we film it, and you watch it, and if you don’t want to, I just keep it to jerk off to…” Shit, he said that.

He’s so desperate and pathetic.

But you flush again, surprising him with your nod.

“Shit really!?”

“We can film it for us to watch, and… I doubt I’ll be okay sharing it, but we can see if you- ah!” Satoru’s got you lifted so fast you barely can blink, unzipped and turned in moments, leaving you in the prettiest red lace lingerie that makes him groan, his fingertips trembling on your skin. “I said probably not, don’t get excited.”

“I’m excited to bury my face between your thighs again, sweetheart.” You cry out when he’s pressed you on the bed, spreading your thighs and groaning, fingers tugging at your panties.

“How can you make sure my face isn’t there?” You ask softly, he grabs the camera and the stand then, cock just swinging around, balls smacking his thighs, so used to being naked he doesn’t realize his effects. You can’t stop staring when he gets it at the perfect angle, clicking his tongue.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, viewfinder showing your pretty cunt up close, he’s almost furious to think anyone could see it like him, but his career is teetering on the brink of nothing, and if you truly were okay with it, he only sees it as a win.

You broke his dick and now he’s begging to just lick you, and split pay with you, he never thought he’d be so pathetic, but it’s no wonder, thumbing your pussy and spreading it, sighing. “Mnh!”

“So, to keep it anonymous if you decide to show this, don’t speak too personally, okay sweets?” You nod shyly, gasping as he shoves your thighs up. “Also, hold them up high, so all we’re getting is a view of your pussy.”

“Yes, sir.” You tease, but his cock starts leaking again, earning his moan.

“Don’t speak too much, to be safe, I don’t ever want you to feel like anyone would know it’s you. Speak when we’re done, though, you can absolutely moan.” You nod, so nervous, what are you doing!?

It’s as if Satoru Gojo brings something insane and wild out, because there is a thrill of your pussy on camera suddenly, and knowing he is about to worship you, potentially in front of people has your cunt drooling for him. He hits record then, angling his face so his tongue was in perfect view lapping up the arousal, exhaling now as he shoves your thighs up higher.

Perfect, you’re perfect.

“God, look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs into the camera, parting your folds so all that syrupy arousal can pool out, he hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your red nails pressing into the plush of your thighs. His cock is already back hard, he has to stroke it and whines out as he laps you up, making you gasp.

He's slurping you then, head tilted just so the camera can see, smacking your clit gently, watching you jerk, pressing your thighs up higher and tilting the camera so it's higher, right over his head, looking at it and the reflection of your perfect cunt while he slips the tip of his tongue up. You're moaning at the sensations, twitching hips bringing your cunt more in his face.

Satoru can't stand it, how good you taste, he wondered if it was an illusion but no, you are the sweetest thing he's ever had. “You're so wet, god, take a look…” he's fingering you now, and you hear it while he watches it, glimmering from the soft ring light glowing on your perfect pussy. Making him so dumb he's just burying his face then, forgetting he's filming.

“Mnh!” You're trying not to call out his name, thighs still so high you can't see his face, to protect you from getting seen, until he adjusts it, spreading your thighs further, leaning up to look down at you under lidded eyes, chin coated in your slick. “Satoru…”

“You okay sweets?” His whisper touches you, his concern for you even during this, making sure you're okay. You nod and he exhales in relief, kissing you for a moment, knowing it's what you need, brushing your hair back, sighing as he looks down at you. “You're doing so good. Can you cum for me, baby?”

You nod again eagerly, and he’s dived back down, fingering you with two curled right in your cunt, hitting that spot that blinds you every time, his moans so filthy, guttural while he watches, angling his wrist and hitting something then, you feel so much pressure you panic, gasping, writhing under him.

“Oh my - ngh! Fuck!” You’re struggling to keep your voice a whisper, palming your mouth while you shatter.

“That’s it, right there, cum for me, lemme drink it up. Let everyone see how much you love my fucking tongue.” Pornstar Satoru was ridiculous to handle, hitting you with his fingers and the tip of his tongue on your clit, when the pressure releases, and your orgasm hits so hard you can’t help but scream, twitching as he pulls back in surprise. “Fuck, you’re squirting f’me?”

You have no clue what he means, you don’t see it as it starts pouring all over, making a mess, wet spot under you even as Satoru grabs you by the fat of your ass, licking up as much as he can. You’re a twitching, soaked little mess, your hands gripping his hair now, screams echoing in the room while he eases off you just a bit now, ready to fuck your slick, messy cunt.

He trembles as he pulls back and does one more shot, pressing a sweet kiss to your pussy before shutting off the camera, and leaning up, kissing you, so desperate, while your slick thighs rub together, and you feel the mess. He pulls up and takes a breath, flipping you then, making you gasp, handing you the camera while he kisses the backs of your shoulders, hands on your ass, spreading it wide.

“Watch it, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing across your shoulder blades, brushing your hair to one side while you barely have the strength to press play, and that’s when you see it. “Look how perfect you are.”

Your pussy right on camera, and him eyeing it like he’s worshipping it, like you’re his fucking altar and his mouth is that offering. Your cunt starts throbbing while he works you, kissing every inch of your body as you fall more and more into the abyss of sin, of lust, of desire- of Satoru Gojo.

“You love it, don’t you baby?” His words are hot against your ear, while you watch him on the screen licking your cunt, watch your thighs tremble, all while he’s behind you, sinking his two fingers so deep in your quivering hole again. You arch your back, moaning now, it feels so good you can’t stand it, so erotic watching this video you two took, while he’s fucking you with his thick fingers.

“I do, but it’s insane… ah! Satoru…” He sighs now, taking his fingers out, pressing them into your mouth for you to suck, which you quickly obey, eyes fluttering shut, the image of his tongue fucking you reflecting in the darkness.

“Keep it for us, or share? It’s all up to you. I’ll never pressure you either way,” he’s soft then, turning your chin as he lays heavy weight over you, and you eye the phone now, hand shaking just a bit, to close it out or to share, he takes your hand, steadying it. “It’s fine to be how you are, you’re perfect, okay?”

“It’s fine to be how you are, Satoru Gojo. A… question, though.” He sighs, leaning close, while he keeps holding your hand, hovering just so.

“Mmhmm?”

“Would I be your favorite co-star?” Your teasing question makes him laugh at the ridiculous nature.

You’re the only one he can even get hard for.

“You’re the prettiest, yummiest, sweetest co star I could have,” his words are just a little broken, as he almost says more. That he hopes your date sucks with that Nanami guy, that he’s planning to show up at your work tomorrow to glare at that man, that he’s become fucking obsessed, but instead - “How could you think you’re not?”

“And we’re… still friends…” You ache for him to say - no, it’s more - but he nods, against your neck, pressing kisses against it. “Even if we fuck?”

God.

He’s dying.

“You think I wouldn’t be your friend anymore? I’m not the guy to get what he wants and go. I promise.” You nod then, smiling just a bit, and tap the share button then, surprising both of you.

“Holy fuck, I did that…” Your whisper is met with Satoru’s kisses now, as your video plays for all to see, your moans on camera mixing with the ones induced from his play, one arm wrapping your body as his cock presses insistently against your ass, hot and heavy.

“Stop me now, because I can’t think of anything but fucking your pretty pussy raw right now,” his desperate words and dilated eyes just serve to ruin you, when you arch your ass up. “Fuck, you sure?”

“I want you inside me, please,” he eagerly leans back, gripping his cock and lifting your thigh, pressing into your tight ring of muscles, almost cumming from the fucking tip. “Ah!”

“You’re so tight, relax I don’t want to hurt you, please.” Satoru whispers it as he grips your chin.

You nod, as he is slipping a little deeper from the back, the stretch burning so deliciously, you’re convulsing while the viewers are going wild over Satoru’s devoted pussy eating skills with his mysterious, faceless co-star. His silk hair brushes your cheek as he exhales heavy in your ear, whispering your name.

You eye the video, the comments, vision blurry, while he sinks his cock deeper, and he moans as he reads the comments to you, filling your cunt so full of his cock, inch by inch - and there are so many, each thrust deeper while you cling to his wrists, his arms wrapping you. He keeps reading them, even as he shoves in all the way, making you jerk and gasp.

“Perfect pussy, look at Satoru go, god she’s so wet for him, she’s cumming so much - is she squirting? Look at that, you’re a regular star, huh? F-fuck…”

“Mnh!” Your eyes roll back in your fucking skull now, lost in him, lost completely. So deeply unraveled under him you can’t remember what this is, that it’s a friend, that it was a scene, that you’re now the girl who did that, anonymous but to know it’s you on that screen with Satoru devouring you does something, fuck it does too much.

He’s murmuring more comments, and his huge cock is stretching your slick, tight heat beyond its means. “That’s it, you love it, huh? They all want to be in your place, or they want to lick you instead, but it’s me, isn’t it baby?” He shouldn’t be possessive, he tries to tell himself it over and over, but how can he not be, when he’s shoved in so deep, he feels the bulge of your tummy, groaning. “Feel me, sweetheart?”

You can’t speak, just nodding desperately, while the feed goes insane, watching your cunt squirt on Satoru’s face while he’s buried inside you, filling you to the hilt, stretching you out so good you forget to breathe. “Toru!”

He pauses at the nickname, your slurred words and pulsing cunt ending him, he could almost cum then and there and he has amazing stamina, but he has to hold back, wrapping a hand around your throat and leaning up on an elbow while you gush down his cock. Satoru kisses up your neck hungrily, eyeing your pussy on the video and then your face, your eyes almost black with pleasure.

“Only I can hit that spot, hmm?” His tip drags along your spongy spot now, and you’re twitching, nodding, so consumed as he surrounds you, breath against your neck, moans in your ear, hand squeezing your throat just so under your chin. His cock twitches as he shoves deeper, impossibly deeper, while you helplessly grip the blankets beneath you. “Answer me, like a good girl.”

“Y-yes.” Your whisper drives him insane, feral, the way your walls quiver around his cock is exquisite, that grip unreal, but more than anything it feels perfect.

“Made for this cock, aren’t you pretty?” The words fall out before he can stop them, and your eyes rolling back, drool spilling out of your mouth while your cunt is pulsing is his answer. “Perfect, fuck…”

“Mnh!” You can’t take it, his words urging you when he shoves his cock so deep, the tip bruising your cervix, making you scream as his guttural moan fills the room, his hand squeezing just enough pressure to make your orgasm blinding, white hot.

“Cumming all over me, so good, listening f’me, hmm?” You just nod weakly, gasping when he flips you to your back, lifting your thighs and shoving them wide, slapping the tip on your slick cunt and groaning. “Wanna watch me fill you up?”

You nervously nod, swallowing now, and he sees it, you’re overwhelmed, he leans down, kissing you, and you’re desperately clinging to his back, eagerly kissing him despite being damn near slack jawed. You exhale nervously, eyeing him is even more intimate, impossibly more, his plush lips still tasting like your honeyed arousal from earlier.

“If it’s too much, tell me, I want you comfortable.” It’s hard for him to speak, but he does, making sure to reassure you, kissing your forehead before he leans back.

“It’s intense, Satoru but… I want it.” He moans at that, sliding his cock back inside, sucking in a breath when you’re gripping him fucking tighter this time, slipping in slowly, inch by inch. “Ah! Satoru, so d-deep!”

“I am, huh? I can get deeper, baby.” You cry out when he shoves his cock in deep with a sharp thrust, and then pauses, eyeing that bulge in your stomach. “Look.”

“Look at… oh.” You’re heating up at the image, and he’s all about angles, he makes sure your eyes catch every bit of his slow thrusts, filling your tummy full of his enormous cock, too much to take, but your cunt is willing and eager, struggling to take his size.

“Fucking you so deep, see it? Your body is so small compared to my cock, pussy stretched too much, f-fuck… god look at you…” He’s losing it, he was trying to talk sexy to you, which comes naturally, but now he’s just obsessed with the image, thin white brows lowering over his eyes, while he slams inside you, your thighs trembling as they wrap his slutty waist. “Oh my god…”

“Satoru… ah!” He’s done, he’s fucking lost in you, in your eyes when he shoves your thighs up, gripping your face with his huge hands while he’s got you bent in half, slamming so hard you scream. “Too much!”

“I need all of you, fuck… can you take more?” His eyes are so bright blue they burn to look at, but you can’t stop yourself, nodding and cupping his face in return.

“Kiss me please.” He moans at that, slamming his lips down when he rocks his hips, cock filling you so deeply you scream into his mouth, hands slipping to his hair while he’s got his heavy weight over you.

“I can’t control it anymore, baby, if it’s too much just fucking hit me at this point,” he’s nonsensical, leaning up now, hands on the back of your thighs in a mating press, fucking you hard now, powerful strokes that take you the fuck out, cumming in moments with a few strokes, making him whimper.

That’s a sound you know he’s never made.

You may be delusional, but you’re sure you’ve only heard him whimper for you, you’ve never seen that look in his eyes on any video or stream, not when he’s staring right into your fucking soul and slamming his cock deep over and over. You’re barely able to cling to the earth, so much pleasure rushing through your body, you feel every vein and ridge of that huge cock as it fucks into you.

“Perfect, pussy is perfect, fucking knew it but god. God… fucking feel her,” he slams into you again, head falling back, giving you a view of his throat before he eyes you once more, shaking his head and slamming his cock harder. “Can she take it?”

You just nod, you’d take anything, the way it feels to be ruined by Satoru Gojo is far beyond his balls slapping your ass, his cock stretching your cunt, his hands bruising your fucking thighs, no it was more. You want to be filled by him, folded under him, you want every bit of it, losing yourself in him, in his bright blue eyes, in his filthy fucking words, in his cock slamming your cervix.

You were ruined, and you knew it.

You feel too much, far too much, when he’s leaned back, holding your thighs high and watching his cock pull out and enter, slowing and rubbing your abused clit. “F-fuck, cum one more time, I’m close… your cunt is so fucking perfect, shit… c’mon, like a good girl, there you go baby…”

It’s like that goddamn dream.

Word for word.

You cum harder than you have, when he shoves into the hilt, stuffing your slutty little hole, blinded and dizzy, hardly able to breathe, while he watches you shatter under him, so fucking beautiful he can’t take it. Your brows drawn together, that sweat making your skin glisten, your mouth open in the sluttiest O, he can hardly stand what the image does to him.

He knows it then, he’s fucking beyond destroyed, and terrified at that fact, at the power you’re oblivious to over him. He almost busts inside you, something he has never done - he doesn’t even go without condoms - the thoughts of filling your cunt full are far, far too tempting. He stops himself, cursing and holding his slick cock at the base while you’re spasming around him, back arching.

“Where do you want all this cum, sweetheart?” He manages to ask, you’re so fucked out you’re dizzy, blinking Satoru’s white hair and pretty face into view as he pulses inside you, just thickening and making you whimper.

“W-what… where… you want, I… mnh!” You’re still cumming, aftershocks rocking you, making your skin so sensitive when he eases your sore thighs down, parting them and pulling out finally, stroking himself as you catch your breath, watching him spurt thick white ropes all over your cunt. “Oh! Oh…”

“Fuck, fuck… god… oh my…” He’s moaning as he’s desperately jerking his slick cock, so much cum it seems impossible, since he just busted so much, and you watch him, enthralled as the hot sticky sperm is coating your cunt. “God, look at it, fucking look at us baby.”

He’s too much, he’s too much.

You thought him eating you out fucked you up mentally, what is he, his insane ass eyes bright as he trembles, strong muscles bunching and tensing, a work of fucking art pouring his cum on you. You’re stuck, at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing, brain not even functional as you look up at this man, knowing this isn’t just sex, it fucking couldn’t be.

It can’t be like this with someone.

You almost spill every feeling then and there, lost in him, in his desperation when he rests his head on yours, moaning against your lips, tip brushing your engorged clit and making you whine out. “God, your pussy is too perfect, it’s… you’re too perfect, feel too good, look too good…”

“Satoru, are you okay?” You whisper softly, he’s slurring his words, almost hard to understand in their hushed whispers in between his pants.

He can’t even answer, pulling back and looking at your pretty cunt, all abused from his cock and puffy, covered in his white ropes. “Can I have a picture? Please, just for me.”

“Y-you want one?” He laughs softly, breathless, nodding, and you heat up at it, looking down shyly. 

“Only you can be adorable with your pussy beat up and coated in cum, huh?”

“Oh god!” He can’t take it, how cute you are, the affection eating at him, as he takes a deep breath, leaning back. “Just one.”

“Fuck…” He takes the phone, eyeing the amount of comments and tips while your breasts heave, trying to catch your breath, sticky cum dripping across your folds when you shift your hips.

“What is it?” You ask softly, he shows you the number, and your eyes nearly bulge out. “Holy fuck!?”

“This is good even for me, shit. Pussy is made for porn.” You’re blushing harder, biting your lower lip when he angles the camera, taking several photos and exhaling at how pretty it looks. “God, look at you.”

“Are you talking to me or my pussy?” He grins then, so boyish and charming it’s as if he wasn’t just fucking you into a mating press and filming your cunt. “Also I said one!”

“Sorry. I’ll make it up.” He’s kissing your thighs then, lapping some of his own cum off your slit, you gasp at the sensation, his tongue on your sore, overstimulated pussy now. Your hands entangle in his hair as he groans. “Fucking taste us.”

“Satoru you’re in-insane and- mnh! Fuck!” You’re shaking when he laps more off of you, desperately lapping at every inch of your cunt now. “Satoru!”

“Gotta clean my pretty costar up, she’s only my costar you know, only one I’ve ever-” He pauses, stopping himself, when you eye him, breasts still gently moving up and down as you eye him.

“Only one you’ve… ngh! Satoru!”

“Taste us.” He’s lapped more of his cum and yours, murmuring for you to open, which you eagerly do, letting him spit his cum and yours in your throat. “Swallow, there you go, see it’s perfect, huh?”

You’re lost then, in the filthy string of words, when he’s back down cleaning you up with a tongue that’s lethal in its precision, rocking his cock on the bed, hard for the third time with you as he moans desperately against you. He’s latched onto your clit, sucking, while you can’t stop cumming, pushed past overstimulation, but not once do you tell him to stop.

You want it.

You need it.

In tears from how much you’ve cum, desperate for more, swapping his cum and yours mixing, against your tongues as he talks you through it, as you lose yourself, Jenna told you not to, she told you not to forget. You are trying to keep it separated, but how the fuck can you?

It felt worth losing yourself, for him, under him, him inside you - around you - taking over everything, while he’s back inside you, his lips murmuring desperate, dirty words into your sweet mouth. When you’re so fucked out you actually pass out blissfully in his arms, you can’t even remember the girl you were a few weeks ago, waking up just to be filled by him again from behind.

Being in his arms, you hope it’ll counteract the pain when he moves on, when he’s kissing you while fucking you from the back, sweet little nothings against your lips filling the room along with the squelching of his cock filling your cunt again. Every inch of your body kissed by him, licked by him, head to your fucking toes, shifting you to some other dimension as you drink each other in, exhausted and desperate.

You’ll think about that pain later, for now it’s all pleasure, aside from the ache in your heart for more, endlessly more.

The love on this story is so sweet, it's FAR from over. Please be patient as these are long chaps and I have other projects, if you're not on the tags you can subscribe to me on ao3 or turn on notifs <3 Can't wait to hear your thoughts

Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay

[absentlyabbie]

seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

[vrystalius]

Not saying “I love you“ back to the Squid game men.

How will they react if you don‘t say it back? In what scenario would they not say it back to you?

Pairing: The Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x gn!reader

Summary: Them not saying “I love you“, their reaction to you not saying “I love you“

Genre: fluff, a lil bit of angst sprinkled on top

If you’re interested, here’s more fluff! Calling the Squid Game men some weird petnames and their reaction to it!

(Pre-Squid game)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It barely ever happens, really. He adores everything about you, from your face, voice, body and the ground you walk on; that man is ready to worship you like a devoted follower would to the most merciful goddess. Therefor he would always be aware of how to make your day a little better, even if it‘s just a small “I love you” or a gentle kiss here and there.

The first thing you hear from him in the morning is a groggy voice mumbling a small “Good morning love...” into your ear while warm kisses were trailed down your back.

While standing in the kitchen and searching the fridge for any signs of a tasty breakfast, a small “I love you, I‘ll be back later!“ would echo slightly through the apartment as the front door closed.

Once, he did forget to say his usual I love you on the way out. He thought about how he possibly could forget? You‘re probably overthinking everything now and think what you might‘ve done wrong or do to offend him. You didn‘t, though! He was just too caught up in perfecting his appearance because his damn hair refused to obey and submit to his meticulous styling.

The poor man was almost scared to come home. As some sort of peace offering, he bought some of your favorite take-out food alongside some dessert, flowers and a new bracelet he thought you might like. Anything to try and make you know that he does really love you.

“Apologies, it completely slipped my mind. It will never happen again my sunshine. I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

His face may be neutral and his expressions calculated but his features soften up immensely when you show even an ounce of affection. His smirk shifts into a dreamy smile, the crinkles around his mouth shifting and becoming bigger, his eyes twinkling just a little. He just can’t suppress when you even look at him.

Your kisses and words energise him, gift him life, so whenever you don’t give him that little boost of dopamine, he gets visibly more tense in a way.

The silence that followed after his usual “I love you my darling, I’ll be back later!” was almost eerie to him. He stuck his head back into the kitchen to check if you even heard him. You glanced back at him for a moment and gave your husband a dismissive head nod. So you did hear him?

Silently, he left the apartment and went on with his usual day during that time of the year. For some reason, today he is especially looking forward to slap his elders for loosing a damn children’s game. His face remained neutral and had his usual smirk on his face, but deep inside, he’s offended, confused, worried, stressed; all the negative emotions someone can feel after their spouse doesn’t reincorporate ones affection.

Do you want a divorce? Because hell no, he’d never let you go no matter how hard you

But once he got a little text message on his phone that read a simple: “Need cuddles in bed later pls. Got some snacks too. Love you.”, all of his worries washed away in an instant. You probably were still too sleepy to answer this morning.

A smile spread over his face as he thought about slipping into your arms tonight. Isn’t it ridiculous how he melt like putty in your hands?

“You forgot something this morning and it did worry me a lot. But it doesn’t matter, it’s silly anyway.”

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s actually quite rare to hear Thanos say “I love you” word for word. He still feels awkward committing himself to the relationship you have and those three magic words feel so heavy on his tongue, so he’ll rephrase them to suit his level of comfort. “Love ya”, “Thanos loves you” and “Me too” are his ways to dodge the action to reincorporate those sweets words you shower him with.

Thanos only really says “I love you” if you two are alone, sober and you holding him in your arms. To be cradled by someone he admires, cares and loves so much makes him want to cry for some reason, but he suppresses those emotions and instead buries his face in your shoulder as your hand soothingly runs up and down his back.

Those are the times you hear a small “I love you…” being mumbled against your warm skin.

So quiet it’s almost unnoticeable, yet it was there. You know Su-bong needs time to get used to everything, so you’ll settle with a small audio message-rap in reply to your usual “I love you” text message.

“Back to the kitty ‘cause she kinda pretty, I can’t stop looking at her ti- ti- ti-face.. Anyways, thinking of you babygirl. Iloveyatoo.” (You barely caught him saying this the way how quietly he mumbled it into the mic)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

It’s fine. It’s cool. You don’t have to reassure him every day that you love him, it’s totally fine. You still love him like you did the day before.

It causes a deep panic inside of Thanos when you don’t give him his usual “I love you” text in the morning after he had woken up. He kept checking his phone like a madman, while he was brushing his teeth, peeking his arm and head out of the shower in the middle of shampooing, staring at his text messages while microwaving himself an convenience store meal. Nothing.

Not wanting to reach out first and appear clingy, he decided to write you like he is not having a full blown eternal panic attack. A small voice message here, a picture of his food there, a selfie from the bottom to show off his double chin, anything really.

You replied like normal but still, his eyes searched for the three key words. I. Love. You.

Thanos doesn’t want to admit to himself or to anyone for that matter that your calls, texts, hell, you coming over is like the most addictive drug to him. And he had his share of all kinds of colourful drugs.

His foot was nervously tapping the ground while his finger kept ringing your poor doorbell until you were forced to answer. He gave you a close look up and down, his lips formed into a pout of sorts.

“You okay? You didn’t text me you love me this morning. It’s totally cool and all but like… do you want to break up with me or something?”

Nam-gyu // Player 124

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Similar to Thanos, at first, Nam-gyu barely ever told you how much he loved you, liked you even. He just assumed you already knew and his actions were enough. A small side hug there and ruffling your hair here had to be enough for the rest of the week anyway.

He is guarded, afraid of commitment and to be frank in belief that you’re using him for the longest of time. Maybe you’re just “dating” him to get access to high-end drugs, all kinds of clubs or whatever else reason there is there to date him but for love.

You had to say those three magic words first for him to get comfortable with the thought that you are actually just want to date and love him. It came to him in the middle of a night shift at a random club he was supposed to promote. A moment of enlightenment.

Nam-gyu hid in a bathroom stall with his phone and ignored whatever the couple was doing next door, writing you a whole paragraph about what he was thinking, feeling, before deleting everything again because he thought he’d come off as some kind of pussy if he’d sent that.

His first time telling you how much he loved you was at your place. A casual evening watching some random movie you picked out while being arms deep in a bag of chips and dressed like a homeless person, Nam-gyu was staring up at you as if you were the most beautiful person in the universe even during this ungraceful moment of yours, admiring you in silence until finally…

“I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Did he fuck up again? Do or say something wrong? Don’t you love him anymore? Was there someone else?? His thoughts go ballistic as he stared at the screen of his phone with a deadpan-expression, trying to shake the crippling fear and nervousness off while looking nonchalant.

Nam-gyu’s finger kept hovering over the call button to check on you in case something happened because there could be a whole other person talking to him by how there were no affirmations at all.

He doesn’t want to appear clingy or too attached to you as that may scare you off or even disgust you, so Nam-gyu’s casually mention that one time you didn’t say “I love you” while fidgeting with his ring, trying to appear indifferent about it while intensely watching your facial expression shift to try and detect if you’re lying about your reasoning or not.

Your boyfriend is afraid to not be good enough, too much, too little. Your little affirmations give him reassurance, every day a little more until he’s full convinced that you do really, really love him.

“Hey, uhhh. Did you forget anything today?… No? You sure? Mkay.”

Dae-ho // Player 388

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Never happens. Either he is dead and not able to reply to you or already said it multiple times throughout the day. Dae-ho has separation anxiety and gets nervous when he doesn’t have you in line of his sight or not around him in general, that’s why he always tells you how much he loves you whenever he can.

Off to the bathroom? I love you. Bringing the trash out? I love you. Getting dressed? You’re gorgeous and I love you. You could be simply existing and Dae-ho would bury his face in your neck and mumble a soft I love you into your warm skin, his lips planting a soft kiss here and there.

Dae-ho is just a little scared about saying his usual affirmation in front of his family, mostly his father. He’s a very affectionate and physical man but he still wants to look like the tough-marine-son his dad wants to see.

His sisters know better though, they see how their brother’s eyes twinkle in delight when you help his mom out in the kitchen with the dinner.

He does make it up to you after coming home though. Your boyfriend will stuff the leftovers his mom gave him into the microwave and usher to you made yourself comfortable on the couch while he makes some preparations to completely pamper you for the rest of the evening.

Sometimes Dae-ho’ll even try to flirt a little but he’s still a little awkward in that department.

“Hey, do you want some snacks with that? A drink? O-Or am I enough of a snack…?”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Every time Dae-ho tells you that he loves you, you always reply with equal enthusiasm. How could you not? That golden retriever of a man gets that almost childish smile of his whenever you kiss his cheek or just tell him that he looks handsome today.

Once, you tested how he’d react when you don’t give him his hourly dose of dopamine by deflecting or ignoring his touches.

As his arms securely snaked around your waist and gently pulled you against his torso, you paid him no mind and continued to stir the ramen in the food container. He watched the noodles move in circles and gave your waist a gentle poke, trying to pull your attention to him. Dae-ho’s eyes slowly dimmed and the edges of his smile turned downwards.

The silence made him seriously nervous. You could feel his rapidly increasing heartbeat drum against your back.

“Hey… is everything okay? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry. Can you talk to me?…”

Gi-hun // Player 456 (post s1)

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Gi-hun always reassures you of his love, even during arguments. He wants you to know that he cherishes and loves you for the rest of his life and that you are his everything. Whenever he doesn’t say I love you, something must’ve happened.

He has been missing for a whole week and you had no idea where your boyfriend went. Gi-hun didn’t leave a note, a voice mail, no nothing!

And after he returned and suddenly began giving you expensive gifts, the same boyfriend that used to ask you for money to get himself an convenience store dinner, now began buying you new headphones, bracelet and whatever else you even eyed.

It was nice, sure, but you were more worried about his mental state. He was paranoid and quiet, kept checking his whole body for some kind of tracker and barely ever spoke what was on his mind. Gi-hun began having panic attacks and you were barely able to leave his side because of how terrified he was to leave you alone.

He barely touched you, gave you kisses or affection. He changed after whatever happened during that week he went missing.

While running your fingers through his hair, trying to make him fall asleep after being awake for two days straight, he sleepily stared up at you through his dyed-red hair. His voice was quiet, broken almost.

“I’m sorry. Please… know that I love you. I love you so much.. Don’t leave me, please… please...”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

Your boyfriend called out to you but you didn’t quite hear what he said, so you replied with an “yeah!” and just hoped that that’s an appropriate response to whatever he tried to tell or ask you. It wasn’t.

Gi-hun stood there for a couple of moments, waiting on your reply to yelling “I love you!” across the whole apartment. When nothing came, he didn’t call out to you again. You were probably busy with something or don’t want him with your right now, he gets that.

Later though, thoughts of self-doubt began to cook up inside his mind. As he bit all his nails to shreds he overthought about how you had enough of him now. Maybe you are falling out of love now after how the death games fucked up his mind and body. You’re surely fed up with his paranoia and secretive behaviour, how much he has been obsession over finding a weird salesman. Surely.

The metallic taste that spread inside his mouth after biting the skin surrounding his nails began to open and bleed finally pulled Gi-hun out of his self-destructive thoughts that continued to circle like a toy train. Picking up his throwaway phone and choosing the one contact he saved on every single burner phone he had as “Reason to smile ❤️” and pressing the call button.

“Gi-hun? What’s wrong?” Your voice forced a small smile to form on his face. He hesitated

“Hey. Just wanted to ask if I should bring some take out home tonight. That’s all.”

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s purely just to tease you. When bored, In-ho will make you his greatest entertainment.

He likes making you annoyed and flustered, so he’ll intentionally ignore you just to make you react and pout at him adorably while he was trying so hard to keep his stone cold face and not break into a shit-eating grin and maybe even pull on your cheek to make you whine even more.

In-ho adores your whole being and cherishes all of your affections, so he’ll let himself get showered in them any tome he can.

Expect you to he cuddled up on his lap while he was leaning back in the leather chair, mumbling a complaint about how you covered his whole face in kisses but managed to miss the bridge of his nose. He will not allow you to move off his lap until you covered his whole face in kisses again as compensation for that mistake of yours.

So, In-ho’ll intentionally not give you affection so you pay even more attention to him. He is like a cat in that way weirdly enough.

Once you finally break his facade, the flood gates will open and you will be showered, bathed, drowned in his affection, physical and verbal.

“Fine. I’ll say it just because you’ve been so good to me today. I love you, my dearest, lovely darling.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

In-ho has a dedicated frequency on his walkie-talkie for you, so he can call in and ask you to come to his office for a kiss that cannot wait, to inform you that he is in the bedroom and retiring for the day or just to tell you that he loves you randomly throughout the day.

Of course, you’d always reply back with your own gadget, but to pay back his infinite teasing he has done to you, you decided to ignore him the way he sometimes does to you. Payback.

Your husband called into your frequency. “Dove, are you free right now? Come to my office, I miss you.” and so your game begins. You simply ignored his request and continued getting comfortable in your bed and all the sheets surrounding you, grinning to yourself as you awaited the next time In-ho calls in again, for which you don’t have to wait long for.

“Darling, I am waiting. Do you want me to send someone to pick you up?” Your grin widened as you heard how impatient he was slowly getting with the lack of your response. “I can see you in the bedroom.” That one caught you off guard. Did he install cameras in your shared bedroom??

Almost on cue, your bedroom door opened, revealing the masked Frontman. His shoulders were tense and you could feel his intense state through the mask. You stared back, not expecting how quickly your husband would cave in and visit you himself. Innocently, you batted your lashes at him.

In-ho slipped his mask off and carelessly tossed it on the nightstand. “Why are you ignoring me? Are you upset or just moody?” Unimpressed, you silently glared at him. He gave you an equally uninterested look and leaned down to your face to give you a small peck on your cheek. “Not enough. More.”

A chuckle escaped his lips as his lips cracked into a smile.

“Demanding, aren’t we? Fine. As you wish.”

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading <3

Watch me announce that I’m going to post In-ho’s yandere profile and proceed to get hit with the most ungodly group-assignment in Chemistry. Anyways, take this as an apology! Had to write a little fluff for them since the only thing I’m finding is smut 🙏😭 I’m not complaining but this fluff prompt came to me like a truck during a class of mine. It was originally inspired by this post and I made a similar one before for the Demon Slayer hashira. Check it out if you’re interested!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[lunexsparx]

LADS: Sent them LEWDS in public

Summary: The LADS have left you feeling neglected, so you decide to teach them a lesson. What happens when you send them lewds while they're in public? MDNI! (Suggestive, not explicit.) This was a silly piece, and my first "all LADs" fic!

It had been three entire days since your usually-charming upstairs neighbor decided to treat you like you’d committed some unforgivable crime.

And for what?

A tiny, perfectly reasonable suggestion.

