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y2kuromi · 1 month

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⭑ : 呪術廻戦 ❛ 𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗕𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗨𝗠𝗘 : satoru gojo x fem! reader

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 synopsis: yuuji sees a completely different side of gojo-sensei !

contents: tooth rotting fluff w a dash of angst! established relationship (married), second person & told from yuuji’s pov. extremely whipped satoru! petnames, suggestive dialogue

summer isn’t over yet! collection, can be read as a stand-alone

yuuji was initially ecstatic about the prospect of living with gojo-sensei. he’d imagined lazing around, gorging on sweets and watching cartoons on tv — maybe a few training sessions squeezed in with gojo-sensei — ideally it would’ve been just the two of them.

his fantasies came crashing down when realised gojo-sensei’s “house” was actually a “home”. the walls in the foyer were riddled with picture frames. he felt like he was intruding on gojo-sensei’s personal life, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures on the walls.

there was a woman beside gojo-sensei in most of the pictures. she had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair. a friend? or a girlfriend? — nah. according to fushiguro, gojo-sensei got zero play. though she had to mean something to him. it was evident in the way he looked at her.

his cerulean eyes entirely averted the camera lens, instead devoted to committing every inch of her to memory

“that’s my wife” gojo said softly,“she’s gorgeous isn’t she?” he laughed wryly as he stared lovingly at the smiling woman in the photo. yuuji nodded slowly, studying his teacher closely.

“is she okay with me hiding out here?” he asked tentatively, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“ahhh about that” gojo says sheepishly, “i haven’t had the time to mention it to her so you’ll have to wait here while i talk to her” he ran a hand through his hair, snowy white tendrils curling around his fingers.

classic gojo-sensei.

“oh” yuuji chuckled, the situation was amusing to him. he couldn’t wait to tell fushiguro — the sour reminder that he couldn’t had his laughter dying in his throat.

gojo-sensei shrugged off his shoes and patted yuuji’s shoulder, “don’t worry she’ll say yes , i’ve got her wrapped around my finger”

yuuji waited patiently in the foyer, amber eyes flickering over the expensive decor and woodsy frames of gojo-sensei’s family. he could faintly make out traces of your conversation

"oh? you're home early for once" you smiled, leaning into your husband as he placed a kiss on your forehead. "what's the special occasion 'toru?"

"do i need a reason to want to see my beautiful wife?”

“nope” you hummed, “‘m just surprised to see you” not that you were complaining. satoru was a busy man and you cherished the rare moments you spent alone together

“how was your day sweets?” he asked, taking your hand in his, his thumb stroked over knuckles, soft, loving.

“same old” you shrugged, “we’ve got some big case coming up next week, so i was pretty busy today. had a tonne of paperwork and meetings too"

"my busy bee" he smiles, "i missed you s'much, i hate going on these stupid business trips"

"you'd like them more if i came with you" you said teasingly, poking his rib with your free hand "i ran into kento the other day, you sure i shouldn't come back to jujutsu sorcery too?"

"nuh uh" he shook his head firmly, "stay at your law firm pretty, 'm gonna need someone to defend me when i kill all the higher ups"

"what have they done now?" you sigh exasperatedly, turning the knob on the gas cooker and reducing the heat. the faint clicking sound echoes in the kitchen as the orange-blue flames simmered quietly.

"what haven't they done" he grumbled, leaning against the counter. he gently tugged at his blindfold, lithe fingers unveiling the cerulean eyes that you loved so much. his snowy hair fell softly around his face, a curtain that failed to hide the anger he felt coursing through his veins.

"poor baby" you cooed, hands trailing up to his face and cupping his cheeks, your fingers smoothed over the frown etched on his face, pushing his lips together in a duck-lipped pout, "wanna tell me about it?"

"y'know yuuji? the new first year that's sukuna's vessel?"

you nod, allowing your hands to fall from his face and rest on the counter. his greedy hands make their way to your waist, rubbing circles on the soft flesh peeking out beneath your untucked dress shirt.

"well they sent the first years on a mission to rescue people from the detention center, after sending me on that stupid mission overseas mind you, and the kid had to fight a special grade curse"

"is he okay?" you ask, hands ghosting over satoru's bigger, veiny ones. he sighs, a look of mild irritation fleeting over his face at the memory. in retrospect, none of that mattered now. he was home.

"yeah he's fine" he shrugs, "sukuna ripped his heart out and he died, but he revived him eventually"

"your definition of fine is questionable satoru" you snicker, and he feels his heart melting at the sound of your laughter. "why'd they send them on that mission anyways?"

"they just want yuuji dead, he was supposed to be executed remember? and they're really scared of sukuna which is crazy 'cause he's kinda weak"

"someone needs to humble you" you say, amusement dripping from your words like honey, "pride comes before fall 'toru"

"you humble me all the time sweets" he grins, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

"i'm just doing the universe a favour" you tease, "what do you want for dinner? rice? noodles? or we could order food from that thai joint you like if you want”

"i'll eat anything you cook sweets,” he murmurs, “though i have something else i wouldn’t mind eating”

“satoru” you gasped, “you just got home and you’re already trying to get between my legs” you smack his shoulder playfully

“i’ve missed her too” he shrugs, “i’ve missed all of you”

you shook your head, “can’t believe i married such a feen” a languid smile tugs at the corners of your lips. you could try all you wanted to resist his charms, but he’d always win in the end

"so...about yuuji" satoru starts, testing the waters, "the higher ups really want him gone, i can't keep him at jujutsu tech right now"

"i can see why you wouldn't" you hum, leaning on the tips of your toes to reach for the salt. satoru had a habit of placing the things you needed in places you couldn't reach just so he could have the honour of retrieving them for you

“need help with that sweets?” he asks eagerly, pushing himself off the counter and sifting through the wooden shelves. he easily brings the jar of salt down and hands it to you

"you have to stop doing this, it’s such an inconvenience" you sighed, but you were grateful nonetheless.“you’re insufferable i swear”

“‘m still yours” he says suavely. satoru’s smile is unwavering though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

you can tell the thing with yuuji is weighing heavily on his mind. he’s more restless than usual. his lithe fingers run up and down the counter as he stares into space

“‘toru?” you prompt, nudging him with your elbow, “i can hear you thinking”

“i don’t know where to keep him” he exhales, “i would ask shoko, or kento but then i’d risk getting them in trouble with the higher ups”

“what about the secret room we found in our third year?” you asked, “you could keep him there, unless they found out about it”

“i would keep him there.. but i just...don't want him to feel alone," he says softly. you didn’t think it was possible to fall even deeper in love with satoru, but he never failed to surprise you. “he's just a kid, so i— i want to look out for him.”

he knows it’s a big ask. you can hear the gears turning in his head as he figures out how to possibly convince you to let sukuna’s vessel stay in your home.

"can he stay?" he pleads, "can yuuji stay with us please? it’s only until the kyoto goodwill event" he's clasping his hands together, imploring you with his infinitely blue eyes. you raise an eyebrow. knowing satoru, yuuji was probably waiting around in the foyer

"he's already here isn't he?" you ask, shaking your head fondly as a guilty look flickers across his face. classic satoru. although you would've loved for him to give you a heads up, you didn't mind a bit. it would be nice to have some company when satoru went on his missions

“i didn’t really have time to plan all the details before bringing him with me” he says, sheepishly rubbing a hand behind his neck, his fingers brushed against the soft strands of his undercut, "are you mad? don't be mad baby"

"no" you laugh, "i'm not mad 'toru, he can stay"

it’s the little things like this that make you realise just how much power you have over him. within seconds your husband is whirling you around, hands gripping your waist tightly and pressing chaste kisses on your face as he sets you down

"yuuji she said you can stay" a wide grin blooms across his face as he bounds into the foyer excitedly. the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, reduced to the faint resemblance of a child getting their first sleepover approved

you set the jar of salt down on the marbled counter. trailing after your husband. true to your suspicions, yuuji itadori had been standing awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs together in his hoodie pockets and silently taking in the intricacies of your home.

he couldn’t help but feel out of place.

there were pairs of everything — shoes neatly arranged on the coat rack. umbrellas tucked in a corner in the foyer. coats hung up next to each other on the wall.

the pale blue wallpaper hung row after row of framed photographs. their wooden mahogany panels reflected the warm lights. yuuji’s light brown eyes flickered on the pictures in all their glory and glossy sheen.

the ones that caught his eye captured a young fushiguro’s trademark scowl, the irritated quirk of his brow and the curled spikes of his hair that defied gravity.

he was standing beside a girl who looked just like him, except she was slightly taller with long bone-straight brown hair. yuuji’s eyes lingered on her smile as your beanstalk of a husband shook him excitedly

he wondered what fushiguro would say if he knew he’d seen pictures of him as a little kid. ( he’d probably summon his shikigami on him )

“really?” he beamed, eyes momentarily drawn away from the plethora of frames. you feel your heart melt into a sickly sweet puddle of happiness and warmth, as you watch satoru drape his arm over yuuji’s shoulder

“yes really” you laugh, “it’s nice to finally meet you yuuji, you’re a friend of megumi’s right?”

yuuji nods frantically, his mop of pink curls bouncing enthusiastically . his mannerisms were nervous and eager. he wanted to fit in. he wanted you to like him. you could tell — he reminded you oddly of your husband ( they were practically the same person in different fonts )

“speaking of megumi, he doesn’t know yuuji’s alive so please don’t let it slip when he calls you” satoru murmurs, taking slow steps towards you.

he knows he’s asking for too much now. you practically raised megumi and it would be nearly impossible for you to keep something like this from him. satoru can see the cogs spinning in your head, the subtle anger in your heart and for the first time in years he’s afraid.

“we’ll talk about this later” you say through gritted teeth. he pleads silently with his eyes and you swallow your protests, you exhale loudly before turning towards yuuji again “c’mon yuuji, i’ve just started on dinner”

yuuji kicks off his shoes and nudges them neatly beneath the shoe rack before padding after you. satoru isn’t far behind

“it smells really good mrs. gojo” yuuji says politely, as he takes a seat by the kitchen island, legs dangling as he drums on the smooth marbled counter.

“thank you yuuji” you beamed, “do you prefer rice or noodles?”

“ahh i’m not really picky” he says, “i like all kinds of food really, but i suppose rice? if it isn’t too much of a hassle, i really don’t want to be a bother-”

“slow down yuuji” you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “i’m really glad to have you here, it gets kinda lonely when ‘toru’s away on business trips so make yourself at home okay?”

no wonder gojo-sensei was always happy, his wife was an angel. yuuji thought as he nodded fervently

“i can make the rice baby” satoru offers, his hands make their way around your waist, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen under his touch. you’re mad at him, and he knows you have every right to be

“thank you” you said, putting as much feeling into the words as you could muster, “come with me yuuji, i’ll show you around”

yuuji was positive he was intruding now, standing in the middle of megumi’s room while you stripped navy blue pinstripe sheets off his bed and replaced them with canary dressings.

“are you sure i can sleep here?” he asks, “ i don’t mind taking the couch..”

you seemed horrified at the idea of yuuji sleeping alone on the couch. he still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that you actually wanted him here. he was so used to being unwanted

growing up with his grandpa was something he wouldn’t trade for the world, yet he’d always craved the warmth of a mother. a mother’s love was the purest, and there was nothing more blameless than the softness in your (e/c) eyes when you looked at him

“i mind yuuji” you frowned” and i want you to stay in gumi’s room, his clothes should fit you since you’re around the same height”

“thank you again for letting me crash here” yuuji didn’t think he could say it enough. he didn’t deserve such kindness, not when the king of curses lived rent free in his head

“don’t mention it yuuji” you said, “i meant what i said downstairs, i could really use the company”

you ruffled his hair softly before resuming your ministrations of making the bed. you tucked crisp sheets beneath the mattress and fluffed up pillows with ease.

“you’re a really good mom, why don’t you and gojo-sensei have any kids of your own?” yuuji only realises the question is slightly insensitive after the words hang in the air and an unreadable look fleets across your face, “i’m so sorry that was really rude of me-”

“you’re good yuuji” you laugh, you sit down on the freshly laid duvet and pat the space beside you. yuuji hesitates but he sits down eventually

“it just never happened y’know? we adopted tsu and gumi a few years back, plus toru’s always seen his students as his kids, he cares about you guys a lot”

“even me?” it doesn’t seem plausible to him. all he’s seemed to do is cause problems for gojo-sensei ever since he ate that gross finger

“especially you yuuji” you smiled, ruffling his hair, “you remind me of him funny enough, even though i used to hate him back in our school days”

“really?” he gawked, he was practically falling over megumi’s bed with anticipation.

“really” you affirmed , “he was a real piece of work back then, i bet he’s the reason yaga has so many grey hairs”

“how’d you fall in love with him then?” yuuji enquires, brown eyes sparkling with immense curiosity “and how’d you meet?”

“are you guys gossiping about me?” satoru gasps, peeking around the doorway, “how mean of you yuuji, i thought we were friends”

“ahhh we weren’t gossiping per-say, mrs. gojo was about to tell me how you met”

“can i tell him?” satoru’s eyes sparkle, “the way i remember it i walked into the common room and cherry blossoms started falling, classical piano was playing softly in the background and-”

“that didn’t happen” you said, “he’s finally going senile” you tried and failed to push satoru out the doorway but he stood his ground.

he stood almost toe to toe with you, a pleased grin blooming on his face as he towered over you. yuuji’s eye’s flickered between you and your husband, cheeks dusted a rosy pink as he stifled giggles

“it did happen!” satoru insisted, “i’m sure shoko has a recording of it somewhere, now as i was saying.. she took one look at me and fell head over heels in love”

“you’re deluded” you muttered, “i didn’t love you until our second year, get your facts right”

“so you did fall head over heels in love with me” he grinned, “so early too? i knew you couldn’t resist my charms — owww!”

satoru feigns as you finally manage to shove him out the door after hitting his shoulder. by now, yuuji is a spluttering mess on the soft tatami mats lining megumi’s floor

“i’ll tell you what really happened one of these days” you said over your shoulder, “you can shower and settle in, take as long as you need, we’ll wait for you to come downstairs before we start eating”

your smile falls the moment the door clicks shut behind you. satoru feels his heart shattering. he’s so sure he’s going to die because his wife is mad at him. the universe might as well combust into nothing but ashes

“baby-” satoru starts, catching your wrist in his palm. he grips the bone loosely, careful not to hurt you “‘m sorry, you know that, but megumi can’t know”

you trudge down the stairs in silence, opting only to speak when you’re seated beside satoru in the living room. your cat natsu watches you wearily from her cat post, slanted eyes shooting satoru a well meaning glare.

“you can’t ask me to keep this from him” you said, shaking your head, eyes looking everywhere but your husband’s piercing blue gaze. “you’re taking things too far now”

“i know” his voice is a mere whisper, the words barely speak themself into existence, “i’m being selfish again, but you’ve gotta understand (y/n)”

“i can’t” you splutter, you feel tears treading your waterline “put yourself in his shoes, c’mon satoru we’ve seen him at his worst, why would we do something that could hurt him?”

“i’m not doing this to hurt megumi, i’m doing this to protect yuuji”

“just think about it please” you frowned, “if instead of executing suguru they kept him alive and let us think he was dead, you’d never forgive them”

he doesn’t miss the way your voice catches over the three syllables. he doesn’t miss the way your fingers tremble against his forearm. he hates this — arguing with you, he could think of infinite things he’d rather do than this.

“that’s different” his voice is wavering now, “suguru made his choice, yuuji didn’t ask for any of this” he winces as the words fall from his lips. to think he’d stooped to speaking ill of the dead. he doesn’t believe that, not really.

“you still wouldn’t forgive them” you prompted, “and i don’t want ‘gumi to go through any more, tsumiki being in a coma is hard enough as it is”

“i know baby, i know” satoru says softly, he cups your trembling face in his hands and places the sweetest of kisses on the tears that threaten to stream down your cheeks, “trust me on this okay? he’ll be fine i promise”

“okay” you nod, letting your husband, your one and only, wipe away the tears spilling over your lashes.

satoru could really kill the higher ups for putting him in this position. one where he nearly sacrificed his wife’s happiness for something as insignificant as jujutsu sorcery. with his lips still pressed to the corners of yours, he makes a silent vow with himself

it would be you before everything. it was you before everything

“you’re so beautiful” he whispers, his thumb grazing your bottom lip “you. are. everything. to. me” he punctuates each word with a kiss. his lips committing every inch of you to memory

they ghost over your cheek, your quivering lip, your shoulder, your wrist, and finally the silver wedding band encasing your ring finger. and they linger on the cool silver for what seems to be eternity before satoru speaks up again

“dance with me?” he prompts, although he’s not really asking. he’s already whisking you onto your feet and starting up the record player. the vinyl spins on its axis, as constant as his infinite love for you.

“what?” you sniffed slightly, “like we did in our first year?”

“like we did in our first year”

satoru’s hands were on your hip, drawing you closer, he felt your chest brush against his for a second as he leaned into you. you swayed gently side to side, keeping in time with the intricate melodies streaming from the gramophone

his six eyes tell him his student is watching, listening. curious doe eyes peeking from the stairwell. he doesn’t mind. satoru had never been one to hide his affection. you were his. and he was infinitely yours.

“can i tell you a secret?” satoru murmurs, as he twirls you back into his arms. he wishes he could stay like this forever. with you. he’d selfishly sacrifice the universe to keep having moments like this. he would kill for you. he’s positive he would. he’d do it without hesitation.

“i thought we didn’t have any of those” you quipped. satoru feels his heart melting. watching the sadness in your eyes fade into utter bliss was like watching the sun come out after a rainy day. maybe even better.

“it’s a good one i promise” he grins, you raise a brow sceptically but you’re listening “i was the one who fell head over heels in love with you. way back in our first year…and i didn’t even know what love was, i was so confused”

“when did you know?” you asked, “you always say you knew the moment you saw me, but you were an asshole then”

“it was the first time we snuck out together” he admits, “when we went to that night market. you were right, i was jealous of suguru but could you blame me? i wanted you all to myself”

“you’ve always been so greedy” you giggled. satoru doesn’t need the six eyes to see that you love him regardless. it’s evident in the tenderness of your tone and the way your (e/c) sparkle when you look at him

“cut me some slack baby” he groans “i’m trying to be romantic”

“you don’t need to try, i heard through the grapevine i can’t resist your charms” you hummed

satoru cracks a smile at the inside joke, a slow symphony of contentment.he kisses you again and it’s sweet and full of blind adoration. loving you is his religion. the only thing he’s wholly committed to. your hands looped around his neck, carefully avoiding the ever-so-sensitive scar that ran beneath his chin

your hands founds repose in the soft strands of his hair, carefully threading through the ivory curls. satoru could feel himself melting into you, he clung to you as if he was scared to let go and his calloused hands clutched at the warmth that radiated from your skin. he was so impossibly close you could feel his eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

yuuji peered at the scene with stars in his eyes. he knew he should look away. that this moment was sacred, strictly for the two of you. but he’d never seen gojo like this before — completely vulnerable, completely himself in the confines of your embrace.

here he wasn’t the strongest, the richest, the one-man clan, the one whose mere existence shifted the balance of the world. here, he wasn't satoru gojo, he wasn't gojo-sensei, he was just 'toru.

#𓂃˖ letters from: satoru #❛ 五条悟 ❜#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk fluff #jjk angst #⭑ : js ‘toru gave me js george vibes #i love gojo too much pls sedate me <3

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jayflrt · 10 months

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a stoner’s guide to starbucks

PAIRING ▸ lee heeseung x fem!reader (ft. enha, winter from aespa, beomgyu from txt, and dino from svt)

GENRES ▸ social media au (smau), crack, fluff, stoner au, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, sexual jokes, zero braincells, limited knowledge of the starbucks corporation, weed consumption, dumb shenanigans, ignore timestamps!

SUMMARY ▸ in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! i am alive (real) also i was so committed to the bit that i got high to make this <3 shoutout @hoonbear for the Extensive Starbucks Knowledge 🫡 i would also like to note that i am NOT doing a tag list for this smau. also please note that this is a fictional setting and to boycott starbucks in real life for firing their workers over their pro palestine speech

INCOMING MESSAGES !

TEASER

PROFILES ONE | TWO

01. weed guy beomgyu

02. red bitch with the freckles rizz

03. starbucks public enemy #1

04. 50% cut ???

05. lee heeseung: upstanding citizen, NOT murderer

06. clearing up misunderstandings with an aqi under 50

07. chat is this real

08. daddy’s home 2

09. biodegrade ur chance at romance

10. triple filtered reverse osmosis water filtration system

11. losing the idgaf war

12. crazy gets u bitches

13. banned in the name of love

14. riki s worded irl??

15. 8ball brings nations together

16. killing myself postponed tonight repostponed

17. scheming sponsored by crazy bitch 62 and unimportant goon

18. the do-over date to end all first dates

19. seek BetterHelp.com

20. quarterly store meeting (remote)

21. WHAT ARE WE

22. heejake support group for heejake victims

23. bro fumbled the unfumbleable

24. sunghoon is the new Papa John

25. according to penal code 837 🤓☝️

26. jungwon pulls bitches (the duolingo owl) too

27. someone PLEASE take jungwon to see the teenage mutant ninja turtles movie

28. 14th date’s the charm

29. doc mcuggo

30. nothing to write home about

31. LONDON I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL I LOST MY QUEEN TOO

32. starbucks double chocolate brownies

33. having a kid together before dating is next level

34. tweaking out on 5 hour energy

35. 7.83 inches

36. The Milk Makes The Man, And The Man Makes The Milk

37. sunghoon from papa john's from starbucks

38. then who's flying the plane???

39. league of legends quarantine ex girlfriend

40. WELCOME HOME CHEATER 😐

41. unknown evil forces (chaewon)

42. friends to rivaling coffee shop employees au

43. do NOT get the weed frap

44. now on channel 9 news

45. choose your fighter heeseung tit variation

46. kitten i'll be honest, daddy's about to kill himself

47. a fire can be put out but missing a bereal is forever

48. baby's first customer connection score

49. #STARBUCKS_FIRST_WIN

50. epilogue

UNCUTS !

weekly weed check 🗣️

SUNGHOONXJLAW

happy weedsgiving

minjake texts

the Sunghoon Special

goons vs baby shark movie

COMPLETED 12/1/23

#enhypen #enhypen smau #enhypen fluff #heeseung fluff #heeseung smau #heeseung imagines #enhypen imagines #lee heeseung #enhypen social media au #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios #enhypen drabbles #enhypen reactions #heeseung drabbles #heeseung reactions

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hannie-dul-set · 5 months

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WHAT’S WRONG WITH CEO PARK?

p — PARK SUNGHOON x gn! reader. g — ceo! sunghoon and secretary! reader, humor, romance. w — swearing, sunghoon being a weirdo, a misplaced marriage proposal. 1.3k words.

requested by — anon: menace to everyone but you x the opposite of that.

note — i hate the cold angsty male ceo trope. so instead i turned ceo hoon into a weirdo that's a little bit too in love and doesn’t understand the concept of workplace boundaries which stresses you the fuck out!!

when you got promoted from being assistant secretary thanks to your ceo’s former secretary resigning, your co-workers did not throw you a celebration.

“you called for me, mr. park?”

instead, they threw you an advanced farewell party. it was nice working with you, said the cake dusted with stray confetti on the day of your promotion. they’re celebrating your inevitable resignation. they’re sure you’re going to follow suit after you predecessor within three months max because according to them—

“yes.”

your boss, park sunghoon, is the nastiest fucker in the planet.

“take a seat.”

you gulp, making cautious steps into your ceo’s office. he’s signing a stack of documents while you take your sweet time delaying having to sit in front of his paper-stacked desk, setting them aside the moment you sit down, sharp eyes immediately zeroing into your soul, and you start sweating.

there’s a bet on the line on when you’d eventually quit. today marks your fourth month here, and you’re pretty sure heeseung is going to win because you are in fact this close to sliding your pre-written resignation letter over his desk, adding onto his pile.

not because he’s terrible, like they all say. not because he’s temperamental.

“sunoo told me you were sick,” sunghoon starts. “why did you come to work today?”

but because you fear your boss might be a little bit in love with you.

“is...is that the only reason you asked for me?” you hesitantly say, picking on your cuticles and trying to avoid eye contact because the concern drowning your boss’s expression is just enough to drown you as well.

“you don’t look well,” he avoids your question. of course you don’t look well. you’re very, very uncomfortable right now and the main cause of that discomfort is him. “you should go home. i’ll tell jay to drive you.”

you’re pretty sure jay isn’t going to be happy with that.

“mr. park—”

“i thought i asked you to call me sunghoon.”

your mouth is left hanging open. you’re flabbergasted. you take a second to recollect your thoughts. “...mr. park. sir,” you emphasize. you should at least be the one reminding him of your hierarchical roles at the moment. sunghoon looks upset that you’re not abiding by his request, but says nothing in protest so you continue. “i ran out of sick leaves. and there’s still so much work to do, i can’t just go home.”

“you ran out? well i’ll just give you more.” sir, that’s not how it works. “and jungwon can take care of your work. you should go home and rest.”

jungwon wouldn’t be too happy with that either. you feel your stress levels rising, headache incoming, because he’s just not listening to you. this crazy bastard, you think to yourself.

but maybe you were thinking a little too loudly.

“can you say that again?”

you slap a hand over your mouth with a gasp.

“say it again.”

you’re fucked. you just called your boss a bastard right to his face. “i’m—i’m so sorry, mr. park, i didn’t mean to—” but maybe that’s a good thing because that means you wouldn’t need to debate about resigning if he’s gonna fire you. “i apologize. i’ll accept any punishment you’ll give me.”

“no, say it again,” he hums, sounding a little too happy after being called crazy and a bastard, and you get a bad feeling. a really bad feeling. “i felt like we just got closer because of that. swear at me again.”

there’s a smile playing on your boss’s face.

“i— i don’t think that’s appropriate, sir.”

jesus christ, he’s a bit more in love with you than you thought.

“why not?” when sunghoon gets up from behind his seat, circling out from behind his desk to lean back against it right in front of you instead, you start fearing for your life. he looks at you, arms crossed in disappointment, and he looks a little too good with rolled up sleeves and slim-fit slacks.

crap, were you just checking out your boss?

his crazy is rubbing off on you.

“you have no trouble with swearing at and laughing around with the others,” he says. “why can’t you do the same with me?”

he is not normal, you think. thankfully not out loud this time. “sir, you’re my boss. i’m just your secretary. there’s a big gap there. i can’t just treat you the same way as i do with my co-workers.”

your boss takes in your words. he remains quiet with a stoic face for a few moments, and with each passing second of silence, you feel half a year of your life being shaved off. “ah,” he finally makes a sound after a good minute and a half. “should i give you a promotion, then?”

oh my fucking god, he’s nuts.

“boss, there’s an urgent thing you need to—”

“did i permit you to enter my office?”

your eyes widen, slapped in the face by a whiplash when your fellow secretary jake suddenly pops into the office, only to be cut off by the sharp glare and icy tone of your boss. jake’s hand doesn’t leave the doorknob when he nearly stumbles in shock with a stack of papers pressed to his chest. you see the look on his face. it’s the face of someone who’s about to get royally fucked over.