All you’d done was gently imply—alright, maybe not that gently—that it might be insanely hot if Xavier wore the Lumierre mask while you did things to him that were definitely, unequivocally illegal in at least six countries.

Instead of pouncing on you right then and there, like a sane person, he'd looked at you with such profound horror you'd genuinely thought for a moment you’d accidentally confessed to murder. Without saying a word, he’d turned on his heel, and left. He actually just left you standing there, mouth open, dignity bruised, libido unsatisfied.

And now it had been three full days of absolute silence.

Three days of radio static—no texts, no teasing smiles across patrol, nothing. He'd even swapped shifts just to dodge seeing you, the dramatic bastard. Last night, you'd even tried peace offerings in the form of his favorite takeout, and he’d ignored that too!

Enough was enough.

Jealous of his own alter ego? That was the most ridiculous thing you'd ever heard. But fine. If Xavier wanted to act like a sulky teenager, you'd make sure to treat him like one.

War was officially declared.

You found him at headquarters, slumped in a chair after your patrol with Tara, looking every bit as miserable as he deserved to be. He was nibbling half-heartedly on a powdered-sugar donut, his posture screaming “pathetic” in a way that almost made you soften—almost.

His eyes flicked upward, briefly met yours, and then darted away guiltily, the tips of his ears turning pink beneath his silver hair. Oh, he was absolutely not ready for the diabolical storm about to descend upon him.

"Hey there, stranger," you purred sweetly, flashing him your most innocent smile. "Thinking hot pot tonight? You in?"

Xavier stared at you like you’d grown a second head, his eyes wide and dark as he slowly drew the powdered sugar-coated tip of his thumb into his mouth, sucking it clean. For one charged, heart-stopping second, you thought he might break—then he yanked his gaze away, finger removed from his lips.

“There’s a... briefing,” he mumbled lamely, shuffling awkwardly toward the conference room door.

Your stomach dropped. Oh, he was really doubling down, wasn’t he?

Fine. If that’s how he wanted to play it, you’d come prepared. You had nuclear-level ammo today, and Xavier didn’t stand a chance.

Game on, Bunny Boy.

You followed him into the conference room, watching with disbelief as he strategically wedged himself between two occupied seats. Seriously?

With a dramatic sigh, you slid into the empty chair directly opposite him. If he thought refusing to look at you would save him, he was tragically mistaken.

The other hunters filed in, and Jenna began her usual monotone spiel about mission updates and statistics. You tuned her out instantly, your entire focus zeroed in on Xavier, whose azure eyes remained stubbornly glued to Jenna, as though looking anywhere else—especially at you—would ignite him on literal fire.

You knew him far too well for that. You knew exactly how difficult it was for him not to glance your way; you could practically feel him sweating from across the room.

Still, not even a single glance?

Well, he’d asked for it.

Carefully lowering your phone beneath the table, shielding the screen from wandering eyes, you scrolled through your collection of explicit selfies from last night. You’d planned these as playful rewards for when he finally apologized, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

And oh, the pièce de résistance.

There you were, wearing Lumiere's iconic costume, the shirt wide open to expose your bare breasts, nipples stiff and tempting. Your hand disappeared suggestively down the pants, fingertips teasingly hidden but clearly busy, eyes glassy with desire, lips parted as if mid-moan. It was raw. It was filthy. It was fucking perfect.

Smirking, you quickly typed your killing blow:

You: If you won’t be Lumiere, then I guess I’ll have to be.

Send.

Exactly five seconds passed between the delivery of your message and the moment Xavier's soul visibly departed from his body.

Across the conference room, Xavier shifted casually in his chair, pulled out his phone like it was nothing—and froze.

For a full second, you swore he stopped breathing altogether.

Then, as though hit by a delayed gunshot, he jolted violently enough that his knee smacked hard against the underside of the conference table.

THUD.

Coffee cups rattled dangerously. A rookie hunter squeaked embarrassingly. Jenna stopped mid-sentence, arching an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Xavier? Everything alright?”

Xavier opened his mouth, managed no sound, then tried again. “Fine,” he croaked weakly, voice cracking like he was thirteen again. “Just—leg cramp. Muscle...spasm. Sudden. Carry on.”

Jenna stared at him, the kind of look that clearly said she wasn't paid enough for whatever this was, before continuing her report without further comment.

But Xavier was fucked, and he knew it. Under the table, his hand fumbled desperately—obviously attempting, and spectacularly failing, to discreetly adjust his hardening cock. His breathing turned shallow, ragged, as though he’d just sliced through a thousand wanderers.

For several minutes you almost broke skin from biting your knuckle so hard, trying not to laugh. You expected to get some sort of reaction, but when it came to Xavier--you didn't expect THAT.

At last, he risked a glance in your direction.

The look he shot you was homicidal—wild, desperate, furious lust etched into every tense line of his body.

You offered him your most innocent smile.

Slowly, deliberately, you tilted your head just slightly.

Bit your lower lip.

Then, clearly and slowly enough for him to read your lips across the room, you mouthed:

“Call me Lumiere.”

Xavier’s palm slammed down on the table with a loud crack, making the rookie beside him choke on her coffee and Jenna stop mid-sentence again.

He stood abruptly—violently—his chair sliding backwards and hitting the wall behind him. “I—uh—emergency!” he stammered, voice strained with panic. “Personal emergency!”

Without another word, he practically sprinted out of the conference room, leaving confused whispers in his wake.

Seconds later, your phone buzzed violently in your hand.

Xavier: Elevator. Now. If you can still walk when I’m done with you, consider it a miracle.

A wicked grin slowly spread across your lips.

He was going to lose his mind when you showed up in the elevator already wearing his mask.

And you absolutely couldn’t wait.

You: Hey handsome. Come home and ruin my life a little? ❤️ Zayne: Saving actual lives, sweetheart. You’ll survive. Probably. You: Survival’s not guaranteed if you keep ignoring me. 😔 Zayne: Drink water. Do stretches. Think loving thoughts. You: My “loving thoughts” involve you naked and tied to a chair, FYI. Zayne: Medical emergency. Gotta go. Stop being trouble. You: No. 😇

You glared at your phone, dramatically collapsing face-first onto the couch with a frustrated groan. The cushions absorbed your grumbled curses, muffling your irritation. How many more nights had to be like this?

Fine. If Doctor Li was determined to pretend you didn't exist, you'd simply make yourself impossible to ignore.

You'd show him exactly what happened when he neglected his duties.

With determination and a mischievous gleam in your eye, you slipped into Akso Hospital, wearing your most convincing “definitely not about to do something reckless” expression. A few polite smiles later, you found yourself safely behind the door of Zayne’s private office.

Perfect.

The white coat hung invitingly from the hook on the wall, proudly embroidered with his name. With a small, affectionate smile, you ran your fingertips lovingly over the stitching. He’d earned every letter there—but he was going to have to earn you now.

You slipped out of your clothes, discarding them neatly on a nearby chair, and draped yourself in the crisp, cool white fabric. Buttoning exactly one button beneath your bust to tease rather than conceal, you placed his stethoscope around your neck, letting the cold metal rest suggestively between your bare breasts.

Then, perched casually against his desk, you carefully spread your thighs—just indecent enough—and snapped a photo.

You: I need a consultation, Doctor. I’m experiencing severe symptoms of neglect. 🖤

Send.

Meanwhile, Upstairs in the Boardroom

Zayne was enduring yet another agonizingly dull briefing on surgical budgeting, politely nodding at appropriate intervals and maintaining just enough eye contact to appear interested.

His phone buzzed softly. A quick glance to silence it, and—

He froze.

The image filled his screen with obscene clarity: You, half-naked beneath his white coat, lounging seductively on his desk. His heartbeat surged violently, blood roaring in his ears.

"—increase the budget allocation for anesthesiology—"

Zayne heard nothing.

His mind was busy unraveling.

"Dr. Li?" the hospital director asked, peering at him over her glasses. "You seem… distracted."

He stood abruptly, chair wobbling dangerously behind him. "Emergency page," he announced, voice crisp and convincing.

He didn’t even bother looking at his pager.

Without another word, he strode out, urgency radiating from him as he practically sprinted toward his office.

He burst through the door—and stopped short.

There you were, a living fantasy: draped across his workspace like an erotic muse, fingers leisurely twirling his stethoscope. You looked outrageously smug and impossibly beautiful.

"Doctor," you purred sweetly, batting your lashes with a smirk, "I've been incredibly patient, but I'm afraid my condition is deteriorating."

Zayne exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in mock-suffering. "You," he murmured with exaggerated weariness, eyes shining with reluctant amusement, "are an absolute nightmare."

He crossed the room in three confident strides, trapping you firmly between his arms as he braced himself on either side of your hips. The warmth of his body pressed intimately close, sending sparks rippling across your skin.

"But," he continued softly, voice dipping lower, "you're my nightmare."

Your grin widened, eyes sparkling triumphantly.

He brushed his nose gently against yours, mouth hovering dangerously close. "Now," he breathed, warm and teasing against your lips, "are you ready for a proper examination?"

His hands slid up your shoulders, skillful fingers hooking into the edges of the white coat. With a single swift movement, he stripped it from you, letting it pool loosely at your elbows. You gasped softly at the sudden exposure, your bare skin instantly heated under his heavy, possessive gaze.

He tugged the stethoscope gently but firmly, tightening it just enough to elicit another soft gasp from you. His lips curled wickedly.

"Because, sweetheart," he whispered hungrily, "I’m afraid I’ll need to be… extremely thorough."

Just as his mouth brushed against yours, the door swung open sharply.

"Dr. Li, I just wanted to—"

Yvonne froze mid-step. Her eyes widened comically, mouth falling open in pure shock.

You froze.

Zayne froze.

The three of you stood locked in a perfect tableau: you, nearly naked on his desk; Zayne gripping the stethoscope like a leash; and poor Yvonne wishing desperately she could melt into the carpet.

The awkward silence stretched unbearably—until you broke it with a cheerful, mortifyingly casual, "Hey, Yvonne."

Yvonne sputtered, her cheeks blazing scarlet. "I—uh—meeting—I’ll—clear your schedule, Doctor Li—sorry—!" She whirled around and fled, the door slamming so hard a framed diploma nearly toppled off the wall.

Quiet filled the room once more.

Slowly, you turned your gaze back to Zayne, prepared for irritation or embarrassment in his expression. Instead, what you saw in his eyes made your stomach clench and your knees weaken.

He looked feral.

His eyes were dark with barely controlled hunger, the curve of his mouth twisted into a dangerous smirk. A low, rich chuckle escaped him—broken and beautiful—and then he captured your lips in a fierce kiss that left you absolutely breathless.

When he pulled away, his breath was ragged.

"You," he rasped, voice low and trembling with the effort of restraint, "have absolutely no idea what you just unleashed."

His fingers tangled into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your face upward, exposing your throat. A startled, eager whimper escaped you as he guided you firmly down onto your knees, the cool metal of the stethoscope tightening once more around your neck, holding you in place, keeping you under his control.

"Now," Zayne murmured roughly, gently tracing your jawline with his thumb, eyes blazing with a promise that sent liquid heat pooling between your thighs, "about your consultation…"

He stroked your lower lip with the pad of his thumb, his eyes heavy and intensely focused on your form beneath him.

"Open wide, sweetheart," he whispered darkly. "Doctor’s orders."

He hadn't even noticed you were there.

Or if he had, he certainly wasn't showing it.

Rafayel moved through the exhibit like a reluctant storm—sharp smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes, quick jokes tossed over his shoulder, and half-hearted acknowledgments to anyone who cornered him. He was the living embodiment of forced politeness, an artist enduring the social equivalent of nails scraping down a chalkboard.

And god, he hated every second of it.

You knew it just by watching him: the tight set of his jaw, the slight twitch at the corner of his eye every time some fawning critic called him "brilliant" or "a visionary." The fake laughter he forced out sounded so pained that you cringed inwardly each time you heard it.

He wasn't here by choice. He was here because Thomas begged him to be. Sweet, desperate Thomas—his manager, friend, and occasional babysitter—had guilted him into playing nice. Apparently, being cursed with raw talent also came with mandatory public suffering.

But still, you had shown up tonight for him.

You'd dressed up, hopeful and ready to support him, a little nervous, and just a touch eager to catch his attention. He'd been busy with this exhibit for weeks, leaving you missing him terribly. A few texts back and forth proved he'd been working himself thin, so your attendance hopefully meant a lot to him. You imagined his face lighting up, maybe an overly dramatic embrace to embarrass you in public, something to make this exhausting night worth it.

But nothing like that happened.

Instead, you lingered awkwardly at the edges, becoming increasingly invisible with each passing minute. Every time you tried to approach him, some insufferable curator or overly-enthusiastic fan intercepted. A handshake here, a selfie there, a monologue about color theory that visibly drained Rafayel’s soul just listening to it.

Your heart sank lower with every failed attempt to reach him.

It felt ridiculous—standing alone, unnoticed, in a crowd full of people fawning over him. The ache settled deep in your chest, frustration twisting alongside a quiet, embarrassed loneliness. You knew he adored you in his own chaotic way, but in this moment, you felt utterly forgotten.

Before your pride could stop you, your hand slipped into your clutch, pulling out your phone. Your thumb hesitated, hovering over the screen.

You'd taken the photo a few days earlier. You’d laughed nervously, painting your body with cheap market paints, giggling as vibrant colors ran together, messy but charming in their chaos. Beautiful hues smeared across your naked skin. A self portrait with loving marks made only for him. You'd planned it as a playful reward for him, a private gift to congratulate him on surviving this night. Something so vulnerable and silly, you just knew he'd affectionately tease you about it...

But right now, it felt more like an act of desperation—maybe even your last chance to salvage your hurt feelings.

You attached the picture, pausing only a second to consider your message before typing something hopeful and just slightly teasing:

You: If only I’d had an artist’s touch when I made this… 🎨

Send.

There. It was done. Now, you could let him have his night. Your stomach twisted anxiously as you turned toward the exit. You wouldn't wait around feeling sorry for yourself any longer. And you absolutely were not going to cry.

Definitely not.

You were halfway to the door when you heard the distinct sound of glass shattering against marble flooring.

You whipped around just in time to see Rafayel frozen stiffly, staring down at his fallen champagne flute, the shattered glass glittering beneath his shoes like fragments of a broken sculpture. His phone still glowed in his hand, the faint light of your photo illuminating his wide-eyed, stunned expression.

For a moment, the gallery seemed suspended in time. Even Thomas stopped mid-sentence, mouth half-open, staring at Rafayel with alarm.

Then Rafayel slowly lifted his gaze, eyes dark with delicious chaotic delight.

He clapped his hands sharply, making several attendees jump. "Alright, show's over, everyone!" he declared with startling cheerfulness.

Music screeched to a stop. Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd. Thomas sputtered helplessly, pushing forward in a panic. "Raf, what are you doing? Are you out of your—?"

"Emergency inspiration, Thomas," Rafayel interrupted smoothly, flashing a grin that promised chaos. "Artist emergency. Clear out these art vultures before I start tossing them myself."

He began herding the stunned crowd toward the doors like an overly enthusiastic sheep dog, casually waving away protests, ignoring horrified gasps, and outright laughing at anyone who demanded explanations.

In a matter of minutes, the gallery emptied completely, leaving you alone and slightly bewildered in the silent aftermath.

Before you could fully process what had just happened, Rafayel stormed across the gallery--intense eyes locked on yours, grabbing your wrist with gentle but firm insistence and pulling you toward one of the large, blank canvases still hanging on the far wall.

"Raf—" you began, but he pressed you lightly against the canvas, caging you in with his body. His breath was ragged, eyes intense and impossibly full as they traced your features with more affection than he'd ever shown you before.

"You," he whispered fiercely, voice low and roughened with barely contained emotion, "are the only masterpiece I've ever given a damn about."

His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, teasingly lifting the fabric inch by torturous inch. "And clearly," he continued, mouth twitching with a teasing laugh, "you're in desperate need of a professional’s touch.”

It had been a week.

Seven miserable days of cryptic texts, all maddeningly brief and patronizing:

Sylus: Stay in tonight. Sylus: Miss you, kitten. Sylus: Be good.

No calls. No visits. Not even one infuriatingly charming late-night voicemail. Instead, your only visitor was Mephisto—the world’s most judgmental mechanical crow—who showed up at ungodly hours, tapping insistently at your window like he had something important to say but was choosing not to out of spite.

You hated this.

You missed Sylus with an intensity that bordered on psychosis. You simultaneously wanted to punch him in the mouth for ignoring your messages and pull him close and kiss him senseless for texting back. He was stubborn, distant, and maddeningly secretive—qualities that normally drew you to him, but right now were driving you toward sweet, reckless revenge.

When Mephisto landed again, this time eyeing you from the balcony railing like a gothic hall monitor, you decided enough was enough.

Sylus had left you unsupervised for far too long—and it was time he faced the delicious consequences.

You picked up the sleek black helmet he’d given you weeks ago. Custom-designed, glossy, stylish, perfectly fitted—an extravagant gift he'd tried (and failed) to dismiss as "just something practical." You’d teased him mercilessly about it, delighting in how he blushed faintly at your enthusiastic reaction.

Tonight, the helmet would serve another purpose entirely.

Pulling it on, you stripped off everything else, relishing the cool air and the way goosebumps prickled your bare skin. You sprawled across the bed, posed shamelessly, legs parted just enough to tease, fingers strategically hiding the most explicit details—but only just. The helmet gleamed wickedly, a striking contrast to your exposed body.

You snapped the photo.

With a satisfied smirk, you sent it off to Sylus, accompanied by the provocative caption:

You: Your kitten needs to play. 🐾

Send.

Deep within the heart of N109’s black market, Sylus stood at the head of a long metal table, staring coolly down a collection of men who looked like they'd stepped straight out of a wanted poster. Between them sat a precarious amount of glowing modified Protocores and weaponry—dangerous, volatile, and profoundly expensive.

Negotiations were quiet. Civilized, even, in that uniquely criminal way where civility masked a very real promise of bloodshed.

Sylus’s phone buzzed softly against the metal table. He ignored it, expression unreadable, shoulders loose, hands relaxed as though he had all the time in the world.

It buzzed again. Insistent. Demanding attention.

With a subtle sigh, he flicked open the screen, casually glancing down to silence whoever dared interrupt—

And his world halted.

Your photo filled the display, bold and stunning enough to seize every thought in his head. You sprawled like an absolute vision, sleek helmet shining, bare skin lush and inviting, fingers barely covering the part of you he now desperately wished they weren’t hiding. His breath stopped in his chest as he licked his lips.

The room felt suddenly suffocating.

His energy surged, raw and unchecked, in a way it hadn't in years—and certainly never over something as trivial as a photograph.

The modified protocores, hyper-sensitive to his Evol fluctuations, immediately picked up on the spike.

Then—

BOOM.

An entire weapons crate erupted, shards of protocores and sparks exploding outward in a brilliant shower of chaos. The table overturned. Gangsters screamed and dove for cover. The lights flickered violently, plunging the room into smoke-filled confusion. Someone yelled about assassins, another fired a panicked shot into the ceiling, and Luke and Kieran hit the floor with twin yelps.

"Holy shit, did boss do that on purpose?!" Luke shrieked from behind a smoldering crate.

Kieran coughed and laughed simultaneously, cackling, "Nah, you didn't see that look? He only looks like that when she's involved!"

Amid the destruction, Sylus stood unmoving, ruby eyes still transfixed on the intimate image before him. Smoke curled gently from the scorched edge of his coat, a faint dusting of ash settling into his white hair. His expression remained as calm and impenetrable as a marble statue.

One gangster staggered up to him, pale and trembling, clutching a bloody hand. "What the fuck was that, Sylus? Are you double-crossing us? Was this a hit—?"

Sylus didn't bother replying. He simply tucked the phone smoothly into his pocket, brushed off his sleeve, and fixed the shaking man with a flat stare.

"Emergency recall," he said calmly.

While alarms screamed and half the warehouse burned around him, Sylus turned to Luke and Kieran and said:

"Handle it."

Without looking back at the smoking ruins behind him, Sylus walked away, leaving a roomful of criminals sputtering in disbelief.

At home, you’d fallen asleep waiting for a reply, curled up and still helmet-clad, when the apartment door slammed open so violently you bolted upright, startled and blinking.

Sylus stood in the doorway, looking like he’d just survived an apocalypse—jacket scorched, boots dusty, eyes blazing and utterly unhinged. He kicked the door shut without a backward glance, filling the room with his overpowering presence.

"You probably got someone killed tonight, Kitten," he drawled, voice deceptively mild.

You snorted softly, waving him off with a playful roll of your eyes. "Oh, sure. I'm deadly, alright."

His expression didn't change, though his eyes darkened with intensity that sent a sudden thrill down your spine. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, a predator approaching prey that hadn't yet realized it was caught.

"I’m serious," he said softly, voice low and edged with dangerous amusement. "Two crates of weapons and Protocores exploded, half the black market nearly burned down, and I'm fairly certain at least one idiot accidentally shot himself in the foot."

You blinked, momentarily uncertain—then burst into bright laughter, your amusement echoing brightly through the darkness of the room. "Oh please," you said, still giggling. "Sylus, that's ridiculous."

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached for your helmet, carefully slipping it off and tossing it aside like an unnecessary barrier between you. His hands braced firmly on either side of you, trapping you effortlessly beneath him.

His Evol energy crackled lightly against your skin, prickling warmth everywhere he hovered close, setting your nerves alight.

"You have absolutely no idea," Sylus murmured, nuzzling softly against your temple, his voice dark and gentle as velvet against your ear, "the sheer havoc you wreak inside me."

Your breath hitched, laughter melting into something softer, warmer, undeniably affectionate.

"You came," you finally whisper into his ear. "You could have just texted me back," you teased gently, eyes dancing in the low light.

Sylus’s mouth curved into a faint, devastating smile, his gaze full of quiet adoration—and a promise of retribution. "And miss the chance to watch you try and kill me in real-time? Never."

His lips brushed yours, soft at first, then hungry—like he'd waited years instead of days. He kissed you slowly, deeply, utterly reverent, as though he’d willingly burn the entire world down just to ensure nothing stood between him and you again.

Caleb Xia was known across the fleet as a legendary figure of unbreakable discipline. Colonel Xia could hold his composure through anything—through battles, interrogations, and even prolonged stints in the punishing DeepSpace Tunnel. But tonight, back from yet another exhausting mission and desperate to dismiss his troops and finally collapse in private, Caleb was learning a painful truth:

He had absolutely zero defense against you.

It began innocently enough. Caleb stood stiffly at the fleet’s bustling command center, issuing routine post-mission orders. Soldiers marched up to him in a seemingly endless procession, saluting crisply as they reported their debriefing details. Caleb dutifully nodded, signed off on various datapads, and maintained perfect, ironclad control.

And then his phone buzzed softly in his pocket.

He slipped it out discreetly, expecting another boring update—only to find your name illuminated brightly, demanding his attention.

You: Calebbbbb. Answer meeeee. 🥺

Caleb's lip twitched. He could imagine your tipsy, adorable whine through the text. But professionalism required restraint, so he quickly typed a brisk reply:

Caleb: Working, Pip. Almost done.

But you clearly weren't feeling patient tonight.

Another buzz. Caleb checked his screen discreetly, eyes narrowing as his breath hitched involuntarily at your messages:

You: Working means ignoring me? Rude. I thought you missed me. 😭 You: You're mean, Caleb You: Ever since you joined your big bad secret club, you're no fun. 😔🍷

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose, half-smiling despite himself. He could practically picture you sprawled on the couch, wine glass dangerously close to tipping onto the floor, cheeks flushed, lips pouting.

God, he missed you.

His jaw tightened slightly, heart thudding a little harder than it should. Caleb opened his mouth to bark a quick dismissal to the approaching officer—but he had no time. The soldier saluted sharply and began a lengthy status report, forcing Caleb to slide his phone back into his pocket with a silent curse.

The buzzing persisted—insistently, cruelly—in his pocket.

Finally, mercifully, he dismissed the soldier, and checked his phone again.

You'd sent a picture.

He quirked a brow and glanced around carefully, subtly angling the screen away from view as he opened the attachment. He regretted it immediately, a strangled noise nearly escaping his throat.

There you were, sprawled out lazily on your bed, cheeks flushed from alcohol and mischief. Wearing that damned red sports bra and matching boyshorts he’d glimpsed on you just once before a few weeks ago, entirely by accident—an image that had haunted his nights since. He'd felt guilty for seeing you in such a vulnerable state, even if it was an accident.

But this? You'd posed deliberately, your bare thighs slightly parted, your body arched invitingly on soft sheets.

He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as heat surged in his veins. This was not happening. Not now, not here—when he had a dozen soldiers still waiting for dismissal orders.

Another officer marched toward him, interrupting Caleb’s internal panic. Caleb forced his expression into its usual neutral mask, hoping his flushed neck and pounding pulse weren't too obvious. The officer saluted, rattling off data—Caleb heard nothing, his mind racing, pulse hammering between his ears.

He nodded robotically, scribbled a barely legible signature on the datapad, and sent the soldier away with more force than necessary.

His phone vibrated again. A new text.

You: You’re ignoring me again. Baaad colonel. Do I need to try harder?

His heart skipped a dangerous beat, fingers shaking slightly as he tapped back urgently:

Caleb: Pipsqueak. You shouldn't have shown me that--you've been drinking. Caleb: I'm almost done here. Just...Not. Now.

Your reply was immediate:

You: Oopsies. Already took the pic. Too late. 💋

Caleb’s stomach flipped violently. Another soldier approached, and Caleb cleared his throat sharply, bracing himself against the inevitable.

“Colonel Xia, the mission logs—”

“Yes. Fine. Proceed,” Caleb managed, hoping he sounded commanding rather than breathless.

While the soldier droned on, Caleb made the catastrophic decision to open your new photo.

Fuuuuuck. It was…far worse. You’d removed the sportswear entirely, leaving nothing but smooth, bare skin in its place. You lay on your side, a soft, fluffy blanket strategically draped over your hips, teasing him with the faintest promise of what was hidden beneath. The graceful curve of your breasts was perfectly visible, your skin illuminated by warm, inviting lamplight. Your eyes were playful, your lips curved in an achingly inviting smile, as though daring him to come home immediately and do something about it.

Caleb's brain short-circuited entirely.

For several frantic heartbeats, he forgot how breathing worked.

You couldn't possibly have—

He closed his eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but the image was already seared into his memory. Caleb felt utterly gutted—by longing, by frustration, by the fierce and consuming need he’d kept buried for far too long.

Caleb’s mind went completely blank. Every muscle in his body tensed, blood rushing downward at a dizzying speed. He realized, too late, that his breath had hitched audibly.

“Sir?” The soldier was staring at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Caleb coughed roughly into his fist, fighting desperately to regain control.

“Sorry—repeat your last point,” he growled hoarsely, blinking hard. The soldier cautiously continued, clearly worried about Caleb’s strange, flushed appearance.

Caleb’s phone buzzed yet again, ruthlessly relentless:

You: Bet you wish you were home now, huh, Caleb. 😘

The soldier finally departed, giving him one last curious glance. Caleb quickly turned away, leaning over a console to hide his increasingly obvious predicament. If he didn't have his long officer's coat, he'd be laughing stock of the fleet.

He texted frantically:

Caleb: Careful, Pip. When I get home you're going to pay for that.

But your reply destroyed any last shred of his composure:

You: Promise?  You: Btw... My glass of wine wore off a while ago. 🙃

Caleb closed his eyes, gripping the console so tightly his knuckles whitened. His uniform felt unbearably tight, his breathing shallow and uneven. But it wasn't just the sheer boldness or sensuality of your pictures that had wrecked him—it was the raw vulnerability behind your playful bravado.

You'd actually meant it.

After all this time, after carefully dancing around each other, you'd finally risked everything and showed him exactly how much you wanted him. No more teasing. No more pretending. Just your honest, unguarded desire laid bare—beautifully, heart-stoppingly bare—and he couldn't stand another moment being apart from you.

Not now.

“Lieutenant,” Caleb suddenly barked, addressing a startled officer nearby. “Dismiss the remaining personnel immediately. I'll review their reports tomorrow.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Ignoring the curious, whispered speculations behind him, Caleb strode swiftly toward the exit, doing his best not to stumble in his frantic rush. His heart battered wildly against his ribs, pulse thundering as he vividly imagined exactly how he'd greet you once he finally got you in his arms.

You'd completely unraveled him—and there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Author's Note:

This was definitely a challenge—but such a fun one! I'm genuinely impressed by all the talented writers who effortlessly create amazing LAD stories. If you enjoyed these little scenarios, please let me know—I’d love to write more! Also, if you have any specific requests or prompts, feel free to drop them in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

[florestalio]

FATAL OBSESSION — l.hs

even if your best friend seemed to have found the love of her life, the one that keeps her the happiest, while also treating you, and everyone else with respect—you can't help but feel something was... off about him. you didn't dwell on it much—something which proved to be a fatal mistake on your part.

GENRE — pwp, kidnapping au, psychopath au, best friend's boyfriend trope

WARNINGS — DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, noncon, noncon-ish dumbcon, psychopath!hee, kidnapping, character death, oral (both m! and f! rec), throat fucking, throat bulge, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, gun play, gun in v (DON'T!!!), sucking the barrel of a gun (seriously, don't), squirting, unprotected sex (don't), doggy, cumming inside, groping, tit squeezing, nipple pinching, clit pinching, bondage, let me know if i missed any!