“n—no, sir. but these documents are—”

“then why are you in my office?” holy shit. so this is what they meant when they said ceo park is a bitchy demon from hell. jake looks like he’s about to piss himself. you’ve never been on the brunt of his temper— likely because he’s biased and has feelings for you, which has always felt burdensome. but now you’re a little thankful because you’d probably cry if he snapped at you like that.

“i’m sorry, i’ll leave now. i apologize.”

with that, jake makes his hasty retreat, and you’re once more left alone with your crazy boss.

“where were we?” he says. “oh, right. your promotion.”

you’re starting to feel dizzy.

“i’ve never liked how seojoo handled things. you can take his spot as the sales department head.” you have to stop him. you have to stop him before he actually fires a competent employee and gives you their spot as a courtship gift. “wait. i think you’d prefer working in HR actually. it’s a shame ms. kim is going to lose her position, but i can just—”

“mr. park—”

“sunghoon,” he cuts you off. “call me sunghoon.”

you look at him, exasperated. “sir,” you say. “i don’t think this is right.”

sunghoon raises a brow. “you don’t like HR? which department would you prefer then?”

you can’t. you can’t do this anymore. you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander out of stress, because they inadvertently land on the shiny gold glint of his nameplate, which is a terribly bad move following after his question because sunghoon notices, and sunghoon gets the very, very wrong idea.

oh, no. oh, no no no no no—

“i see.”

he doesn’t! he doesn’t see! you aren’t coveting his seat! you just want to go back to work and stop dealing with your insane and far too in love with you boss!

“i’m afraid i can’t give away my position as ceo,” he tells you. you swallow, shutting your eyes because you don’t want to acknowledge the mess you’ve just accidentally made, but your lack of vision definitely doesn’t interfere with your sense of hearing.

what you hear next sounds clearer than you’d like it to be.

“how about the position of being the ceo’s fiancé instead?”

that’s it.

“i will be getting back to work now, mr. park.”

there is something very wrong with your boss. it’s not in your job description to fix him.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH CEO PARK? © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#i spent 30 minutes of my study time writing this bcs i got the genius idea while in the shower. god i hate myself.#park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #park sunghoon fluff #sunghoon fluff #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x you #park sunghoon x you #sunghoon x you #enhypen fanfic

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evilminji · 8 months

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Okay... so it COULD be because, as a writer, I'm an ASSHOLE to my Characters...

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT'D BE FUNNY?

Danny, innocent, gets YEETED into DC. As ya do. And he's a bit messed up. But! He's a Baby Ancient in the making. Gonna be master of Spaaaaaace(~~~☆!) one day. Very exciting, only slightly relevant.

See, Ectoplasm? Dumb. That's why we need Cores and Brains etc. Never let Ectoplasm decide things. It WILL chose the "technically correct but now the buildings on fire" option EVERY SINGLE TIME. And you are running out of fire extinguishers.

Because it is dumb.

Very, VERY No Brain, Just Goo, Dumb.

And THIS Goo has a life to save. A Halfa too maintain in Peak Performance(tm). Because THIS Goo is VERY smart Goo(according only to itself) and TOTALLY knows what it's doing! Damaged meat bits? Oh that's EASY! You just FIX that! Replace with meat bits! See? It's BRILLIANT Goo. 10 out of 10 stars, me!

Small problem.

The instructions have been damaged.

PANIC.

Wait! No! We got this! We are Very Smart Goo(tm). And have Space Powers. This is FINE. We'll... we'll just FIX the instructions! Hand me a hammer! If we smash enough bits together, it'll sort? Of look right? Close ENOUGH? Yeeeeeah. We're GENIUS Goo~

Use THAT!

But where did they GET their ill begotten DNA? Well OBVIOUSLY the place all the OTHER DNA they had was stored, DUH? Keep up, says the Goo with literally no braincells making horrifying choices for an unconscious man. It's Earth.

As in... the planet.

It's not even HIS planet. It's AN Earth. A Planet CALLED "Earth" that dwells in the DC universe, not his, and is covered with ZERO(0) Fentons but plenty of superhumans and aliens. THAT planet.

The Goo grabbed the Very BESTEST Meat Instructions it could FIND! The Goo is also a collective and did not AGREE on what the "Best" WAS. But it's... okay, no, I can't lie to you, it is NOT fine.

But thankfully it IS stable.

Because Ectoplasm may be dumb and indiscriminate as super-bacteria with a flamethrower, but it is a MASTER at the jigsaw of Life. It can reanimate ANYTHING.

Including the now SINGLE MOST CHIMERAD MAN you've ever SEEN. Who is he related too? YES. His left knee is Kryptonian, the fingers on his right hand are Tameranian, his skin tone has shifted to the most ambiguously multi-ethnic tone imaginable (think that future of humanity mock up, where they combine every ethnicity on the premise that inter-racial marriage will becoming increasingly common up to the point where we all just kinda look averaged out thanks to the ease of travel) because it's trying to do all of them at once and none of them are willing to back down, because all of them got the instructions "Be Skin". He might have Slade Wilson's cheek bones and hair.

Danny wakes up and basicly is half Ectoplasmic Goo, half the extended Super Community.

AND CANT GET BACK HOME TO FIX IT.

Because of course this IS fixable. It's just medical shape-shifting. But without HIS template, undamaged. His body is REFUSING to change from what is OBVIOUSLY the CORRECT form. And he keeps getting clocked as "probably related to me".

With the Fenton Luck kicking in? The parts of him people manage to swab and/or get DNA from? Keep MATCHING them. Danny doesn't know WHO is behind this but-! *spots a giggle child with a cat* !!!!!!

You.

Klarion you little SHIT!

So now he's wearing a face that's BARELY his, running from very determined superhumans who want to parent him, trying to steal enough technology to build a portal. AND vowing to kick the witch boy's ASS.

This ISNT FUNNY, KLARION.

His body is Frankenstein's FEVER DREAM! Every time he gets hurt, it tries to "FIX" itself! He lost a chunk of his should back there and HIS ENTIRE BODY CHANGED SKIN TONES. He's pretty sure if he SITS funny, his teeth might fall out and regrow POINTY! He's handing you over to WALKER you horrible little gremlin child!

Just? Take the "Danny is related to X" and "Danny is sick" and turn them uuuuup. Make EVERYBODY concerned except Danny. This is just another fucked up adventure in a long string of fucked up adventures. Give him his DNA back. If he has to suffer the Fenton Luck then he should AT LEAST get to keep the Fenton "built like a tank"!

*gets hit again*

*is GREEN now for some reason* The fuck?

Garfield, aka Beast Boy: I HAVE A CLONE SON!?

Danny: Zone DAMN IT not another one!

@ailithnight @hdgnj @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

#tw body horror #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #never let the Goo drive #chimera au #Danny looks A BIT like everyone #just enough to be suspicious #chaos happens and klarion laughs

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highvern · 1 month

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Patterns II

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut (18+), eventual fluff/angst

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Chapter Warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, hand job, dry humping, oral (face sitting), lots of teasing/minor degradation if you squint, overstimulation, breath play

Length: ~9.9k

Note: part 2 is here, let's goooooo! thanks for being so patient and thank you @millennial-fangirl and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing!

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Avoiding Wonwoo post D-Day, as Amina calls it, proves to be surprisingly easy. An entire week of back to back meetings leaves you blocking off parts of your calendar just to use the bathroom. And according to the grapevine, there’s been zero proof of life from Wonwoo’s end either which has caused Mingyu to break out in hives.

But as the weekend draws closer you’re given the greatest gift the universe can bestow.

“Monday is a disconnect day for the client which means all of us are on black out. No emails, no phone calls, nothing.” Mona announces in the team huddle.

Tears of joy bead in your eyes at the news. However, it's short lived.

“We’ll need to hit the ground running when we come back so make sure everything is done Friday. Even if you have to stay late. Understand?”

Your laptop pings with a message in the corner.

Gerard: how does she make free PTO sound like hell?

Y/N: i think she said it was her special talent when we did ice breakers at the beginning of the project

Gerard: oh yeah right after she said she hates puppies

Y/N: and joy

Mona slaps her own computer shut, sending you ten feet in the air before continuing, “If there isn’t anything else. We can wrap this up. Shoot me a message if there are any questions.”

“And how will you be spending your new found free time?” You ask.

Gerard holds the door open as you walk past, “The way the universe intends. In bed, sleeping. Maybe I’ll finally unpack my suitcase from the last trip Mona dragged me on.”

“Wasn’t that like, a month ago?” You ask.

“And?”

The rest of the day is a blur, rushing from meeting to meeting with barely enough time to breathe. It’s only the end of the day that grants you the next glimpse at the world outside the dreary office walls. Albeit through the bright screen of your cell phone.

Once back at your desk, you unlock your phone to find several unread messages. Several from Amina document her jealousy that you and Lisa have long weekends. Lisa offers to kick Mingyu off the long planned trip to the adorable bed and breakfast she found for their anniversary.

Amina 🍑💗: FREE ME FROM THE SHACKLES OF CORPORATE AMERICA

Y/N: Your honor free her!!!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: Girls trip! Girls trip! Girls trip!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: mingyu will understand

Y/N: I am begging you to go have gross emotional sex somewhere other than our apartment

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: we’ve done it plenty of places that arent the apartment :)

Y/N: whore

But a separate thread unleashes a coldsnap in your veins.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): forgot to give these back…

Attached is a photo. A familiar swatch of cotton contrasting with the rich navy of his blanket in the background. His long fingers grip the hem, involuntarily jolting memories of them curled around your body.

Upon realizing you’re sitting out in the open staring at a picture of your panties, you hastily lock your phone and shove it into the deep recesses of your purse. Thank the stars no one else was around to glimpse the crude picture or the sudden sweat along your brow. How dare Wonwoo’s first attempt at speaking to you post hook up be a picture of your underwear in the middle of the work day. Who did he think he was?

Overcoming the initial embarrassment that floods your system, you decide to ignore his bid for attention. If you ignored him then he wouldn’t know the power he held. Plain and simple.

—

The next few days fly past without incident. Wonwoo remains silent and allows you to fall back into forgetting his existence.

As Friday hurdles forward, the usual shenanigans of bar hopping is replaced by plans for a movie night. You aren’t the only one suffering from sleep deprivation; Amina’s job ran her into the ground, and same with Lisa’s.

The idea fills you with dread, spurred by yearning to spend every moment of free time to catch up on sleep. But knowing your friends, the probability of successfully ditching is on the negative side of zero, especially since you’ve barely spoken to one another all week and they’d both be out of town for the weekend.

The atmosphere of the office is sullen. Late Friday afternoons are reserved for pretending to work and gossiping. Unless you work for your team. In which case, you’ve spent the past hour agonizing over different powerpoint transitions and if they convey professionalism yet approachable.

A throat clearing behind you breaks your trace.

“Okay, I need to go home.”

Looking up from your laptop, an aura of visible graveness radiates from Gerard. His theater minor really came in handy.

“Why?” You ask skeptically.

Gerard was nice. But he wasn’t that nice.

“Because I’m already going to be stuck here all night.” He sighs. “And there’s no point in both of us suffering. You have the report ready?”

“Yeah, I just need to make a new powerpoint and get it finalized.”

“Then let me handle it. Mona wants me to re-do the other report you need for the deck so I’ll make it when I’m done.”

Hands moving of their own volition, you shove your scattered belongings into your purse. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He groans. “If I need something I’ll call. Now go. Be free.”

He shoos you without another word, diving into his own computer. Before Gerard can change his mind you’re in the elevator and own your way home.

Thirty minutes later, you find Amina and Lisa already in the midst of a full apartment clean up. A 2000s playlist blasts from the speaker on the counter while Amina shoots daggers at the furniture in the living room.

“Do you think we should move the couch?” Amina shouts at your entrance.

Her lips move but you can’t hear anything over the blasting noise. “Huh?”

“The couch!” She repeats after cutting off the sound.

You nod before realizing you're still in work clothes. Rushing to your room, you quickly change into something more presentable.

When you return, Lisa is in the kitchen putting away dishes. You and Amina descend on the living room, heads bobbing in sync to the music while you work. Under combined efforts, the space shifts from wild disarray to sparkling clean in no time.

Moving in sync, you both work to tetter the furniture into different arrangements. It takes four attempts before she throws her hands up, accepting defeat and moving to the counter to join Lisa. You fail to silence a half hearted cheer before flopping down onto the soft cushions of the sofa.

“Who said they were coming again?” Amina asks, her head resting on her arms crossed in front of her on top of the cool marble.

“Mingyu, Soonyoung, Eva,” Lisa pauses as she scrolls through her texts to find confirmation. “Wonwoo.”

Both Amina and Lisa snap their necks to pointedly look at you.

Much to your own disappointment, your cheeks heat. Avoiding the scrutinous gazes of your roommates, you roll off the couch and busy yourself with replacing the pillows and blankets Amina tossed aside earlier.

“Have you talked to him at all?” Amina questions, walking over to reorganize the coffee table, sweeping their trinkets and books away for the drinks and food that would soon be spread atop it.

“Nope.”

“He hasn’t texted you or you haven’t responded?” Amina’s eyebrows furrow, as if Wonwoo’s silence is the most confusing thing between you two.

“He hasn’t texted.” You lie, pulling at a frayed thread at the corner of the pillow.

Lisa joins the effort, folding blankets and organizing them in piles. “Well that’s lame.”

“I’m sorry? Weren't you the one who threatened to kill him?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “So? A girl can’t be dramatic?”

“There’s dramatic and then there’s you.” Amina chimes.

“Whatever.” Lisa scoffs before looking at you. “Wonwoo’s cool but if he ghosted you then he’s a loser.”

You shrug before responding, “It was just a one time thing. It’s not like I was reaching out to him either.”

“I thought you said he was good?” Amina asks with round eyes.

“He was but it was just a one time thing. Let’s not make it weird, okay?” You wait until they both nod before continuing. “What time is everyone coming?”

“Around seven, I think?” Lisa throws the question to Amina.

“Yeah, seven.” Amina answers, eyeing the furniture again.

Glancing at your phone you spot the time, 4:46PM. Perfect.

“I’m gonna shower and take a nap,” You call, heading down the hall.

Once in the bathroom, you undress as the water warms to a tolerable temperature. Finding it suitable, you make to enter but the dig of your phone distracts you. The screen illuminates and you spot a familiar name.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I was planning on coming with mingyu tonight but if you don’t want me to I'll hang back

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything

Strange as it may be, you're oddly endeared by his consideration. But his last messages sit on the screen just above and cut the warmth short.

Y/N: and yet there’s a picture of you holding my panties that says the opposite

Y/N: im not spooked so easily

Locking your phone, you jump in the shower. The hot water lulls away the anticipation flooring through your veins. It didn’t have to be weird. Tonight would prove it.

The short nap leaves you disoriented but the laughter of friends draws you out from the covers. Bravely, you change out of pajamas into more presentable pajamas consisting of sweats and a sweatshirt. Once settled, you slide into the hall and meet company.

Turning the corner and entering the kitchen, you scan the group. Eva and Soonyoung sit across the counter, both of them smiling your way. Amina is fussing about, attempting to organize the drinks spread across the counter into some kind or order. An expensive bottle of liquor Mingyu no doubt supplied sits in the middle like a prize, however he’s nowhere to be seen along with his roommate and girlfriend. You try to assist Amina but the space between the island counter and the stove is barely large enough for one body, let alone two. Amina shoos you away after barely a minute.

A trio of voices echo down the hallway.

“Every project he doesn’t want to do just gets thrown on me.” A deep voice complains. “I don’t even know what his actual job is.”

The timber sends electricity down your spine. You try not to stare as Wonwoo steps into the light of the kitchen trailing behind Lisa. Apparently Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Lisa were tasked with food duty; however, Lisa's hands are completely empty. A stark contrast to Wonwoo and Mingyu behind her balancing several stacked boxes between them.

You exchange a brief friendly smile with Wonwoo, before he continues with Mingyu. Shoulders sagging, your relief is only momentary. The weight of your friends watching the interaction is unbearable, despite everyone being wrapped in their own conversations. Lisa and Amina argue over the best order to organize everything while Mingyu sets about actually arranging the boxes. Soonyoung and Eva exchange gossip at the counter, their own laughter slicing through the air above them.

Pouring yourself a drink, you snatch the pitcher next to Eva, no doubt containing one of her deadly concoctions. Filling the glass halfway, you take a sip. Fruit and spicy sweetness tingling on your tongue followed by the warmth of cinnamon. The slight burn is masked with a deceptive tang of citrus. It goes down much too easily for the amount of alcohol Eva includes in her drinks. You estimate it’ll take two servings before you’re asleep against the arm of the sofa. Empting the glass, you pour another helping and cast off from the counter.

Heading into the living room, you beeline for a spot on the sofa before anyone can object. Despite Amina’s attempts earlier, a few people would have to take to the floor and you refuse to be one of them.

“Alright everyone, come eat.” Amina calls in the small space.

You forgo the pizza for now. There would be plenty after everyone settled. Wrapping in one of the large fleece blankets, you burrow down into the sofa. Bending your knees, your legs cross while you lean back into the seam between the plush cushion and armrest, head perfectly positioned to see the television.

Your cup empties before anyone comes to join you. Lisa and Mingyu squash into the recliner on the other side of the living room, the shabby chair groaning any time their weight shifts. You hope it's enough of a deterrent for their determined wandering hands. Many movie nights had been ruined because of their less than family friendly activities. Amina settles in front of the coffee table amongst the pile of cushions and thick blankets. Eva and Soonyoung curl up on the loveseat against the wall.

Wonwoo crashes down into the space next to you, sending a tight lipped smile at your responding frown. His legs spread apart as he leans forward to eat. Your shin brushes against his thigh through the blanket but fatigue prevents any sort of reaction beyond registering the presence of his body.

Someone knocks out the lights and your eyes cement shut. The horror movie Lisa chose begins, lights from the screen dancing across your eyelids. It's a shallow rest at best, allowing you to catch snippets of dialogue from the characters and muffled whispers from your friends. But it’s like being underwater, senses dull as you experience it all from far far away.

You even forget about Wonwoo until he leans back into the cushions. The contact from his thigh breaking when he props his legs on the coffee table. A particularly loud scream comes from the TV but it's Wonwoo’s voice that startles you.

“Mind sharing?” He whispers, asking for permission despite already lifting the corner of the blanket draped over your knee.

You shake your head, nuzzling further into the armrest and away from temptation.

Wonwoo untucks the fold of the blanket from under your legs, stretching it across his lap. The heat of his side radiates into you even more. Even in your lethargic state the hyper awareness refuses to fade. It stokes a part of you wishing to move onto his lap and work you both back into the blissful high of a few nights ago. But you refuse to acknowledge the craving to dive into him, press your face into the front of his sweater and allow the beat of his heart to lull you into a rest.

You're fully aware all you need to do to get the first thing is let him give it to you. You were the one who ran away, shunned his attempts for a repeat, ignored him. Wonwoo provided several opportunities for a repeat of Friday night, now it was up to you to accept his invitation.

But try as you might not to care, the dread of what your friends will think rears its head. It's a cop out; no one really cares that it's Wonwoo, only happy you’re finally getting laid again.

You need to act before your nerve fades but in a room packed full of watchful eyes you’re unsure how to proceed. Feigning a yawn, your eyes pry open to lazily scan the room. Soonyoung has Eva between his legs, her back resting against his chest.. From where you are sitting it's evident they both have their eyes glued to the screen, Eva takes movie night too seriously to allow any funny business. Amina slouched down enough you can no longer see the top of her curly hair. Cautiously swiping at Lisa and Mingyu, it takes only a second before you look away. Thankfully Eva insists on blasting the TV volume to a deafening decibel.

The movement of Wonwoo’s chest, lulled by the shallow rises and falls, clarifies in the fliting light of the screen. More memories of flushed skin shuddering with ragged breaths come to the forefront. Following the curve of his throat to the arch of his jaw, you find Wonwoo already staring back from the corner of his eye.

He arches an eyebrow, challenging and curious. It demolishes whatever resolve you possess to not look away. Instead, you focus back on the movie while untangling your legs and resting them on the coffee table next to his, ankles crossing under the blanket. The sudden motion leaves the entire span of your right leg flush with his left, a comforting warmth spreading between the layers of thick fabric between..

In the haste, the top of the blanket falls down to your lap. You tug it back up swiftly, wanting the layer to conceal your next action from the rest of the world. Satisfied with re-arranganged fabric, your hand doesn’t return to its previous home in your lap. Instead, it rests in the small stretch of space between you and Wonwoo, allowing your shoulders to brush lightly and her fingers to ghost along his thigh.

The heat of his sideways gaze continues to heat your cheeks despite your attempt at playing oblivious. Shifting closer, you pause; Wonwoo doesn’t take the opportunity to move away. Instead, he presses back. Some twisted part inside your mind relishes in victory.

Wonwoo’s left arm slouches down from its place on top of the cushion, joining yours in the space under the camouflage of the blanket. The back of your hands timidly brush before he extends his arm. It's sweet for a moment; shy and coy. But Wonwoo doesn’t allow you to sink into the gesture because his hand rests on top of your thigh and squeezes.

Thankfully you’re far enough back that no one can see unless they turn their neck so far it almost snaps off. Even then, the thick fabric of the blanket doesn’t give away what's happening underneath. The only clues are your labored breath and the shit eating grin threatening to split Wonwoo’s lips. The two couples on either side of the room are in far more compromising positions but with Wonwoo’s hand so high on your leg, you might as well be nude.

Calloused fingertips begin tracing across the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. Without thinking, your ankles uncross, letting your legs part slightly to grant him more space. A wince escapes between Wonwoo’s teeth from your nails digging into his own thigh.

Wonwoo’s hands are lazy in their journey upwards. Fingers massaging firmly against the supple skin, pulling at the flesh with a fraction of the intensity he’s capable of. His thumb kneads into cords of muscle, working out the knots he detects along the way. When he grazes the edge of the large bruise, you stiffen.

Most of the hickies he gifted that night healed, some already disappearing completely. The one he’s prodding now stubbornly remained, much to your mortification. With the irritated skin still sore to the touch, you were constantly reminded of its presence each time you moved. In your peripheral, Wonwoo turns his head. A downward twitch of your jaw motions for him to continue.

The scene on the TV is almost pitch black, throwing the room into a similar darkness. Wonwoo makes use of the cover and creeps his hand past the waistband of your sweats. He lets his palm rest against the lower part of your stomach, the pleasant warmth seeping in, soothing the nerves. The respite is short lived when his long middle finger traces along the elastic of your panties, teasing the skin under the band.

Sweat blooms on your brow and your breath grows stunted. It's embarrassing how worked up he has you. Barely twenty minutes into the movie, less than five of Wonwoo’s touch and yet the distinct wetness between your legs swells. But rather than relief, Wonwoo waits. And he waits. And he waits.

What is he waiting for? You think.

Eventually the movie will end, signaling your friends to get up. The second any of them spared a glance at your corner of the room everything will become clear and exactly what takes place under the blanket will become easily decipherable.

But there is nothing you can do to make Wonwoo’s hand dip lower and feel the dampness he spurred. Attempting to distract yourself from suffering, you switch focus on controlling your breath. Counting slowly to four while inhaling, holding for another four, and then exhaling in the same measure. Even your hand on Wonwoo’s thigh follows the rhythm.

Mouth watering at the tense flex of the muscle under your fingers, you indulge in the visual of his room again. This time, he’s in nothing but his sweatpants, shirt nowhere to be seen. Red nail marks marr his chest and his hair is wild. You’re perched in his lap, completely naked and grinding against the evident bulge, dripping a wet spot on to the gray fabric. Wonwoo would watch while you used his body to get off, his hands tearing into the sheets. Fantasy Wonwoo would beg. He’d beg to kiss you, beg to touch you. Nothing like the devil sitting next to you, forcing you to plead for every once pleasure.

Next time Wonwoo would beg. But patience was never a virtue you took pride in.

Your hand wanders higher, finding exactly what you knew you would. Everything in you fights against grinning like the cat who got the canary. Despite the fact that you haven't really touched, Wonwoo is half hard. Even more satisfying is how he strains against his pants with only a few teasing passes.

He releases a heavy sigh when you push against him a little more firmly. Breaking attention from the movie, you sneak a peek at his reaction.

Wonwoo’s features are void of emotion. No matching bead of sweat at his temple and the heat you feel on your cheeks fails to present itself on his. Not even a wrinkle across his forehead. He almost looks…bored. It's a stark contrast to what you can feel under her palm.

But then you look closer and discover a discrete clench of his jaw and the minute flare of his nostrils. A glimpse at his neck highlights the stiff muscles, taunt like he’s fighting to break out of his own skin. You can’t stop looking. Subtle as the signs are, Wonwoo is just as much of a mess as you are. The only difference being he’s better at concealing it.

Wonwoo continues to play with the band of your underwear, content to pull the elastic and let it snap against your skin, providing no solace. It's maddening but gives you a chance to brace for his next move. He really only has two options, pull his hand away and end the game. Or push his fingers down further and indulge.

When a deafening scream blasts the TV prompts everyone to jump, he strikes. Wonwoo’s fingers wedge in the tight space between your legs. The sudden intrusion makes your thighs clench, a detrimental mistake since it forces the heel of his palm applying pressure to your clit. He wastes no time before prodding against the soaking fabric curiously. Extending his fingers downward, Wonwoo teases at your entrance through your underwear. You could cry at the relief but control yourself, lip nearly splitting from biting back a squeak. You’d sell your soul to the devil if it meant you could be alone, sitting on his lap as he talks you through it, whispering for you to be good while he stretched you over his cock again and again.

But that's impossible. So you’ll settle for this.

Your friends are none the wiser while you build each other up under the blankets. When you stuff your hand under Wonwoo’s waistband, you find out he is certainly not wearing underwear. Immediately you take advantage, letting your thumb graze against the weeping tip. The angle doesn’t allow for a smooth so you play with the head, letting catch on his slit to over and over. Each pass earns you a shudder of his stomach against the back of your forearm.

Wonwoo pushes aside the thin strip of your underwear, two fingers tracing your entrance before dipping inside, curling up to his middle knuckle. It’s hardly enough to get off but the threat of getting caught spawns more and more arousal. At this rate, your sweatpants will be sporting a wet patch if they aren’t already.

She’s so fucking wet. Wonwoo thinks, the revelation sending a shot of want straight to his cock. He curses whatever he did in a past life preventing him from hauling you into your room and burying himself inside your cunt until he passes out. The irony of the position isn’t lost on him. Wonwoo waited all week for a green light and of course you decided to give it to him in the middle of a packed room with a dozen prying eyes and ears. But he isn’t one to shy away from a challenge. If you want him to get you off under the blanket, then he’s more than happy to rise to the challenge.

Wonwoo repositions his hand, allowing his fingers to play with your clit, abandoning the shallow thrust at your entrance. When his fingernail scrapes delicately over the bundle of nerves, a whimper breaks from through your parted lips and almost blows their cover.

The movie, unlike you or Wonwoo, is at its climax. Loud screams and distorted music occupy the attention of everyone in the room. But still, you both pause, frozen and waiting for a sign someone heard. Wonwoo debates pulling away. He’d seen the film before, and while his mind struggles to remember the plot he knows there's simply not enough time left before the credits roll and the illusion is shattered.

Brain riddled with hormones and lust, Wonwoo faces an impossible choice. Call timeout and hope you’re generous enough to give him another chance. Or, he can make the most of the opportunity literally at hand and pray he’s fast enough.