WORDCOUNT — 11.8k

NOTE — READER'S DISCRETION ADVISED!!! went a little too insane while writing this. thank you to my bestie sena who always encourages me to write my deranged wip ideas that I get during the most random times—this one in particular came to my mind while I was... studying. no I'm not lying. this was, as always, not proofread. so if you see any mistakes? just pretend you didn't, okay?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

there was something severely off about heeseung.

your best friend, chaeyoung, had met heeseung—who is currently her boyfriend—at a bar. from what she had told you, apparently she was simply drinking there, celebrating her first ever paycheck—alone, since you were stuck at a family event. when it was time for her to pay, the bartender informed her that someone had already paid for her. surprised, she asked about this mystery person, getting directed towards a guy sitting a few seats away from her.

apparently for her, it was love at first sight.

he looked like everything she ever wanted in a guy—tall, dignified and confident posture, rich attire, a good taste in fashion—not to mention how attractive he looked while sipping his drink, a light smirk on the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with hers. he never broke eye contact—not even once, as she walked over to him—albeit quite bashfully.

from what she told you, they talked all night—about their reasons for being in the bar, their hobbies, their backgrounds, their families, and other things that you couldn't really bother to keep track of.

they exchanged numbers, texting each other every single day. eventually, he asked her out, taking her to the most exquisite restaurant in the city, treating her like royalty. according to her, he was the biggest gentleman—a complete green forest, if you will. he always took care of her interests, noticed every single detail about her, and never failed to bring a smile to her face. truly, she was the happiest version of herself while they were dating.

eventually, she introduced him to you, him being an absolute sweetheart with you as well. he made sure not to make you feel like a third wheel, including you in their conversations. it didn't feel awkward for you at all—almost as if you three were a trio of best friends who hadn't met in a while, catching up.

everything was perfect with him. until it wasn't.

you didn't understand why, but for some weird reason, you started to get a certain... vibe from him—even though his behaviour never really changed. he was still an absolute sweetheart, treating chaeyoung like his own personal goddess… yet there was something so—unsettling about him.

heeseung didn't really do anything, but you still found a chill running down your spine whenever chaeyoung mentioned his name. if you saw him in front of you? you bet either your leg or hand would shake uncontrollably, betraying your anxiety.

anxiety for exactly what reason, you didn't know.

you thought it was ridiculous. why would your best friend's more than perfect boyfriend’s mere presence have you shaking like a goddamn leaf? it made no sense at all.

until it did… sort of.

well… heeseung, despite being such an amazing boyfriend, ends up becoming an ex. how? the story behind that is… messy. extremely so.

you see, they had been dating for almost a year. everyone expects a good and memorable gift from their partner for their anniversary, right? so did chaeyoung. she was really looking forward to it too, given how much of a great boyfriend heeseung was.

and he didn't disappoint. he gave her a present, one that was definitely memorable. it wasn’t memorable just for her, either. it was memorable for you as well. was it good? not so much.

it was around eight in the morning when your alarm rang, effectively waking you up.but it was a sunday,  so you turned the alarm off, trying to go back to sleep. but you were already awake, so it didn't really work.

you picked up your phone, the date catching your eyes—it was chaeyoung and heeseung’s anniversary!

your eyes widened. how could you have forgotten such an important date? it was a date your best friend had been extremely excited about, with her always talking about it to you for quite a few days now, yet you forgot. did that make you a terrible friend? probably. eager to redeem yourself, you quickly shot her a text.

you: happy anniversary to my favourite couple!!! enjoy yourselves you both <33 give me all the details tomorrow!!

you let out a small breath, one which you didn't realise you were holding, hoping your best friend hadn't realised that you hadn't remembered her anniversary. however, you didn't get to ponder too long on that, since your phone rang with a ding. chaeyoung had texted you back!

chae: thank youuu!! also girl i need help chae: can you make it to xxx restaurant by twelve?? a friend of heeseung got broken up with, so he wanted him to accompany us for the morning to help him cheer up. chae: he also mentioned something about ‘not wishing him to be a third wheel’ so please do me this favour?? chae: pleaseee??? i promise i’ll make it up to you

you were a bit hesitant about the request. you honestly wanted to stay in today, since it was a sunday—a rest day—but you also didn't want to disappoint your best friend on her first anniversary with her boyfriend, so you agreed.

you: fineee i can do that you: but you're gonna owe me one

chae: THANK YOU SO MUCHHHH chae: you have no idea how stressed i was about this chae: honestly i didn't wanna agree to it at first chae: but you know i can't say no to him

you: girl it's okayyy i can understand you: i’ll distract the other dude so that you guys can enjoy your day, alright?? <33

chae: ugh have i ever told you how much i love you???

you: love you too now GO!!!

as soon as you keep your phone down, you instantly regret your decision. so now you have to go and attend the anniversary lunch of your best friend and her boyfriend… along with some mopey guy that recently got broken up with. great. just great.

you were in front of the restaurant that chaeyoung had sent you the address of—right on time too. you had been trying to call her for the past thirty minutes, but she wasn't picking up. you knew it took a while to get ready, and look absolutely out of the world, but seriously, it doesn't take that long.

you tried to call her for the—what, seventh time now? once again, the call went to voicemail. jesus christ, was she getting plastic surgery or something?

you heard your name being called, causing you to turn around. it was heeseung, waving at you, dressed in an absolutely dashing suit, his ever-so-polite smile adorning his face. the only odd thing was that he was alone—no sign of chaeyoung near him.

you frowned, voicing your thoughts out. “did you not come here with chae? she hasn't been picking up my calls—i have been trying since the past half an hour already.”

he looked surprised at that. “she picked up my call around… forty? minutes ago? she told me her make up wasn't setting right? something else about her foundation being almost out? i told her i was gonna wait, and we could schedule the reservation for later, but she told me it wasn't possible—made me come here on my own. but—i figured she must have called you for help, since, you know, you're the person she usually goes to during these kinds of emergencies–”

you shook your head, your forehead creasing in frustration. obviously chaeyoung thought the ‘emergency’ wasn't urgent enough to call you—now she won't pick up your calls, or arrive on time.

you looked at him again. “when is your friend supposed to arrive?”

he looked at his watch. “we told him to come at fifteen minutes past twelve, so that me and chae could have a little time alone before it's all about him, so… he should have been here ten minutes ago.”

right then a ‘ding!’ sounded on his phone, causing you to raise a brow. you gestured at him to check, which he did… his face falling almost immediately. he looked up at you, sighing heavily. “he just texted me. apparently his sister was busy, which meant she couldn't pick up his niece from school—which left him to do it.”

you rubbed your temples in frustration. for fuck’s sake, this wasn't your anniversary lunch, why the hell were you here on time? to help a friend out, who didn't even need the help anymore, and who was yet to arrive at her own anniversary lunch?

noticing your distressed state, heeseung quickly tried to make the situation better. “h-how about we go inside, yea? chae said she reserved the table under her name, so we can sit down—maybe even order something to eat till she arrives? how does that sound?”

you nodded, sighing mentally. you loved your best friend, but seriously, she needed to be more responsible. being late to your own anniversary lunch? causing your boyfriend and best friend to sit down and possibly even eat lunch until you decided the time was finally ideal enough for you to show up? real mature.

heeseung could sense your building frustration and anger, causing him to do his best to keep you calm. you waited by the front of the restaurant, as he practically sprinted towards the help desk to get the reserved table. he quickly ran back to you, ushering you towards the table. as soon as the two of you sat down, he quickly looked through the menu, asking for your favourite drink among the ones listed. once you gave him the name, he quickly called upon a waiter, ordering your drink choice. while they took their time to give you your drink, he engaged you in a friendly conversation, trying to diffuse the tension, and any possible awkwardness. safe to say, it worked, as you even cracked a laugh or two at his terrible jokes.

another half an hour went by. chaeyoung was yet to show up. the two of you decided to order lunch, the wait having made you both hungry.

while you both were digging in, heeseung made sure to keep you engaged in conversation, the atmosphere not turning awkward even once—despite the circumstances. the food was top tier too, so you had to give chaeyoung that one. credit was needed where it was due, after all.

by the time it was the turn for dessert, your anger had started fading into worry. where the fuck was chaeyoung at?

you knew your best friend well enough to know that she wouldn't miss her anniversary lunch, no matter how much her make-up sucked. so why wasn't she here yet?

heeseung, being ever the gentleman, politely kept you engaged in conversation. oh, for chaeyoung to have ended up with such an amazing guy, and to miss their first anniversary? yea, your best friend is definitely the problem here.

once dessert was finished, you excused yourself, going to the washroom. you needed to wash your hands anyways, and redo your lipstick. you also wanted to try and call chaeyoung again.

while you were washing your hands, one of the servers came in, giving you a polite smile and a small bow. she washed your hands alongside you. “ma'am, may i ask you something? it might sound a little intrusive, but i promise i mean it in a nice way.”

caught slightly off-guard, you nodded your head. “absolutely! don't worry about being intrusive, just ask whatever you want to.”

she gave you a wide smile, giggling slightly. “you and your boyfriend look so cute together! how long have you been together? if you don't mind me asking, of course–”

you quickly cut her off. “oh no no no—he isn't my boyfriend, he is my best friend’s. they have been together for a year, so this was supposed to be their anniversary lunch.”

the waitress gave you a skeptical look. realising exactly how weird your answer just sounded, you rushed to explain yourself. “w-wait wait wait—i know it sounds weird, but i promise i’m telling the truth. i sent her a ‘happy anniversary’ text this morning, to which she told me to accompany her to her anniversary lunch, since her boyfriend’s recently dumped friend was coming along, and her boyfriend didn't want him to be a third wheel…” you trailed off, noticing the look of disbelief on her face.

you didn't know why you felt the need to explain the situation to a complete stranger, but you weren't going to question your anxiety induced instincts. you took out your phone, showing her your texts with chaeyoung from the morning, while continuing to rant to her. “–but for some reason, she hasn't been picking up my calls, despite her being the one to invite me to this. she even reserved the table in the first place, but… oh well.”

at that, the server furrowed her brows. she seemed to believe you, although only to a certain extent now. “uhm… ma'am, are you sure? the table you were sat at was reserved by who we thought was your boyfriend. no girl came in to reserve that table for today. but he did so, yesterday. said he wanted to have lunch with his girlfriend in peace, without anyone interrupting, and that today was the only opportunity for doing so.”

you were stunned at the revelation. you were sure heeseung told you that the table was reserved by chaeyoung, not him. why would the server lie? hell, why would heeseung lie? this revelation, paired with your best friend not picking up her calls… something wasn't adding up.

the server waved her hand in front of you to get your attention. “uh, ma'am…?”

you quickly snapped back to reality, the unsettling feeling you usually got around heeseung creeping back. “o-oh yea, uhm—can you help me out really quick?”

sensing the undertone of panic in your voice, her face quickly became serious. “of course, whatever you need.”

you gulped. “so, uhm—i- i think my best friend’s boyfriend—the guy i was sitting with right now—lied to me, and my friend isn't picking my calls either. d-does your restaurant perhaps have a… a backdoor, or something similar to that?”

she didn’t question it anymore, nodding quickly. she gave you the directions to the backdoor, which luckily happened to be nearby, just behind the kitchen. she promised to keep your escapade a secret, and also promised to make heeseung pay the entire bill.

“–oh, and please be careful. the backdoor is connected to a network of alleys, which are filled with homeless people. they are always looking for an opportunity to steal, especially from unsuspecting women. there's also a lot of—well, men, so you need to be extra careful.” you quickly thanked her, heeding to her directions.

you got out of the washroom, finding the backdoor quickly enough. you went outside through it, the door leading into a back alley. you quickly navigated through it, wary of any potential homeless people that might think you're an easy target for them to steal from.

you kept turning corners, staying at least five meters away from any suspicious people. however, you soon felt as if you were being followed. since you were in an area infested with men that were starving—in more ways than one, you didn't pay as much attention to it—although you should have, since that was extremely stupid of you. it turned out to be a big mistake on your part, since you soon felt someone hit your head—hard—with something that was probably made of metal.

your head exploded in pain, causing you to clutch it tightly with both hands. you felt someone catch you as you fell backwards, holding onto you tightly, your vision unsteady. as you swam in and out of consciousness, you could swear you heard a laugh. it was the most unsettling sound you had ever heard. the last thing you heard before you blacked out sent a chill down your spine.

“that eager to escape me? not fucking happening princess.”

when you woke up, you couldn't open your eyes, nor could you open your mouth to scream. you tried to move your hands and legs, but they seemed to have been tied up as well. you could tell that you were tied to a chair, but you had no idea why, or how—or who did it. what would anyone gain from kidnapping you?

you let out a muffled scream through your gag, trying to catch the attention of literally anyone. to add to your anxiety, you heard another muffled scream in response. you tried to struggle against your binds—which you just realised were fucking metallic chains—but it was a futile attempt.

in the midst of your struggling, you didn't hear the footsteps nearby, or the door opening. so naturally you were surprised when the blindfold was yanked off of you. you squint your eyes, to adjust to the sudden brightness, while your captor ripped off your gag as well. you promptly let out an ear piercing scream.

your captor let out a groan, putting his hand on your mouth, effectively shutting you up. “for fuck’s sake, shut up. no one can hear you—at least no one that can save you can hear you, so shut up and spare me the trouble of going deaf. or i can leave the gag on, whichever works best for you.”

you immediately stopped trying to scream, your eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness—or excessive darkness, whatever it was. to your utter horror, your captor was lee fucking heeseung of all people. you did have a bad feeling about him, but for it to be true? that was something you weren't prepared for.

you gulped, your throat feeling slightly parched. you looked around, your eyes landing on another girl that was tied up. her blindfold and gag was still on, but she didn't seem to be straining against her binds. from the almost dried tear patches on the blindfold, and the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, you assumed that she had given up trying to struggle.

as you analyzed her carefully, the pit in your stomach grew. that was chaeyoung. “w-what did you do to h-her? why—why are we here? why are you doing this? l-let us go!”

he let out a chuckle, which only caused the pit in your stomach to grow bigger. he put both of his hands on the arms of the chair you were tied to, leaning closer to you. his face had the most bone-chilling smirk ever. “‘why?’ that's a great question. cute, even. it's cuter how you think i’ll let either of you go.”

noticing your breath hitch, he leaned even closer, his voice more of a sultry whisper. “your friend… she was just a puppet. a pawn, in my game.”

your eyes were brimming with unshed tears, your voice shaky. “g-game?”

he chuckled. “why yes, a game. my game. the game to get closer to you.”

you froze, causing him to hold in a laugh at how your eyes widened comically. “m-me? closer t-to me? w-why? why would you want to—how would that even benefit you–?”

he tilted his head to the side. “why? because i like you, silly. i’m in love with you. always have been.”

your mouth hung open in disbelief. “...what?”

he caressed your cheek, his touch tender—a great contrast to how he kidnapped you, and tied you up to a chair, in some random, abandoned, basement. “we went to the same school. we were never in the same section throughout all of our school years, but i still noticed you. i always did. how could i not? you were the most beautiful among them all, a rose in between thorns. a lone firefly, shining in a field of darkness. naturally, i was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.”

he cupped your jaw with the same hand that was caressing your face just seconds ago, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “anything and everything you did, always had me thinking, wondering, hoping—that you were doing it for me. just for me. to catch my attention. you don't need anyone else anyways, i’m more than enough for you. you just… don't see it yet.”

his grip on your jaw grew slightly tighter, your wince of pain going unnoticed by him. a crazy glimmer appeared in his eyes. “that's why i needed to wait. wait for the perfect opportunity, the right moment—until it finally presented itself. in the form of your best friend, chaeyoung. she wasn't difficult to sway. her trusting nature made it even easier. she talks a lot, a bit too much sometimes—but of course, you would know—you’re her best friend after all. she made it easy to know everything about you, things i couldn't find from stalking you. suddenly, you were so, so much closer. but not close enough. you still didn't care enough, you still weren't mine.”

you were freaking out. this whole situation was insane. he was insane. you were a hundred percent sure that you had never even seen him at school! yet he claimed to have been in the same one as you? either you were as invincibly ignorant as a town-fop judging of a new play, or he was bluffing. based on the current situation, he was definitely not bluffing.

but how? how could you have missed the fact that you were getting stalked? stalked! this was so, so bizarre. you were terrified, both for your life, and chaeyoung’s. you felt guilty that she had gotten involved, when clearly this was all about you.

heeseung continued talking. “so i had to do something. something, literally anything, to finally have you all to myself. the one thing i was glad for, was the fact that you remained single, your disinterest in relationships being both a blessing and a curse. it was the reason i lured chaeyoung into this, instead of getting to you directly. although, she could have gotten away from all of this, unharmed, if you weren't so… nosey.” 

he started caressing your cheek again. “don't know why, but for some reason you started to become… uncomfortable around me. i didn't know why, since i was more than sure that i didn't do anything to make you feel that way. but you still did. so of course, i had to do something fast. i scraped together this elaborate plan, one that involved me and chaeyoung breaking up, after i found her ‘cheating’ on me on our one year anniversary, and you consoling me, but—you just had to run away. naturally, i had to bring both of you here.”

you gulped, trying to steal your nerves. “please—you said it yourself, it's me who you want, not her—so please, let her go. she did nothing, she doesn't need to be involved in this–”

he tutted, cutting you off. “ah ah ah—where’s the fun in that? she is going to remain right here, as long as i see fit.”

he took his hand off your face, stepping away from you. he walked towards chaeyoung, a few meters away from you. your heart broke, seeing the fresh tear tracks on her face, the wet patches on her blindfold being clearly visible. your own tears broke free, once he ripped her blindfold off. she squinted in the light, her eyes landing on you. a fresh batch of tears cascaded down her face.

before you could call out to her, your eyes widened, your body freezing. heeseung was pointing a gun to her head. chaeyoung realised it, muffled sobs breaking free from behind her gag—which, for some reason, he didn’t take off, unlike what he did to yours. he rolled his eyes, nudging her head with the gun. “shut up. or i won't hesitate to blow your brains out.”

she immediately tried to stop, a small muffled hiccup escaping her in the process. heeseung rolled his eyes again, walking away from her, towards you. he kept the gun pointed towards her. he stopped in front of you, clicking the safety off. he smirked down at you. “you want her to live?”

you nodded frantically, your eyes shaking from how much you were crying. he snickered at your state. he put the gun under your chin, using it to tilt your head up, towards him. “in that case, you better do whatever i tell you to. and no trying to act smart, or else…”

he pointed the gun at chaeyoung again, flipping the gun in his hand, making it point at her again. he made a small ‘bang!’ sound with his mouth, imitating the gun going off. with your body raking with silent sobs, you nodded again, eyes red from your tears.

he smirked again. “that’s a good girl. just keep being obedient like this, yea?”

he didn’t wait for you to nod your head, or say yes again, going straight to business instead. to your—and chaeyoung's—utter horror, he began using his unoccupied hand to unbutton his jeans, under which he was somehow already hard. he pulled down the zipper—your widened, teary eyes and shocked, tear-stricken face making him stifle a groan, sending more blood straight down south, towards his cock. oh, he was going to have so much fun playing with you.

you looked in horror as he shrugged off his pants, glancing over at chaeyoung’s equally horrified face, before looking up at his face. in a panicked state, you spoke. “w-what are you doing–?”

he snickered at you, the gun not once moving from the direction of your best friend. his pants had come off, his hard bulge straining against his boxers, a large spot of precum having already formed on it. “what do you think?”

your expression was one of disgust, mixed with panic. there was no way you were going to suck your best friend's cock right in front of her, while you were both tied up to chairs, your lives in great danger. “you can't make me–”

“i can’t?” he interrupted you with a scoff, his hand pulling down his boxers. he shrugged them off, his leaking cock slapping on his stomach, leaving a trail of his sticky precum behind. his tip was an angry red, demanding immediate attention. “i can’t?” he repeated, his voice taking on a mocking tone. “what makes you think you have a choice? unless you want your oh-so-beloved friend here to die?”

he made a move as to pull the trigger, as you quickly yelled out, your eyes widening in panic. “no no no wait—please, i-i’ll do it, don’t shoot her, please–”

he smirked. you were so, so easy to scare. but apparently chaeyoung was too, since he heard a scared whimper—or a muffled sob—whatever, from her direction. he rolled his eyes subtly at the sound. he stepped closer to you, holding the base of his dick. his musky smell immediately invaded your nose, causing you to subtly scrunch it. although the smell wasn’t disgusting, his act sure was. he nudged it against your unwilling lips, coating it in a layer of his precum. he decided that it was by far the prettiest gloss he had seen you wear. “well? go on and suck it. or do you need more motivation?”

by motivation, he meant putting chaeyoung to sleep forever, of course. obviously you didn’t want that, so you quickly opened your mouth, your tongue darting out to give his tip a tentative lick. the salty taste immediately invaded your taste buds, causing you to gag slightly.

the action, however, elicited a completely different reaction from heeseung. he almost fell forward with a groan, balancing himself just in time, by holding onto the top of your chair. it set a chain reaction of his cock getting pushed further in your direction. despite your unwillingness, you were fuelled with the thought of you and your best friend getting out of the hell hole—unharmed—if you obeyed him. so you tilted your head, licking a long stripe along a vein on the underside of his cock. it stretched from his base, till his tip. your tongue’s movement caused him to twitch above you, more precum dribbling out of his tip.

above you, heeseung was a mess. god-fucking-damnit, this was what he had been missing out on?! chaeyoung’s head game was nothing compared to yours, and you had barely done anything.

it was getting harder to keep the gun pointed at her, so he decided to taunt her instead. he turned to the side, towards her, to mock her—only to be met with her eyes shut tightly, tears streaming down her face. displeased by the sight, he called out to her, trying to not sound breathless. “stop acting like a fucking prude, and open your goddamn eyes. i could shoot you right now, the only reason i’m not is because of your friend right here–” he gestured down to you, seeing as she opened her eyes again, which were red and swollen from crying. “–so you better be grateful to her, and keep your eyes on her. or else… you know what kind fate is waiting for you.”

hearing him threaten her directly, made your actions falter. you glanced at chaeyoung again—the sight of her teary eyes causing a fresh batch to roll down your eyes. you mouthed a ‘i promise i’ll get us out of here—unharmed’ to which she simply shook her head. your promise was empty words, as long as you both were here—under the threat of heeseung’s insanity. she didn’t hold it against you, she knew you didn’t want this either. but as long as heeseung was here, you both weren’t safe.

not liking how you stopped, heeseung fisted your hair tightly in his unoccupied hand, pushing your face forcefully towards his cock once again. you had done the mistake of gasping at his tight grip, causing his cock to push itself inside your deliciously warm mouth.

heeseung had to once again let go of your hair, to hold onto the top of the chair, trying to steady himself. fuck, your mouth felt so much better than chaeyoung’s ever did. he let out an unbashed moan, as you slowly bobbed your head up and down his length. “fuck,” your tongue swirled around his tip, collecting his precum, the action only causing more to ooze out. your tongue pressed down on his slit, causing him to throw his head back. “just like that baby,” he gripped the top of the chair tightly, in order to avoid thrusting into your mouth. “hah—doing s’fucking great f’me–”

he got cut off by his own groan, as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him off harshly. your tongue rubbed deliciously on the underside of his cock, the combined mixture of your saliva and his precum making it easier for you to take him in and out of your mouth. you tried your best to tune out the muffled sobs from chaeyoung in the corner—you were doing this so that she wouldn't be killed, not for your selfish reasons. as long as heeseung was satisfied, you both would be safe.

heeseung thought the same, as he seemed to want to take full advantage of that fact. unable to resist temptation anymore, he thrust his hips forward, relishing in how you gagged around him. he stood still for a moment, just to bask in the warmth of your throat.

but you only had one goal. satisfy him—impress him—till he deemed your performance good enough to let you and chaeyoung leave. which is why he was soon pleasantly surprised, as you took him further in, deep throating him. he almost moaned at the sight of his bulge in your throat. chaeyoung could never do that.

he took a glance at her, his hand holding the gun starting to ache. she was looking straight at you, small sobs raking through her body, tears running down her eyes in a steady stream. with his gun still cocked straight in her direction, he used his unoccupied hand to grab your throat, pressing down on your bulge. he let out a moan as you choked, the pressure on his cock being more than perfect.

seeing you struggling to breathe, he rolled his eyes slightly. “breathe through your nose.” it was all he said, before he pulled almost completely out of your mouth. without giving you barely enough time to take a breath, he slammed back in, your nose pushing against his abdomen. his balls slapped against your chin, as you choked, trying hard to breathe through your nose. his hand gripped your hair tightly, as he started fucking your mouth—throat—roughly.

your wrists and shins were hurting from how the chains were digging into them, bruises having definitely formed on them by now. from his merciless pace and brutal thrusts, your throat palate, as well as your chin, was sure to be bruised later as well. tears were streaming down your eyes, mirroring chaeyoung's—not just from the brutality of his pace, but from the entire situation. you never thought that one day you would have to let heeseung fuck your throat, just to ensure that you and chaeyoug could live for another day.

but unexpected situations happen everyday, as heeseung’s pace turned sloppy. “fuck fuck fuck–” he changed his fast pace and short strokes to slow and deep thrusts, his cock going impossibly deep inside your throat everytime—as if he was trying to leave an imprint in it.

finally, he let out a broken moan. “o-oh fuck—mmm–” he pulled out of your mouth quickly, his hand clutching the base of his cock to avoid cumming immediately. he started jerking off at a fast pace in front of your face. “f-fuck—open your m-mouth f’me baby—n’ stick out your tongue–”

you did as he said, screwing your eyes shut. you didn't want to accidentally make eye contact with your best friend. your face and neck was already burning hot from embarrassment, you didn't need to feel guilty as well—not that any of this was your fault in the first place.

with a loud curse, and a broken moan of your name, his orgasm finally crashed over him. spurts of warm cum erupted from his angry red tip, landing all over your face. most of it landed on your tongue, but quite a bit landed on your eyelids, nose, and cheeks as well. admiring his masterpiece with a darkened look in his eyes, heeseung spoke. “don't swallow… yet.”

he swiped the excess cum off your face with his finger, to the best of his abilities. “swallow.” he ordered, leaving no room for disobedience. he watched as you gulped, your subtle look of disgust going unnoticed. “open your mouth again,” he said, watching with a dark satisfaction, as you obeyed. he pushed his cum covered finger inside your mouth. “suck it, and swallow everything.”

you did just that, although you really wished you could spit it out instead. without him asking, you opened your mouth wide open, showing how you swallowed every drop. it was only then, that you dared to speak, your voice hoarse from his ministrations. “c-can we go now? i p-promise neither of us will tell anyone.”

at your question, he laughed. full on laughed. “‘leave’?” he echoed; as if it were some foreign language. he brought his hand that was holding the gun towards your face, before using it to tilt your chin up. “why do you want to leave so soon, baby? you need a reward first, don't you think so?”

you blinked confusedly. “a reward…?”

a smirk creeped up on his face. “why yes, a reward. you have been such a good girl for me, of course you need a reward! besides, it's only logical that i return the favour, isn't it?”

your eyes widened, as the realisation settled in. “oh, i-i don't think that's necessary–”

he subtly rolled his eyes, already sinking down on his knees in front of you. “of course it is necessary! can't just leave a girl hanging, you know?”

your eyes were wide with panic, looking at chaeyoung, as if expecting her to help—her own eyes were wide open, as she gulped inaudibly. at this point, she was simply grateful that the two of you were alive.

you squirmed, as heeseung placed the gun down beside him, giving chaeyoung a break. his hands moved up and down your legs, lifting your dress up, bunching it around your hips, leaving you squirming uncomfortably. “h-heeseung please, i r-really don't think this is necessary.”

his jaw clenched at your words, as he tightened grip on your legs. he forced his voice to be sickly sweet, as he spoke. “but that's the problem, isn't it? you women always think you know everything; whatever you decide is correct, is always correct. news flash darling—not everything is sunshine and rainbows. there are loads of things out of your control, things that you should simply relax and let others do for you. so shut up, and let me do what i want to, got it? or do you want me to blow chaeyoung’s brains out, since threatening you seems to be the only way you learn to listen?”

you gulped, tears stinging your eyes, as you met his hardened gaze. how long were you both going to be trapped here? how long before he finally got bored of these games and killed you both off? how long?

heeseung produced a knife from his pocket, your panic settling in again. you only calmed down—slightly—when you saw him use it to slowly tear through your panties, careful not to hurt you. although, the knife being so close to your skin scared you shitless anyways.

he sliced through them, the cold air coming in contact with your bare core, a shiver running through you. as he smirked at you, leaning closer to lick a stripe up your cunt, you suppressed a flinch. fuck, this was really happening.

you watched as he gathered a wad of saliva with his tongue, before spitting directly on your clit. you flinched slightly, which he took great delight in. heeseung watched his spit slowly drip down your pussy, causing him to be unable to resist temptation. he pushed his face towards your core, kissing it, before diving in. his tongue pushed deep inside you, something which unintentionally caused tingles of pleasure to run through you. you gasped loudly. “oh—god—wait, d-don't–”

your broken sounds only spurred him on more, as he dragged his tongue across your inner walls, his moan reverberating through your cunt. he licked at your walls, slurping up your juices, like a starving man. you tasted so fucking good, so much better than chaeyoung. but your squirming was pissing him off, his bruisingly tight grip on your thighs not being enough to keep you still.

even after digging his blunt nails into your thighs, you didn't stop the squirming—even though he knew you were loving it. especially given the way you kept letting out broken gasps and the way you pushed your absolutely delicious cunt further onto his face. it was really starting to piss him off.

he quite reluctantly pulled off to glare at you. “why is it so hard for you to sit still, hm? it's getting really fucking annoying, you know?”

you gulped, panting slightly. “i-i just—really want you to stop…”

he raised a brow, his expression otherwise blank. “oh really? because ‘it doesn't feel good’?”

you nodded quickly—a little too quickly. “y-yea! it f-feels weird—not good in the slightest.”

his jaw clenched—again. “well,” he gritted out. “in that case, i’ll have to try something else, don't you think so?”

you blinked, before furrowing your brows. “what–?”

he proceeded to pick up the gun from beside him, relishing in the way your eyes widened in horror. “if my mouth makes you feel so—uncomfortable, we will just need something else, hm? an object perhaps?”

your breathing grew shallow, as you realised where this was going. “n-no, please–”

he sneered at you. “too fucking late for that, princess.”

he pushed the barrel of the gun inside you slowly, watching as it slid in with ease, due to his previous ministrations. he ignored your sobs and cries to stop, relishing in the way your pussy sucked it right in. “sure you don't want this princess? your pussy disagrees with your mouth, you know?”

your head faced the ceiling, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip painfully, to conceal your whimpers. your eyes were screwed shut, praying that this was just a terrifying nightmare, one you hoped you would wake up quickly from. you swore you heard a whimper near you, which was probably one of utter horror, elicited by chaeyoung, since she was witnessing everything—but you didn't have time to worry about her anymore, since your own life was in a much graver situation.

you let out a whimper as heeseung pushed the barrel of the gun even deeper inside you, the disgusting squelching sound from your slick almost making you gag. why, just why did this situation have to happen with you of all people?

heeseung on the other hand, was enjoying himself. he pulled the barrel out slightly, before pushing it right back in. the sounds that your cunt produced were music to his ears, your whimpers of horror and choked sobs only fuelling his sick delight. he knew you liked it, even if it was only to a certain extent. why else would your cunt clench down on the gun enough to make it hard for him to pull it out? 

he made sure to voice out his exact thoughts to you. “such a slutty hole you have… don’t you, pretty girl? it will get wet for anything that is hard enough to stick inside it, won’t it?” he revelled in the particularly loud squelch that your pussy made, when he pushed the barrel in deeper. “ah… point proven.”

tears were streaming down your face at a fast, never ending pace, your face and neck burning up from a mix of emotions—fear, anger, humiliation—everything. even if you gave him his—his satisfaction, would it be enough to keep him satisfied for long enough? were you really going to die here? here? under these circumstances?

heeseung used his other hand to rub your clit, tired of your resistance. he rubbed dizzying circles around your hardened bundle with nerves, with deliberate slowness, the gesture teasing, with a hint of impatience. your breath hitched, giving him the incentive to continue his actions. he pinched your clit, drawing out a shocked gasp, before rubbing it harshly.

your head was spinning. with the gun still dangerously sliding in and out of you, and the added stimulation of your clit, it was hard to focus on anything. your head tipped back, and before you could control yourself, a moan slipped past. “h-heeseu—ah–”

you immediately bit your lip, your eyes widening, surprised by yourself. did you really just…?

heeseung on the other hand, was on cloud nine. he was both elated, yet shocked at the same time. with a nasty grin, and a crazed gleam in his eyes, he fastened the pace of the gun, pinching and flicking your bundle of nerves. “fuuuuck baby—do it again, c’mon—i knew you were a nasty little slut, just needed a little bit of… encouragement, isn’t that it? c’mon pretty, again–”

your eyes screwed shut, as you refused to let any sounds escape again, despite the very loud moan bubbling up in your throat. you tried to squeeze your legs shut, as his actions started to make you feel alarmingly good. for fuck’s sake, there was a goddamn gun inside you—how on earth were you liking this?!

heeseung caught on immediately, pushing your legs further apart, sliding the gun in and out of you at a ruthless pace, forcing another moan out of you. with how fast he was rubbing your clit, it was extremely hard to not moan—in fact, it was hard for you to even breathe, given how he was drawing out choked out moans from you at an almost inhuman pace.

he leaned down, replacing the thumb on your clit with his tongue, sucking on it harshly. you almost doubled over from the intense feeling, letting out a sharp cry. he bit down on your clit, the gun drawing out disgusting noises, as it dragged across your slimy walls, coated in your arousal. he flicked your clit with his tongue, enjoying the choked sob you let out.

your stomach started to tighten, the alarming realisation of your rapidly approaching orgasm alarming you. you tried to squeeze your legs shut, drawing out a groan of… pleasure, from heeseung. he sucked on your clit harder, rolling it around with his tongue. he paid no attention to what you were babbling about. “h-heeseung—hng!—stop—i- i can’t—ah–”

he flicked your clit again, before increasing the pace of his hand, the gun pounding into you with alarmingly deep strokes. he bit your bundle of nerves again—not too harshly, but enough to finally make the band in your stomach snap.

your vision went white, your ears ringing loudly, as your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami. clear liquid sprayed out of your cunt, coating the lower half of heeseung’s face and his hand with your squirt. he was quick to try his best and lick up every drop, before looking up at you; his eyes dark, a predatory smirk on his face.

as you came down from your high, you locked eyes with him, immediately understanding what had just happened. red hot shame washed over you, covering you like a blanket of fire. it creeped up your neck and face, making you want to crawl into a hole and never see the light of the day again.