He’d already waited an entire week, what was another day? And if he waited then maybe he’d get to fuck you properly, away from any onlookers. Where you can sing all the noises that drive him crazy.

The way you play with his cock makes confident he’ll get another turn; so, with herculean effort, Wonwoo extracts his hand from your underwear, moves it back on top of her thigh and gives a minute squeeze in apology. He looks down at your face, witnessing the moments of confusion. Your eyebrows knot under his scrutiny.

“Later.” He mouths, hoping you’ll accept his promise to finish what was started.

In an instant, confusion transforms into cold rage. Features smoothing, your chin tips in defiance. Wonwoo already regrets his decision, tempted to go right back to where he left off but you look like you might rip his arm off if he tries. You turn back to the movie and ignore his existence.

The hand in his pants doesn’t leave, and a chill of fear trickles down his spine. You aren’t prone to violence, but having his most prized possession in the palm of your hand, coupled with the sinister coldness on your face doesn’t inspire any faith that he’ll walk away unscathed.

Wonwoo isn’t sure how much time passes before you act. Seconds drag on, forcing him on the edge of his seat with anticipation. The knee closest to him bends, your foot resting on the end of the cushion, providing a tent of space over his lap. A decisive twist of her wrist catches him off guard. The space between his lap and the blanket hides the rough fists of his cock with their friends only feet away. The motion steals his breath; the way you use the slick to slide across his shaft, squeezing tightly to the point stars float in his vision.

With embarrassing swiftness, he’s close. Teeth pinching at his lip barely prevent the grunts building in his chest; praises for the devil next to him dying on the tip of his tongue. Wonwoo’s hips threaten to cant up, matching the rhythm of your hand with his thrusts. The warning signs of his end sizzle through his veins, the fuzzy snaps of pleasure racing up his spine.

Wonwoo takes one last glance at your face, finding he’s already being watched. His eyes scan the mischievous smirk on your lips and realizes a second too late that he fell right into a trap. Without warning, your hand stills.

You smile sweetly as your hand slips out of his pants, snaking it into the bottom of his sweatshirt to wipe the mess of cum against his stomach. When your hand leaves his body and returns to your own lap, Wonwoo he’s been punched in the gut.

He has no time to ponder what the hell just happened because the credits roll and Amina is already up and moving towards the lights. Wonwoo rubs his eyes, thinking about anything that will make his hard-on deflate before he has to stand up. Cold showers, old neighbors morning sex routine, getting hit with a car… he repeats like a mantra.

On his left, you hop up, all but skipping down the hall and into the darkness. Wonwoo wants to chase and finish whatever the hell just happened given that his cock is soft enough he can tuck it up in his waistband. But his phone buzzes before he can. The screen lights up with a new message from the minx herself.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

The next morning, Wonwoo wakes with utter disbelief at his life. Your texts burned into his skull.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

Wonwoo: Next time?

Y/N (lisa roommate): you can think of this while you wait

The photo haunted him in his sleep. He stared at it for so long he’s sure he could draw the details from memory.

On your knees facing away from the mirror, your ass is on full display. Wonwoo doesn’t know it is better or worse that you’re lent forward with a lewd curve to your spine. Better because he can see everything. Worse because he received it minutes after you fled to your room, which means the wet cling of your panties to your folds was his doing.

More effective than the picture is the fact you were all but twenty feet away in the privacy of your room, taking nudes while he pretended everything was normal. The entire time he helped tidy up, the walk back to his apartment, and long before he fell asleep, Wonwoo wondered if you were touching yourself. He wanted to ask; ask if you were thinking about him while you did it and if you weren’t, could he give you something to think about?

But every time he opened the thread to message you his finger refused to type. Wonwoo remembered what it was like to have you on your knees. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. But now he has an idea what you look like from the back and it might end his life.

Instead of spending the night with the subject of his desires, Wonwoo found himself the subject of torture. Lisa came back to their apartment so the couple could leave first thing in the morning to some rural bed and breakfast outside the city to celebrate their anniversary. Apparently, they decided to start their celebration early. Hours of Lisa and Mingyu going at it across the hall stretched on with no end in sight.

Their usual antics would piss Wonwoo off but he’d deal with it. However, last night it only reminded him how much he is not getting laid and he has no one to blame but himself. Crushing a pillow over his head, Wonwoo attempted to make up for the sleep he is already desperately missing.

His efforts were hopeless. Barely five minutes passed before he turned fitful, tossing and turning without finding comfort. Every trick he knows failed; counting his breath, meditation, relaxing music, turning off his phone. Nothing works. He gives up after an hour.

When dawn came, Wonwoo’s bad mood set in to plague him the rest of the day.

Sheltering down in his room, he remains hidden until he is certain Mingyu and Lisa are long gone. When he does finally leave his bed, the choke of storm clouds outside have darkened the skies to the point that if not for the clock on his phone he would think it's closer to midnight than it is to noon.

When he decides to step out to grab food, his mistake doesn’t hit him until he’s already shut the door.

Wonwoo’s keys are still on the kitchen counter. Next to his wallet. And his will to live.

Several streets over, your day is going much much better; refreshed from a full night sleep and the thought of what Wonwoo’s face looked like opening the picture.

Lisa and Amina granted clemency last night, cleaning the mess from the evening before abandoning you for the weekend. Lisa off with Mingyu while Amina joined the college friends on their annual retreat (re: party weekend at the coast). Leaving you all to your lonesome for the next two days, nothing but rest and relaxation dancing on the horizon.

The murky darkness of thunder and rain outside the window is staved off by the warm glow from the floor lamp in the corner of the living room and the dancing lights of the TV as a random show whispers quietly. The warm air is clogged with the sweet smell of vanilla and bergamot from one of Amina’s large candles that rests on the coffee table. And bundle on the couch in the same blanket soiled from the night before, you doze off like a house cat.

A rogue buzzing pulls you back from the shallow slumber, eyes cracking open lazily to search for the device lost in the cushions. By the time you find it, the call has gone to voicemail. The notification on the screen means you must still be dreaming.

MISSED CALL: Wonwoo

A flash of panic tightens your chest. A million thoughts race by, all regarding what could prompt Wonwoo to call you. He doesn’t call you. In the year and a half you’ve known each other there isn’t a single instance of it. The complete uncharacteristic nature of it has you calling him back before giving it a second thought.

“Are you home?” Snaps through the speaker after the first ring.

He sounds pissed. It’s not the usual sarcastic lit that graces his interactions. It’s dry and pointed and already grating your nerves.

“Well, hello to you.” You sneer back.

“Hi.” He deadpans. You can feel the eye roll through the phone. “Are you home?”

“Why?”

It’s 9pm on a Saturday night and both your roommates are out… of course you’re home.

“I’m locked out and I know Mingyu gave Lisa a copy of the key.”

“You’re locked out?” You parrot. It’s not that it’s an impossible situation, it’s just ridiculously unlucky timing.

“Good to know you’re listening.” He bites.

“Actually, come to think of it, I’m out of town.”

“Y/N…” He interrupts, voice clearly exhausted.

Normally, you would goad him until blue in the face. His stunt last night doesn’t warrant patience. But you know he’s had a week from hell too based on what Mingyu and Lisa shared.

“Yeah I’m home. But Lisa took her keys with her so I doubt the spare is here.”

“Great, just fucking great.” He erupts.

You wince, “Sorry.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. The measured cadence of his breath echoes through the line. When he finally speaks again he sounds calmer.

“Not your fault,” he murmurs. “Timing is just shit given the week I’ve had.”

“Your landlord can’t let you in?”

“Not answering his phone.”

“And Mingyu?”

“Also not answering.”

After that, words fail you. But given Wonwoo truly seems to be on the verge of a mental breakdown, you throw him a bone.

Readjusting the phone on your shoulder, your hands pick at the frayed hem of the blanket. “Look, if you want to sleep on the couch here, be my guest.”

Silence.

“If you’d rather call a locksmith go ahead.” You rush. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“If you wanted a slumber party you could have told me.”

Apparently, even poor luck can’t prevent Wonwoo from being a complete smartass.

“Have fun sleeping outside!” You croon sweetly, looking for the button to end the call.

“Wai—”

Phone locked and tossed to the floor, you burrow back into the nest of pillows and blankets. Any prior drowsiness transforms into irritation.

Less than a minute passes before your phone begins ringing once more.

It's your turn to snap at him. “What?”

The pause on the other end of the line is heavy.

“I was being an ass.”

“You’re always an ass.” You respond with a deep sigh.

“The locksmith won’t come till morning so…”

Despite your better judgment, you take pity on the poor man.

“Come over.” You concede, cringing at the implication of the phrase. Wonwoo is coming over because he’s locked out. Not for any other reason. He’s desperate and needs somewhere to crash until his landlord can let him in.

“…Thanks.”

The call ends.

Wonwoo knocks on the door twenty minutes later. You can’t believe what you see through the peephole. He’s soaked down to his skin, hair matted to his forehead despite the hood of his jacket. The chill of the hallway makes him shake like a leaf in a windstorm. When you finally open the door to face him, he’s somehow worse than he was through the glass.

If it was under any other circumstances the cling of the hoodie against his broad chest would stir something inside you. But Wonwoo has never looked so… pitiful.

“Oh my god,” You manage, choking on laughter.

“Are we just gonna stand here or can I come in?”

Shouldering open the door, you snicker as Wonwoo steps around. At least until he starts abandoning his wet clothes once inside.

“Wait, let me get some towels.”

Running to the bathroom, you snag whatever towels can be spared. You catch yourself in the mirror before exiting. Messy hair with an indent on your cheek from the crease of the pillow is the least of your problems. There's stain on the front of your sweater from the leftover pizza scarfed down for lunch and you aren’t wearing a bra.

It doesn’t matter considering Wonwoo looks like a drowned cat but you’re still self conscious. The best you can do is splash cold water on your face and remember he is worse off than you.

Wonwoo waits right where you left him by the door, dripping more water with each second. His bare chest glistens in the dim light. When he looks up from his phone you chuck a towel at his head.

“You can wait in the bathroom while I find some dry clothes.”

Wonwoo trudges behind as you lead him back the way you came.

Once again, he immediately unbuttons his pants without regard for your presence. Deft fingers make quick work. You remember where you are when he goes to force them down.

Wonwoo meets your eyes in the mirror, “Staying to watch?”

“I’m just gonna…” You mumble, looking anywhere but at the show he puts on.

The door latch clicks just as the heavy thuds of his soaked clothes land in the sink. Leaning against the opposite wall, your head gently rests against the cool surface. A deep sigh leaves your nose.

You’ve seen Wonwoo naked. Your hand was down his pants less than twenty four hours ago. A picture of your ass lives in his text messages for Christ sake. Seeing him shirtless and wet shouldn’t have you blushing like some virgin.

Ruminating on your momentary lapse of dignity will get you nowhere so you start hunting for the collection of Seungcheol’s clothes from the bottom drawer of your dresser. A few months ago the sight would have sent you to tears. Now, it’s comical. The fleeting memory of Lisa’s bewildered face when you choked down sobs after Amina threw out your ex’s toothbrush rears its head. Crazy how things can change so quickly from hurt to nothing.

You're in and out of the bathroom in a flash, collecting wet clothes in exchange for dry ones. Thankfully, Wonwoo doesn’t jest from behind the current.

While he continues to shower, you’re busy with making the couch habitable. Knowing you can’t deal with another of Wonwoo’s uncouth comments, the blanket you previously used is exchanged for the one draped on the armchair. Rather the blanket Mingyu and Lisa sullied than the one tainted by yourselves.

Wonwoo comes down the hallway just in time, toweling at his damp hair.

“Well, this is it.” You say, avoiding eye contact. “There's a charge plugged in near the TV you're welcome to use. Um, good night.”

“Gonna make me sleep all by myself?” He plops on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. Wonwoo’s too cocky for someone who looked like he drowned on dry land twenty minutes ago.

Wonwoo’s triumphant smirk doesn’t last when you plop a heavy knitted quilt over him. He scrambles free but you’re already halfway to your bedroom.

Scoffing, you respond,“What? Are you scared of the dark?”

“If that's the excuse you need to come over here, sure. I’m terrified.”

“Awww,” you coo sarcastically. “You’ll cope.”

In the confines of your room, you manage the first deep breath of the night. You won’t be able to sleep. Not with him so close. Not when temptation is just beyond the door and down the hallway.

How dare he ask you for a favor and then act like an ass. Of course, he’d use something so unfortunate to get his dick wet.

More steam pours from your ears as you ruminate. Pacing back and forth you scoff at his audacity until it boils over and you're stomping back into the living room.

“You know I’m doing you a favor by letting you stay here.” You fume, stopping a few feet away from where the biggest pain in your ass rests. “I could have let you go to Eva and Soonyoung’s and deal with their bullshit but I didn’t.”

Wonwoo lifts on one elbow, eying you silently.

Faltering under his gaze, you continue to ramble. “How dare you ask me for a favor and then act like a pig.”

“You’re right.”

“What?” You choke.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo concedes.

You falter for a second in disbelief, mouth gaping over silent words. It couldn’t have been that easy.

“I shouldn’t have believed you giving me a handy meant more than it was.”

Huffing, you stop and turn back to your room. “You’re insufferable!”

“And yet, you still sent me a pic of your ass.” He snorts, collapsing back into his pillow. “Pick a lane, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Flinging your hands in the air, you return back to your room to stew until morning.

“So that picture was all talk?” Wonwoo yells in your direction.

He wants a reaction and that's exactly what he gets. Pivoting, you storm back in front of the couch.

“Oh! I’m all talk? You’re the one who can’t even finish what he started.”

“And what did I start?” He sneers, sitting up.

You know what he’s doing. Attempting to rile you up until there's no choice but to give in. And it’s working. Wiping that stupid smirk on his face is as simple as swallowing his cock until he’s nothing more than a twitching mess. But if Wonwoo wants you, he’ll need to try harder than goading a response out of you.

Biting back you prod his chest, “Nothing worth my time, that's for damn sure.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asks, rising to his feet. “Didn’t seem that way last night.”

Chest to chest, he’s more intimidating but you won’t falter. Instead, you switch gears. Your finger skims dangerously close to the waistband of his pants.

“I’m a really, really good actress.”

A battle of wills ensues. Wonwoo stares you down, unflinching at your smirk. He’s pissed at the implication. It's clear in his body language; tense shoulders, shuddering breath.

Your fatal mistake comes when his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. The memory of what they felt like jolts an ache in your bones.

A tilt of his chin is all the invitation you need to drag his mouth to yours.

Wonwoo has you perched on his lap in an instant, legs splayed over his spread thighs and his hands pulling you forward. It's clumsy but eagerness blinds you both to anything beyond the powerful drag of your core hips against the tent in his pants.

Twisting a hand in the short hair at the base of Wonwoo’s neck, you tug hard enough to move him how you want. A throaty moan is the only response he gives, easily following your demands. But the way his large hands grab at the curve of your ass move you how he wants.

He groans into the curve of your shoulder with the next cant of your hips. “God, you’re so hot. Shit.”

Despite the chill that has creeped its way inside the apartment, you’re burning up; skin flushed and hot to touch. The hand not tangled in Wonwoo’s hair slips under his shirt, nails skating up the taunt muscles of his abdomen. His own hands echo the path, finding their way beneath your sweater.

Wonwoo lifts your sweater and swiftly drops it to the flooring, busying his hands with cradling the soft skin he’s uncovered. He leans away to break the kiss, but you manage to drag him back.

“W-Wonwoo, fuck,” you curse, clinging tighter when he breaks the contact and drops his mouth to your chest.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, leaving you dizzy and desperate. Head in the clouds, you fold and bend as he tortures your breasts. The rough pad of his thumb leaves goosebumps in its wake, skating across your nipple until it pebbles. One reflex you twist the fist of his hair harshly when he pinches and are rewarded with a moan and rush of his cock into your covered cunt.

A hot trail of sloppy kisses sends your heart into a tailspin. Wonwoo must feel it with the way he licks and sucks your nipple; pulling until it pops out of his mouth before he leans back to repeat the motion once more.

Eventually, Wonwoo’s borrowed sweatshirt is abandoned on the floor as well but neither of you find the rush present from your previous romp. You follow when Wonwoo leans back, flat against his chest.

Hazy fatigue swells around the edges. The feeling of skin on skin, lips on lips, and roaming hands brings everything to a calming lull. Without the fog of alcohol or the threat of nosey friends, you explore each other with feather light touches that turn into gentle gropes, and hot wet kisses that transform into drags of teeth and lips. From shared exhaustion, running on nothing less than minutes of sleep and a near lethal dose of caffeine, you sluggish trapeze through the motions.

Taking advantage of the moment, you discover exactly what Wonwoo likes. When you rake a hand through his hair, nails pulling through the damp locks to scratch against his scalp, then Wonwoo shudders and sucks at your chest with more enthusiasm than before. He likes when you bite him, his hips rutting up harshly with each nip at his throat.

Each breathy sigh you release spurs him on. Melting into a needy mess, you can’t find an ounce of embarrassment; even as Wonwoo massages your cunt through your sweatpants and pathetic whimper after pathetic whimper pours from your throat.

Having his focus on you makes you crave him more. A never ending cycle of want.

“Please,” you beg. The second the word is out of your mouth, Wonwoo is ushering you towards your room.

You trip through the living room with Wonwoo’s mouth still latched to your chest. Pinned between the back of the couch and his body, he sucks until your shoulders cave and you force him from his hiding place.

“What?” he smirks into your jaw. “What do you want?” His hand sneaks its way under your pants, squeezing a palm full of your bare ass before slipping down further. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He nips at your chin, fingers dipping into your entrance. “So messy for me.”

Your hands scramble for something to comfort from the onslaught. Wonwoo is already back between your breasts, humming around the flesh every time you shudder from his ministrations. He twists his fingers into your core, the noise loud despite the cover of your pants.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you rasps under the prod of his thumb against your clit. Rather than succumbing to the mind numbing assault, you jolt into action.

Wonwoo angles his hips just right when he realizes your aim. It’s too easy to force your hand under the fabric and find him hard and waiting just like last night. But unlike last night, you don’t have to hide. And the freedom dooms him from the start.

Anchoring one hand on his chest, you push until he’s upright. He’s a wreck; eyes half shut behind the lens of his glass and lips a delectable shade of red. You pull your hand out of his pants and lap away the evidence of his arousal, delighting in the way a vein on his neck jumps when you give them a lewd suck.

Turning, you saunter down the hallway, shedding the rest of your clothes as you go.

“Coming?” you call over your shoulder, pinning Wonwoo in place as you bend to slip off your sweatpants, flashing him the barest peak of your cunt, before continuing to your room.

You don’t hear him following until you're at the threshold. A rush of footsteps and then he’s emerging from the darkness, eyes taking in your naked form. Wonwoo looks like he’s been starving and you’re the first meals he’s about to have in years.

Wonwoo pins you to the wooden door, one hand finding your jaw while the other bats your legs wide before roughly swiping at your sensitive clit.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he rasps into your ear.

Two fingers tap against your lips. Without hesitation you present your tongue, lapping the digits like you would his cock. Wonwoo watches with so much heat in his gaze you can’t stop a moan from slipping free when he puts pressure on your tongue and causes you to drool. He makes to pull away but stops when you grab his wrist and force him in place.

You suck his fingers deeper, eyes never leaving his the entire time. The pressure against the inside of your cheek leaves you reeling. Pure desire inks your brain and makes you desperate.

Both unsatisfied, you let Wonwoo go. He’s quicker than you imagined. A force full grab of your jaw tugs you away from the door and into his mouth. The slide of his tongue against your own verges on pornographic but you're too busy focusing on the same fingers you’d just been sucking on splitting your folds before stretching your walls.

Slowly falling to his knees, Wonwoo shoulders under your leg until your pussy is splayed for him to enjoy. The trail of hot kisses across your hip do nothing to comfort you. Not with the swift pace of his hand.

“Are you gonna do something or just stare all night?”

The strip he licks up your core, tongue flat and heavy, makes you double over. Wonwoo remembers exactly what buttons to push to shut you up, overwhelming you with his mouth and hand buried in your cunt along with the hand continuing to tweak your nipples.

“Fuck,” you mewl. “You can do—shit—better than that.”

The raze of his teeth on your clit is punishment enough for the outburst. But Wonwoo loves to prove a point. His pace becomes slower than ever, still hard but the tempo of his hand is reserved. It makes you hot all over. Choking on air, your brain melts and bones jelly under the lashing of Wonwoo’s tongue.

Just as he finds the perfect angle, he falls back.

You snap. “What the fuck?”

He doesn’t answer. Wonwoo pulls away his hand and rises to his feet. Once nose to nose, he smiles. The sudden change is disorienting. Even more so when he leaves a gentle peck against your cheek and heads for the bed.

Perching on the bed, he leans pack on to his palms and presents his lap like a throne. “Come here,” he commands.

Scrabbling into his lap, Wonwoo catches you off guard. His hands strike across your waist as he leans back, shuffling you up his chest until your knelt over his face.

Your hands steady on your thighs, brushing his. In an uncharacteristic act of sweetness, he tangles his fingers with your own.

The gesture leaves you reeling. “Wonwoo?”

His hands curl around your thighs and force you down onto his waiting tongue. There's no build up, only hunger. Wonwoo points his tongue and uses it to trace hard circles around your clit before suck so harshly you buckle in half.

If Wonwoo minds he makes no show of it. Instead, he pins your tangled hands in place and licks deeper, tracing anywhere he can reach. Every muscle in your body jerks from the sloppy way he eats you out.

Sweat blooms on your skin. Each breath stilted and you’re drooling when cracks open an eye to take him in. The flex of his biceps when you lurches against a vulgar suck of his mouth. Even the mop of his hair buried between your thighs makes you whimper.

One hand leaves your, reaching around and pinching your ass punitively.

“Work for it,” he hums into your pussy.

Not needing to be told twice, you rock where your bodies meet. Your free hand tangles in his hair and uses the leverage to grind against his tongue. Wonwoo’s hand continues to follow the curve of your ass until he’s able to tease your entrance.

Foul noises radiate from where he works you, from his hand and your mouth. Spit and arousal smear on his cheeks and you can feel it against your thighs bracketing his head.

You want to see his face. The heat in his eyes when he’s focused on something, focused on you, making you cum. You pull Wonwoo’s hair again.

“Focus,” His muffled voice is thick and broken, like he’s getting off just as much as you are.

Whining from the vibration against your clit, tears threaten to fall from how tight you pinches your eyes shut from the onslaught.

“Wonwoo, I’m—” you sob. “Please, fuck. Please, I’m gonna cum.��

The world holds its breath. And then it shatters into a million pieces.

You’re whole and not. No more than a supernova. Whine after whine claws its way out of your lungs until you choke on them.

Wonwoo pays no mind, continuing to work you until you try and fall away. But he expects it, moving with you and staying between your thighs like you haven’t cum at all.

“Too much,” you gasp when he spits on your ruined cunt.

Flashing the pink of his tongue, he sneers your own words back with acidic sweetness. “You can do better than that.”

Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he digs in again.

It hurts. Wonwoo isn’t easing you into a second orgasm. If anything, he’s bullying it out of you.

And you take it.

“I can’t,” you plead, dipping your chin to meet his eyes and beg your case. “Too much, Woo. I—”

Wonwoo leans back and slows the three fingers buried inside you. The hand pressed to your stomach rises to cup your face, his thumb tracing the bow of your lips.

“You can.” He coos. His thumb slips into your mouth a second before he spits on your clit and uses his soiled hand to slap.

The scream ripping its way out is silenced by the digit in your mouth. Wonwoo dives back in, taking zero mercy. Your hips buck into his mouth involuntarily and the bastard laughs.

“See? You want it so bad, don’t you baby?”

His thumb pops from your mouth but not before you manage a quick nip. The look on Wonwoo’s face tells you it was the wrong answer to his question.

Your breath falters when the faintest amount of pressure ghosts along your throat, waiting for your okay before committing.

Spreading your legs wider and tucking your hands behind your knees, you nod, “I want it.”

Pupils blown wide, Wonwoo goes rigid before exploding into a frenzy.

He sucks your folds into his mouth, hastily laving you in his spit before forcing another finger inside your tight hole.

“C’mon, you can do it for me. Give me one more.” He demands while coming up for a breath. “Such a fucking mess for me.”

Your hips snap harshly, nails digging into his wrist resting on your chest. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

Feet planting onto the mattress, you rock against his face with more force than before. A cacophony of vulgar squelches and desperate whines fill the room. He squeezes until stars dot your vision from the lack of blood flow only to release with a rush of lightheaded bliss. Using your hands to tug at your sore nipples, you finally give Wonwoo what he wants.

“W-Wonwoo, so good.” You pant.

He cleans up the mess the same way he made it but with a gentler touch. It doesn’t stop the quivers of overstimulation from wrecking your nerves but he whispers an apology for each one and rubs it into the crease of your thigh when you wince.

With a final peck to your clit, he releases you.

Wonwoo’s chest heaves, eyes drooping in lust or fatigue, you don’t know. Maybe both. When he rises from his spot between your legs, you scramble for his face. Mouths meet in a slow kiss, nothing more than a languid press against one another and a few deep breaths. You taste yourself but ignore it. You’re too tired, too sated, to care.

You try and palm his cock, eager to return the favor but Wonwoo shifts away. He crowds you up to the pillows, pulls you into his chest, and sends you off to sleep with his lips against your forehead.

You simply lay there, curled around one another until sleep claims you.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi

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#ksmutsociety #kvanity #svthub #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fanfic #svt smut #🫡 highvern

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iznsfw · 9 months

Text

One Hop Ahead Of You

ARTMS' Jeon Heejin + woo!ah!'s Nana (Kwon Nayeon) x Male Reader Smut

18,039 words

Categories | bunny girls FTW, stepcest (kinda), blowjob, threesome, daddy kink, cunnilingus, angry sex, spanking, breeding

Bunny kpop idols are the best. There's Eunbi, Tsuki, then Heejin and Nana... Thanks for commissioning me this piece; sorry for the late post! Enjoy all the synonyms I could use for "but" :D

Phone on, headphones plugged, music loud. That’s your story for road trips such as these, and you’ve zero plans about rewriting the plot.

The scenery of beautiful mountains and blooming trees can’t break your focus on your mobile device. Your parents can’t either, as hard as they try; they’ve told you once or twice during the whole trip to look up from the screen for once. No, actually, scratch that: they’ve berated you about it at least every five minutes, and you’re starting to grow sick of pretending you can’t hear them. Your nonchalant continued stares on your phone don’t exactly convince them you can’t hear a thing.

Yeah, this is what happens when you give your toddler an iPad. The boomers might be right for this one. You can’t live without staring down at a bright screen, clicking at a bright screen, watching a bright screen. Eh, well, so what? Technology is a necessity in these modern days, and it just so happens that you need this kind of distraction on the road trip. Your mother and father think otherwise, but that’s because they live like it’s still the 70s or something. You don’t know. That’s how parents are.

Mobile data serves you well anyway. Your combat skills do not. You’ve been trying to kill a character on this app for a while, and it stuns you how strong her damage is. You click the sickle attack button more times than you can count and choose a special damage in between three taps, but you still end up dead. You’re seeking vengeance because the player talked shit about you on the main chat, and it doesn’t look like you’re going to show them up. You've got two deaths to go before you're seen as a pathetic little shit who tries too hard, and five kills to cement yourself as someone who isn't.