“well…” heeseung said, sliding the gun out of your sensitive pussy, your face scrunching from the sound of your wetness. “there is absolutely no way you can deny not liking this now—any of this. you’re enjoying this a lot more than you’re letting on darling, and this proved just that.”

you pant, trying to catch your breath. you suddenly remembered about chaeyoung—fuck. she watched all of it. well—there was nothing you could do. heeseung is… insane, that bit was for sure. this was all technically her fault. if only she didn’t approach him that night, all of this wouldn’t have happened. you wouldn’t have been the one to suffer.

were you feeling bitter? yes, extremely so. after all, why wouldn’t you? chaeyoung was a pawn in heeseung’s sick and twisted game to attain you for some weird reason, which could have all been avoided if it wasn’t for her thirsty ass that fell for a random guy that smirked at her in some bar one day. her lack of self control caused this, so yes, excuse you for feeling bitter and resenting your oh-so-beloved best friend.

suddenly, as if heeseung hadn't yet reached the height of insanity, he brought the barrel of the gun towards his mouth. he locked eyes with you, relishing in the way your eyes widened in a mixture of shock and fear, before engulfing the barrel with his lips. still maintaining eye contact with you, he sucked the barrel of the gun, licking off your juices.

your breath hitched, as you gulped. what the actual fuck was wrong with him?

you watched as he took the gun out of his mouth with a pop, setting it aside. he got up, his dick on full display, already rock hard, with precum dribbling out of it. he untied your hands, but gave you no chance to move them, before producing a pair of handcuffs from his discarded pants. he used them to bind your hands together, before untying your legs.

once you were free to move from the chair, he dragged you off it, before shoving you down on the ground, face first. you landed with an uncomfortable thud, almost falling on your face because of your dress. you managed to balance yourself on your hands, trying your best to steady yourself.

before you could do much, heeseung was grabbing you again, manhandling you, so that you now faced in chaeyoung's direction. he went over to her—ignoring her sobs—turning her chair to make her face you directly. you gulped, tears streaming down you face again as you both locked eyes. silent apologies were exchanged between you both, the fear of heeseung’s newfound crazy side terrifying you both to death.

your heart raced against your chest, as you watched heeseung pick up the gun again. he got behind you, as you heard his knees hit the ground—presumably from kneeling down. all the colour vanished from your face, your blood running cold. was he seriously going to–

you didn't have to wonder for too long, your fears getting confirmed, as he lifted up your dress unceremoniously, bunching it up on your lower back. you squeezed your eyes shut, a whimper of utter humiliation leaving you, as he squeezed your ass cheeks. he slapped them, watching them jiggle, before continuing to rub and squeeze them. it was then that you made a promise to yourself: if you made it out of there—alive—you were going to make sure he rotted in jail for the rest of his life.

you felt his hand graze against your wet and still sensitive cunt, a shiver running down your spine. he noticed it immediately, giving your pussy a slap. your eyes widened in shock, a loud gasp leaving you. his grip on your ass cheeks tightened. “you know…” he leaned down, his torso pressing against your back, his lips close to your ear. “you looked so, so cute squirting over that gun—even after pretending that you hated every second of it. think you can do it again? on my cock this time?”

your eyes widened, as you stared down at the ground in a mixture of shock and disgust. “heeseung,” you spoke, your voice shaky. “i-i think this has gone too far already–”

he pinched your clit harshly, making you cry out in pain. “shut the fuck up. i don't remember asking you whether it has gone ‘too far’ or not. was the question really that hard for your pea sized brain to comprehend?”

he grabbed the knife from the pocket of his discarded jeans, barely giving you any time to react, as he cut open your dress—leaving you bare to his eyes. he groped your tits with one hand, keeping the knife away again. he twisted your nipple, smirking when you let out a whimper of pain. “perhaps you can't answer such simple questions. must be too hard for you to understand, aren't they?”

his mocking tone made your face and neck burn with humiliation—along with the fact that chaeyoung was witnessing all of it. her boyfriend of one year forcing himself upon her best friend. you didn't know who to feel more sorry for—yourself, or for her.

with another pinch on your nipple, this time harder than before, heeseung drew your attention back to him. “maybe i should stop asking questions and just get on with it. you would like that, wouldn't you? oh, my bad, forgot sluts can't comprehend basic questions.”

without another word, he plunged two fingers right into your—to your utter horror—dripping hole, dragging them across your inner walls. you suppressed a whimper, as he began scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching out your already stretched and very sensitive cunt.

you screwed your eyes shut, your forehead touching the ground—floor, your teeth painfully biting down on your bottom lip. you hated how he dragged you both here, hated what he was doing to you, hated that he made chaeyoung watch—you despise his very existence. unfortunately, seething in your mind did nothing to improve the situation. in fact, it only continued to lower your morale.

heeeseung rubbed slow circles around your hardened bundle of nerves, trying to evoke any kind of sound from you—nothing. you were being stubborn, refusing to give in. well—fine by him. he could always catch you by surprise. which, given the current situation, was something he had been doing this whole day.

he pulled you closer by your hips, your knees scraping the ground slightly in process, a pained noise of protest eliciting from you. but that wasn’t even the actual surprise. your breath hitched, your heartbeat running wild, as you felt his tip sliding through your wetness, collecting your slick. this was really happening.

knowing it was bound to happen—dreading it—didn’t really make it easier. if you had known that chaeyoung going to the bar a year ago would have landed you in this position, you would have never let her go. this—this was worse than anything else that could have possibly happened.

you felt him start to slowly push in—a slightly difficult feat, since you were doing your best to resist—but your cunt was doing the opposite. his grip on your hips tightened. “c’mon pretty,” he pushed in another inch. “just let me in, yeah? don’t—fuck—don’t be such an uncooperative little bitch.”

he pushed all the way in with a grunt, your pained whimper accompanying it. “fuuuuckkk,” he groaned in satisfaction, enjoying the way your core pulsed around him. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

heeseung didn’t really wait for an answer—he knew he wasn’t going to get one from you anyways. he slid almost completely out, before slamming back in, letting out a loud groan of satisfaction at the wet squelching noise. noticing that you were struggling to hold yourself up, he let out a snicker, before yanking your body upwards slightly. he balanced himself on his knees, setting a slow, yet satisfactory enough pace for himself. he squeezed your tit with one hand, before yanking on your chin, making you face chaeyoung again. he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “look at her,” the small sob you let out had him thrust into you at a particularly harsh pace. “doesn’t she look lonely there? such a shame, this was all your fault after all. if only you noticed me back in school.”

he slammed himself into you, tip kissing your cervix, his pelvis hitting your ass. he reveled in the way it bounced with every thrust, his hands never stopping their wandering, groping and squeezing every bit of flesh he could reach. the look in chaeyoung’s eyes made you wonder if cooperating with him in the first place was the right decision. wasn’t dying better than this torture that he was putting you both through currently?

fisting your hair, he yanked your head back, slamming his mouth onto yours. he practically devoured your lips, barely giving you a chance to breathe. it was as if he was quite literally trying to steal your breath. biting down on your lip, he fastened his pace, each thrust forcefully eliciting loud gasps and whimpers from you, sounds that he gladly swallowed. “keep making those pretty sounds for me baby, it’s only making me want to continue to ruin you.”

a fresh batch of tears rolled down your eyes, as his hand snaked down to rub your clit. more moans of his name spilled out of your mouth—telling him to stop—but they only served to encourage him further.

detaching his mouth from yours, he put his hand on your back, pushing it into an arch, as he continued to pound into you. you could see stars at the back of your eyes, unwanted pleasure starting to cloud your senses. holy fuck—this wasn't supposed to feel good. but it did. it felt so fucking good.

you could feel every single vein of his dragging across your inner walls, cock curving into you and hitting all the right spots. it felt good—he felt good. dizzyingly good.

you didn't even realise when you let out a broken moan of his name, pure unadulterated pleasure laced in your voice. “hee—ahh—seung–”

the effect, however, was immediate. his hips slowed down, before he completely stilled inside you. when he spoke, his voice was soft, sounding like a dangerous whisper. “what was that?”

you didn't really hear his question, too focused on the way the pleasure was suddenly gone. you wiggled your hips, trying to get it back. it was as if you were drunk; completely delirious of your surroundings. he gripped your hips to still you, repeating his question. “i said, what was that?”

you barely registered his words, opting to just say his name. “h-heeseung?”

“fuck.”

with a loud groan, he pulled almost completely out, before slamming back in, his pace brutally fast now. the grip he had on your hips was sure to bruise later on. the fast pace had his balls slapping against your clit continuously, the motion only serving to pull more sounds of unadulterated pleasure from you. it was sickening, the way your body was starting to like this, the rational part of your brain completely ignoring chaeyoung’s existence.

it wasn't that any of it mattered to him. all that did matter to heeseung was you, and right now you were doing more than okay. chaeyoung was a… casualty in his quest to obtain you. a quest that obviously was—to his utter delight—very much successful.

you didn’t know how long he had been going at it, you just knew it had been long enough. the tingling in your clit was driving you insane; your release so close—yet so far.

heeseung was seemingly holding out. it was as if he was afraid of this to end, in a way. afraid that maybe all of it is just a dream—you’re not really here. none of this is actually real.

fortunately for him, everything was very much real. it was all happening. you were really in his grasp, he was really fucking you, while chaeyoung was being forced to watch. along with the fact that you were liking it. enjoying it. that was real too.

perhaps he had enough of playing around. or maybe he just remembered his previous wish—was it even a wish?—of wanting to see you squirt on his cock. but either way, he suddenly did a three sixty. or one eighty. whichever would be more accurate in describing his current mood, as he harshly pinched your clit.

you let out a sharp gasp, an incredulous “heeseung—!” leaving you. but he ignored it, opting to flick your hardened nub, rubbing torturous circles around it. he has to see you squirt on his cock, he knows you can do it—he can make you do it.

your gasps soon turn into moans, which encourage him to continue. his actions were driving you to your breaking point, that much was clear from your reactions. the way you were clenching around his cock, making it harder for him to continue to thrust into you? so fucking delicious.

perhaps he should have done this sooner. you know, this whole kidnapping thing. you could have been his a lot earlier then. but then again, patience is the key. this was the best chance he has ever gotten, it was only logical for him to pull such a stunt today. besides, good things take time to acquire. and you, are the best fucking thing to ever exist.

the band in your stomach continued to grow tighter and tighter and tighter, to a point that it physically hurt. so you did the logical thing, and told him—all the while tears slipped past uncontrollably from the pain. “h-heeseung—please, it hurts, i can’t–”

but he shut you up immediately, rubbing your clit at a harsher pace. “yes, yes you can, you’re so fucking close, c’mon–”

the pressure in your stomach was insane, so was the pressure on your clit. the pace of heeseung’s thrusts was bordering maniac, that’s how fast he was going. it was a mix of pain and pleasure, your brain fogging up, vision going foggy.

heeseung’s hand was starting to tire, but he doubled his pace, desperate to see you squirt again. “please please please–” he chanted, like a mantra. you were so fucking close, damn it–

then it happened. your vision went white, shapes visible in the back of your eyes. white noise ringing in your ears. your back arched almost uncomfortably, as you let out a loud cry. your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, your squirt spraying all over his lower abdomen, wetting his shirt. it kept spraying, coating his cock, as he plunged in and out of you at an insane pace, making you ride out your orgasm.

as your vision slowly swam back, you felt him pull your hips back one last time, burying himself to the hilt, before ropes of warm cum spurted out of his tip. it coated your inner walls in white, as he let out a satisfied groan. he slowly pulled out his softening length, reveling in the way his cum dripped out of you.

you collapsed to the floor, close to passing out. you were sore, so fucking sore. heeseung felt the tiniest bit of pity for you, but he could take care of you later. right now, he has something else to take care of.

he slowly pulled you up, making you sit in his lap, facing the front. he forced you to open your eyes, and face chaeyoung. your eyes widened slightly, regret and guilt starting to hit you. you had almost forgotten that she was still there. you could barely meet her eyes from shame, not wanting to look at her expression of hurt, or her dried tears.

but heeseung wasn’t having any of it. he made you face her, properly. your breath hitched, feeling the gun touching your chin. “look at her properly darling,” his voice was husky, and creepy. something about his tone didn’t make you feel very good about whatever was about to come out of his mouth next. turns out, you were right to be scared.

“because this will be the last time you ever do.”

before you even had time to process his words, a loud ‘bang!’ rang out through the basement, making you flinch. as you opened your eyes, disbelief and horror was etched upon your features.

surely—surely that wasn’t chaeyoung slumped over in that chair? blood dripping from her head. surely? she was—she was just alive! it can’t be—it simply couldn’t be–

but you didn’t even have time to process that, as you felt a sharp pain on your neck, before everything started to go black. you hadn’t noticed when heeseung had produced a syringe from his jeans’ pocket, just like you didn’t notice him picking up that gun. the same gun that ended chaeyoung’s life.

when you woke up, you were dressed in clothes that you didn’t recognise. but they were larger than you, so you guessed they belonged to heeseung. your left hand was tied to the bedpost with handcuffs, the rest of your body free to move—even if it wasn’t exactly freedom. the room you were in was… dingy, and quite small, with just one window and a singular cabinet on the other side of the room. there was a nightstand with an untouched glass of water on it—but you wouldn’t dare drink from it.

as you slowly sat up, you folded your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. you stared at the wall—and everything started rushing into your mind at once in a huddled mess. chaeyoung and heeseung’s anniversary lunch, chaeyoung’s absence from her own anniversary lunch, the kidnapping, chaeyoung’s death–

oh.

oh.

chaeyoung was dead.

when the tears came, it was as if a dam broke. the tears flowed and flowed, with no signs of stopping. you didn’t want to cry. what was the use of crying? would these tears bring her back? it wouldn’t. nothing would. she was gone. your best friend of almost two decades—gone. poof. just like that.

all because of some maniac, who didn’t care for anyone. a jerk, a disgusting psychopath, who doesn’t realise that human’s lives aren’t dispensable to his will.

in the middle of your wallowing, you heard the door open. you picked up your head, your vision blurry from crying. you squint your eyes, seeing heeseung enter the room with a tray, filled with a bowl of cut fruit. he placed the fruit near the end of the bed, sitting down, maintaining some distance between you both. he knew you didn’t want him near you right now, given his previous actions, but you would warm up to him soon enough. you had to. this was your new life.

he tilted his head, noticing the glass of water still untouched on the nightstand. he raised a brow at you. “you’re not thirsty?”

you glared at him, shaking your head, despite being absolutely parched. he sighed at your defiance, saying nothing. he got up, went around the bed, towards the nightstand. picking up the glass, he sat close to you, grabbing your jaw in his other hand. “drink up, c’mon. don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

as he brought the glass near your mouth, you pressed your lips into a thin line, before smacking the glass out of his hands with your free one. he watched as the glass shattered into a million pieces on the floor, an unreadable expression on his face.

his silence suffocated you. you were already regretting your decision. why did you always have to act in such a brash manner?

he turned his face towards you again. as he brought his hand up, you flinched, screwing your eyes shut. you felt his hand caress your cheek, leading you to open your eyes. his face was expressionless, even when he spoke. “don’t be mad at me because of chaeyoung. it was bound to happen anyways. she was a hindrance in our story, don’t you see? she would have taken you away from me if i didn’t kill her. don’t hate me because of her.”

your hand twitches, and so does your eye. you wanted to strangle him. calling chaeyoung a hindrance?! oh, he was so dead. as soon as you escape this hell hole, you were going to make sure you personally hunted his sorry ass down and gave him a death far more slow and torturous than the one he gave to chaeyoung. he was going to pay. you were going to make sure of that.

you stayed silent, simply glaring at him. you were currently at a disadvantage, so you couldn’t really do anything, except for waiting. so that’s what you were gonna do. wait.

sensing that you weren’t going to say anything, he kisses your forehead—to which you have to stop yourself from slapping him—before getting off the bed and making his way to the door. right before going out, he turned around. “don’t forget to eat the fruit, or you will grow weaker than you already are.”

he shut the door, finally leaving. you breathed a sigh of relief. finally. you were alone again. you could continue to wallow in self pity now. you didn’t plan on eating anything, since you didn’t trust him.

you laid down, looking at the ceiling. how long were you going to be trapped here? would you ever be able to get out? right now, there didn’t seem to be any hope of escaping, but perhaps in the near future…

a wave of sleepiness washed over you. you were tired, so, so tired. maybe sleeping would be good for now. yes, you should get some rest.

when you woke up, it was dark. confused, you blearily sat up, blinking at your surroundings. why were you suddenly up?

then you heard it. the gun shots. they rang loud and clear, yellings of ‘get down!’ and ‘surrender now!’ rang through the place. a flash of hope rose in you. was it the police…?

suddenly, the door to your room banged open. two female police officers entered the room, pointing the gun around the room. upon realising that there was no one else other than you, one of them quickly broke the handcuffs as best as she could, as the other frantically checked upon you. “ma’am are you okay? did he hurt you?” she kept throwing questions at you, as you assured her that you were fine—as fine as a person could be, after the kind of hell heeseung put you through.

they wrapped a coat around you, before bringing you downstairs. it was a dingy two storey house in some shady part of the town, apparently, according to what they told you. they told you that they got a tip about a kidnapping from an anonymous source, which, from your deduction, was probably that waitress from the restaurant. although you could be wrong, of course.

downstairs, you saw heeseung with a busted lip, hands restrained with handcuffs behind his back, two police officers assisting him to the car. when his gaze landed on you, he spoke with a bone chilling smirk. “don’t worry darling. they won’t be able to keep us away from each other for too long. i’ll come back for you, i promise.”

the policemen scoffed at him, rudely pushing him forward. although his words scared you, you trusted the police to do their job. as you were guided out of the dingy house, you suddenly remember chaeyoung. you informed the police of her, causing them to share a look. they led you to the car, four of them staying back, to look for her—her body.

two months had passed since that incident. a trial was held for heeseung, which almost immediately declared him to be ‘guilty’, due to the presence of overwhelming evidence. he was charged with a lot of things, things which you both knew, and didn’t know of. either way, he got what he deserved. a lifetime in jail.

it was finally time for chaeyoung’s funeral. her family and you wanted to wait until heeseung got what he deserved, and now that he was finally behind bars, it was time to say goodbye to chaeyoung. for the last time.

as the coffin was lowered down, you said your final goodbyes. you never imagined this day would come, at least not this soon. but it was here. life was unexpected and cruel, that’s what you had learnt in the past two months. but it has to go on. you couldn’t let events—no matter how unfortunate they are—hold you back. so you wiped your tears, leaving the grounds quietly.

as you sat inside your car, your phone rang with a ‘ding!’. it was a notification. a message, from an unknown number. you frowned, clicking on it. the contents had the blood from your face draining. your hands shook, as the phone fell out of your grasp.

“black suits you. but red looks the best on you, don’t you think so?”

[jupiterpilgrim]

After All

Kwon Eunbi x male reader

word count: 20k

commissioned fic

The clock’s ticking past midnight, and Eunbi’s apartment is a battlefield of empty soju bottles, crumpled napkins, and half-eaten trays of tteokbokki scattered across her sleek kitchen island. It’s her 30th birthday, and you're resting on her couch, nursing a lukewarm beer you’ve been sipping for the last hour, more out of habit than any real desire to get trashed. The private party’s been a chaotic little mess—just a handful of her closest friends, some industry folks she trusts not to leak shit, and you, her self-appointed babysitter for the night. The music’s still humming low from her Bluetooth speaker, but the vibe’s shifted from rowdy laughter to a quieter, sloppier haze now that everyone’s stumbled out the door. You’re watching her sway around the living room in a pair of mismatched socks—one pink with little stars, the other a plain gray that’s probably yours from some sleepover months back—her hair a wild tangle from all the times she’s run her hands through it while belting out karaoke off-key. She’s drunk as hell, giggling at nothing, and you can’t help but grin despite the ache in your legs from chasing her around all night.

She’s been clinging to you since the third shot of peach soju hit her system, her arm looped through yours like you’re her personal anchor, dragging you into every conversation with slurred enthusiasm. “You should’ve seen his face when I told him I’m 30 now—30!—like, bitch, I’m still hotter than your girlfriend,” she’d crowed earlier, leaning into you so hard you nearly toppled into the snack table. For everyone else, she’s Kwon Eunbi, the idol with the killer voice and curves that make headlines, but for you, she’s just Eunbi—Eunbi who used to steal your crayons in third grade, who’d cry when you beat her at Mario Kart, who’d text you at 3 a.m. during her trainee days just to say she missed your dumb jokes. Now, she’s flopped onto the floor in front of the coffee table, legs splayed out, her oversized hoodie riding up to show a sliver of her stomach as she tries to stack beer cans into a wobbly tower. “Look, I’m an architect,” she declares, tongue poking out in concentration, and you snort, knowing damn well it’s gonna collapse in three seconds flat.

The party’s over, and you’re the last one standing—well, sitting, technically—because there’s no way you’re leaving her like this. She’s a disaster when she’s sober, let alone after a night of drinking her age in shots. You’ve already started picking up the wreckage, tossing plastic cups into a trash bag while she watches you with hazy eyes, chin propped on her hand like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “You’re so good to me,” she mumbles. “Yeah, yeah, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out in a pile of kimchi fries,” you shoot back, grabbing a sponge to tackle the sticky mess on the counter where someone—probably her—spilled a whole bottle of soda. She laughs, loud and unfiltered, then hiccups, and it’s so ridiculously Eunbi that you can’t help but chuckle too.

She’s still chattering away, even as you move around her apartment, picking up streamers and wiping down surfaces. “Did you see Chae’s face when I did that twerk? She was, like, scandalized—I’ve got moves, right? Tell me I’ve got moves.” She’s trying to wiggle her hips from her spot on the floor, but it’s more of a sad little shimmy, and you bite back a laugh. “Oh, you’ve got something, alright. I think the word’s embarrassing, though,” you tease, dodging the balled-up napkin she chucks at you. It misses by a mile, landing somewhere near the TV, and she pouts, all dramatic and exaggerated, like she’s auditioning for a rom-com. “You’re so mean to me. Always so mean... And yet, here you are, cleaning my shit up like a good little boyfriend.” The word slips out casual as hell, but it lands like a grenade, and you freeze for half a second, sponge dripping in your hand, before brushing it off with a grunt. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive, dumbass. And I’m not your boyfriend—yet.”

That “yet” hangs in the air, and her eyes lock onto yours, wide and suddenly sharper despite the drunken flush on her cheeks. You both know about the pact—some stupid, half-serious promise you made back when you were hormonal teens sneaking cheap beer behind her parents’ garage, laughing about how if you both hit 30 and still hadn’t found “the one,” you’d just marry each other. It was a joke, or at least it started that way, but now here you are, 30 and single, and she’s 30 and single, and she’s staring at you like she’s daring you to bring it up first. You don’t. Instead, you turn back to the counter, scrubbing harder than necessary, while she drags herself up off the floor, stumbling over to you with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. “You’re staying, right?” she asks, leaning against the counter so close her elbow bumps yours, her voice dropping into that bossy tone she gets when she wants something. “Gotta tuck me in, make sure I don’t die in my sleep or whatever.”

You smirk, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye—she’s a mess, mascara smudged under her eyes, lipstick faded into a pink stain, but still unfairly gorgeous. “Yeah, ‘cause I’d hate to explain to your fans why their precious Eunbi choked on her own drool. I’ll stay, but you’re sleeping on the couch if you puke on me.” She grins, triumphant, and slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a sloppy half-hug that smells like soju and her floral perfume. “My hero,” she coos, sarcastic as hell, but there’s a flicker of something real in it. You shake it off, steering her toward the bedroom with a hand on her back, her weight leaning into you more with every step. She’s still rambling—about the party, about how you’re the only one who gets her, about how she’s gonna make you cook her hangover soup tomorrow—and you’re only half-listening, too focused on getting her to bed without tripping over the rug.

By the time you hit the hallway, she’s practically dead weight, her head lolling against your shoulder, breath warm against your neck. You nudge her bedroom door open with your foot, the soft glow of her fairy lights spilling out, and ease her onto the mattress, where she flops down with a groan. “You’re the best,” she slurs, grabbing your wrist before you can pull away, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who looks ready to pass out. “Don’t go far, ‘kay? Need you here.” It’s the alcohol talking, you tell yourself, but the way her fingers linger on your skin feels too deliberate, too loaded. You mutter something about getting her water, slipping out of her hold, and as you head back to the kitchen.

You’re back in her bedroom, a glass of water in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other, figuring she’ll thank you later for not letting her wake up looking like a raccoon with last night’s makeup smeared everywhere. The fairy lights are still doing their thing, casting a warm, golden glow over the room, and Eunbi’s sprawled out on her bed, one arm flung over her face like she’s trying to block out the world—or maybe just the spins. Her hoodie’s ridden up again, showing off that stupidly toned stomach she’s always flexing on Instagram, and her socks are half-off, one dangling from her toes like it’s staging a breakout. She looks like a hot mess, but it’s Eunbi, so she’s still pulling it off somehow. You set the glass on her nightstand and nudge her leg with your knee. “Hey, drunkass, sit up for a sec. You need water or you’re gonna hate me tomorrow.”

She groans, dramatic as fuck, but peels her arm off her face and squints at you, eyes glassy and unfocused. “You’re so bossy,” she mumbles, but there’s a grin tugging at her lips, sloppy and real, and she fumbles to prop herself up on her elbows. Her hair’s a disaster, falling into her face, and you reach over without thinking, brushing it back with your fingers. She leans into it, just a little, and for a second, it’s quiet—just the hum of the speaker still looping that lo-fi track and her breathing, slow and heavy. You hand her the water, and she takes it with both hands like a kid, gulping it down so fast some of it dribbles down her chin. “Classy,” you tease, wiping it off with the washcloth before she can bitch about it, and she snickers, batting your hand away halfheartedly. “Shut up, you love me,” she slurs.

You’re about to fire back—something dumb like “yeah, when you’re not a walking tornado”—but she cuts you off, setting the glass down with a clumsy clink and grabbing your wrist again, pulling you closer. “You remember that pact we made?” Her voice is softer now, less playful, and there’s this edge to it that makes your stomach twist. You know exactly what she’s talking about, but you play dumb anyway, raising an eyebrow. “What, the one where we said we’d rob a bank if we ever got broke? ‘Cause I’m still down, but you’re the one with the idol cash now.” She doesn’t laugh, though, just shakes her head, and her grip tightens, nails digging into your skin a little. “No, dumbass. The marriage one. When we were, like, sixteen? Said if we hit 30 and no one else locked us down, we’d just marry each other. You swore on it—pinky promise and everything.”

You try to laugh it off, because that’s your go-to when shit gets real—deflect, joke, anything to keep it light. “Yeah, I also swore I’d get a tattoo of your face on my ass, but you don’t see me running to the parlor,” you say, but it sounds weak even to you. She’s not buying it, and her eyes are searching your face now, all hazy and drunk but piercing, like she’s peeling back every layer you’ve ever put up. “Don’t bullshit me,” she says, and there’s that commanding tone she gets sometimes, the one that makes people sit up straight and listen, even when she’s three sheets to the wind. “We’re both 30 now. I’m 30 today. And you’re here, and I’m here, and—fuck, dude, why not? Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

Your heart’s doing some wild shit in your chest, pounding like you just ran a marathon, and you tell yourself it’s the alcohol talking. She’s plastered, emotional, probably doesn’t even mean it—she’ll wake up tomorrow and laugh her ass off at the thought, right? But she’s looking at you like she’s dead serious, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and there’s this raw, messy love in her voice that’s fucking with your head. “Eunbi, you’re drunk as hell,” you manage, voice rougher than you mean it to be. “You don’t just decide to marry someone ‘cause you had too much soju and feel mushy. Sleep it off, yeah? We’ll laugh about this in the morning.” You try to pull your wrist free, but she’s not letting go, and now she’s sitting up fully, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed so she’s right in front of you, close enough that you can smell the peach liquor on her breath, her free hand landing on your chest, fingers curling into your shirt.

“I’m not joking,” she says, quieter but fiercer, and her hand slides up, brushing your neck, her thumb grazing your jaw. “I’ve been thinking about it—today, this year, maybe longer. You’re my best friend, you dick. You’ve stuck with me through every breakup, every stage, every meltdown. I’ve got you too—always have. So why not? We’d kill it together.” Her voice wavers, and her eyes are shiny now, not just from the liquor, and it’s shredding you because she’s never this open, this raw.

“Eunbi, chill,” you say, softer, because snapping at her feels wrong when she’s spilling her soul like this. “You’re not thinking clear. You’re an idol—your life’s a circus, your fans would riot, and I’m just… me. The dude who can’t keep a cactus alive. You don’t mean this. Not really.” But your words are faltering, because she’s leaning in, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you down ‘til her forehead’s almost touching yours. “I don’t care about that,” she whispers, breath hot against your lips, and fuck, she’s so close you can taste the peach soju, feel the heat of her. “I don’t care about any of it if I’ve got you. I love you, you moron. Always have.”

It’s a fucking knockout blow, and your brain’s short-circuiting, every nerve screaming to just give in. Her lips brush yours—just a ghost of a touch, soft and trembling—and you almost lose it, almost let her pull you under. Your hands are on her shoulders, and for a split second, you’re kissing her back, tasting the liquor and the years of unspoken shit between you. But then your brain kicks in, screaming she’s drunk, this isn’t right, not like this. You pull back, heart pounding, hands shaking as you hold her at arm’s length. “Eunbi, no,” you say, firm but cracking. “Not like this. You’re wasted—you need to rest, not… this.” She whines, reaching for you again, but you dodge, standing up fast, chest heaving. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Just… get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She flops back on the bed, pouting hard, but her eyes are already drooping, the fight draining out of her. You grab the blanket, tucking it over her as she mumbles something incoherent, and you’re left standing there, reeling, wondering if you just dodged a bullet or broke something delicate.

—

A week’s rolled by since Eunbi’s wild 30th birthday bash, and it’s been radio silence from her end—zero texts, no drunk voicemails, not even a meme tossed your way, which is weird as hell because she’s usually blowing up your phone with random shit. You’ve been keeping busy, trying not to overthink it, but she’s been creeping into your head more than usual—those sloppy, half-serious words she slung at you about loving you, about wanting to marry you, the way she clung to you like you were her lifeline… The next day, though, she seemed fine. Hungover, but fine. Almost as if she had forgotten about the whole accidental confession that alcohol had caused. But you can't be completely sure. So when your phone buzzes on a lazy Thursday afternoon and it’s her name lighting up the screen with a casual, “Hey, dinner at my place tonight? 7ish?” you don’t even hesitate. “Yeah, I’m in,” you shoot back, already mentally mapping out your evening. You figure it’s a good excuse to check in on her, make sure she’s not still recovering from that hangover or, worse, avoiding you for some reason you can’t pin down. On your way over, you swing by the market down the street from her place. You grab a six-pack of Heineken because you know she likes it cold, and a bottle of that fancy grapefruit soda she’s obsessed with—non-alcoholic, just in case she’s still swearing off the hard stuff after last week. Walking out, you catch her face plastered on a billboard across the street, all glossy lips and sultry eyes, selling some new makeup line. It’s surreal, seeing your goofy childhood buddy up there like some untouchable goddess, but then you smirk because you know she’d probably laugh her ass off at the idea of anyone calling her that.

You get to her apartment a little early, buzzing up from the lobby, and when she opens the door, it’s like she’s flipped a switch from the drunk disaster you left last week. She’s all sweet smiles and soft edges, pulling you into a hug that lingers a beat too long, her hair smelling like lavender and something expensive. “Hey, you,” she says, voice warm, and you’re already shrugging off your jacket, holding up the drinks like a peace offering. “Brought supplies,” you say, and she laughs, grabbing the soda bottle with a little “Ooh, you remembered!” that makes you feel oddly proud. Her place looks better than it did post-party—clean, cozy, with a few candles flickering on the counter, the kind that smell like vanilla and money. Dinner’s already set up, a spread of takeout containers from that Korean BBQ joint you both love, the one with the spicy pork that makes your nose run. She’s got the table laid out casual but cute—mismatched plates, a couple of chipped mugs for water, and a playlist humming through her speaker, some chill lo-fi beats that don’t drown out the vibe. You settle in across from her, cracking open a beer while she digs into a pile of kimchi, and it’s easy at first—catching up, joking about how she’s pretty sure she scared off half her friends with her karaoke rendition of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” last week. You’re laughing, she’s laughing, and it’s like old times, except she’s quieter than usual, her eyes lingering on you when she thinks you’re not looking.

You’re halfway through your second beer, picking at some bulgogi with your chopsticks, when you catch her staring again—chin propped on her hand, a little smile tugging at her lips, but her gaze is steady, almost heavy. It’s not the usual Eunbi chaos you’re used to, the teasing or the loud cackling; it’s something else, something that you’re not ready to name. She’s been weird all night, not bad weird, just… off, like she’s holding something back. You set your chopsticks down, wiping your hands on a napkin, and finally just go for it. “Okay, what’s up with you? You’re being all quiet and stare-y, it’s freaking me out.” She blinks, caught, then laughs—a soft, nervous sound that’s not her usual full-on snort. She leans back in her chair, twirling her mug between her fingers, and you can tell she’s gearing up to say something big. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” she says, and it lands like a sucker punch, totally out of left field. You freeze, beer bottle halfway to your mouth, because what the hell do you even say to that? She’s not done, though—she sets the mug down, leans forward, and it’s like the floodgates open. “Not just you, like, in general. The pact. Us. Everything. I’ve been replaying it all in my head—how we’ve been through every dumb phase together, how you’re always there, how you stayed last week when I was a total mess. You’re… you’re special to me, you know that, right?”

It’s a lot, and you’re just sitting there, letting it wash over you. Her words hit hard because, fuck, you’ve been thinking about her too—more than you’d admit out loud. That night on her couch, her drunk rambling about marrying you, it stuck with you, wormed its way into your brain and wouldn’t leave. You’ve been seeing her everywhere, not just on billboards but in random shit—like the way the light hits your coffee in the morning and reminds you of her smile, or how you caught yourself humming one of her songs in the shower yesterday. You clear your throat, trying to play it cool even though your heart’s doing some dumb acrobatics in your chest. “Yeah, well, you’re kinda special to me too,” you mumble, and it’s not smooth, but it’s honest, and her face lights up like you just handed her the moon. She stands up, motioning to the couch with a little “C’mon, let’s chill,” and you follow, grabbing your beer and the soda bottle because you’re not ready to let go of something to fidget with.

The couch is comfier than the kitchen chairs, and you sink into it, kicking your shoes off while she curls up next to you, closer than she needs to be but not close enough to make it weird. The TV’s off, but the candles are still going, casting this warm glow that makes the whole room feel smaller, softer. She’s got her legs tucked under her, sipping that grapefruit soda, and she’s still watching you, but now it’s less intense, more curious. “So, the pact,” she starts, and you groan, half-laughing, because of course she’s circling back to that. “You seriously wanna talk about that now?” you ask, but she’s already nodding, all earnest. “Yeah, I do. I mean, we’re thirty, dude. No one’s swooped in to lock us down. And I keep thinking… maybe that’s not a bad thing? Like, maybe it’s been you this whole time and I was just too dumb to see it.” She’s laying it all out, and it’s messing with you, because you’ve been wondering the same damn thing. You take a long pull from your beer, stalling, then set it on the coffee table with a clink. “I’ve been thinking about it too,” you admit, and her eyes widen, like she wasn’t expecting you to meet her halfway. “Not just the pact, but… you. How you’re always the one I wanna call when shit’s good or bad. How you get me in a way no one else does.”

She shifts closer, her knee brushing yours, and it’s electric, that tiny contact sparking something you’ve both been dancing around. “So what are we doing about it?” she asks, voice low, and there’s this challenge in her eyes, like she’s daring you to make a move. You’re not sure who leans in first—maybe it’s her, maybe it’s you—but suddenly you’re kissing, slow and tentative at first, then deeper, her hands sliding up your chest while yours find her waist. It’s not fireworks or some movie bullshit; it’s better, realer, like coming home after being gone too long. When you pull back, she’s grinning, breathless, and you’re both laughing because it’s ridiculous and perfect all at once. “Guess we’re doing this, then,” she says, and you nod, still dazed. “Guess we are.”

It’s like someone flipped a switch—everything’s electric, buzzing, and you can’t get enough. The kissing started soft, almost careful, but now it’s deeper, hungrier, her hands gripping your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go. You’re only just now clocking how goddamn gorgeous she is, and yeah, she’s always been a knockout, but this is different. She’s not the Eunbi you’re used to, the one who’d roll up to your place in sweats and a messy bun, no makeup, eating takeout straight from the box. Tonight, she’s all done up—hair falling in loose waves, a slinky black top that hugs her curves just right, and a skirt that’s short enough to make your brain short-circuit. She’s got this subtle shimmer on her skin, probably some fancy highlighter shit from one of those brands she’s always posing for, and her lips are glossy, tasting faintly of cherry when you kiss her again. You pull back for a second, breathless, and the words just tumble out: “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” It’s cheesy as hell, but you mean it, and her face lights up—big, goofy smile and all—before she swings a leg over you and climbs into your lap. Her petite frame settles against you, but there’s nothing delicate about the way she presses herself close, her chest—those full, perfect tits—squishing against you.