God, you’ve been playing this game for years—how are you still not good?

“Jay,” you could hear your mother call out from the edge of your earphones. She’s driving, her ringed hands firmly on the wheel. She meets your subtle gaze through the rearview mirror. “Jay.”

Groan. That’s your job as a son: to moan, groan, and drone on about everything and anything. You’re exceptionally skilled in this profession. “What now, mom?” you ask.

She gives you a sarcastic but playful little grin. “Oh, so you can hear me.”

Alright, you’ll let her have that one. But still: “Only because you’ve been nagging me for the whole trip.”

“Now now, don’t talk to your mother like that,” your father chides. He’s a kind-looking dude; he’s got triangle-shaped glasses and stubbles of a dead beard on his chin. “It’s true, but rude. Very rude, not a good look.”

Your mother clicks her tongue. She gives your father a millisecond glare before returning to driving. “Hey.”

“Honey, you know I love you, but your mouth—”

“Leave it at that,” she warns, voice dangerously tight.

Your dad doesn’t heed her warning. “—can be a nuisance.”

“That’s it. I’m pulling over. And you’re driving.”

He raises his hands. “Okay, okay,” he says passively, “I’m sorry.”

They harrumph at each other for a while, then kiss and make up, and you laugh a little. Subtly, of course. Everyone knows that part of going through teenage years (well, you’re a little past being a teen when you’re nearly twenty years old, but your mind is still the same as when you were sixteen) is denying with all your heart that your parents make you happy. You’re just going with the flow, as usual.

It especially doesn’t help that you’re already an adult according to the Korean age system. Adulthood brings a kind of defiant independence in you, which you don’t know whether it’s a good thing or not. It has its moments, you guess.

“Oh, look at that,” says your mother, nudging your father, “Jay’s laughing!”

“I’m not!” you reply, biting your cheek so the smile doesn’t grow. Must. Not. Show. Them.

Your father peeks at you from behind the headrest and grins mischievously. “See? We still got it, don’t we?”

The car swerves, barely making you match your fist bump with him. For this, you allow a slight smile—as much as you like to hide it like a career-ruining secret, you love your parents. They’re like two peas in a pod. Your father’s a rambunctious joke-loving guy your playful mother falls in love with everyday, resulting in, well, having you.

Plus, because of that, you haven’t felt the need to regret being born or despising your parents, unlike other people your age. Their love for each other inspires you, and although every moment with them is guaranteed to have you be a third wheel again, you don’t mind. You love seeing them happy.

“Now that you’re back to earth,” your mother says, “can you please appreciate the surroundings? It’s too beautiful to go ignored.”

“That’s right. They won’t surround you when we fly back home.”

“Dad,” you groan, rolling your eyes. But doing a little observing is the least you could do. You can go AFK on this match for once. You’ve still got more mobile data to last a few days, so worrying isn't needed.

Look up. Blink once. Twice. It’s like a whole new world. Humble homes peek from between forests in the lower sides of the mountains. The sun is shining brightly, casting a yellow light on the trees that decorate the sides of the swerving roads. And the sky… has it always been that blue? The wispy clouds are just the cherry on top.

This place is so different from the urban city where your apartment resides. There’s no smoke, no cut trees, no rising buildings. It’s nature in its most pure state.

There’s no traffic either, but—

“Mom, look out!” you yell, but you’re just a little too late. Just a little, and it would count, but for this one it doesn’t.

You can’t do anything about it then. The large truck that ventures on the wrong side of the road has a mission. Whether intentional or not, it can’t turn back. It collides heavily into the windshield, and you’re wrapped in dizziness and despair as your old car launches backward, rolling in the air a few times before roughly settling on the very curved edge of the road.

Then it slides downward. You’re stuck in a spiral blurred with green and wood. What you remember is the feeling of being tortured and tossed through trees, and the truck following suit. It chases you long after its mission is complete.

Another thing you recall from the accident, as you’re lying down on the rough grass with blood on the side of your head, are two rabbits that stare curiously at you.

They seem to be sisters.

Voices, male and female, scruff and saccharine. They fill your ears like music but you can’t open your eyes to see to whom they belong. They speak of confusing topics and jumbled words. Can’t get a grip of their meaning. All the while your soul is yearning to rise from sleeping when it feels like you’re dying and the force inside you is struggling in defying a black fate.

Your body, however, is blank of any pain. How strange. Strange enough that it’s a strong alarm for you to finally open your eyes. They’ve been glued together for a while, so when your vision greets you, you surprise even yourself. There’s a person in a white lab coat, and a white blanket mantles you. Is this heaven? Isn’t heaven’s signature color white?

First things first: how the fuck did they let you into heaven?

“Ah, so you’re finally awake.” A man with a rounded cap smiles at you. “How’re you doing, bud?”

Blink. So… this isn’t heaven? Do they wear caps in heaven? You don’t think so. Whoever invented denim caps deserves a nice little throne next to Lucifer. “Um. Alright, I guess?”

What should you even say when you’re trying to piece together who he was? You know you’ve seen him before when you were younger, but you’re not sure exactly when. All you’re aware of is that he looks too familiar. Kind of like deja vu. The beard and wrinkly skin tell you of a tale old as time.

“Hello, I’m doctor Kim,” says the woman in the lab coat as she approaches you. She extends a hand to you and you shake it politely. “You experienced a car crash in the morning near the terraces. Luckily, a man saw the tragedy and dialed 911.”

“Tragedy?” you wonder out loud. You’re still alive, so why would it be called that?

Doctor Kim lowers her head. “Your parents died immediately from the impact of the crash, sir. I’m sorry.”

Grief comes strangely to you, even when you’ve heard the news. You’d say you’re mourning, because you are, in a way—from that moment, you miss your parents dearly and wish that time travel existed so you’d prevent the accident from happening. But you aren’t… crying. You don’t burst into tears on the spot. There’s not even wetness in your eyes to help. Moreover, you haven’t made a small prayer for easier things to happen. It’s like the stages of grief avoid you at all costs and don’t even bother to orient you about their loss.

Maybe you’re just in denial. You’ve been staring at a blank spot on the hospital wall for what seems like ages, and you’ve only been conscious for minutes. Something’s changed within.

Wonder who’d be your parent now that both of yours are gone. You’re an orphan. You don’t even know how to drive back home or go back to the convenience store where you make your money. All your belongings for the road trip that was supposed to go beautifully are gone in the accident.

Bite your lip thoughtfully. “Was it quick?” you ask quietly.

The doctor knows what you mean. Whether she’s lying or not is the question. “Yes.”

That comforts you a bit. What eats your insides from guilt, though, is that you never bothered to enjoy the road trip with them. You were always stuck to your damn phone. You didn’t talk much with them during their final moments, and it would haunt you forever. It doesn’t show on your face, though—it’s completely empty, devoid of any expression or pain.

“You really don’t recognize me, bud?” the man laughs, like he actually couldn’t believe it.

Blink. Then it hits you. “Chan hyung…?” you ask. Hope you got it right because you’re steepering on sureness now.

“Bullseye.” So you did. He sits down on the edge of the hospital bed and cups your hand. “I’m a friend of your parents. They told me to look after you in case anything happens. They really loved you, y’know? Still do.”

You look down meekly and nod. Yeah, he’s right. They did. The other part’s true, too; if they had souls and were secretly watching the whole ordeal going on, they’d still love you. That’s how unconditionally they did it.

“I’m on the emergency contacts list, FYI.” He hands you his phone. “They even had a will and all. I hate that we got to meet again like this. Could have been in better circumstances. But that’s life, you know. Plus, it was quick enough to be painless.”

Your hand, linked to the dextrose, hardens in pain as it wraps around the device, but you go on. There on the screen, see that your parents did in fact keep him on the emergency contacts. He’s telling the truth. Now you understand why he looks so familiar.

Look up from the screen, (like you should have in the car when your mother and father tried to make conversation with you.) “I—I used to play baseball with you,” you say in childlike wonder.

Chan laughs. “So I did. I’ll be happy to look after you. Probably even be your father, if you’d like.”

Your heart rises. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course! Your parents were good people, and I’d be glad to have you in my care. According to them, you’re a pretty good kid. Hope that’s true.”

“No promises.”

He laughs. He’s still got the same not-too-serious sense of humor like he did years ago. “What do you say, kid?”

He’s being a good guy, a good friend to your parents even after they passed, and you appreciate it. But being his son this quick after so much time seems like… betraying them. You know that’s not how it works, and your parents would have loved for you to gel quickly with him, but you’re just not ready. Something’s pulling you back.

What could it be?

“I…” you say, fidgeting. You don't know the right words to put it. “C-can I think about it first?”

The look on his face drops, but he smiles anyway. He must be a really good friend to be this understanding. “Of course,” he replies, retracting his hand from yours, “shouldn’t have put you on the spot. Just tell me yes or no when you’re ready. Deal?”

Three days is how long it takes for you to recover. To be fair, you already were—your limbs are working, and that’s enough for you. The doctors, however, insist on a lengthier stay and you kind of want to start shit in the living room and tell them how they were money-greedy exploitative little shits, but you’re not in the mood to cause a ruckus. Maybe some other time, when you eventually break all your bones and wheel out of the hospital cursing them for the bill. But yeah, some other time would work. Of course.

“I took the liberty of packing your stuff up for you,” says Chan, bringing over a luggage bag. It’s full to the edge of the zipper with clothes and other essentials.

You wonder how he went to your home and back here to the hospital this fast. “How did you—”

“I had some help,” he replies simply. You don’t question any further.

You’re in a clean pair of clothes now. You hated wearing the hospital gown. It’s like they attempted to make hospitals less sad by fashioning a bib into a larger size. There you are with your assumptions again. Maybe the stages of grief have come for you after all. Why do you feel angry all the time? This can’t be normal.

What stage would it be if you’re afraid to get into a car because of their loss? You step into it with shaky legs, looking back and forth, as if you’re scared the vehicle would lurch forward suddenly. To be fair, it is a possibility, but a rare one. Your fear, therefore, is completely irrational, yet there you are: suddenly scared of… cars?

Get in finally. The breath you let go, however, has been keen on getting out.

Chan knows well to avoid the path your parents went on when they died. He avoids it for both of your own wellbeings. They were close to him, too. He would hate to go down the road they died on. Like you, he wants to remember them fondly, not like the injured bodies that he said goodbye to at the morgue. Again, it’s for the best.

“Hey, kid,” he says. His peer at you through the rearview mirror gives you painful flashbacks. “You okay?”

He’s more attentive than he gives himself away as; he somehow notices your blank stare at the window and weak smile. He’s got you figured out, and you suppose that’s a good thing—it just shows how he could play his role as your dad pretty well if you let him. But then there’s the sense of yearning in you that’ll end up in no good. It’s yearning for your parents to come back, the yearning for them to somehow have the breath of life in their lungs again and have them rise from the morgue and walk back into your life. If they do that, you’d make an oath to be the best son.

Ah, you know that won’t happen. It’s impossible. It’s wishful thinking that won’t amount to anything.

“You could talk to me.” His eyes stare straight at the road, but he’s not really looking at anything. “I miss them, too.”

“I’m fine, hyung,” you say. You’re not, but who needs to hear that? Not the guy to whom your parents entrusted you to. You’re twenty years old—who needs to hear an overgrown child’s lamentations?

You don’t want to burden Chan at all. What you don’t know is he’s actually willing to hear all of it. You should have lamented about not knowing his openness rather than everything else. It would only lead to more sadness.

The sadness evaporates a little upon seeing his house. It’s a nice place, with two stories and a nice terrace to lounge at. Maybe, from the other side, it’s your parents’ way of still loving you: giving you a nice home and a nice (future?) dad.

They're still looking after you. Look up in the sky and smile. Chan catches it, and for a second you blush in embarrassment, but he smiles, too. "See?" is what he says, followed up with: "Everything's gonna be fine."

Trust him on that.

Open the front door and it welcomes you into his home. Its main color is pure white. You start to wonder how the white walls are unblemished even with its ruinable color. Maybe he had it cleaned up for your sake. The furniture's good, too, but all it's good for right now is to be a bed for your luggage when you start to arrange things.

"Your room's right over there," Chan says, pointing to an open door to your left. "Feel free to get some food or water. Whatever you like. You're family now." He steps closer and pats your shoulder. "Always been."

Smile appreciatively. Resist the urge to hug him and replace it with folding a few of your clothes into a pile to bring it over to your bedroom. Graphic shirts in one pile here, underwear and sleeveless shirts in the other over there. Add your headphones on top of the pile and you’re ready to start adjusting to your new room. Just one look and you could already tell it’s bigger than the one back at home. Well, former home, to be exact. You keep forgetting this is a whole new place that’s going to be where you sleep, rest, and laugh.

That voice gets your guard down, and so does the girl standing in front of you. That deep voice certainly can’t belong to the sweet-but-indifferent-faced girl leaning against your door frame. Look around for a bit to see if it’s anyone else’s, but there’s no one around. Just you and the alluring woman blocking the pathway to your new room.

She gestures to the stack of clothes in your arms with her brows. “You plan on doing anything with that or what?” she asks.

Yeah, that deep voice definitely is hers; you can hear it loud and clear. Not one syllable could belong to anyone else, no one but her. What’s her name? It’s—

“Heejin,” says Chan exasperatedly. Amusement is present in his tone too as he walks over to break it up and sling an arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “Don’t scare the new guy and let him in his room, please?”

“I’m just being curious, daddy,” Heejin explains.

Oh, so that’s her name. Heejin. Jeon Heejin. Neat. Has a nice ring to it, but it somehow spells trouble. You swear those letters can’t make up that word, but with Heejin, it sure does. Not only does her name spell it, but so do her eyes that are way too observant, tracking your every move with prolonged glances, and the tilt of her head as if she were a trained German Shepherd rather than the animal she reminds you of: a bunny.