She tilts her head back as you lean in, kissing along her neck, all soft skin and that lavender scent mixed with something warmer, sexier, like her body’s radiating heat just for you. Your lips brush that spot under her jaw, and she lets out this little sigh—half moan, half giggle—that sends a jolt straight through you. Her hands slide up to your shoulders, fingers digging in, and you’re hyper-aware of every inch of her, the way her thighs grip your hips, the slight shift of her weight when she adjusts herself. You nip at her collarbone, and she squirms, laughing softly before her voice drops, low and needy: “Take me to the bedroom.” It’s not a question—it’s Eunbi, all commanding and sure, and fuck if that doesn’t make you want her even more. You don’t hesitate, sliding your hands under her ass—firm, perfect—and hoisting her up. She wraps her legs around your waist, locking her ankles behind you, and you can feel her grinning against your shoulder as you carry her down the hall. Her skirt rides up, and you’re palming bare skin, her body warm and solid against yours, and it’s a miracle you don’t trip over the random pair of sneakers she left by the door.

You nudge the bedroom door open with your elbow, the space dimly lit by a lamp on her nightstand, casting everything in this soft, golden glow. Her bed’s a mess—sheets tangled, a couple of pillows shoved to one side—but it’s hers, and that’s enough. You ease her down onto the mattress, and she lands with a little bounce, propping herself up on her elbows, skirt hiked up around her hips, black lace peeking out from underneath. She’s watching you, eyes dark and playful, and you’re just standing there for a second, taking her in—hair splayed out, lips parted, that top clinging to her like a second skin. “Drawer,” she says, nodding toward the dresser across the room, her voice cutting through the haze in your head. “Top one.” You quirk an eyebrow, stepping over to it, and when you slide it open, there’s a strip of condoms sitting right there next to a tube of lip balm and some tangled jewelry. You pick one up, turning it over in your hand, and glance back at her. “You planning this or what?” you ask, half-teasing, half-serious, because it’s Eunbi—she’s always got something up her sleeve. She chuckles, kicking off her heels so they clatter to the floor, and shrugs. “Just in case, you know. Figured if we’re doing this whole pact thing, might as well be ready.”

You smirk, tossing the foil packet onto the bed beside her, and she scoots back, making room as you climb over her. She’s pulling you down by the front of your shirt, kissing you again—harder this time, all tongue and teeth, like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have. Then you start kissing her body, starting at that delicate stretch of her neck, soft and warm under your lips, and she sighs, this tiny, breathy sound that’s got your heart thudding loud enough you’re sure she can hear it. You trail lower, brushing your mouth over her collarbone, then down to her chest, where her black top’s still clinging to her like it’s got a personal grudge against you. Your hands roam, sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her tits, and she arches into you, a quiet “Mmm” vibrating against your lips. You tug at her top, and she lifts her arms, letting you peel it off—black bra underneath, lacy and sheer, doing a piss-poor job of hiding how hard her nipples are. Her skin’s flushed, a little sweaty from the heat building between you, and your hands slide up, cupping her tits through the fabric—full, heavy, driving you absolutely insane. You’ve always known she’s stacked, it’s not news, but feeling them like this, in this moment, is frying your brain. “Can I take this off?” you murmur, tugging at her bra strap. She giggles, this light, playful sound that cuts through the tension, and nods, arching her back a little to give you room. “Go for it, perv,” she teases, but her eyes are locked on yours, dark and wanting, and you’re fumbling with the clasp like it’s your first time because holy shit, this is Eunbi—your Eunbi—and it’s actually happening.

The bra comes off, and you toss it somewhere—floor, chair, who gives a fuck—and just stare for a second, because her breasts are unreal. Big, yeah, but it’s more than that—they’re perfect, soft curves sloping into these gorgeous, rosy areolas, nipples already perked up like they’re begging for you. You’ve seen her in bikinis, tight shirts, all that, but this? This is next-level, and you’re still wrapping your head around the fact that you’re here, with her, like this. “You can touch,” she says, voice softer now, a little shy, and your hands move before your brain catches up, fingers brushing over her skin, careful at first, like you’re afraid she’ll vanish if you go too fast. She’s warm, silky, and the way she sighs—quiet, needy—sends a shiver down your spine. You squeeze gently, testing the weight of her in your palms, and she tips her head back, lips parting. “You like this?” you ask, because you need to hear it, need to know you’re not screwing this up. “Yeah,” she breathes, “so much. I can’t believe we’re doing this.” You laugh, a little shaky, and say, “Me neither. You don’t think it’s weird?” She shakes her head fast, reaching for your wrist to keep your hand on her. “No way. It’s you. Feels right. And, uh, it’s making me really fucking horny.”

That hits you like a truck, her saying it so plain, so Eunbi, and before you can overthink it, you lean in and wrap your lips around one of her nipples, sucking slow and deliberate. She moans, loud and surprised, her back arching into you, and it’s the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. “Oh—fuck,” she gasps, and you feel her hand slide into your hair, tugging just enough to make you groan against her skin. “Keep going,” she begs, voice cracking, and you don’t need to be told twice. You swirl your tongue, flicking over the hard peak, then switch to the other one because you’re greedy and she’s letting you, her fingers tightening in your hair like she’s anchoring herself. You’re lost in it—her taste, the little whimpers she’s making, the way her body shifts under you, restless and wanting. When you finally pull back, catching your breath, her face is pure lust—eyes half-lidded, cheeks pink, lips wet from biting them. She stares at you like you’ve just rocked her world, and then she says, “You need to fuck me. Like, right now,” all commanding and desperate, and it’s not even a question—you’re nodding, already on board, because there’s no way you’re saying no to her.

You’re both scrambling then, a frantic, clumsy rush to get naked. You yank your shirt over your head, nearly choking yourself in the process, and she’s laughing—god, that laugh—even as she wiggles out of her skirt, kicking it off her ankles. You’re down to your boxers, and she’s peeling off her panties, black lace that matches the bra you yeeted earlier, and you’re trying not to stare too hard because you’ll lose it before you even start. She’s sprawled out on the bed now, legs parted just enough to make your mouth dry, and you shove your jeans off, kicking them into the chaos of her room. Your boxers follow, and when you straighten up, condom packet in hand from where it’s been chilling on the bed, she’s looking at you—really looking—and her eyes widen. “Damn,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows, “you’ve been holding out on me. Should’ve jumped you years ago.” You laugh, but it’s strained because she’s naked and staring at your dick like it’s a revelation, and your ego’s taking a victory lap while your nerves are screaming.

You rip the foil open with your teeth (smooth, you hope) and roll the condom on, hands shaking a little because she’s watching you, all impatient and gorgeous, and you’re still processing that this is your best friend, the girl who once cried on your shoulder after a shitty audition, now spread out and waiting for you to fuck her. “You good?” you ask, climbing back onto the bed, settling between her thighs, and she nods, reaching for you, pulling you closer. “So good,” she murmurs, her voice husky, and you feel her hand on your hip, guiding you like she’s done this with you a million times. You line up, heart pounding, and she’s warm, wet, ready—fuck, it’s Eunbi, and it’s perfect. You stop there, hovering, because once you start, there’s no going back, and you’re both teetering on the edge of something huge—best friends to lovers, a pact turning real, all of it crashing together in this sweaty, messy, incredible moment.

She shifts under you, impatient, and you catch her smirk, that little challenge in her eyes. “You gonna make me wait forever, or what?” she says, and it’s so her—bossy, bratty, the Eunbi you’ve known forever but with this new, wild edge. You grin, leaning down to kiss her quick and hard, and mutter, “Hold on, princess, I’ve got you.” Her laugh’s cut off by a gasp as you ease in, and yeah, this is happening, and it’s better than you ever dreamed. Her nails dig into your shoulders, and she’s whispering your name like it’s a secret she’s been keeping too long, and you’re gone—lost in her, in this, in the insane, beautiful reality of you and Eunbi finally crossing that line.

You sink into Eunbi, and it’s like the world tilts—everything narrows down to the heat of her, the way her pussy grips you, tight and wet and so fucking perfect it’s almost too much. You’re on top of her, your chest pressed against hers, her tits squashed between you, soft and warm, and you can feel her heartbeat hammering against your ribs, matching the wild thud of your own. The condom’s doing its job, but it barely dulls the sensation; she’s addictive, like some drug you didn’t know you needed until now. You start moving, slow at first, just to feel her out, but she’s already rocking her hips up to meet you, and that’s it—you’re gone. You thrust harder, pinning her to the mattress with your weight, the bed creaking under you, and she melts into it, legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper. Her breath’s hot against your neck, little gasps and moans spilling out every time you drive into her, and it’s driving you insane.

You kiss her, messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth clashing, because you need more of her—need to taste her, feel her everywhere. She kisses back just as hard, her hands sliding up your back, nails scratching trails you’ll probably feel tomorrow but don’t give a shit about now. “Fuck, you’re so good,” she mutters against your lips, voice all shaky and wrecked, and it’s unreal hearing her like this. You pull back just enough to look at her—face flushed, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted—and it’s a punch to the gut how gorgeous she is, how much you’ve always wanted this without even knowing it. “You’re killing me,” you say, and she cracks a grin, all smug even while she’s getting railed. “Good,” she shoots back, “you deserve it for making me wait this long.”

Her legs tighten around you, heels digging into your ass, and you pick up the pace, slamming into her harder, the slap of skin on skin filling the room alongside her gasps and your grunts. The bed’s a mess—sheets twisted, pillows shoved aside—and her room smells like sex and that lavender shit she loves, mixing into something heady and overwhelming. You bury your face in her neck, kissing and sucking at the skin there, leaving marks because fuck it, she’s yours now, right? She tilts her head to give you more room, moaning your name—your actual name, not some dumb nickname—and it’s like a jolt straight to your dick, making you thrust even deeper. “Shit, say that again,” you rasp, and she does, over and over, each time a little louder, a little needier, until it’s a chant that’s got you drunk on her.

You shift, propping yourself up on your forearms so you can watch her—watch the way her tits bounce with every thrust, the way her stomach tenses, the way her hands claw at your shoulders like she’s trying to anchor herself. “You’re so fucking hot,” you say, because it’s true and you can’t keep it in, and she laughs, breathless, her voice hitching when you hit just the right spot. “Took you long enough to notice, dumbass,” she manages, but then you angle your hips and she’s gasping instead, all “Oh—fuck, there, right there,” and you know you’ve got her. You keep at it, relentless, because she’s squeezing you so tight it’s like she’s trying to pull you in and never let go, and you’re happy to oblige—hell, you’d live here if she asked.

Her hair’s fanned out on the pillow, dark strands sticking to her sweaty forehead, and you brush it aside, kissing her again because you can’t not—she’s too much, too perfect, too everything. “Always knew you’d be trouble,” you murmur against her mouth, and she nips at your lip, grinning. “You love it, though,” she says, and yeah, you do—love the way she’s unraveling under you, love the way she’s still somehow calling the shots even when she’s pinned beneath you, love that this is Eunbi, your best friend, the one person who’s been there through every stupid fight and late-night rant, now moaning like she can’t get enough. You slide a hand down her side, gripping her hip to pull her closer, and she arches, meeting every thrust like she’s daring you to go harder. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, bossy and hot, and you groan, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

The rhythm’s steady now, hard and fast, and she’s matching you, rolling her hips up in time, her thighs trembling against your sides. You can feel the sweat slick between you, her skin sliding against yours, and it’s filthy and raw and so fucking good. “You feel so amazing,” you say, because you need her to know, and she nods, eyes fluttering open to lock on yours. “You too,” she breathes, and there’s this moment—brief, electric—where it’s not just sex, it’s you and her, years of friendship crashing into something bigger, something real. Then she’s grabbing your face, pulling you down for another kiss, and it’s sloppy, uncoordinated, but you don’t care because she’s grinding up against you, chasing whatever’s building between you, and you’re right there with her, lost in the heat and the want.

You shift again, hooking one of her legs over your shoulder, and she gasps, loud and sharp, her hands fisting the sheets. “Fuck, that’s—yeah, keep going,” she says, and you do, driving into her at this new angle that’s got her shaking, got you seeing stars. Her other leg’s still wrapped around you, pulling you in, and you’re pressed so close it’s like you’re trying to fuse into her. “You’re insane,” you mutter, half-laughing. She smirks, even now, and says, “You’re welcome,” like she’s doing you a favor, and maybe she is—maybe this is the best damn favor anyone’s ever done you. You kiss her again, swallowing her moans, and keep going, hard and steady, because she’s still melting under you, still begging for more with every thrust, and you’re not about to disappoint her—not now.

You’re deep in it with Eunbi, pounding into her like there’s no tomorrow, the bedframe rattling with every thrust, and it’s this wild, relentless rhythm that’s got sweat dripping down your back and her moaning into your mouth. Her pussy’s tight and slick around you, pulling you in with every move, and you’re pressed so close her tits are mashed against your chest, her nipples hard against your skin. She’s clawing at your shoulders, legs locked around your hips, and you’re both lost in it—grunting, gasping, chasing that high together. It’s been nonstop, a blur of heat and need, and you’re so wrapped up in how fucking incredible she feels that you barely register the way her breath hitches, sharper now, like she’s shifting gears. Then she’s pushing against your chest, not hard, just enough to get your attention, and her voice cuts through the haze, all raspy and commanding: “Wait—let me ride you.” You freeze for a split second, brain catching up, but she’s already moving, nudging you back with that bossy little smirk she’s always had, and fuck if it doesn’t make you want her even more. You let her take the lead—because it’s Eunbi, and she’s been running this show since you started—and flop back onto the bed, pillows bunching under your head as she straddles you, confidence and hunger in her eyes.

She doesn’t waste a second, swinging a leg over you and settling on your lap, her hands flat on your chest as she lines herself up. You’re still hard as hell, cock twitching when she grips you, giving you a quick stroke that has you biting your lip to keep from groaning too loud. Then she sinks down, slow at first, taking you in inch by inch, and—shit—it’s a whole new kind of torture, watching her take control like this. Her pussy’s so wet you can hear it, this filthy little sound mixing with her moans as she bottoms out, hips flush against yours. “Oh fuck, that’s good,” she breathes, head tipping back, and you can’t tear your eyes off her—her hair’s a sweaty mess, sticking to her neck, and her body’s glistening in the dim light of her room. She starts moving, rolling her hips in this smooth, deliberate way that’s got you gripping the sheets, and her tits—those big, perfect tits—swing with every bounce, heavy and hypnotic. It’s sexy as hell, seeing her dominate you like this, owning every second, every thrust, and knowing she’s getting off on your cock just as much as you’re losing it over her.

She’s not quiet about it either—Eunbi’s never been shy, but this is next-level. “Goddamn, your cock’s so fucking good,” she says, and she’s looking down at you now, eyes dark and wild. “I can’t believe how perfect you feel—shit, I’m gonna be addicted to this.” Her hands slide up her own body, cupping her breasts, squeezing them hard enough that her fingers sink into the soft flesh, and she groans, loud and unfiltered, like she’s putting on a show just for you. You grin, chest heaving, and shoot back, “That’s no problem, babe. Once we’re married, you’ll get this dick every damn day.” It’s half a joke, half a promise, but the way her eyes light up, you know it lands. She laughs, this bright, giddy sound that’s so her—your best friend, your partner-in-crime—and leans down, still riding you, her hips never missing a beat. Her lips crash into yours, and it’s messy, her moaning into your mouth while she grinds down harder, chasing whatever’s building in her.

You’ve got your hands on her hips now, fingers digging into the curve of her ass, helping her move because you can’t just lie there and take it—you need to feel her, need to meet her halfway. She’s bouncing faster, tits swaying right in your face, and you’re mesmerized by the way they jiggle, the way her nipples brush your chest every time she leans forward. “You like this, huh?” she pants, smirking down at you, and you nod, too caught up to play it cool. “Fuck yeah, you’re killing me,” you say, voice rough, and she giggles again, squeezing her own tits harder, thumbs flicking over her nipples. “Good. Been wanting to ride you forever—should’ve known you’d be this fun to fuck.” It’s classic Eunbi, that mix of teasing and raw honesty, and it hits you square in the chest—years of friendship flipping into this, into her on top of you, talking dirty like it’s nothing, like it’s always been leading here.

Her pace picks up, hips snapping down with this wet, rhythmic slap that’s got your head spinning, and she’s loud now—moans, curses, your name tumbling out like she can’t help it. “Fuck, you’re so deep,” she gasps, one hand braced on your chest, the other still kneading her breast, and you can feel her tightening around you, hot and slick and relentless. You slide a hand up her thigh, gripping hard, and she shudders, leaning into you more, her hair falling over her face like a curtain. You brush it back, wanting to see her—see the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut when you thrust up to meet her, matching her rhythm. “You’re so fucking sexy like this,” you tell her, because it’s true, and she grins, breathless, leaning down again to kiss you, her tongue sliding against yours in this sloppy, perfect mess. “Takes one to know one,” she murmurs against your lips, and you laugh, the sound catching in your throat when she clenches around you, riding you harder.

She’s in total control now, hips rolling and grinding, and you’re just along for the ride—literally—watching her take what she wants, loving every second of it. Her thighs flex against your sides, strong and soft all at once, and you can’t stop staring—at her face, her body, the way she’s so into it, so into you. “God, why didn’t we do this sooner?” she says, and you groan, hands roaming her back, her ass, anywhere you can reach. “Beats me,” you mutter, “but we’re here now, so fucking enjoy it.” She nods, kissing you again, and it’s all heat and want, her tongue tangling with yours as she keeps moving, keeps fucking you like she’s got something to prove. Her breasts bounce against you, and you’re tempted to grab them, but she’s already got that covered, squeezing them herself, moaning louder every time she shifts just right.

“You’re stuck with me now,” she says, grinning through a moan, and you fire back, “Like I’d ever wanna get rid of you.” It’s cheesy, yeah, but it’s real, and she leans into it, kissing you deep, her hips never slowing, her body pressed so tight against yours it’s like you’re one person. You’re drowning in her—in the feel of her, the sound of her, the fact that this is Eunbi, your best friend, riding you like she’s claiming you for good. And honestly? You’re totally fucking fine with that.

The rhythm’s relentless, her pussy squeezing you so tight it’s like she’s got you in a vice, all wet and hot and addictive. She’s panting hard, sweat beading on her forehead, her hair sticking to her neck in damp strands, and you can feel her starting to unravel, her movements getting sloppier, more desperate. Then she grabs your shoulders, nails digging in, and her voice comes out all shaky and raw: “Fuck, I’m close—I’m gonna cum on your dick.” It’s like a switch flips in you—her saying that, so filthy and sure, lights something wild up in your chest. You wrap your arms around her back, locking her against you, her skin slick against yours, and take over. You thrust up into her, hard and nonstop, slamming into that tight, pink heat with everything you’ve got, and she screams—this loud, wild sound that bounces off the walls, pure pleasure ripping out of her.

“Shit, babe, cum for me,” you say, the pet name slipping out natural as hell, and her eyes widen, like it’s flipped some switch in her too. She’s a mess now—moaning your name, clawing at your back, her tits pressed so tight against you they’re practically suffocating, and you love it. “Oh my god—yes, fuck, keep going,” she gasps, her head tipping back, exposing her throat, and you lean in, kissing the sweat-salted skin there, tasting her as you pound into her. Her pussy’s making these wet, sloppy noises, loud and obscene, and it’s driving you insane, every thrust sinking you deeper into her, her walls fluttering like she’s about to lose it. “I’m gonna cum—fuck, I’m cumming,” she cries, and then it hits—her whole body locks up, trembling hard against you, her thighs shaking around your hips as she comes apart. It’s intense, like she’s shattering, her moans turning into these broken little gasps, and you hold her tight, arms wrapped around her like you’re keeping her from flying off the bed. You slow down, just enough to let her ride it out, and kiss her—deep, slow, her lips trembling against yours as she tries to catch her breath.

When you pull back, her eyes are wide, glassy, staring at you like she’s seeing you for the first time. She’s still shaking, her chest heaving, and then she says it, voice soft but so fucking clear: “I love you.” It’s not a whisper, not a throwaway—it’s real, raw, like the orgasm cracked something open inside her. “Oh my god, I love you,” she repeats, almost laughing, like she can’t believe she’s saying it but can’t stop either. Your heart does this stupid flip, because—fuck—you’ve always felt it too, buried somewhere under years of dumb jokes and late-night hangouts. “I love you too,” you say, grinning, and it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever said. “Always have.” Her face lights up, this mix of shock and joy, and she grabs you, kissing you hard, all teeth and tongue and desperation, like she’s trying to pour everything she’s feeling into it. You kiss her back just as fierce, hands sliding up her back, fingers digging into her skin, and she’s still clenching around you, still riding the aftershocks, but now she’s got this fire in her eyes. “I’m gonna make you cum, babe,” she says, and the way she calls you babe—affectionate and possessive—makes your dick twitch inside her.

She pulls off you then, slow and deliberate, and you almost groan at the loss of her heat, but she’s already moving, sliding off your lap with this sexy little smirk. “Sit on the edge,” she says, nodding toward the bed, and you don’t argue—why would you? You scoot over, planting your feet on the floor, legs spread, and she’s on her knees in front of you in a flash, smooth skin and wild hair, looking up at you like she’s about to ruin you in the best way. Your cock’s still hard, slick with her, and she reaches for the condom, peeling it off with this slow, teasing tug that has you gritting your teeth. “Don’t need this anymore,” she mutters, tossing it aside, and before you can process that, she’s stroking you—light, loose, her fingers barely grazing you but enough to make you hiss. Then she leans in, purses her lips, and spits on your dick—straight-up, no hesitation, this wet little glob sliding down the shaft, and it’s filthy and hot and so fucking Eunbi. You groan, head tipping back, and she grins, all smug, before scooting closer, her hands cupping her tits and pushing them together.

She wraps those big, perfect breasts around your cock, and—holy shit—it’s unreal. Soft, warm, squeezing you tight as she slides them up and down, the spit and her sweat making it slick and smooth. “You like that, babe?” she asks, voice low and playful, and you nod, too choked up to talk properly. “Fuck yes,” you manage, and she laughs, this bright, happy sound that’s so at odds with how dirty this is—but that’s her, always been her, mixing sweet and wild like it’s nothing. Her nipples are hard, brushing your thighs as she moves, and you can’t stop staring—her tits swallowing your dick, the way her hands press them tighter, the little moans she lets out like she’s getting off on this as much as you are. “Always wanted to do this,” she says, looking up at you through her lashes, and you believe her—there’s this hunger in her eyes, like she’s been holding back for years, same as you. “Should’ve known you’d be perfect for it,” you say, and she winks, sliding her tits down slow, then back up, dragging it out just to fuck with you.

Her pace picks up, hands working her breasts around you, and she’s talking now, all breathy and hot: “God, your cock feels so good like this—gonna need this all the time now.” You groan, hands fisting the sheets because she’s relentless, the wet slide of her skin against you driving you up the wall. “You’ve got me whenever you want,” you tell her, and it’s a promise—pact or not, she’s got you hooked. She leans forward, kissing the tip of your dick where it peeks out between her tits, and it’s so soft, so unexpected, you nearly lose it right there. “Good,” she murmurs, lips brushing you as she speaks, “because I’m not letting you go, babe.” That word again—babe—and it’s doing shit to you, making this feel bigger than just sex, like it’s always been more with her. She keeps going, tits bouncing around you, her eyes locked on yours, and it’s intense—passionate, dirty, and so fucking personal, like she’s rewriting every rule you ever had about what you are to each other. You’re hers, she’s yours, and this—her on her knees, fucking you with her tits—is just the start.

You’re so fucking close you can feel it building, this tight, hot pressure in your gut. She knows it too—can tell by the way your breath’s hitching, the way your hands are gripping the sheets like they’re your lifeline. Her eyes lock on yours, dark and wicked, and she smirks, slowing down just enough to drag it out, to make you squirm. Then she gets naughtier, leaning in close, her voice dropping to this sweet, needy little whine that hits you hard. “Cum for me, babe,” she begs, lips pouting like she’s pleading for her life. “Please—give it to me, I need it.” It’s so hot, so filthy coming from her—Eunbi, your best friend turned lover, begging like she’s starving for you—and it’s shredding what’s left of your self-control.

She doesn’t stop there, oh no—she’s on a mission now, pushing you right to the edge. “Mark me,” she says, voice trembling with want, “make me yours forever—cover me in you.” Her tits slide up and down faster, squeezing tighter, and she’s staring at you like you’re the only thing in her world. “That’s what you want, right? To make me yours?” There’s this challenge in her tone, daring you to deny it, but fuck, you can’t—because it is what you want, more than anything. “Yeah,” you rasp, “that’s exactly what I want—been wanting it forever.” Her smile turns feral, triumphant, and she leans in closer, her breath hot against your cock as it peeks out between her breasts. “Then do it,” she whispers, “cum on my tits—make me yours, babe.” It’s the babe that does it, that little pet name she’s claimed for you, dripping with affection and ownership, and you’re done for. She picks up the pace, relentless now, her hands pressing her breasts together so tight it’s almost painful, and you can feel it—the heat, the pressure, the way she’s moaning like she’s getting off on this as much as you are.

“I’m gonna cum,” you groan, head tipping back, and she lights up, this eager, hungry glint in her eyes. “Yes—fuck, do it,” she moans, and it’s like she’s egging you on, her voice wrapping around you, pulling you over the line. You explode—thick, hot jets shooting out, painting her tits in messy streaks, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. You moan loud, this guttural sound ripping out of you, and she’s right there with you, gasping, “More, babe—give me more!” like she’s addicted already. And you do—cum keeps coming, splashing across her chest, dripping down between her breasts, and she’s loving it, tilting her head back so it catches the light, all glossy and hypnotic. Her skin’s glistening, covered in you, and you’re shaking, legs weak, watching it spread, marking her like she asked. She’s grinning, this wild, delighted smile, and her hands slide over her tits, smearing it around, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of trophy. “Look at you,” she says, voice husky and proud, “fucking wrecked me—made me yours.”

You’re panting, chest heaving, and when you finally look at her—really look—she’s a vision: hair a sweaty mess, cheeks flushed, cum streaked across her chest like some dirty masterpiece. There’s this beat of silence, just the two of you breathing hard, staring at each other, and then you say it again, because it’s bursting out of you: “I love you.” It’s raw, unguarded, and her face softens, that smug edge melting into something adorable, something real. Her lips curve into this shy, perfect smile, and she crawls up the bed, straddling your lap again, her messy, cum-slick tits pressing against your chest as she leans in close. “I love you too,” she whispers, and it’s not just words—it’s everything, years of friendship crashing into this moment, turning it into something permanent. You grab her face, pulling her into a kiss, tasting of sweat and sex and promises neither of you can take back.

She pulls away, just enough to look at you, her forehead resting against yours, and you’re still reeling from it all—the titjob, the way she begged, the way you lost it all over her. “You need to be mine,” you say, “what just happened—it’s different, Eunbi. I’ve never felt anything like this.” Your hands slide down her back, gripping her ass, holding her there like you’re afraid she’ll slip away. She nods, eyes shining, and says, “I want that—I wanna be yours, only yours.” It’s quiet, serious, and you feel it settle in your bones—this isn’t just a hookup, not some pact gone wild. It’s you and her, rewriting the rules, crossing every line you ever drew, and there’s no going back. She kisses you again, hard and possessive, her tongue claiming you like she’s sealing the deal, and you’re all in—heart pounding, hands roaming, totally fucking smitten by the girl who’s been your everything since day one.

She breaks the kiss, sliding off you, and you’re still dazed, watching her move. She grabs a towel from the floor—some random thing she must’ve tossed earlier—and wipes herself down, casual as hell, like she didn’t just change your entire world. “Guess we’re official now, huh?” she says, smirking, and you laugh, this shaky, relieved sound, because yeah, you are—official, exclusive, whatever the fuck you wanna call it. “Damn right,” you say, pulling her back to you, her body warm and sticky against yours. “You’re stuck with me, babe.” She grins, all teeth and mischief, and says, “Good, ‘cause I’m not letting you off easy.” And that’s it—friendship torched, replaced with this messy, beautiful thing that’s all yours, all hers, forever marked by the night she begged for you and you gave her everything.

—

A few months fly by since that wild night with Eunbi, and it’s been this whirlwind of figuring shit out together—dates squeezed between her insane idol schedule, late-night takeout sessions at her place, and sneaky hookups whenever you can steal a moment. You’re not just best friends anymore; you’re together, like, for real, and it’s messy and amazing all at once. She’s still the same Eunbi—teasing you over dumb stuff like how you always burn the toast, or laughing her ass off when you trip over her heels she leaves lying around—but now there’s this extra layer, this warmth when she looks at you, and you catch yourself staring at her like a total sap sometimes. Then, out of nowhere, it happens: the wedding. You’d talked about the pact turning real, half-joking at first, but one day she just looks at you over coffee and says, “Let’s do it—let’s get married,” and you’re like, “Fuck yeah, let’s do it.” So you plan it quick—nothing huge, just enough to make it official—and the news drops like a bomb on her fans. Twitter’s a mess, all “EUNBI’S MARRIED???” and “WHO’S THE GUY?”, but she’s not fazed. She’s not quitting the idol life—hell no, she’s too good at it—but she’s all in with you, and that’s what matters. Her inner circle, though? They’re not shocked at all. Her manager just smirks and says, “About damn time,” and your mutual friends—ones who’ve watched you two dance around each other since high school—act like they’ve been holding their breath for this forever. “Finally,” one of them texts you, with a string of eye-roll emojis, and you can’t help but laugh because maybe they’re right—maybe everyone’s been waiting for this as long as you have.

The wedding day hits, and it’s this perfect mix of chaos and chill, set in this sleek little venue just outside the city—modern vibes with big windows, fairy lights strung up everywhere, and a view of the skyline that’s straight out of a movie. You’re in a sharp black suit, nothing too flashy, but Eunbi picked it out and said you looked “hot as hell,” so you’re feeling yourself. She walks in, and—fuck—she’s unreal. Her dress is this slinky, off-white number that hugs her curves perfectly, simple but sexy, with a slit up the leg that’s got you sweating already. Her hair’s down, loose waves framing her face, and she’s got this glow, like she’s lit up from the inside. The ceremony’s small—her parents, yours, a tight crew of friends, and her group members who’ve basically adopted you as their brother-in-law already. You stand at the front, palms sweaty, heart doing flips, and when she walks toward you, grinning like an idiot, you’re nervous as shit but so damn excited you can barely stand it. The officiant’s some cool, laid-back guy you found online, keeping it short and sweet—no cheesy vows, just the basics, because you and Eunbi agreed you’d rather wing it than read some scripted crap. You slip the ring on her finger—a thin gold band with a tiny diamond she insisted on because “I’m not flashy, babe”—and she slides yours on, her hands steady even though her eyes are glistening.

You say “I do,” she says it back, and then you’re kissing her—harder than you probably should in front of everyone, but the cheers and whistles from your friends drown out any awkwardness. She’s laughing against your lips, and you pull her close, her body pressed against yours, and it’s like the world clicks into place. The reception’s a blur of good vibes—there’s a playlist blasting all her favorite songs, a mix of Iz*One, her solo hits and some random 2000s throwbacks you both love, and you’re dancing like idiots, her spinning you around until you’re dizzy. She’s giggling, tipsy on champagne, and you’re right there with her, sneaking kisses between bites of cake—chocolate with raspberry filling, her pick because she’s obsessed with anything sweet and tart. Her mom hugs you tight, whispering, “Take care of her, okay?” and your dad claps you on the back, grinning like he’s proud as hell. Eunbi’s dad just nods, all stoic, but you catch him smiling later when he thinks no one’s looking. Your mom’s crying, of course, and Eunbi teases her about it, which makes everyone laugh.

At one point, you snag a quiet moment—just you and her on the venue’s balcony, city lights sprawling out below, the air cool against your flushed skin. She’s leaning against the railing, dress fluttering in the breeze, and you wrap your arms around her from behind, chin on her shoulder. “This is real, huh?” you ask, because it still feels surreal—married to your best friend, the girl who once dared you to jump into a freezing lake just to see if you’d do it. She turns in your arms, looking up at you with those big, dark eyes, and nods. “Yeah, babe, it’s real—and I’m freaking out a little, but in a good way.” You laugh, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, soft and slow this time. “Me too. Nervous as shit, but excited. We’re in this together, right?” She smiles, that wide, goofy one that’s always gotten you, and says, “Always. We’ll figure it out—new life, new rules, whatever. Just don’t burn the house down trying to cook, okay?” You snort, because yeah, fair point, and pull her closer, her head tucking under your chin like it’s made to fit there.

The party winds down, friends stumbling out with hugs and sloppy goodbyes, and you’re left standing there with Eunbi, her hand in yours, rings glinting under the lights. You’re both a little buzzed, a little teary from the emotional rollercoaster, but so fucking happy it’s ridiculous. She drags you back inside to grab one last dance—some slow, sappy song she loves—and you sway together, her cheek against your chest, your arms tight around her. “You’re my husband now,” she murmurs, testing the word, and you grin, this dumb, lovesick thing that won’t leave your face. “And you’re my wife. Still can’t believe it.” She tilts her head up, kissing you deep, and it’s not just a kiss—it’s a promise, a kickstart to whatever this new chapter’s gonna be. The night ends with you driving back to her place—your place now, technically—her hand on your thigh, the city blurring past, and you’re both quiet, soaking it in. It’s the start of something huge, scary, thrilling, and you’re diving in headfirst, together, like you always have.

—

The first few weeks of married life with Eunbi are this weird, hilarious mix of disbelief and dumbassery, like neither of you can wrap your heads around the whole “husband and wife” thing. You’re stumbling over the words, especially when you’re drunk—slouched on the couch with a beer in hand, her giggling over a glass of wine, and you’ll slur out, “Hey, wife, pass me the remote,” and she’ll cackle, tossing a cushion at your face instead, yelling, “Shut up, husband, get it yourself!” It’s all a joke, this exaggerated play-acting that cracks you both up, but then there’s the sex—holy shit, the sex—and it’s like a whole other level of unreal. You’re fucking like newlyweds, which, duh, you are, but it’s not just hot—it’s mind-blowing, the kind of sex that leaves you both sweaty and panting, tangled in sheets, staring at the ceiling like what the fuck just happened? Afterward, though, it’s not just hormones—it’s this quiet, gooey moment where you’re lying there, her head on your chest, your fingers in her hair, and you’re hit with it: you’re in love, stupidly, totally in love. She’ll mumble something sleepy like, “You’re stuck with me now, babe,” and you’ll kiss her forehead, muttering back, “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” and it’s cheesy as hell but true.

Work’s a trip too—word got around fast that you’re hitched to Kwon Eunbi, the idol, and it’s this running gag now. Your coworkers rib you constantly, like, “How’s it feel being Mr. Superstar?” or “Dude, you’re living a K-drama,” you just laugh, grinning, because yeah, it’s wild, but you’re lowkey proud of it. Meanwhile, Eunbi’s in beast mode—working on her new solo album, late-night studio sessions and vocal takes, while filming some reality show where she’s probably charming the pants off everyone. She’s busy as fuck, always on the go, but when she comes home—your home now, her sleek apartment with the killer view—she’s all smiles, kicking off her sneakers and collapsing onto the couch with a dramatic groan. “Missed you, loser,” she’ll say, and you’re already there, tossing her a water bottle, rubbing her shoulders because she’s wrecked from dance practice. She takes care of you too—cooking ramen at 2 a.m. when you’re both starving, or dragging you to bed when you’ve been up too late scrolling Tiktok. You’re texting nonstop when she’s away—dumb memes, her sending selfies with captions like “Your wife’s hot, deal with it,” and you firing back, “Yeah, my husband’s a snack too, what’s new?” It’s this constant thread, keeping you tethered even when her schedule’s a nightmare.

Weeks bleed into months, and you settle into this rhythm that’s equal parts new and familiar. Waking up next to Eunbi is the best damn part of your day—her sleepy face is adorable, all puffy cheeks and half-open eyes, hair a tangled mess across the pillow. She’ll grumble something incoherent, swatting at you if you try to wake her too early, but then she’ll roll over, snuggling into your chest like she’s claiming you, and you’re just lying there, grinning like an idiot because this is your life now. Mornings are a vibe—she’ll shuffle around the apartment in a tank top and panties, legs bare, that perfect ass on display, and you can’t help yourself. You’ll catch her mid-pancake flip or while she’s brewing coffee, sliding up behind her, hands on her hips, kissing her neck until she squeals and shoves you off—except half the time she doesn’t, and it turns into more. “Babe, I’m gonna burn the eggs!” she’ll laugh, but then you’re spinning her around, pinning her against the counter, and breakfast’s forgotten. One thing leads to another—her legs wrapped around you, tank top shoved up, panties on the floor—and you’re fucking right there in the kitchen, her moaning into your mouth, messy and desperate like it’s still the honeymoon phase. The friendship’s still there, rock-solid, just layered with this new heat—she’ll still roast you for leaving socks everywhere, but now it’s followed by a kiss that lingers too long to be platonic.

The apartment’s your little bubble—her minimalist decor mixed with your random junk, like the beat-up guitar you insist you’ll learn to play someday, or the stack of takeout menus you’ve hoarded “just in case.” She’s got her awards lined up on a shelf, shiny reminders of her idol life, but she’s just as happy sprawled on the couch with you, bingeing some trashy Netflix show, her feet in your lap while you argue over who’d survive a zombie apocalypse. When she’s wiped from a long day—voice hoarse from recording, body aching from choreography—you’re there, running her a bath, making her laugh with dumb impressions until she’s relaxed again. She does the same for you—when work’s kicking your ass, she’ll show up with coffee and a playlist, pulling you out of your funk with that smile that’s always worked on you. Months in, it’s routine but never boring—waking up to her, trading texts, coming home to each other. The sex is still fire, the love’s deep, and the friendship? Stronger than ever, like marriage didn’t just add a ring but superglued what you already had.

—

After months of Eunbi being swallowed whole by her insane schedule—tour dates stacked back-to-back, promo shoots, and those late-night studio sessions that left her voice raspy and her texts to you half-asleep—you finally catch a break. Her new solo album’s a hit, the tour’s wrapped, and she’s got some rare free time stretching out ahead of her like a gift. You’re quick to cash in on it, begging your boss for that long-delayed vacation you’ve been sitting on forever, and when it’s approved, you don’t even hesitate—Paris. It’s been on Eunbi’s bucket list since you were just best friends, back when she’d sprawl across your couch with a bowl of popcorn, scrolling through Instagram, sighing over pics of the Eiffel Tower and croissants, saying, “One day, dude, I’m dragging you there with me.” Now, here you are, married to her, making it happen. You book the flights, snag a cute little Airbnb near Montmartre with a balcony that’s begging for lazy mornings, and when you land in the city of love, it’s like the universe hands you both a gold star—perfect weather, crisp and cool, with that golden Paris light making everything look like a postcard.

The first big stop is the Eiffel Tower, because, well, you can’t not. It’s this crisp afternoon, the kind where the wind’s just chilly enough to justify the scarf Eunbi insisted you pack, and she’s bouncing around like a kid, her puffy jacket zipped up tight, a beanie squashing her hair flat. She’s got her phone out, snapping pics like a tourist—selfies with the tower looming behind you, her dragging you into frame even though you’re grumbling about how you hate photos. “Babe, come on, we need this for the memories!” she says, grinning, and you can’t say no to that smile, so you let her pose you—arm around her waist, her leaning into you, the iron lattice of the tower stretching up into the sky as if it were the Eighth Wonder of the World. You take some too, catching her off-guard when she’s laughing at some dumb joke you made about the French berets, her eyes crinkling, cheeks pink from the cold. There’s this one shot—her dazzled by the view, smiling, hair flying in the wind, the tower sharp in the background—that you know’s going straight to your lockscreen when you’re back home. You climb up to the second level, her dragging you by the hand, and when you’re looking out over the city—Seine glittering below, all those rooftops sprawling out—she squeezes your fingers, whispering, “This is fucking unreal,” and you’re nodding, too choked up to say much because yeah, it is, and it’s her you’re here with.

Nights are for romantic dinners, and Paris delivers hard. You find this little bistro near the Seine, tucked away with ivy crawling up the walls, candles flickering on every table, and a menu that’s all in French but smells like heaven. Eunbi’s in this slinky black dress she packed “just in case,” and you’re in the one nice jacket you own, feeling like a king when she keeps stealing glances at you over her wine glass. The waiter’s rattling off specials in this thick accent, and you’re both pretending to understand, nodding like idiots until you just point at something with “canard” in it—duck, you figure—and hope for the best. It’s delicious, rich and tender, paired with this red wine she picked that’s got her giggling after two sips. “You’re my husband,” she says out of nowhere, twirling her fork, “and we’re in Paris—how did we get here?” You laugh, reaching across the table to grab her hand, thumb brushing her ring. “Beats me, but I’m not complaining.” The food keeps coming—crusty bread, some creamy soup she moans over, and a dessert that’s all chocolate and raspberries, which she feeds you a bite of, smirking when you get some on your chin. It’s intimate, easy, and you’re falling harder for her under the soft glow of the restaurant, the hum of French chatter around you making it feel like you’re in some dreamy movie.

You wander the city too—not just the big stuff, but the little streets, the ones with cobblestones and pastel storefronts selling macarons and flowers. She’s obsessed with the patisseries, dragging you into every one she spots, and you’re stuffed on croissants and éclairs by day three, but you don’t care because she’s licking powdered sugar off her fingers and laughing at you when you try to speak French to the cashier and butcher it. “Stick to English, babe,” she teases, but she’s proud anyway, you can tell. One evening, you’re strolling along the Champs-Élysées, lights twinkling, her arm looped through yours, and she stops to watch some street musician playing accordion. She’s swaying a little, humming along, and you pull her into this goofy slow dance right there on the sidewalk, people dodging around you, some smiling, some rolling their eyes. “You’re such a dork,” she mutters, but she’s grinning, her cheek pressed to your chest, and you feel like the luckiest guy alive.

Back at the Airbnb, it’s all cozy vibes—big windows letting in the night, a bottle of cheap wine you grabbed from a corner store, and her curled up against you on the tiny couch. You’re both buzzed, talking about everything—how she wants to come back for your anniversary, how you’re gonna frame that Eiffel Tower pic for the apartment. She’s in one of your hoodies, legs thrown over your lap, and you’re playing with her hair, twirling it around your fingers, when she looks up at you, all soft and serious. “I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did,” she says, voice quiet, “but this—us, here—it’s like… more.” You swallow hard, because fuck, you feel it too, this deep, steady thing that’s bigger than Paris, bigger than the wedding. “Same,” you say, leaning in to kiss her, slow and lazy, tasting wine and her, and it’s like every cheesy love song rolled into one perfect moment.

The days blur together—museums where she drags you to see Monet paintings and you pretend to get it, boat rides on the Seine where she’s snapping pics of you instead of the scenery, late mornings tangled in bed because neither of you wants to get up. You’re falling harder in the city of love, not just because it’s Paris, but because it’s her—Eunbi, your wife, the girl who’s always been it for you. By the time you’re packing to leave, suitcases stuffed with souvenirs and her whining about how she didn’t get enough macarons, you’re already planning the next trip. “We’re coming back,” she declares, zipping her bag, and you grin, pulling her into a hug. “Hell yeah, we are.”

—

You and Eunbi stumble through the door of your apartment, jet-lagged as hell from the Paris trip, dragging suitcases that feel like they’ve gained ten pounds from all the souvenirs and random shit you couldn’t resist buying. The flight back was a nightmare—turbulence, a crying baby two rows up, and Eunbi accidentally spilling her in-flight coffee on your lap—but you’re home now, and that’s all that matters. You’re both wrecked, clothes rumpled, eyes heavy, but there’s this quiet, happy buzz between you, like you’ve just pulled off something epic. Paris was a dream—croissants flaky enough to make you cry, the Eiffel Tower sparkling at night, Eunbi dragging you into every cute café she could find—and you’re still riding that high. After kicking off your shoes and leaving a trail of bags by the door, you both agree a bath’s non-negotiable. The tub’s big enough for two, thank God, and you sink into the hot water together, her back against your chest, steam curling up around you. She’s got her hair piled into a messy bun, and you’re just soaking there, letting the ache melt out of your bones, laughing about how she almost got pickpocketed by some slick dude near Notre-Dame but scared him off with her death glare. “I’m a badass, babe,” she says, smirking, and you kiss the top of her head, muttering, “Yeah, my badass wife.”

Clean and lazy, you flop onto the bed in nothing but towels, still damp, too tired to bother with clothes. The mattress feels like heaven after long hours of flying, and you grab your phone, scrolling through the Paris pics—Eunbi cheesing in front of the Louvre, you pretending to hold up the Arc de Triomphe, a blurry selfie of you two kissing on a Seine river cruise. She scoots closer, resting her chin on your shoulder, and you can feel her smiling against your skin. “Paris was my dream, you know,” she says, voice soft, “and doing it with you? Fucking perfect.” You turn your head, catching her eyes, and there’s this warm, mushy thing in your chest because yeah, it was perfect—wandering Montmartre, getting lost in those winding streets, her laughing so hard at your shitty French accent that wine came out her nose. But then she goes quiet, scrolling through more pics, and her vibe shifts—nostalgic, almost wistful. “Remember when we were just friends?” she starts, and you know she’s about to dive deep. “Like, all those late nights at my old place, me bitching about auditions, you bringing me ramen because I was too broke to eat out. I told you stuff I never told anyone—how scared I was I’d flop, how I thought I’d never make it. You just got me, always did, and I was so fucking blind to how obvious it was.”

You laugh, setting the phone down, rolling onto your side to face her. “Obvious, huh? Guess I was clueless too—thought you were just my annoying best friend who stole my fries and cried during horror movies.” She smacks your arm, grinning, but there’s this tenderness in her eyes. “We were idiots,” she says, “all those years, and it was right there. Like that time you stayed over after my first big show, sleeping on that shitty couch because you didn’t wanna leave me alone—I should’ve known then.” You nod, remembering—her buzzing with adrenaline, you half-dead from cheering so loud, crashing out with her head on your shoulder. “Yeah, or that time you dragged me to the beach at 3 a.m. just to scream at the ocean after that dickhead dumped you,” you add, and she snorts, burying her face in the pillow. “God, I was a mess. But you were there—always were.” It’s heavy, this trip down memory lane, but it’s sweet too, stitching together all those moments that led to now—married, in love, still the same dumbasses but better.

The next day, you’re up and at it, hitting the grocery store like some normal-ass couple, which still feels wild to you. Eunbi’s in a hoodie and sweats, hair tucked under a cap to dodge any fans, and you’re pushing the cart, bickering over whether to get the spicy ramen or the mild one. “You’re such a wimp,” she teases, tossing the spicy pack in, and you fire back, “Says the girl who cried eating hot wings last week.” She hip-checks you, laughing, and it’s easy, domestic, but then you’re in the cereal aisle, and she gets quiet again, picking up a box of Frosted Flakes like it’s a time machine. “Did you ever, like, feel something back then?” she asks, not looking at you, and you lean against the cart, thinking. “Yeah, sometimes,” you admit, “like when you’d hug me a little too long after a bad day, or that time you fell asleep on me during movie night—I’d catch myself staring, wondering, but I’d shove it down ‘cause I didn’t wanna fuck us up.” She nods, chewing her lip, then says, “Me too. That summer at the lake house, you in those stupid board shorts—I’d catch myself staring, thinking, ‘Shit, he’s hot,’ but I’d panic and pretend it was nothing.”

You laugh, loud enough that some old lady glares at you from the next aisle, and Eunbi shushes you, giggling. “We’re so dumb,” she says, but it’s fond, and you grab her hand, lacing your fingers through hers. “Guess we figured it out eventually,” you say, and she squeezes back, smiling. Then it shifts—future talk sneaking in over canned goods. “You think we’ll have kids someday?” she asks, casual but not, and you shrug, grabbing some soup. “Yeah, maybe—little terrors running around, half you, half me. They’d be cute as hell, though.” She grins, tossing in some pasta. “They’d get your dumb laugh and my killer vocals—unstoppable.” You’re both laughing now, plotting this hypothetical life—where you’ll live, how you’ll juggle her career, maybe a dog first because “practice parenting,” she says. It’s light but real, this shared dream unfolding between shelves of snacks and detergent.

—

You and Eunbi are knee-deep in moving boxes, the new apartment a chaotic sprawl of cardboard, bubble wrap, and random shit you didn’t even know you owned. It's an improved version of her old place, providing more space to build a future. The hardwood floors gleam under the afternoon sun, but right now, they’re a minefield of half-unpacked crap—your old gaming console tangled in cords, her collection of stage outfits spilling out of a suitcase, a lamp you’re pretty sure you broke two moves ago but keep hauling around anyway. She’s in cutoff shorts and one of your old tees, hair tied up in a sloppy ponytail, and you’re in sweats. Music’s blasting from her portable speaker, some upbeat pop track she’s humming along to, and you’re both trying to make this fun, even if you’re sweaty and half-dead from the effort.

“Pass me the scissors, babe,” she says, wrestling with a box labeled Kitchen Stuff in her stylized handwriting. You rummage through the mess on the counter, find them under a pile of takeout menus, and toss them her way—except your aim’s trash, and they clatter onto the floor, sliding under the fridge. She shoots you a look, one eyebrow cocked, and you grin, shrugging. “Oops, my bad—guess you’re diving for those.” She groans, dramatic as hell, and drops to her knees, fishing them out with a string of fake curses—“You’re useless, I swear”—but she’s laughing, and you’re laughing, and it’s this dumb, perfect chaos that’s so you two. You grab a box of books next, slicing it open with a pocketknife, and start stacking them on the shelf—your beat-up sci-fi novels next to her glossy idol photobooks, a weirdly cute mashup of your worlds. Then she yelps behind you, and you spin around to see her tangled in a string of fairy lights she was trying to hang. “Help me, you asshole!” she cries, flailing, and you rush over, untangling her while she’s giggling so hard she’s useless.

It’s a mess—boxes tipping over, you tripping on a stray sneaker and nearly face-planting into the couch, her dropping a mug that—thank fuck—doesn’t break but rolls under the coffee table instead. “We’re a disaster,” you say, crawling to grab it, and she’s sprawled on the floor, catching her breath, nodding. “Yeah, but we’re our disaster.” You finally get the mug, plop down next to her, and you’re both just sitting there, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, the apartment looking like a tornado hit it. But it’s starting to feel like home—her vinyl records leaning against the wall, your dumb bobblehead collection on the windowsill, a framed pic of you two from Paris already up on the mantle. She hops up eventually, brushing off her shorts, and declares, “Break time—I’m not touching another box ‘til I’ve got something cold in my hand.” You follow her to the kitchen, where she digs out a bottle of lemonade she bought on the way here—tart and sweet, just how she likes it—and pours two glasses.

You crash on the couch, the one piece of furniture you’ve managed to set up right, and she flops next to you, legs slung over your lap. The lemonade’s perfect, cutting through the sticky heat of the day, and you both just sit there, sipping, staring out at the new place. “Not bad, huh?” you say, nodding at the view—tall buildings glinting in the sun, a sliver of green from some park nearby. She leans her head on your shoulder, glass sweaty in her hand, and hums. “Yeah, we did good, babe. This feels… right.” There’s this quiet pride in her voice, and you get it—new apartment, new chapter, all that sappy shit you’d never say out loud but totally feel. The boxes are still a nightmare, but the bones of the place are solid—open living room, a bedroom big enough for her to hog the bed like she always does, a little nook she’s already eyeing for her music gear. You’re pleased as hell, and she is too, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm like she’s content just being here with you.

Then she shifts, sitting up a little, and you can tell she’s got that look—the one where she’s about to drop some random thought that’s been bouncing around her head. “You know what’d make this place even better?” she says, smirking, and you raise an eyebrow, waiting. “A dog. Or maybe a cat. Something fuzzy to trip over all this crap we’re unpacking.” You laugh, because of course she’d go there—she’s been dropping pet hints since you got married, pointing at every dog on the street like a kid at a candy store. “A dog, huh? You gonna walk it when you’re filming at 3 a.m.?” you tease, and she shoves you, spilling a little lemonade on your shirt—oops, clumsy strikes again. “Okay, fine, a cat then—low maintenance, just sits there looking cute, like me,” she says, batting her lashes, and you snort, wiping at the wet spot. “You’re not low maintenance, babe, but I see your point. A cat could work—curl up on all these boxes we’re too lazy to finish.”

She grins, sipping her drink, and you’re both picturing it now—some fluffy little gremlin padding around, knocking over her awards or shedding on your couch. “We could name it something dumb,” you say, “like… Croissant, after Paris.” She cackles, nearly choking on her lemonade. “Croissant? Oh my god, yes—or Baguette, keep it French.” You’re cracking up, the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt, and it’s so easy, so you two. The apartment’s still a wreck, boxes everywhere, but it’s yours—hers and yours—and that’s enough. You lean over, kissing her quick, tasting lemonade on her lips, and she smiles against you, murmuring, “Love you, you dork.” “Love you too, klutz,” you shoot back, and you’re both just sitting there, happy as hell, plotting a future with a pet called Croissant (or Baguette).

—

Time slips by in this sneaky, quiet way, and before you even clock it, the new apartment’s not just a place with your stuff—it’s home. The boxes are long gone, replaced with little touches that scream you and Eunbi: her vinyls stacked by the record player, your dumb gaming chair shoved in the corner, a shelf of Polaroids from Paris and random nights out. The fairy lights she got tangled in that first day are strung up over the couch now, glowing soft at night when you’re bingeing shows or screwing around—sometimes literally. Croissant, the fluffy tabby cat you adopted a few months back, rules the place like a tiny dictator, knocking over coasters and napping on Eunbi’s laundry. You’ve settled into this rhythm—her coming home from shoots or studio sessions, you cooking something half-decent or ordering takeout when you’re both too wiped, the two of you texting dumb shit all day like “don’t forget cat food” or “miss u, loser.” It’s normal, cozy, and yours. Then, bam, it’s your first wedding anniversary, and you’re both looking at each other like, “Holy shit, we made it a year—how’d that happen?”

You’re at this swanky little restaurant for the occasion, tucked into a corner booth with dim lighting and candles flickering on the table, the kind of spot that’s romantic without being try-hard. Eunbi’s across from you, and—fuck—she’s stunning. She’s in this sleek black dress, sleeveless with a deep neckline that shows off her collarbones and just enough cleavage to make your brain stutter, the fabric hugging her curves like it’s custom-made. Her hair’s down, waves falling over her shoulders, and she’s got this subtle red lip thing going that’s driving you quietly insane. You’re in a dark button-up, sleeves rolled to your elbows because she said it makes you look “stupidly hot,” and you’re trying not to stare too hard, but it’s a losing battle. The waiter drops off a bottle of wine—some fancy-ass Pinot she picked—and you pour, clinking glasses with this goofy grin because you still can’t believe you’re married to her. “To us, babe,” you say, and she smirks, tapping her glass against yours. “To us—and to not killing each other over who gets the remote.” You laugh, sipping, and the wine’s smooth, warming you up as the night kicks off.

She’s glowing tonight, not just from the dress or the candlelight, but from this quiet happiness that’s been building since you tied the knot. You’d caught her interview earlier this week—some glossy magazine sit-down where she talked about married life, and she’d gone off about you in the best way. “He’s my rock,” she’d said, “keeps me sane when everything’s crazy—plus, he’s not bad to look at.” The host had laughed, and she’d added, “No, seriously, I lucked out—he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You’d read it on your lunch break, grinning like an idiot at your desk, and when you texted her, “Saw the interview, you’re too nice,” she’d shot back, “Just facts, babe—deal with it.” Now, sitting here, you bring it up, leaning in a little. “That interview you did? You made me sound like some perfect dude—my ego’s never recovering.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, twirling her wine glass. “Oh, please, you love it. And it’s true—you’re my favorite person, even when you’re hogging the blankets or leaving the wet towel on the bed.” You chuckle, reaching for her hand across the table, and she laces her fingers with yours, her thumb brushing your knuckles like it’s second nature.

The food comes—some fancy pasta for her, steak for you—and you’re digging in, trading bites like you always do, her stealing half your fries because “they taste better off your plate.” It’s easy, flirty, the kind of night where every look feels loaded. “You look fucking incredible tonight,” you say, and she smirks, leaning forward so the dress dips just enough to tease. “Thanks, husband—you clean up pretty nice yourself. Been thinking about jumping you since we left the house.” You nearly choke on your wine, laughing, and she’s got this wicked grin, loving how she still catches you off guard. “Keep talking like that, and we’re not making it to dessert,” you warn, and she shrugs, all innocent. “Who needs dessert when I’ve got you?” It’s cheesy, but it lands—your chest does that warm, tight thing it always does when she’s being cute and hot at the same time.

Between bites, you start tossing around plans for your next trip—anniversary’s got you both in this dreamy, let’s-do-something-big mood. “So, where we headed next, babe?” you ask, popping a fry into your mouth, and she lights up like you just handed her the keys to the world, setting her fork down with a little clink. “Okay, hear me out—I’ve been obsessed with the idea of Italy lately. Like, picture it: Rome, all that ancient ruin shit, pizza straight from Naples, maybe a boat ride in Venice.” You nod, already picturing it, your grin spreading wide. “Hell yeah—pasta every day, you in one of those flowy sundresses? I’m sold.” She laughs, sipping her wine, the sound bright and teasing. “You just wanna see my ass in something skimpy, don’t you, perv?” “Caught me,” you shoot back, winking, and she kicks you under the table—light, playful, but her foot lingers against your shin. “Guilty as charged,” you add, and she rolls her eyes, smirking.

“But real talk,” she says, leaning in a little, her voice dropping softer, “I love that we do this—jet off somewhere, make memories. Paris was unreal, but I’m itching to keep it going with you.” You squeeze her hand across the table, her fingers warm against yours, and you’re feeling all mushy inside. “Same, babe—anywhere, as long as I’ve got you with me.” She smiles, that soft, heart-melting one, but then she tilts her head, tapping her glass with a nail. “Okay, but what about Greece? Santorini’s been all over my feed—those white houses, blue roofs, insane sunsets. We could just chill on a beach, drink ouzo ‘til we’re stupid.” You lean back, chewing it over. “Fuck, that sounds dope—lounging on some cliff, staring at the ocean, you in a bikini? Yeah, I could get behind that.” She snorts, shaking her head. “You’re so predictable—always about the outfits.” “Can you blame me? You’d kill it,” you say, grinning, and she flicks a breadcrumb at you, laughing when it bounces off your chest.

“True, true—I’d rock a bikini or a toga, whatever vibe we’re going for,” she says, then takes another sip, her eyes glinting with ideas. “But what about Iceland? Kinda random, but hear me out—hot springs, northern lights, all that rugged, wild shit. We could rent one of those cozy cabins, fuck around in a geothermal pool.” You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Okay, damn, that’s a curveball—I’m picturing you naked in a hot spring, steam everywhere, me freezing my balls off ‘til I jump in with you. I’d be down.” She cackles, nearly choking on her wine. “You’d look so dumb shivering—‘save me, babe, I’m too pretty to die!’” she mimics, and you kick her back under the table, both of you cracking up. “Hey, I’d make it sexy—you’d be all over me,” you say, and she shrugs, smirking. “Maybe. But Italy’s still my top pick—gelato on the Spanish Steps, you trying to pronounce ‘carbonara’ and butchering it. I need that in my life.”

You laugh, picturing it—her in sunglasses, licking a cone, you stumbling over Italian like an idiot. “Alright, Italy’s got my vote too—Rome’s got that Colosseum vibe, and I’d kill for some real-deal pizza. But Greece is tempting—could do both, you know, hop from pasta to tzatziki.” She tilts her head, considering it, then nods. “Ooh, a double whammy—greedy, but I like it. We could start in Rome, eat our weight in carbs, then bounce to Santorini for the beach-and-booze combo. You’d look hot with a tan, babe.” “And you’d look hotter soaking it up—deal,” you say, squeezing her hand again, and she leans forward, her foot sliding up your calf now, teasing. “You’re just imagining me half-naked everywhere, huh?” “Pretty much,” you admit, grinning, and she kicks you again, harder this time, but her laugh says she’s right there with you.

“Seriously, though,” she says, her voice softening, eyes locking on yours over the candlelight, “I love this—us planning shit, going places. Paris was fucking magic, but wherever we end up next, I just want it to be you and me, making it ours.” You feel that sappy warmth bloom in your chest again, her words hitting deep, and you rub your thumb over her knuckles. “Same, babe—doesn’t matter if it’s Italy, Greece, Iceland, wherever. You’re my vibe, my home—gonna keep chasing that with you.” She smiles, big and real.

And that's how the night goes on, slow and sweet—more wine, her laughing at your dumb jokes, you sneaking glances at how the candlelight catches her eyes. She’s talking about her solo album, how the reality show’s a pain but worth it, and you’re just listening, smitten, because she’s so her—driven, funny, gorgeous. “You’re proud of me, right?” she asks out of nowhere, and it’s so sudden you almost fumble your glass. “Are you kidding? Fuck yeah, I’m proud—watching you kill it out there, then come home to me? You’re unreal.” Her smile goes soft, a little shy, and she leans over the table, kissing you quick but deep, the taste of wine on her lips. “Love you,” she whispers, and you murmur it back, “Love you too,” feeling like the luckiest bastard alive.

—

You stumble into the apartment with Eunbi, the door barely clicking shut before the vibe shifts—there’s this thick, electric tension crackling between you, built up from the whole ride home. It started at the restaurant, those flirty little jabs over dinner, her foot brushing your leg under the table, but the car ride? That’s where it kicked into overdrive. She’d leaned over at a red light, smirking, whispering, “You keep looking at me like that, babe, and we’re not making it to the bed,” and you’d fired back, “Try me—I’ve got plans for that dress.” Now, the air’s buzzing as you kick off your shoes by the door, her tossing her purse onto the counter with a clatter, Croissant darting out of the way like he knows shit’s about to go down. You’re both giggling, a little tipsy from the wine, but it’s more than that—it’s the heat, the want, the way she’s glancing over her shoulder at you like she’s daring you to make the first move. You head for the bedroom, already peeling off your blazer, letting it flop onto the chair in the corner, and she’s right behind you, kicking off her heels one by one, the soft thud of them hitting the hardwood echoing in the quiet.

You’re loosening your tie, watching her in the mirror as she fumbles with her second shoe, and you can’t help yourself—you step closer, hands sliding around her waist, lips brushing her neck. “You’re taking too long,” you murmur, voice low, and she laughs, swatting at you half-heartedly. “Chill, babe, I’m—oh, fuck it,” she says, turning in your arms, and before you know it, she’s shrugging out of that black dress like it’s nothing. It pools at her feet, and—holy shit—she’s standing there in lingerie, this lacy red set that’s all straps and sheer fabric, hugging her curves in a way you weren't prepared for. You’re frozen for a hot second, and then she’s on you, hands grabbing your face, kissing you hard. Her lips crash into yours, red lipstick smearing across your mouth, and she’s climbing you like a tree—legs wrapping around your waist, pushing you back toward the bed. “I’ve been horny all fucking night,” she breathes against your lips. You stumble, hitting the mattress with her on top, and she’s straddling you, hair falling wild around her face, lipstick marks blooming on your cheek, your jaw, everywhere.

“Jesus, Eunbi,” you manage, laughing a little, hands gripping her hips as she grinds down just enough to make you groan. “You’re a menace—you know that dress was killing me, right?” She smirks, and starts unbuttoning your shirt with quick, eager fingers. “Good, that was the point—now get this off, I need you naked, like, yesterday.” You help her out, shrugging the shirt off your shoulders, tossing it somewhere—fuck if you care where—and then you’re pulling her down, kissing her back, hungry and messy. Your lips find her jaw, her throat, that soft spot under her ear that makes her shiver, and you’re murmuring against her skin, “You’re so fucking beautiful—hot as hell, babe.” She moans softly, and you keep going, kissing down her neck, her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint floral of her perfume. Your hands roam—over her back, her ass, squeezing through the lace, loving every inch of her like she’s a goddamn miracle, which, yeah, she is.

She pushes you back, flattening you against the bed with this look in her eyes—half-lidded, wild, all in charge. “Stay,” she says, like you’re her personal plaything, and you’re not arguing—why would you? Her hands are on your belt now, fumbling with the buckle, and you lift your hips to help her out, grinning as she curses under her breath. “Why are these so complicated—there, got it,” she mutters, yanking the belt free, and then she’s tugging your pants down, taking your boxers with them in one impatient pull. They hit the floor, and you’re bare under her, cock hard and twitching as she sits back, straddling your thighs. She wraps her hand around your cock, stroking slow and deliberate, her thumb brushing the tip just to fuck with you, and she’s staring—straight into your eyes, unblinking, like she’s memorizing every hitch in your breath. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” she says, and then she leans down, lips hovering over you. You hold your breath, and she gives the tip this gentle, teasing kiss—barely there, but enough to make your hips jerk, a low groan spilling out before you can stop it.

She pulls back, smirking at the mess she’s already making of you, red lipstick smudged from all the kissing, her lingerie a stark contrast against the pale sheets. “Been thinking about this all night,” she admits, stroking you again, her grip tightening just enough to drive you nuts, and you’re gripping the bedspread, trying to keep it together. “Yeah?” you rasp, voice rough, “Same—couldn’t stop watching you, thinking about getting you home.” She laughs, this low, sultry sound, and shifts closer, her thighs brushing yours, the lace of her bra scratching faintly against your chest when she leans in. “Well, we’re here now, babe—so what’re we gonna do about it?” she asks, then she leans in, breath hot against the tip, and you feel the first brush of her lips—soft, barely there, a tease that’s got your hips shifting impatiently. “Relax, babe,” she murmurs, “I’ve got you all night.”

She starts slow, like she’s testing the waters, her tongue flicking out to swirl around the head, wet and warm. You groan, low and rough, hands fisting the sheets. She takes her time, lips wrapping around the tip, sucking gently, just enough to make your head spin but nowhere near enough to satisfy. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and playful under those long lashes, and she smirks around you, knowing exactly what she’s doing—drawing it out, making you squirm. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re desperate,” she says, pulling off for a second, her hand pumping you in this lazy rhythm while spit glistens on her lips. You open your mouth to fire back, but then she dives in again, and whatever smartass reply you had dies in your throat.

She slides her mouth down further now, taking you in deeper, her tongue flat against the underside, pressing hard enough to make your toes curl. It’s wet, messy, the sound of it—soft little sucks, the slick slide of her lips—mixing with your ragged breathing, filling the room. Her hair’s falling forward, brushing your thighs, and you reach down, threading your fingers through it, not pushing, just holding on because you need something to ground you. She hums, this pleased little noise that vibrates through you, and shifts her weight, one hand bracing on your hip while the other grips the base of your cock, guiding it exactly where she wants it. She’s teasing still, not going all in, bobbing her head slow and shallow, lips stretching around you, leaving red streaks from that lipstick she knows drives you wild. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” you rasp, voice scraping out, and she pulls off just enough to flash you a grin, spit-slick and smug. “Yeah? You’re welcome, babe—been dying to taste you all night.”

Then she dives back in, and this time she’s not playing around—she takes you deeper, throat relaxing as she swallows you down, inch by inch, until her nose is brushing your skin and you’re seeing stars. It’s tight, hot, her tongue working in these lazy, filthy swirls that make your hips buck involuntarily. She gags a little, just once, but doesn’t stop—pulls back slightly, then goes again, deeper still, like she’s determined to take all of you. You’re a wreck, groaning her name, “Eunbi—shit,” and she’s loving it, you can tell—her eyes water a bit, but she’s locked on you, watching every twitch, every gasp, feeding off how gone you are. Her hand’s moving too, stroking what her mouth can’t reach, twisting just right.

You tug her hair a little, not hard, just enough to get her to look up again, and when she does—fuck, that sight. Her lips stretched around you, cheeks hollowed, eyes glassy with lust and effort—it’s pornographic, but it’s more than that, it’s her, giving you everything like it’s her goddamn mission. She pulls off for a breath, panting, her hand still working you, slick and fast, and she’s grinning, all proud and messy. “You taste so fucking good,” she says, voice wrecked, and then she’s licking you, long, slow stripes from base to tip, like she’s worshipping every inch. You’re shaking, thighs flexing under her, and she just keeps going—sucks the head again, harder this time, then slides down, swallowing deep, her throat fluttering around you. It’s overwhelming, and she’s relentless, switching between teasing little licks and full-on deep-throating like she’s trying to unravel you piece by piece.

Now she shifts lower, her lips brushing down past your shaft like she’s exploring every damn inch of you. She gets to your balls, and—fuck—she doesn’t hesitate, taking one into her mouth with this slow, deliberate pull that’s got your back arching off the sheets. Her tongue’s swirling, wet and warm, and she’s sucking just hard enough to make your head spin, a low groan ripping out of you before you can stop it. She pops off, grinning up at you, spit shining on her lips. “God, babe, I fucking love your cock—like, I’m obsessed with it, with you.” She dives back in, licking them sloppy and slow, her hands stroking your thighs, and you can feel the drool dripping down, leaving everything slick and messy in the best way. “You’re so perfect,” she mumbles against you, sucking the other one now, her tongue flicking in this filthy little dance that’s got you shaking. “I could do this all night—fuck, I’d live down here if you let me.”

She’s relentless, leaving your balls soaked and heavy, and you’re barely coherent, hands tangled in her hair, tugging just to feel her moan against you. Then she pulls back, sitting up on her knees, and you’re still catching your breath when she hooks her fingers into the sides of her red lace panties. She tugs them aside, not even bothering to take them off, the fabric stretching tight against her hip as she exposes herself—glistening, wet, ready. She climbs up your body, straddling you again, her thighs flexing as she positions herself right over your cock, and you can feel the heat radiating off her before she even touches you. “Wait—babe, no condom,” you say, voice rough, half-lost in the haze but still aware enough to clock it. She freezes for a second, looking down at you with those dark, hungry eyes, and shakes her head. “Don’t need it,” she says, firm, desperate, “I want you raw—need it, babe, I’m so fucking horny I can’t think straight.” You blink, brain scrambling to catch up, and choke out, “You sure? Like, really sure?” because this is big—first time without that barrier, and you’re not about to fuck this up.

She leans down, hands braced on your chest, her face so close her breath’s hot against your lips. “Yes, I’m sure—you’re the man of my life, my husband, nothing’s more important than this, than you.” Her voice is all heat, full of conviction, and it hits you square in the chest—lust, yeah, but something deeper too, that trust you’ve built over years crashing into this moment. She’s practically vibrating with want, her nails digging into your skin, and you nod, hands sliding to her hips. “Okay, fuck—let’s do it,” you say, and her grin’s pure fire, wild and needy. She doesn’t waste a second—lines you up, the tip of your cock brushing her entrance, and then she sinks down, slow at first, taking you in inch by inch. Holy shit—it’s different, raw, the heat of her pussy bare around you, no latex in the way, and it’s like your whole nervous system lights up. She’s tight, wetter than ever, and the feeling’s so intense you gasp, fingers gripping her ass.

“Oh my god,” she moans, loud and unfiltered, head tipping back as she bottoms out, her thighs trembling against your sides. “Fuck, babe, you feel—so—fucking—good,” she stutters, rocking her hips a little, adjusting, and you can feel every pulse, every flutter of her around you—it’s unreal, addictive. “You’re huge—shit, I can’t get enough,” she pants, and she’s already moving, lifting up just to slam back down, her hands splayed on your chest for balance. You groan, deep and guttural, because this—this is next-level, the slick, hot slide of her taking you raw, her walls gripping you like she’s claiming you all over again. “Eunbi—fuck, you’re killing me,” you manage, and she laughs, this breathy, horny sound that’s a synthesis of lust and power. “Good,” she says, “I want you wrecked—been thinking about this all night, feeling you bare inside me.”

You’re mesmerized, watching her—lipstick-smeared mouth parted, eyes half-shut, her body moving like sin itself. “You’re so fucking hot,” you say, hands roaming up her back. She leans down, kissing you sloppy and deep, tongue tangling with yours as she grinds down. “Love you—love this,” she murmurs against your lips, and then she’s off again, sitting up, riding you harder, like she’s trying to break you, her hips slamming down with this relentless, hungry rhythm, and the raw heat of her pussy—bare, tight, and so fucking wet—has you teetering on the edge of sanity. You’re lost in it, hands gripping her ass, feeling her clench around you with every thrust, when you slide your fingers up her back, fumbling with the clasp of that red lace bra. It’s been taunting you all night, barely holding her in, and now you’re done waiting. The hooks pop free, and she shrugs it off quick, letting it fall on the bed like it’s nothing. Her big tits spill out, heavy and perfect, bouncing with every move she makes, and—fuck—you can’t take your eyes off them. They’re gorgeous, full and round, nipples already hard and begging for attention, and you can’t help yourself. “Goddamn, babe, I fucking love your tits,” you say, voice rough with want, staring up at her like she’s a goddess—which, let’s be real, she is. She smirks down at you, smug and horny, and leans closer, her voice dripping with heat. “They’re all yours, babe—always have been.”

You reach up, hands greedy, cupping them as she keeps riding you, her skin soft and warm under your palms. They fill your hands perfectly, heavy and plush, and you squeeze, thumbs brushing over her nipples because you know how sensitive they are, how they drive her wild. She gasps, this sharp little sound that shoots straight to your dick, and her pace falters for a second, hips stuttering as you tease her. “Fuck—yes, play with them,” she moans, arching her back to push them closer, and you’re in heaven, kneading them, rolling her nipples between your fingers until they’re tight little peaks. She’s panting now, her nails digging into your chest, leaving half-moon marks, and you can feel her getting wetter, slicker, her thighs trembling against you. “You love that, huh?” you say, grinning, voice all gravel and lust. “Love how I can’t get enough of these perfect fucking tits.” She nods, breathless, and bites her lip, that red lipstick smudged and sexy as hell. “Yeah—fuck, I love it—keep going, babe, don’t stop.”

Then she shifts, slowing her hips just enough to lean forward, dangling those heavy breasts right in your face like an offering. “Suck them,” she says, more like a command than a request, and you don’t need to be told twice. You lift your head, wrapping your lips around one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking over the sensitive tip, and she moans—loud, shameless, this sound that’s pure sex. Her tits are so full, so soft against your mouth, and you’re obsessed—sucking one, then the other, tasting her skin, feeling her shiver as you tease with your teeth, just a graze because you know it makes her crazy. “Fuck, yes—harder,” she gasps, her hands in your hair, pulling you closer, and you oblige, sucking deeper, your tongue swirling, lips tugging until she’s squirming, her breath hitching like she’s about to lose it. “You’re so fucking good at that,” she pants, her hips grinding down on you again, slower now but deeper, like she’s savoring every inch of you inside her.

You switch, taking the other nipple into your mouth, one hand squeezing the free one, rolling the wet peak between your fingers, and she’s a mess—head tipped back, hair spilling wild, moaning your name like a prayer. “God, babe, your mouth—fuck, I could ride you all night just for this,” she says, and you groan against her, the vibration making her gasp again. You pull back for a second, just to look—her tits glistening with your spit, flushed from the attention, nipples swollen and red—and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. “You’re so fucking sexy,” you tell her, kissing the valley between them, then licking a slow stripe up to her collarbone. “These tits—they’re mine, yeah? All fucking mine.” She nods, desperate, leaning down to kiss you, sloppy and deep, her tongue tangling with yours as she grinds harder. “All yours—always,” she whispers against your lips, then pulls back, offering them again, pressing them into your face. “Suck them more—please, babe, need it.”

You dive back in, hungry, sucking one nipple while pinching the other, and she’s riding you again, her pussy so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. She’s loud—moaning, cursing, this stream of dirty talk spilling out like she can’t help it. “Fuck, you feel so good inside me—love your cock, love your mouth—gonna fuck you ‘til I can’t walk,” she says, and you’re matching her energy, thrusting up to meet her, hands full of her tits, squeezing as you suck, tongue flicking fast. Her breathing’s ragged, her body trembling, and you can tell she’s losing herself in it—libido dialed up to a hundred, chasing that high with you. You bite down, just a little, and she cries out, this raw, needy sound that’s got you feral, sucking harder, loving her with every flick, every thrust, every filthy word bouncing between you. She’s all yours, and she’s making damn sure you know it—riding you raw, tits in your face, owning this night like it’s hers to take.

“Fuck, babe, your cock’s so good,” she groans, her hands braced on your chest for leverage as she grinds down harder. Then she looks down at you, eyes dark and glassy, and smirks, panting, “I’m already close—wanna make your wife cum, huh?” It’s half a taunt, half a plea, and it lights you up like a match to gasoline. “Fuck yes,” you say, voice rough, hands sliding up her thighs, “wanna feel you lose it all over me.”

She grins, this wicked, horny flash of teeth, but before she can ride herself over the edge, you take charge—grabbing her hips, flipping her onto her side in one smooth move. It’s a position you know she loves—spooning her from behind, one arm hooked under her leg to lift it just enough, giving you all the access you need. She twists her head back to look at you, all flushed and needy, and you dive in, kissing her neck, lips dragging slow and wet over that sensitive spot that always makes her shiver. “Goddamn, you’re perfect,” you murmur against her skin, hands roaming up to her tits, squeezing them hard as you thrust into her, deep and steady. They fill your palms, soft and heavy, nipples still swollen from earlier, and you can’t get over how much you love them—love her. “I fucking love you, Eunbi—so much,” you say, and she moans, this soft, broken sound that hits you right in the chest. “Love you too—fuck, don’t stop,” she breathes, turning her head more, catching your lips in a kiss.

You’re pounding into her now, her pussy so wet it’s obscene—slick sounds mixing with her gasps, her walls fluttering around you like she’s right on the edge. Your hand’s still on her tit, kneading it, thumb flicking the nipple just to hear her whimper, while your other arm’s wrapped around her, holding her tight against you. She’s kissing you back, messy and fierce, her tongue sliding against yours, her teeth grazing your lip as she moans into your mouth. “So good—fuck, you’re so deep,” she pants between kisses, her voice shaking, and you can tell she’s close—her breathing’s all ragged, her body tensing, thighs trembling against you. You slide a hand down her stomach, fingers finding her clit, and she jolts, a sharp “Oh—shit!” spilling out as you start rubbing, slow circles at first, teasing her. “Yeah, babe, right there—fuck, you know me so well,” she groans, her head tipping back against your shoulder, giving you more of her neck to kiss, to bite, as you pick up the pace.

Your fingers are relentless now, rubbing her clit faster, slick and swollen under your touch, and she’s losing it—moaning loud, no filter, just pure, horny need. “Gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—” she stutters, words cutting off as you thrust harder, angling just right to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. Your lips are on her neck, sucking a mark into her skin, and you growl against her, “Come on, babe—cum for me, let me feel my wife fall apart.” She’s kissing you again, frantic, her hand grabbing yours on her clit to press it harder, guiding you. “Yes—yes—fuck, right there!” she cries, and then she’s done for—her whole body locks up, shuddering hard against you, her pussy clenching tight around your cock as she cums, wave after wave ripping through her.

She’s trembling, gasping, her walls pulsing around you so hard it’s like she’s trying to pull you in deeper, and you don’t let up—fucking her through it, slower now but still deep, your fingers still teasing her clit until she’s squirming, oversensitive and wrecked. “Oh my god—babe, fuck,” she pants, turning her head to kiss you again, softer this time, but still sloppy, her tongue weak from how hard she just came. You pull your hand off her clit, wrapping it around her waist instead, holding her close as you kiss her back, tasting the sweat on her lips, the raw need still lingering there. “You’re so fucking hot when you cum,” you murmur, nipping at her jaw, and she laughs, this shaky, blissed-out sound, her chest heaving against you. “Only for you, babe—shit, you’re too good at this,” she says, voice hoarse and satisfiedll.

You slide your cock out of her, slow and deliberate, and she lets out this soft, needy whimper, her body twitching like she’s already missing you inside her. You climb up, hovering over her, and kiss her deep—lips crashing together. Her hands grab at your shoulders, pulling you closer, and she’s kissing you back like she’s starved for it, her breath hot against your mouth. “Fuck, babe,” she pants when you pull back, “I’m never using a condom with you again—shit, that was too good. Why the hell didn’t we do this sooner?” Her words hit hard, your cock throbbing hard, already aching to get back inside her, and you groan, nodding. “Yeah, fuck condoms—your pussy’s too hot, too tight bare. Can’t believe we waited this long.”

She smirks up at you, all lazy and satisfied but still burning with that wild edge, her eyes flicking down to where your cock’s hovering just above her. You shift, brushing the tip against her entrance—slow, teasing, dragging it through her slick folds—and she whimpers again, hips twitching up like she’s desperate for it. “Still horny,” she murmurs, voice soft but loaded with want, her fingers digging into your arms. You grin, leaning down to nip at her ear, your breath hot against her skin. “Then beg for it, babe—beg for my cock like a good girl.” She shudders under you, and—fuck—when she starts talking, it’s like gasoline on the fire in your gut. “Please, babe—please fuck me,” she says, eyes locked on yours, wide and pleading. “Need your cock so bad—want you raw, want you deep, please.” It’s filthy and hot, and your dick pulses in your hand, rock-hard and ready, just from hearing her like that—your wife, begging for you like she’s losing her mind.

But she doesn’t stop there—she’s too far gone, too horny, too slutty. “Fuck me hard,” she demands, her tone shifting, sharper now, commanding, her legs spreading wider like she’s daring you to hold back. “Want your cum inside me—need it, babe, fill my fucking womb with your thick cum.” That’s it—that breed kink she’s throwing at you, raw and unfiltered, and it’s got your cock throbbing so hard you can feel your pulse in it, your whole body lit up with horny, primal need. “Keep going,” you growl, teasing her entrance more, sliding the tip in just an inch then pulling back, making her squirm. “Tell me how bad you want it.” She moans, frustrated and desperate, her hands clawing at your back, leaving red streaks. “Goddamn it, I want it so bad—fuck me ‘til I can’t walk, babe, pump me full—please, I need your cock, need you to fuck me raw and hard, want your cum dripping out of me.” You can’t resist her anymore—she’s got you hooked, and you’re ready to give her everything.

You line up, gripping her hips, and slam into her—no warning, no easing in, just a hard, deep thrust that makes her scream, this raw, guttural sound that bounces off the walls. Her pussy’s tight, hot, and so fucking wet, swallowing you whole, and you don’t hold back—pounding into her with a rhythm that’s fast and brutal, the bed shaking under you. “Fuck, yes—like that!” she yells, her voice breaking, hands flying to the headboard to brace herself as you rail her, her tits bouncing wildly with every slap of your hips against hers. You lean down, kissing her neck, biting just hard enough to leave marks, and she’s moaning, arching into you, her walls clenching tight like she’s already chasing that next high. “You’re so fucking perfect,” you growl against her skin, one hand sliding up to squeeze her tit again, thumb flicking her nipple as you fuck her senseless. “Gonna give you what you want—gonna fuck you raw ‘til you’re full of me.”

She’s kissing you back now, sloppy and frantic, her tongue tangling with yours as she moans into your mouth, her legs hooking around your waist to pull you deeper. “Harder—fuck, harder,” she gasps, breaking the kiss, her nails raking down your back, and you oblige—slamming into her so hard the headboard bangs against the wall, a steady thud-thud-thud that matches her cries. Her pussy’s loud—wet, squelching sounds every time you bury yourself in her, and she’s dripping, soaking your thighs, the sheets, everything. “Love this—love you—fuck, don’t stop,” she pants, her voice all over the place, needy and fierce, and you can feel her getting close again, her body tensing, her breath hitching. You slide a hand down, rubbing her clit fast and rough, and she bucks against you, whimpering, “Yes—fuck, right there—gonna lose it again.” You’re relentless, pounding her into the mattress, loving the way she’s unraveling—your wife, your horny, insatiable wife, begging for your cock, your cum, like it’s all she’s ever wanted.

Sweat’s dripping down your back, her legs locked around your hips, pulling you in deeper with every brutal thrust, and you can feel it building, that tight coil in your gut winding up fast. “Fuck, babe, I’m close,” you groan, voice ragged, and her eyes light up, wild and hungry, like that’s the magic word she’s been waiting for. She’s already a mess—hair plastered to her forehead, red lipstick smeared across her lips and your neck, tits bouncing hard from how rough you’re going—but hearing you’re close flips a switch in her. She moans, loud and desperate, and suddenly she’s moving, pushing against your chest with this frantic energy. “Get on your back—now,” she demands, and before you can process it, she’s shifting her weight, shoving you down flat on the bed. You hit the mattress with a grunt, and she’s on top of you in a flash, straddling you, her thighs clamping tight around your hips like she’s claiming you all over again.

She doesn’t waste a second—grabs your cock, slick with her juices, and lines it up, sinking down hard, taking you to the hilt in one smooth, greedy drop. “Fuck—yes,” she gasps, head thrown back, and then she’s riding you, bouncing with this fierce, relentless rhythm that’s got the whole room shaking. Her tits swing wild above you, heavy and perfect, and you grab her hips, digging your fingers into her flesh, thrusting up to meet her every time she slams down. “Cum for me, babe—cum with me,” she pants, her voice breaking, eyes locked on yours, dark and pleading. “I want it—want you to fill me up.” Your cock throbs hard at that, and you groan, gripping her tighter. “Gonna give you so much cum, babe—promise you’ll get it all,” you say, and she nods, frantic, her nails raking your chest. “That’s all I want—fuck, just you, all of you,” she moans, and then she’s leaning forward, one hand planting on your neck, fingers curling just enough to squeeze, this light pressure that makes your head spin and your dick pulse even harder inside her.

She’s riding you like a woman possessed now, hips slamming down with wet, filthy slaps, her pussy so soaked you can feel it dripping down your thighs, pooling on the sheets. “Breed me,” she says, voice low and dirty, and that hits you in a way you weren't expecting, your whole body lighting up with raw, primal want. “Fuck, I need it—want you to breed me, babe, pump me full,” she begs, bouncing harder, her hand tightening on your neck, and you’re gone. “Yeah? Want me to knock you up?” you growl, thrusting up harder, your hands sliding to her ass, spanking her once just to hear her yelp. “Gonna fill this tight little pussy—breed my slutty wife like she deserves.” She moans louder, this wild, unhinged sound, and squeezes your neck a little more, her eyes rolling back. “Yes—fuck, yes—do it, breed me, make me yours forever,” she chants, her voice shaking with how bad she wants it, and it’s pushing you right to the edge.

“Keep talking,” you rasp, voice thick with lust, and she does—oh, she fucking does. “Cum in me—fucking breed me, babe, want your cum so deep I can feel it for days,” she demands, her hips grinding down, circling just to tease you, her pussy clenching tight like she’s trying to squeeze the life out of you. “Make me drip with it—fuck, I need it, need you to fill me up, give me everything.” Her hand’s steady on your neck, not choking, just holding you there, pinning you under her as she rides you harder, her tits bouncing in your face, her thighs trembling from the effort. You’re thrusting up to match her, slamming into her so hard the headboard’s banging again, and you’re growling, “Gonna breed you so good—fill that pussy ‘til it’s overflowing, babe, you’re mine.” She’s losing it, whimpering and gasping, her walls fluttering like she’s about to break again, and you can feel yourself tipping over, the heat pooling fast, your cock throbbing inside her with every filthy word.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck, do it, breed me now!” she moans, loud and desperate, her hand slipping from your neck to brace on your chest as she bounces even harder, her pussy so wet it’s obscene, squelching loud with every thrust. You grab her hips, yanking her down one last time, burying yourself as deep as you can go, and—fuck—it happens. You explode inside her, hot and thick, pulsing hard, flooding her pussy with everything you’ve got. It’s intense, raw, this primal rush of unloading bare into your wife for the first time, and she feels it—gasps sharp, her eyes going wide, then squeezing shut as she screams, “Yes—fuck, yes!” Her body shakes, convulsing as she cums too, her pussy clamping down tight, milking you for every last drop like she’s determined to drain you dry. You’re still pumping into her, thick spurts spilling out, and it’s a lot—more than you expected—coating her insides, seeping out around your cock where you’re still buried deep.

She’s trembling hard, collapsing forward onto your chest, her breath hot and ragged against your skin, and you wrap your arms around her, holding her tight as she shudders through the aftershocks. “Fuck—babe, I feel it—feel you,” she pants, voice breaking with this mix of awe and satisfaction, her hips twitching like she’s still chasing it, still squeezing you inside her. Your cock’s softening but still nestled in her, and you can feel the mess—your cum dripping out, slick and warm, pooling where you’re joined. “Love you—fuck, I love you so much,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your collarbone, and you pull her closer, kissing the top of her head, your voice rough but soft. “Love you too, babe—always.” She shifts, just enough to look up at you, her eyes hazy but glowing, a tired, blissed-out smile tugging at her lips, and you’re both just lying there, tangled up, sweaty and spent, your cum still leaking out of her pussy onto the sheets.

“That was—fuck, insane,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from all the moaning, and you nod, running your fingers through her hair, still damp with sweat. “Yeah—best anniversary ever,” you say. She nuzzles into you, murmuring, “Gonna want that again—raw, full of you."

Your cock’s still inside her, softening now, and you can feel the sticky mess of your cum and her wetness seeping out, pooling on the sheets beneath you. It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing syncing up, the faint hum of the city outside the window, and Croissant probably prowling around somewhere in the apartment. You’re both spent, limbs heavy, but there’s this glow between you—raw, real, like you’ve just peeled back another layer of each other. You run your fingers through her tangled hair, brushing it back from her face, and she hums, nuzzling closer, her lips brushing your collarbone in this lazy, affectionate way. “Fuck, babe, I could stay like this forever,” she mumbles, voice all hoarse and sleepy, and you chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “Yeah, me too—but we’re a mess, and these sheets are screaming for mercy.”

She groans, dramatic as hell, shifting just enough to look up at you with those hazy, post-sex eyes, her cheeks still flushed. “Ugh, don’t make me move—I’m dead, you killed me with that dick.” You laugh, and nudge her side. “Come on, you’ll thank me later. Hot bath, you and me, clean slate—sounds good, right?” She squints at you, pretending to think it over, then flops back down with a huff. “Too lazy—carry me or I’m not going.” You sigh but you’re grinning, because this is Eunbi—stubborn, bratty, and all yours. “Fine, princess,” you say, and with a grunt, you scoop her up, her legs dangling over your arm as you haul her off the bed. She yelps, clinging to your neck, and you can feel the wet mess of her pussy against your skin as you carry her, your cum still dripping out of her, leaving a trail you’ll deal with later.

You make it to the bathroom, kicking the door open with your foot, and set her down on the edge of the tub. She’s still pouting, arms crossed like she’s mad you made her move, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. You turn on the faucet, hot water rushing out, steam curling up into the air, and grab that fancy lavender bath bomb she loves—the one she says makes her feel “expensive.” “You’re spoiling me now,” she teases, watching you drop it in, the water fizzing purple and bubbling up fast. “Only the best for my wife,” you shoot back, winking, and she finally cracks, that big, goofy grin breaking through. You help her out of the last scraps of her lingerie—those stretched-out panties still clinging to one side of her hips—and she slides into the tub with a sigh, sinking in up to her shoulders, the water lapping at her skin. “Get in here, babe,” she says, patting the space behind her, and you don’t need convincing, you climb in, settling behind her, pulling her back against your chest.

The water’s hot, soothing the ache in your muscles, and her body fits against yours like it was made to—her head resting on your shoulder, your arms wrapping around her waist under the surface. Bubbles pop softly around you, the lavender scent filling the room, and it’s quiet, peaceful, a stark shift from the feral fucking you were lost in not twenty minutes ago. You trail your fingers over her stomach, lazy circles, and she hums, this content little sound that makes your heart squeeze. “This is nice,” she murmurs, tilting her head to look up at you, her eyes soft, no trace of that wild hunger now—just love, pure and simple. “Yeah, it is,” you say, kissing her temple, and she nestles closer, her wet hair sticking to your skin. “Better than the bed?” you ask, smirking, and she laughs, soft and tired. “Okay, maybe not better—but close. You’re too good at this husband thing.”

You chuckle, grabbing a sponge from the side and dipping it into the water, running it over her shoulders, down her arms, washing away the sweat and stickiness of the night. “Gotta keep my wife happy—can’t have you complaining about me on your next interview,” you tease, and she twists around, splashing you lightly, water dripping down your face. “Oh, please—I’d just brag about how you fuck me stupid and then run me a bath after,” she says, grinning, and you laugh, wiping the water off your eyes. “Fair—guess I’m stuck being perfect then.” She leans back again, letting you wash her, and it’s intimate—not the loud, messy intimacy of sex, but this quiet, tender thing where you’re just together, taking care of each other. “You know,” she says after a beat, voice quieter now, “I didn’t think it’d feel like this—marriage, us. Thought it’d be the same old shit with a ring, but… it’s more. You’re more.”

Her words hit you, soft but heavy, and you pause, sponge hovering over her collarbone, water trickling down her skin. “Yeah,” you say, throat tight, “you’re more too—like, I didn’t know I could love someone this much ‘til you.” She turns her head, catching your lips in a kiss—not hungry this time, but slow, deep, the kind that says everything you’re both too tired to put into words. Her hand finds yours under the water, squeezing, and you kiss her back, tasting lavender and her, your heart thudding steady against her back. “We’re gross, huh?” she whispers when she pulls away, smiling, and you laugh, resting your forehead against hers. “The grossest—stupid in love, the whole deal.”

The water’s cooling now, but you don’t care—you stay there, wrapped up in each other, her body slotted against yours like a puzzle piece. You wash her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, and she sighs, eyes closed, totally relaxed. “You’re too good to me,” she mumbles, and you shake your head, even though she can’t see it. “Nah, just right—you deserve it, babe.” She doesn’t argue, just lets you rinse her off, the suds swirling away in the purple water. When you’re done, you don’t rush to get out—there’s no hurry, no next thing. It’s just you and her, the steam fading, the night settling soft around you. “Love you,” she says, and you pull her closer, her wet skin sticking to yours, your voice low and sure. “Love you too—forever, yeah?” She nods, sleepy and safe in your arms, and you hold her tight, the bathtub your little world, the end of a wild night melting into something warm, steady, romantic as hell—the kind of love you’ll carry into every night after this one.

[plushieni]

boyfriend!kirishima who makes you his whole personality — it's honestly sickening how obsessed he is with you, and he doesn't even try to hide it. every conversation circles back to you somehow.

boyfriend!kirishima who never misses a chance to call you beautiful, no matter where you are or what you're doing. you could be in pajamas with messy hair, brushing your teeth, or covered in food — and he's still looking at you like you're the most radiant thing he's ever seen.

boyfriend!kirishima who gets ridiculously excited when he finds something that reminds him of you. he’ll send you twenty-five blurry photos of a weird-shaped rock because “it kinda looks like your cat” and he’s already named it. it's now living on his shelf. it's part of the family.

boyfriend!kirishima who insists on carrying your bags, opening every door for you, holding your hand when you cross the street — even if it's just a parking lot. proving chivalry isn't dead.

boyfriend!kirishima who sends you gym selfies, but not just any selfies — specifically of his biceps, flexing hard, with a cheeky caption like “thinking of you 💪❤️” because he knows you love it (and he lives to impress you).

boyfriend!kirishima who, when ordering for you or talking about you in public, casually refers to you as his wife. “yeah, my wife would love the fries” or “oh, my wife showed me that!” and he doesn’t care if people correct him — you’re his forever in his heart, so why wait?

boyfriend!kirishima who’s never afraid to try anything you suggest. even if he’s deathly afraid of heights, if you say you want to skydive, he’s already booking it with trembling hands and saying “as long as i’m with you.”

boyfriend!kirishima who checks in regularly throughout the day. little texts like, “don’t forget to drink water, okay?” and “you’ve got this. i’m so proud of you.” he sends affirmations like they’re love notes, because he wants to be the voice in your head that reminds you you’re doing amazing.

boyfriend!kirishima who lets you talk his ear off about anything and everything. even when you think he’s distracted, he’s soaking up every word, remembering little details to bring up later just to see your face light up.

boyfriend!kirishima who always talks about the future like it’s already decided — you and him, together. “once we’re living together, we can get a dog?” “maybe we can paint our bedroom that color.” he never lets you forget that he sees you in every part of his life.

boyfriend!kirishima who makes you the sweetest, most thoughtful diy gifts. a jar full of reasons he loves you, all handwritten. matching bracelets he stayed up all night making because he wanted them to be perfect. things that take time, effort, and love — because that’s how he loves you: completely.

more of my works here

© plushieni do not copy, steal, translate, repost any of my work

[itendtothinkalot]

how to not fall in love

summary: you’ve been in love with heeseung for as long as you can remember, but to him, you’ve always just been the best friend—reliable, familiar, safe. so when you hear him say he doesn’t see you that way, you decide it’s time to stop. stop caring, stop hoping. but ignoring someone you’ve loved for years is harder than it sounds… especially when he starts acting like he doesn’t want you to stop.

genre: fluff | best friends to lovers

characters: best friend!heeseungx f!reader

words: 7.6k

warnings: none i think!

a/n: and here is my first enha fic!!!! <3<3 and yes heeseung is my bias

You don’t even remember when it started.

Maybe it was the first time Heeseung flashed you that ridiculously charming smile on your very first day of kindergarten—doe eyes, dimpled cheeks, and a shy little wave like he was offering you his entire heart with just a look.

Or maybe it was that time in middle school when he forgot there was a major history exam and you stayed up until 2 a.m. making color-coded flashcards for him, highlighters smudged on your fingers and worry tugging at your chest. He showed up the next morning at your door, hair a mess, holding a bag of greasy Chinese takeout and two cans of your favorite peach soda.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he said, in that effortless, playful way of his, ruffling your hair like you were some helpful little puppy.

You laughed, but your heart did a triple somersault.

Love. He said it like it was casual.

Not knowing it felt like a confession to you.

Truth is, it only got worse from there.

Your unrequited love? It grew legs and started running wild.

You became that friend. The one in the front row of every basketball game, waving a glittery sign that said "LEE HEESEUNG" like your life depended on it. The one who always brought him coffee after his late-night study sessions, who memorized the snacks he liked at the convenience store, who texted him good luck before every presentation even though he always forgot yours.

And Heeseung would flash that same boyish grin—the one that made your knees a little weak—and casually sling an arm around your shoulders.

“Man, I don’t know who I am without you,” he’d say, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And you? You’d fall just a little harder.

Just a little. But it added up.

You didn’t mean for it to. You tried to keep your heart in check. But all those little things—the inside jokes, the shoulder bumps in the hallway, the way he said your name—slowly stitched themselves into something deeper. Something messier. Something real.

Heeseung never treated you like you were just anyone. That was the cruel part.

Like that time you got lost at one of his away games. You’d shown up early, too excited, only to realize you had no idea where to go. The school was huge, the gym impossible to find, and every hallway looked the same.

And then—there he was.

Heeseung, panting, scanning the sea of people until his eyes landed on you.

“There you are,” he breathed out, like he hadn’t just run halfway across campus. His brows furrowed like he was worried, and before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist.

“C’mon,” he murmured, pulling you through the crowd like you were something precious he needed to protect. He didn’t let go—not even when the noise got louder or people jostled you. Somewhere along the way, he slid your bag off your shoulder and carried it himself.

He only let go once you were seated, right in the front row.

“There,” he said, still a little breathless. “Gotcha here safe and sound.”

Then he jogged off, leaving your heart pounding, your bag heavy in your lap, and a quiet kind of warmth blooming in your chest.

You found out later that he’d skipped the team’s pre-game drills just to look for you. As team captain, he was supposed to be rallying the others—but instead, he was making sure you weren’t lost.

Coach made him run three extra laps.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, guilt curling in your stomach.

Heeseung just laughed, brushing his damp hair back and flashing you that familiar grin. “It’s okay. I kinda liked looking for you.”

Moments like that—where he made you feel like the center of the universe—those were the hardest.

Because deep down, you always knew he didn’t see you the way you saw him.

The final straw came a few weeks later.

You’d been waiting by the bleachers again, holding his jacket like you always did, when you overheard Jake teasing him.

“She’s here again. You two are practically glued together. You sure you’re not… boinking?”

Heeseung laughed. “Boinking?”

Your heart fluttered. Just a little.

Then he said it. With zero hesitation.

“She’s cute. A great friend. But I don’t see her that way.”

Friend.

The word echoed in your head like a slap.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

The next morning, you opened your journal, flipped to a blank page, and wrote in bold, all-caps letters:

HOW TO NOT FALL IN LOVE (feat. Lee Heeseung)

Goal: Stop giving a damn about Lee Heeseung. Duration: One month.

And for the first time in forever, you meant it.

Really, really meant it.

—

The next day at school, you walked through the gates with an air of fake confidence and a heart wrapped in duct tape. This was it. Day one. 

No more overshooting your texts to Heeseung. No more waiting by the court with his water bottle. No more volunteering to help him with homework he didn’t even remember to start. He was perfectly capable of surviving without you.

Probably.

But the moment you saw him in the courtyard, laughing at something Jake said, your heart betrayed you.

Your hand lifted in an automatic wave before you even realized what you were doing. And—ugh—was that a smile forming?

You gasped like you'd caught yourself mid-crime and yanked your hand back down with enough force to nearly dislocate your shoulder. You spun around so fast your bag almost knocked over a freshman. You tried to act cool, casually pretending the ground was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen.

Behind you, Heeseung paused, confused. He blinked. Tilted his head. Squinted at your retreating back like he was trying to solve a very strange math equation.

But then he shrugged it off. Probably nothing.

Probably.

Too bad he didn’t know this was just the beginning of the end.

—-

“This little tough girl act,” Sunghoon said with a smirk, reaching into your popcorn bucket like he had every right. “How long do you think it’s going to last?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pulling the bucket closer. “Keep your hands out of my popcorn, you menace.”

Out on the court, Heeseung was practicing, all focused determination and smooth movements. You were trying—not entirely successfully—not to watch him. You’d even worn sunglasses. Indoors. As if they could protect your heart.

“Come on,” Sunghoon drawled. “Don’t pretend I didn’t see you freeze up this morning when he smiled at you like a puppy with a college degree.”

You exhaled sharply. “It was a momentary lapse in judgment.”

“Right. And I’m the Prime Minister of Canada.”

With a dramatic sigh, you leaned back against the bleachers. “I’m serious this time. One month. No more hopeless pining. No more letting him carry my bag like we’re a couple. No more doodling ‘Mr. and Mrs. Heeseung’ in the margins of my notebooks.”

“You still do that?”

“I–No.”

Sunghoon laughed under his breath.

You risked a glance at the court.

Mistake.

Heeseung dribbled the ball between his legs and sank a perfect shot, his lips tugging into that maddeningly confident smile, turning to you..

And, shamefully, you made a noise. A small, undignified sound that gave you away entirely.

Sunghoon gave you a long, knowing look. “You’re doomed.”

“I am not doomed,” you said, clutching your popcorn like a shield. “I’m just... recalibrating. This is emotional detox.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re detoxing the way someone digs a chocolate wrapper out of the trash.”

You groaned. “Why are you even here?”

“Free snacks. And the immense satisfaction of watching you pretend you’ve moved on.”

You stuffed a handful of popcorn in your mouth, avoiding his gaze. Because, regrettably, he wasn’t wrong.

And worse? You missed Heeseung. More than you cared to admit. Everything reminded you of him. A bouncing basketball. A laugh down the hallway. A lamppost that was, in your defense, approximately his height and general vibe.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

—

Heeseung was starting to notice.

At first, it was little things. You stopped walking with him after class. You sat further away during lunch. You didn’t show up at practice with your usual energy, pretending to be absorbed in something else when he looked your way. It was subtle but to him, it felt like someone had lowered the volume on his favorite song.

He found himself scanning the bleachers more than usual, eyes flicking toward the spots where you usually sat, only to find them empty or occupied by someone else. You were still around, just... not with him.

Jake noticed first.

“You good?” he asked during water break, glancing at Heeseung who was frowning at his phone.

“Yeah,” Heeseung replied, not looking up. “I just... I don’t know. Have you talked to her lately?”

Jake raised a brow. “She was literally just at lunch.”

“She barely said a word to me.”

Jake took a long sip from his bottle. “Maybe she’s busy.”

Heeseung nodded, but it didn’t feel like busy. It felt like... distant. Like you were pulling away, and he didn’t know why.

He scrolled back through your messages. There weren’t any unread ones. Just a few recent texts from him that you’d responded to with short answers. No smiley faces. No exclamation marks. Just plain, flat replies.

And it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

He was used to your messages being filled with too many emojis, random inside jokes, and links to memes you knew he’d find stupid but would laugh at anyway. You hadn’t even sent him your usual “good luck” before the last game.

Heeseung didn’t say anything out loud, but he could feel it—a little ache forming. Like something was shifting. Like something he’d taken for granted was slipping away.

And he didn’t know how to ask you why.

—

You were power-walking down the hallway like a woman on a mission—head high, steps brisk, thoughts screaming something along the lines of Do not look back. Do not turn around. You are ice. You are steel. You are—

“Hey!”

You nearly tripped over your own feet.

Heeseung.

You turned around slowly—casually, you hoped—and gave him what you prayed was a totally normal smile. Not awkward. Not panicked. Not like your internal monologue was screaming.

“Oh! Hi,” you said, like your voice hadn’t just jumped an octave.

He jogged the last few steps to reach you, a little out of breath, but still managing that soft, easy smile of his. “Didn’t see you after practice this week.”

“Oh,” you said quickly. “Yeah, I’ve just been… around. Super busy.”

“Busy?” he echoed, tilting his head slightly. “With?”

You blinked. “Uh, Yearbook Committee.”

His brows knit together. “I didn’t know you were in the Yearbook Committee.”

“I’m… new,” you added, voice trailing off as your brain gave up on its own excuse.

There was a beat of silence, but he didn’t push. Just nodded slowly, like he was trying to make sense of it all.

Then he smiled again—gentle, like always. “Well, I was just wondering if you were free to—”

“Oh no, sorry!” you cut in, way too fast. “I have to go walk Sunghoon.”

He blinked. “Walk... Sunghoon? The third year student from Algebra?”

“Yes,” you said, forcing a bright smile. “He’s full of energy. If I don’t walk him, he gets cranky. Like a puppy.”

He stared at you, clearly confused. His lips parted like he wanted to ask another question, but instead, he just... laughed. Not a mocking laugh—more like he didn’t quite know what else to do with this absurd turn of conversation.

“Okay. Well… I guess I’ll see you later then?”

“Yup! Later!” you squeaked, turning around so fast you nearly dropped your bag.

You could feel his gaze on you as you walked away—light, warm, lingering. Like he was trying to figure you out.

And you? You were trying not to look back. Trying not to feel how much you missed being around him. How much you wanted to stay.

Because the truth was: you missed him. You missed you with him.

But you’d started something. And for now, you had to stick to it.

Even if it sucked.

—

Heeseung swore something was off.

You weren’t gone, exactly. You still passed him in the hallways. Still laughed a little too loudly with Sunghoon and Jay at lunch. Still wore that bright-colored scarf he once said made you look like a strawberry popsicle.

But you weren’t with him.

Not the way you used to be.

He sat on the edge of the court after practice, towel around his neck, eyes scanning the bleachers again. He hated how natural the motion had become. How instinctive it was to search for you—even when he knew you wouldn’t be there.

Jake flopped down beside him, cracking open a sports drink. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung muttered.

“You don’t sound like it.”

Heeseung shrugged, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “Have you noticed... she’s been different?”

Jake raised a brow. “You mean how she’s not orbiting you like a lovesick planet anymore?”

Heeseung shot him a glare. “That’s not what I meant.”

Jake took a slow sip of his drink. “Isn’t it?”

Heeseung didn’t answer.

Because maybe it was what he meant.

Maybe he had gotten used to you being everywhere. At his games. At his side. Texting him about nothing and everything. Laughing at his dumb jokes. Holding out his bag like it belonged more to you than to him.

And now? Now the silence felt sharp. Uncomfortable.

He scrolled through his messages again. No new ones from you. The last conversation ended with your half-hearted “haha yeah” two days ago.

You didn’t even send him a good luck text before his test today. You always sent him one. Usually something stupid like “Don’t choke! But if you do, make it dramatic so you can retake it with pity points.” It used to make him laugh. It used to calm him down.

Today, he hadn’t laughed before the test.

And he hadn’t done all that well, either.

He sighed, tipping his head back against the wall of the gym.

He didn’t know what had changed. But something had.

And he was starting to think he really didn’t like it.

—

Heeseung wasn’t looking for you.

He absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent was not looking for you.

He just happened to glance over at the courtyard. That’s all.

And okay, maybe his eyes landed on you instantly—like a magnet snapping into place. You were standing with Sunghoon and Jay, your laugh bright and easy, head tipped back like you didn’t have a single worry in the world.

And then Sunghoon did it.

He leaned in and ruffled your hair.

Casual. Familiar.

Too familiar.

Heeseung’s stomach twisted.

He didn’t understand it at first. Not really. He just kept staring, a weird sort of tightness building in his chest, like something was pressing down on him. And then—just to make it worse—Sunghoon said something that made you laugh again. You reached out and lightly shoved his shoulder, still smiling, completely unaware of the storm brewing across the courtyard.

Jake noticed immediately.

“You’re staring again,” he said, biting into an apple with all the serenity of someone enjoying the drama but pretending not to.

“I’m not,” Heeseung muttered.

“Your eyes haven’t left her for five minutes.”

“I’m just… wondering what they’re talking about.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You mean, what she and Sunghoon are talking about?”

Heeseung said nothing.

Jake smirked. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’re just planning their wedding. Probably picking out the cake flavor right now.”

“Shut up.”

Jake laughed. “So this is jealousy, huh?”

“It’s not jealousy.”

“Oh yeah, no, of course not. You're just glaring at Sunghoon like you’re mentally photoshopping him out of existence for completely unrelated reasons.”

Heeseung turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

It wasn’t like he had a claim on you. You could hang out with whoever you wanted. Laugh at anyone’s jokes. Let anyone ruffle your hair.

So why did it feel like something in him was unraveling?

—

Heeseung wasn’t sure what was bothering him, but he knew something felt... off.

You were still around—at lunch, in the halls, in some of your shared classes—but somehow, you were always just out of reach. If he turned one way, you turned the other. If he called your name, someone else answered for you. It was subtle. Strategic.

And frustrating.

Now, walking alone down the hallway, books tucked under one arm, the other gripping his backpack strap, he found his thoughts drifting back to you. Again.

Jake wasn’t there to tease him for it today, off doing who-knows-what, so for once it was just Heeseung and the quiet, creeping ache of your absence.

And then he saw you.

You were halfway down the corridor, walking like you had somewhere to be, light on your feet as always. Maybe it was the way you moved like you had a secret no one else knew or maybe it was just that he hadn’t really seen you in days. Not properly. Not up close.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, catching you gently by the wrist.

“Hey,” he said, smiling before he realized it.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Huh?”

“It’s been a while since I walked you home,” Heeseung said, tilting his head slightly, trying to sound casual. “Want to go together?”

You froze. Your mind scrambled for an excuse—any excuse.

But he was already one step ahead of you.

“You don’t have Debate. Or Yearbook Committee,” he added knowingly. “And I don’t have practice today.”

You exhaled sharply. Damn him for remembering your fake clubs.

“…Sure,” you murmured, defeated.

He smiled again and reached for your backpack, tugging the straps gently off your shoulders so he could carry it for you—like he always did. Like nothing had changed.

The two of you fell into step, walking side by side. Your arms brushed once. Then again. Each time, a jolt of electricity shot up your spine.

“So,” he said after a pause, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “did you get an A?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The math test,” he clarified. “You were stressing about it for, like, a week. Mr. Kim probably handed it back by now. I’m assuming my smart girl did well?”

Your lips parted slightly.

He remembered?

A slow smile tugged at your lips. “First in class,” you announced proudly. “Take that, Jake Sim.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Good. Someone’s got to put him in his place.”

Then, without warning, he reached over and ruffled your hair. “Proud of you.”

Your heart launched itself into your throat.

His fingers lingered a moment too long, just enough to make you dizzy before pulling away like nothing had happened. Like your world hadn’t just turned upside down.

Typical Heeseung.

You were just trying not to propose.

At the crosswalk, as the light turned red, he reached out again—this time gently guiding you by the elbow, pulling you closer to him.

“There was a bike coming,” he said, eyes on the road ahead.

You squinted. The bike was a speck in the distance. Miles away.

But his hand stayed there.

Just resting.

Light. Thoughtless. Careful.

You swallowed hard.

If he was going to keep doing things like this, you needed revenge. You needed balance. You needed him to second-guess everything the way you did.

So you stopped walking and tugged his arm slightly.

Heeseung turned, confused. “What’s wr—”

And then you stepped in.

Too close.

Your fingers reached up, brushing against the base of his neck as you adjusted the collar of his uniform. It was crooked—only slightly—but you took your time, smoothing the fabric with slow, deliberate movements.

Your knuckles grazed his skin.

He inhaled sharply.

His shoulders stiffened.

And suddenly, the effortlessly charming Lee Heeseung looked completely out of his depth. Like you were the one throwing him off balance now.

His gaze dropped—eyes flicking from your face, to your lips, then quickly back up again.

Heeseung swore he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

You finished adjusting his collar and smiled up at him—soft, proud, just a little smug.

“There,” you murmured, patting it into place. “All fixed.”

He blinked.

Swallowed.

“…Thanks,” he managed, voice lower than usual, a little hoarse.

And then because apparently his brain had melted, he turned on his heel and walked ahead a little too quickly.

“Slow down!” you called after him with a grin. “Not all of us have basketball player legs, you know.”

He didn’t answer, but you could see the tips of his ears turning red.

—

The walk home with Heeseung did something to you.

Something bad.

You missed him more than you thought you would. Not in a soft, quiet way—but in a way that gnawed at your chest like a small, aggressive squirrel.

Everything reminded you of him. A fork. A book you’d never read. Even Jay’s left toe (don’t ask, you didn’t know why either). You couldn’t stop thinking about him—his laugh, the way his eyes sparkled when he was excited, the little way he tilted his head when he was listening.

You were, quite frankly, losing it.

Your Lee Heeseung withdrawals were at an all-time high.

Every time you saw him across the room or heard someone say his name, your heart did a thing and your brain spiraled like a bad romcom montage. You were whiny. Pathetically so.

Jay, ever the long-suffering saint, was reaching his limit.

You clung to his jacket sleeve dramatically, voice pitched high with despair. “I can’t do this, Jay. I miss him so much. Why is this so hard?”

Jay gave you a deadpan look that could only be described as emotionally done. With a sigh that came from the depths of his soul, he turned and made a beeline toward the shop’s earplug section.

“If you don’t just tell him how you feel,” he muttered, “I’m going to lose my entire mind.”

You chased after him, still attached to his sleeve like a ghost with commitment issues. “But I can’t! He doesn’t even like me like that!”

Jay stopped in front of the shelf, scanning the rows of earplugs like he was shopping for peace. “What if he does, huh?” he shot back, a little too fast. “This whole walk home story you just told me—it doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You froze. The words you’d overheard days ago came rushing back: She’s cute. A great friend. But I don’t see her that way.

The echo of it still stung.

You let go of Jay’s sleeve and crossed your arms, suddenly quiet. “I heard him, Jay,” you said softly. “He told Jake I was just a friend.”

Jay looked at you. Really looked at you.

And then he grinned.

“Are you laughing at me right now?” You smacked his arm, thoroughly offended.

“It’s just—” he choked back a laugh. “I could’ve sworn that guy was practically drooling over you.”

You scowled. “Well, clearly you’re wrong.”

Jay shook his head, dramatically dropping a pair of foam earplugs into the basket. “Okay, look. So what if he said that? Guys say dumb things all the time. Heeseung’s probably still catching up to his own feelings.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

Jay raised an eyebrow. “Come on. You’re not the type to wait around forever. If you like him, say something. Stop pretending you don’t care.”

You groaned. “Fine, fine! I’ll think about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about it for three years,” Jay replied, clearly unimpressed.

You crossed your arms and pouted. “You don’t get a say.”

“Oh, but I do.” He popped the earplugs into his ears with a triumphant smirk.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered.

Jay tilted his head dramatically. “Sorry, what was that? Can’t hear you over the peace I bought for $2.99.”

—

That night, Heeseung lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all of life’s biggest questions.

Unfortunately, it did not.

He shifted. Then again. Then once more for dramatic effect. The blanket felt too warm. The pillow was suddenly too flat. Everything was wrong.

But mostly? It was the thoughts. You.

The walk home played on a loop in his mind, like a scene from a movie he couldn’t turn off. He could still feel how close you’d stood to him, the way your arm brushed his, how your fingers had grazed his neck when you fixed his collar. The soft sound of your laughter still echoed in his ears. It was... cute.

Too cute.

Heeseung sighed and rolled onto his side, shoving his face into the pillow.

You had always been his best friend. His safe person. You were fun and loud and comfortably chaotic. You made everything feel easy. But lately, being around you hadn’t felt easy—it felt... intense. 

And ever since Jake had made that dumb “are you dating” comment, the idea had rooted itself in his brain like a stubborn weed. He tried to shake it, but it kept growing. Fast.

He used to think about you in a simple way—someone he could count on. Someone who’d be there with snacks and jokes and glittery signs with his name. But now?

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the tiny flecks of color in your eyes. Or how your laugh made his chest feel tight. Or how you’d smiled up at him after fixing his collar like you had no idea he was short-circuiting.

He groaned again and rolled onto his stomach.

This was bad. He was in trouble.

—-

Across town, in a room filled with fluffy pillows and heartbreak, you were also wide awake.

Staring at the ceiling. Then the wall. Then your blanket. Then the ceiling again.

You sighed and ran your fingers over the threads of your comforter like they held answers the universe refused to give.

Everything reminded you of Heeseung. Your school notes. Your chipped nail polish. The way your lamp was slightly tilted—he was the one who’d knocked it over during your last movie night.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Was this what pining felt like? Not just the longing or the ache—but the sheer, annoying presence of him in everything? Your brain had become a highlight reel of his smiles, his voice, his laugh. It was embarrassing.

Still… there was a part of you that wondered.

Maybe he felt it too.

You weren’t imagining it, right? The way he looked at you lately—like he was really seeing you. The way his fingers had lingered on your arm a little longer than necessary. The way he had remembered your test, remembered your nerves, and had been genuinely proud of you.

Your heart did a stupid, hopeful little flutter.

But the thought of confessing? Saying it out loud?

You rolled onto your side and buried your face in a pillow.

What if it changed everything? What if he didn’t feel the same? What if he looked at you like you were ridiculous—or worse, like you were just some girl with a dumb, one-sided crush?

Still.

What if he did feel something?

You both lay in your beds that night, across the city, wrapped in your own blankets and your own thoughts—completely unaware that the other was doing the exact same thing.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about him.

—

“Hey, look who it is!” Jake nudged Heeseung with his elbow, already grinning like a devil who’d spotted drama on the horizon.

You looked up, eyes widening as you spotted the two of them heading toward you. There was no time to escape. No possible exits. Just Heeseung, Jake, and a hallway suddenly way too small.

You and Heeseung locked eyes.

And just like that, the walk home replayed itself in your head. The brush of his hand against yours. The weight of your bag over his shoulder. The way he’d looked at you when you smiled at him. You swallowed.

“Uh… hey,” you said, lifting a small, awkward wave. Your voice came out two pitches too high, like someone had sat on the remote.

“Hey,” Heeseung replied, mirroring your stiffness with a half-hearted wave of his own. He was smiling, kind of, but it was tight—uncertain. His heart was pounding. His brain? Completely blank.

Jake, of course, was having the time of his life. “Wow,” he said cheerfully. “This is fun.”

“I—I have to go to the restroom!” you blurted, pointing wildly in the wrong direction before fleeing like a sitcom character mid-episode.

Heeseung stood there, watching you disappear around the corner, every nerve in his body buzzing. His legs felt like jelly. His chest? Tense. His thoughts? Loud.

By the time he stumbled into the locker room, he collapsed dramatically onto the floor like a man defeated.

“I think…” he muttered into the floor, “I might have feelings for her.”

Jake, already sprawled on the coach’s beanbag, didn’t even flinch. He was too busy chewing on a piece of licorice to care.

“Oh, welcome to the club,” he said, voice muffled. “I’ve been a member since the year you told her she looked pretty in green face paint during our third-grade Wicked play.”

Heeseung didn’t react. He just stood up and started pacing—back and forth, back and forth—like his thoughts might rearrange themselves if he walked hard enough.

“I—no, I really like her, Jake.”

Jake raised a hand lazily, like a talk show host mid-monologue. “Please. Continue. This is riveting.”

“I just... I don’t get it. I didn’t realize it before, but now? Now I can’t stop thinking about her. Everything reminds me of her. Like, she fixed my collar yesterday and I think I blacked out for a second.”

Jake popped another licorice into his mouth. “Gross. Cute. But gross.”

“I feel like,” Heeseung continued, running a hand through his hair, “when she’s around, everything just makes sense. And when she’s not? It’s like something’s missing. It’s stupid.”

“Cringe,” Jake said dramatically, slumping deeper into the beanbag. “Do all crushes feel this emotionally inconvenient? If so, I want out.”

Heeseung shot him a glare. “Are you ever helpful?”

“Emotionally? No,” Jake said with a straight face. “But I do hand out brutal honesty like candy.”

Heeseung groaned, flopping onto the bench next to him. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I tell her and she— I don’t know—ghosts me?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. You’ve been losing your mind for days because she didn’t bring you water after practice. You have hands. Hydrate yourself.”

Heeseung let out a pained noise and buried his face in his hands.

“Just tell her,” Jake said with a shrug. “Worst case, she doesn’t feel the same. But I’m 99.7% sure she does.”

“Oh yeah?” Heeseung muttered into his palms. “And what if I look like an idiot?”

Jake leaned back, tossed a licorice stick in the air, and caught it with practiced ease. “Buddy, you already look like an idiot. Might as well make it romantic.”

Heeseung lifted his head just enough to glare at him.

Jake grinned. “Start simple. Tell her she’s cute. That’s it. It works. Trust me.”

Heeseung blinked. “That’s it? Just ‘you’re cute’?”

Jake nodded. “You’d be shocked how well that lands when you mean it.”

Heeseung stared at him, unconvinced. “You’ve said that to how many people?”

Jake smirked. “Doesn’t matter. It’s worked every time. I am very charming.”

Heeseung groaned again. “I’m not you, Jake.”

Jake sighed dramatically. “Yeah, I know. Which is why this is a 50-50 shot for you. But hey—if you don’t end up with her, can I ask her out?”

Heeseung shot him a death glare.

“Just kidding,” Jake said quickly. Then he paused. “Mostly.”

—-

It all started during lunch.

Jake leaned across the table, eyes gleaming with evil genius energy. “Operation ‘Make Them Walk Home Together So They Finally Kiss or at Least Make Prolonged Eye Contact Without Panic’ is officially in motion.”

Jay blinked. “That's… a terrible name.”

Sunghoon took a bite of his sandwich. “I kinda love it.”

Jake waved a hand. “Name pending. Point is—we trap them. She thinks she’s walking with you two. He thinks he’s walking with me. And then? We disappear. Vanish. Leave them alone. Together. With no backup.”

Jay tilted his head. “And what? Hope the romantic tension forces a confession?”

Jake smirked. “Exactly.”

Sunghoon raised a brow. “This feels like emotional entrapment.”

“It is. And it’s working,” Jake said proudly. “Heeseung’s got it so bad he thought she had a thing for you.”

Sunghoon choked. “Me?”

Jay snorted into his drink. “You do ruffle her hair a lot.”

“Because she’s cute! Like a little puppy!” Sunghoon exclaimed, scandalized.

Jake shrugged. “Well, he’s spiraling. Yesterday he saw you hand her a pen and he went silent for ten whole seconds.”

Sunghoon blinked. “That’s... tragic.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, visibly entertained. “I’m in. For the record, not because I care, but her whining is starting to affect my appetite.”

“Same,” said Sunghoon. “We were on FaceTime for 2 hours and most of it was about Heeseung. I fell asleep after 10 minutes.”

Jake clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Gentlemen, you know your roles. Subtle distraction, coordinated exit, zero guilt.”

Jay raised a brow. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’ve earned it,” Jake said, already standing. “He stole my last banana milk. This is revenge and service to the nation.”

—-

“Crap,” he muttered. “I forgot my earbuds in the music room.”

Jay snapped his fingers. “Oh shoot. Me too. I left my jacket in the library.”

You raised a brow. “You two always forget things at the same time.”

They both grinned. Suspiciously.

“It’s twin telepathy,” Jay said, winking.

“You’re not twins,” you deadpanned.

“We are in spirit,” Sunghoon added, already stepping backward toward the school building.

Before you could protest, they were both jogging away, waving casually.

“We’ll catch up!” Jay called over his shoulder.

“We swear!” Sunghoon added.

You stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. “...Okay?”

Then you turned around.

And there he was.

Heeseung.

Standing a few feet away, also holding his bag, looking around like he had just been ditched by someone.

Your eyes met.

Both of you froze.

Heeseung blinked. “Wait… where’s Jake?”

“I... thought he was with you?”

He furrowed his brows. “He texted me like five minutes ago saying we’d walk home together.”

You glanced down at your phone, where a suspiciously vague message from Sunghoon read: “Don’t wait for us. You got this.”

Your stomach dropped.

You looked back up at Heeseung. His phone buzzed. He checked it, then looked at you with slowly widening eyes.

Jake’s message: “Have fun ;)”

There was a beat of silence.

You both stood there.

Just you.

And Heeseung.

And an entire empty sidewalk.

“Oh,” you said softly.

Heeseung scratched the back of his neck. “So... I guess we’re walking together.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Guess we are.”

Silence.

Then, at the exact same time:

“You don’t have to if—” “We can walk separately if—”

You both stopped.

Then laughed.

And for a moment, just a moment, the awkwardness melted. Heeseung smiled—not his usual big grin, but something softer. Warmer. Like he wasn’t so mad about being ditched.

“Let’s just walk,” he said. “Might as well.”

And even though your heart was pounding and you were still very much aware that your so-called friends had just shoved you into a live wire of unresolved tension...

You nodded.

“Yeah. Okay.”

So you walked.

Side by side.

You weren’t sure how Jay and Sunghoon managed to get you walking next to Heeseung but you were sure it had something to do with Heeseung’s ratty friend Jake.

Heeseung shuffled beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to ignore the weird tension in the air. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes fixed on the road ahead, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came out. It was funny how just a few days ago, this silence would’ve been comfortable—soft, even. But now it felt a little too loud. A little too full.

Suddenly, Heeseung’s foot caught on a small rock, and before he could stop it, he stumbled forward, arms flailing like one of those inflatable tube men outside a car dealership.

“Hee!” you yelped, half-laughing, half-panicked.

Heeseung straightened up, cheeks flushed, but laughing anyway. “Oh, so now you’re laughing at my near-death experience?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—are you okay?” you teased, though you made no effort to hide your giggles.

“Yeah,” he nodded, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. “Just bruised my pride, that’s all. I think the rock has a vendetta.”

The laughter between you settled, but the tension lingered like steam on a bathroom mirror. You shifted on your feet, exhaling softly. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird. I’ve just been… going through some stuff.”

Heeseung tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What kind of stuff?”

You shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” he nudged your shoulder gently. “You used to tell me everything. Even the time you cried because your goldfish ignored you for two days.”

“Nugget was emotionally manipulative,” you mumbled.

Heeseung grinned. “Still, I miss that. Not Nugget—just... when you talked to me.”

Your cheeks burned. You ducked your head. “It’s just... a little personal.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes playfully. “Like, family personal? Friends personal? Or…” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was about to drop a bombshell. “Boy problems?”

You cleared your throat, refusing to meet his eyes. “I guess… the last one?”

He went still beside you.

“Oh…” he said, and his voice had that very specific tone guys get when they’re trying to sound neutral but are actually spiraling.

“So you’re going out with someone?”

“What?! No!” You waved your hands frantically. “I just… I don’t know. It’s stupid. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Oh, come on. Please?” he stopped in his tracks, grabbing both your hands in his and squeezing them dramatically. “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know. Think of my well-being.”

You sighed, glancing away. “Fine. It’s just… I think I like someone, and I’m not sure how to tell him.”

Heeseung swore he felt his soul leave his body. You liked someone? Was it… Was it that no-good, pretty-boy Park Sunghoon? Heeseung should’ve stuck with ballet when he was five. Or maybe joined drama. Something, anything, to compete.

“Is it Sunghoon?” he asked before he could stop himself.

You blinked at him, then let out a laugh that was way too loud for the empty sidewalk. “Ew?! No!”

He looked utterly baffled. “What? You’ve been hanging out with him a lot lately, and he’s always ruffling your hair and whatever.”

“He’s just a friend, Hee,” you said gently. But when your eyes dropped to the pavement, something about it made his stomach twist.

A silence settled between you before Heeseung cleared his throat, voice a little hoarse. “Well… you should just tell him.”

You raised a brow. “Oh, should I?”

He nodded, trying to keep his tone even. “Yeah. You’re... pretty. Funny. Smart. If he doesn’t like you back, then he’s probably an idiot. Or stupid. Or a fool.” He paused. “Or all three. Simultaneously.”

You snorted. “Funny you’d say that.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing!” You waved it off. “What about you? What would you do if you liked someone?”

Heeseung hummed, pretending to think. “I’d probably always wanna hang out with them. Walk them home.”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“Have them at all my basketball games. Cheering me on.”

“Right, you wouldn’t want your girlfriend missing those,” you mused.

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. And it’d totally suck if she stopped showing up to practice too. Especially when the whole team’s used to seeing her in the bleachers... eating snacks loudly.”

“I see how that would suck,” you said, biting your lip to hide a grin.

“I’d also wanna protect her. From oncoming bikes. Sudden rainstorms. Teachers who give pop quizzes.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Protect her from quizzes? What is this, magical girlfriend armor?”

Heeseung smirked. “Exactly. I’d be her human shield.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was thudding in your chest.

“And in case she’s, I don’t know... absolute trash at directions?” he continued. “I’d wait for her. Walk her home. Walk her wherever she wanted to go. Be her personal GPS. And not even charge her.”

You muttered, “Wow. What a bargain.”

“I’d also probably carry her bag,” he added, like it was a casual afterthought—as if he wasn’t literally carrying yours right now.

You puffed your cheeks, trying to play it cool. “Okay, let’s move on to the next topic.”

“I kinda like this topic, though.”

“We get it. You’ll treat her like a princess,” you mumbled.

Heeseung laughed. “How are you not getting it?”

“Getting what?”

“Alright, fine. Let’s make it easier.” He took a deep breath and started counting on his fingers. “Who has never missed a single one of my basketball games?”

You squinted. “Uh... Jake?”

He facepalmed. “Someone not on the team.”

“Me?” you blinked. “I don’t under—”

“Who has no sense of direction?”

“Me?”

“And who always helps that person find their way?”

“You?”

He gave you a flat look. “So... do you catch my drift?”

You stared at him blankly. “No?”

He groaned. “Okay. Last question. Whose bag am I carrying right now?”

“…Mine?”

He smiled at you, exasperated and fond. “Exactly.”

Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to make a dramatic exit.

So, hesitantly, you whispered, “What are you saying?”

Heeseung let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. Then, like it physically hurt him to keep it in a second longer, he blurted, “For god’s sake, I’m telling you I’m in love with you.”

Your breath caught.

“I. Love. You,” he repeated, staring at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh.”

Heeseung groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh? That’s it? After all that?!”

“I—I mean—” You sputtered, brain rebooting. “I didn’t think—”

“God, you’re so dense,” he muttered, but the way he said it was so soft it made your knees weak.

You swallowed. “Say it again.”

He paused, then leaned in slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “I love you.”

You grinned, cheeks on fire. “Good. Because the guy I like is you.”

Heeseung blinked. “Yeah. I know.”

Your jaw dropped. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, but I kinda figured when you started scowling after the third time I described how I’d treat my ‘potential girlfriend.’”

You let out a groan, covering your face. “Ugh.”

He laughed, slinging an arm over your shoulders like he’d been waiting years to do that. “It was cute. You’re cute.”

“You can’t blame me for overthinking when you—YOU!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You told Jake I was just a friend!”

Heeseung froze, eyes wide. “You heard that?!”

You nodded—hard. “Word for word. ‘She’s cute, a great friend, but I don’t see her that way.’ Ring any bells?”

He winced like he’d just been personally attacked by a ghost of his own idiocy. “Okay, wow. That sounded so much worse than I meant—”

“You think?” you snapped, crossing your arms tightly. “Do you know what it’s like to hear the person you’ve liked for years say something like that? To be standing there, holding your dumb varsity jacket like some lovesick intern, while you laugh at the idea of liking me?”

Heeseung opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“You don’t get to say you love me now and expect it to just erase that.”

His face dropped. For a moment, he looked completely lost for words—completely unlike the smug, charming boy who used to ruffle your hair and make your heart do gymnastics.

“I know,” he said finally, voice soft. “I know I messed that up. I thought... if I said it out loud, it’d make it less real. That if I kept calling you my best friend, I wouldn’t have to deal with how badly I wanted more.”

You blinked, arms slowly falling to your sides.

“I didn’t get it until you weren’t there,” he continued, gaze fixed on yours. “Until I looked for you everywhere and hated that you weren’t looking for me back. That you weren’t smiling at me like you used to. That you started smiling at Sunghoon instead—who, by the way, I totally thought you had a crush on, which sent me into a minor emotional spiral.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “You spiral?”

“I laid on the locker room floor for twenty-five minutes while Jake threw licorice at my face.”

That image alone almost broke your resolve.

Almost.

“I need you to know,” Heeseung said, his voice gentler now, “I was scared. But that doesn’t make it fair to you. And I don’t expect you to forget it overnight. But I meant what I said. I love you. Stupidly. Probably too much. And I’ll wait for you to believe that.”

You stared at him. And he stared back—like he didn’t mind if you took a second or an hour or a whole year to respond. As long as you were looking at him again.

Your heart beat so loud, you were almost sure he could hear it.

You swallowed. “Dropping the L-word before our first date is kinda crazy.”

Heeseung gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry. I should’ve started with ‘like.’”

You looked down at the ground, then back up at him.

And smiled—softly, finally. “No. I like crazy.”