A bunny?

Wait—

"Oh, it's you!" you say. Almost drop your clothes on the floor when you realize it. How could you not have caught on?

Heejin smiles. It brings the sense of familiarity to wash more over your mind like waves. "Thought you would never recognize me, Jay," she says. "Hi there."

Try not to gawk with all your might, but you do anyway. Just hope it isn't obvious because see here, the Jeon Heejin you know used to be a shy little thing, never wanting to come out and play with you when you were younger out of embarrassment. Now, she writes confidence into each and every one of her moves, with a dazzling little smile to go along with it. How did she manage the transformation? You need the tips ASAP.

"Oh, right." Chan slaps a hand to his face and shakes his head. "You two've met before, right?"

She's a little sleazy when she rests her back on the frame again and nods, eyes never leaving your body. If anything, she's the one who's gawking and even if, for argument's sake, you are, it's just an eye for an eye. The two of you are just amazed at how much the other has grown up. Nothing more.

(Or… ?)

"So it seems," she says bluntly.

"Ah, should have known. But it was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

"Mhm." Heejin looks you up and down and smiles. "You've grown up."

"So have you," you reply, because she has. Toned muscle clings to her arms and she’s let go of the rectangle-shaped glasses. Now, circular Harry Potter spectacles sit on the bridge of her pointy nose. She stares at you through them for a while. She's a CCTV; she's monitoring your moves in HD and watching you put your clothes in neat piles in the cabinet drawers. Heejin gives you a stare that lingers long after you're done folding them. She's thinking of something, and you're not sure if you want to know.

"Daddy," she calls out.

You don't know what you're doing when you turn your head in her direction. Much less when she winks at you. Blush furiously and hide your face behind spread shirts.

Chan peeks from the living room. "Yeah, hon?"

"I think Nana's waiting for you to pick her up? It's 3 p.m.."

"Ah, right. Can’t forget about that little rascal.” He wipes his mouth and gets up. “Help Jay with his stuff, please, Heekki?"

It only takes seconds for Chan to find his keys, but for you it takes hours. Your heart beats loudly at the thought of being alone with Heejin, and you can’t differentiate its drumming with being nervous or excited. When he finally gets out and you hear the car pull out of the way, you’re stuck. Heejin’s somewhere near the corner of your room but it doesn’t look like she’s the one who has nowhere to go.

She’s stunning with all those locks of shiny dark hair curtaining her shoulders and fit body. Her legs do more than peeking out from her low-cut shorts as she navigates your new room. The round glasses that sit on her nose just pull her whole, gorgeous look together. You can’t believe how beautiful she’s become. She was always a pretty girl, but the maturity and growth that coursed through her early years of adulthood made her glow. It’s like you’re looking at a new, refined version of her.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” says Heejin. She picks away at a poster of a famous basketball player, name redacted. “They were good people.”

“Trust me,” you sigh, “I know.”

God knows you didn’t appreciate your parents much. It’s a pet peeve of yours to be reminded to be grateful in grave situations, but your mother and father were different from other pairs of parents. Others were abusive, neglectful, cruel. Yours knew how to take care of you while letting you dip your toes into the pool of freedom at the same time. Your parents loved you. Not a lot of people could say that.

“And they told my dad to take you in, huh?”

“Does that bother you?” you say, with an unintentional bladed edge to your voice. Realize how you said it and immediately shut your mouth.

Heejin blinks, disarmed for a while, then recovers quickly with a smile that’s just as dazzling as her. “For what it’s worth,” she says, taking the chance to place herself beside you a little too close for anything that isn’t lustful intent, “I’d love to have you over here as long as you like.”

You don’t know what to say. Her being this close with you is setting off fireworks inside of you. Put a pillow snug in your lap just to be sure and nod. “Thanks, Heejin.”

“Of course.” Heejin rests her chin on your shoulder and whispers so softly that it could’ve been your imagination deluding you again: “I’ll make your time here worthwhile.”

Jerk your head, but she’s already scampering to the door and exiting your room. She doesn’t even look back.

“Hey,” you say, trying to break the ice that only freezes you, “Chan hyung said you would help me with my stuff!”

No response.

So you were right to think that she’s trouble. But god, would you love to be wound up in her.

You’ve stared at the ceiling for too long, but now, it’s not out of grief. It’s out of fear. Are you doing the right thing by wanting to fuck your sister? Well, she’s not exactly your sister yet, but she’s somehow related to you now considering her father treats you as a son, too. A stepsister, maybe? There’s no other fitting term than that.

What should you do? Is gawking at her and her desirable body going to make your parents in the afterlife proud? You’re sure they’d be disappointed. But is it your fault that Heejin’s grown into this naturally flirtatious woman? Not at all. Is it your fault that she’s so damn attractive? The answer is no, too.

It could be a yes though, because it isn’t Heejin to blame that her new brother wants to have sex with her. You’re both in the wrong, and two of those don’t exactly make a right.

Look around your room, then at the door where she leaned on as she successfully intimidated you. Is it locked? Fuck it, you don’t know, and you probably don’t even care. What you do know is that you’re too turned on by the thought of your new sister Jeon Heejin, and you need to do something about it.

(To the cracked hole in the fourth wall, you say, What? I have needs, too, you know. And you do, too—why do you think you’re reading this now?)

Lift your comforter just a little and slide your hand south. Cup your bulge, caress it, then spring it out. It’s already solid, and it doesn’t need too many strokes to have the blood rushing there completely. Your stiff rod aches for a touch, aches for Heejin, and stimulates itself to the thought of her as you start to jerk off.

You think of how she could swing those full thighs over each side of your face, and though her form would burden your chin, you’d happily eat of her. Bet that her pussy’d taste just as good as her lips. You’d lick and suck her clit while she moans and writhes until the two of you couldn’t take it anymore; her core would feel numb after the pleasure and your jaw would ache for days.

You recall how her lips were just inches away from you earlier, only barely touching the curve of your ear. Think of how those lips would feel much better if they were on yours. Yearn for your mouths to meet to the point that you’re moaning in each other, taking in the natural scent of skin and sex.

Finally, you think of the changes you’ve seen in her. Where was the shy, antisocial Heejin of yesterday? Now she’s grown, just like you, and looks far better than you’d imagine. She’s turned into this will’o the wisp goddess.

“Heejin,” you say, as quietly as you could, “Heejin, Heejin, Heejin—”

“God, I really turned you on that much, huh?”

Your pumps stop, and your sight catches onto the said woman you’ve been jerking off to. She’s in the same place as she was earlier, at her opening scene at the door frame. You’re more than happy to see the pretty Heejin, but she can’t show up now. Not when you’re jerking off. She can’t just appear in the corner like she teleported for the pure purpose to catch you in the act.

“Heejin!” you yell, pulling the covers onto yourself. “G-get out of my room!”

She’s wearing her sleep clothes now, but she still looks like she dressed to impress. Her body pulls together the skimpy shorts and loose shirt she sleeps in into something that could have been worn on a haute couture catwalk. Her raised brows, haughty eyes, and quirked mouth all show how she’s smugger than the word itself.

“Aww,” Heejin says, walking over to sit on your bed, “what should we do to you now, oppa?”

You’re horrified, to say the least. It’s your first day at a new house and you’re already doing something wrong. The bare minimum you should do in this situation is to tell the girl to fuck off. Tell her to go far away and flee to anywhere but your room. You can’t just stare at her like she’s a dream come true, even if she is.

Let’s see: you have your new sister on your bed who caught you jerking off. There has to be some other way this would end, but the two of you know where this leads. The question that remains is if you’d be able to hold back.

You make the first step to resisting the inevitable outcome. “Heejin,” you say, breaths shredded into panicked little gasps, “I’ll only say it again and no more. Get out of my room.”

She smiles sweetly and shakes her head. “Can’t make me. I want to know what you were doing, Jay.”

“No!” You won’t be saying it, you won’t dream of saying it, you’d rather die than to be caught saying it. It’s already bad enough when it goes unspoken. What more if you pronounce what you were doing with each syllable more embarrassing than the other?

“Then I guess I should just”—she tugs the covers off—”oh my, Jay oppa. You were touching yourself to me. And I thought I was just being narcissistic.”

Your cock leaks in the cold air. Heejin laughs tauntingly. It sounds so much more attractive than it should, especially when her voice is deep and rich. It sounds… sexy?

Oh, what are you doing? You should feel embarrassed, maybe even petrified at the mere thought of your childhood acquaintance slash new sister slash new crush seeing your dick. But your mind doesn’t brew with insecurities upon seeing her eyes glimmer with eagerness.

She can’t do this. No, no, no, you can’t do this either. Let fucking her remain a fantasy pirouetting in your head, not one that comes true. It’s so much more awkward when it translates into real life where you somehow think it into existence.

Awkwardness isn’t in Heejin’s dictionary, though. She looks far from uneasy or disgusted. In fact, you swear there’s a small grin dimpling her cheeks. It’s like she’s actually flattered that you’re jerking off to her.

“If I knew you had such a big cock, Jay oppa…” she says, placing a hand on your hip to prop herself on it. You jerk involuntarily, which happens at the worst time; your cock almost brushes her cheek. “I would have let you fuck me in front of daddy. Or would you rather I call you daddy?”

“Why are you here, for god’s sake?” you say. You’re biting your lip to suppress your humiliated screams.

“Well,” she taps her chin, a feat that would be adorable if you’d just cast the situation aside, “I thought I heard something, and it was just as I suspected.”

“Fine, I’ll say it for the third time: Jeon Heejin, get the fuck out of my room.”

“Oh, that’s right. Say my name, oppa. Daddy.” She winks. “Say it and I might just put my lips on this big fat cock.”

“No, you won’t.”

It sounds more challenging instead of intimidating, and it’s clear that Jeejin doesn’t cower away from dares anymore. “Watch me.”

She lowers herself onto your lower body and admires your length with bright bunny eyes. “I’d let you blow in my mouth as much as you like. I’d fuck my throat on it and give it a nice good kiss. Oh, right, you wanna know how? Like this.”

She engages with your dick into an open-mouthed osculation, swallowing the tip and suckling it, too. Groan, but when you pull your hand out to do the opposite to her head, she’s already sitting back up. You really can’t have your way here, not when your new sister knows of her danger and puts it to good use. She’s resourceful like that, and it both impresses and scares you.

Heejin wags her finger in your face as if she were scolding a trouble child. “No, no, Jay oppa,” she reprimands you. “That was just a teaser. If you really want me, jerk off to me. Say my name.”

You can’t say no to her. Well, actually, you can—you just refuse to. You’re fifty-percent scared of the outcome of making this deal with Heejin and fifty-percent excited. There’s an Alice-like curiosity in you that yearns to see what might happen. Would she really keep her end of the deal and suck you off? Or leave you with blue balls like she did earlier?

Wrap your hand unsurely around your penis again. She nods encouragingly.

Do your usual routine: up and down. Murmur her name over and over, your gaze connected with hers. Her smile grows bigger as your pumps become less measured. You start to spiral out of control. How can you not when she’s just too fucking hot? Her succubus stare, thighs that look fuller as they rest on your mattress, her intent that grows more clear as she rubs your thigh. You’re trapped in lust, and you know you have to settle down a little before you completely lose track of all senses, but you can’t stop. How could anyone when there’s Jeon Heejin as she lives and breathes in front of you?

Say her name, say her name.

Say it like a poem, say it like it’s one of fame.

Say it like you’re about to cum, which you are, and your climax isn’t one that’s too far—

“That’s it, Jay,” says Heejin in a tone that’s almost loving. As your cum shoots an obscene, one-direction spurt, she replaces your hand with hers. “Cum for me. You want to fuck me so bad it’s pathetic.”

Her touch is as rough as it is soft. You say it’s too much in between thin whimpers of pleasure, but her flexed hand is determined to keep pumping. Her fist tightens and her jerks grow stronger.

“Naughty, naughty oppa. Look at this thick hot cum. Is it all for me?”

You’re spraying all over her and her meaty thighs. Her shorts get stained and you try with all your might to contain the bursts of white, but you end up on the edge again. You end up releasing more. Your thoughts run in circles and bump into each other—they’re scolding you, hurting you, asking you why the fuck are you cumming from your new sister’s handjob. You’d answer them by saying you don’t know, but you know the reason probably more than you know yourself:

Heejin is unbearably alluring, and her giving you a handjob is unbearably wrong. Strangely, both of these facts get you going. The mere truth that she shouldn’t be doing this with you makes you want more of it. Has grief taken a more different route in traumatizing you? Oh god, what would your parents think?

What would Chan think? He trusts you enough to be a good big brother to Heejin. Would you really throw his trust in you away, all for his irritatingly hot oldest daughter?

If you’d take a look at the situation—you having just ejaculated on her—it seems like it.

“No,” you say. It’s a crack in your integrity knowing that you could stress her name in any way or form, and she’d still be hot as fuck. It wouldn’t undo what she did to you and what you let her do. “P-please. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“That’s what makes it fun, right?” She wipes your cum from her thighs with her shirt. “Besides, I did say I’ll make your time worthwhile.”

How does that work? A brother and sister, whether related by blood or not, should bond by having sincere talks and treating each other, not by having sex.

(But she’s right about the fun part. Looks like Heejin is just as fucked in the head as you are.)

“I want to have some fun, Jay oppa,” she explains. She places her palms on her thighs caked with cum, and pouts. From that, you know you can’t resist. You wouldn’t dare. “Won’t you let me, pretty please?”

She’s both hot and adorable. Hot enough to drive you crazy and adorable enough to convince you to do any of the most mundane things out there. You don’t know how to do this with her. It seems like no matter how cute or sleazy she poses herself as, she’ll always get what she wants somehow.

It’s dumb of you to even try, but you do: “Okay, what fun do you want to have?” Say this while collecting tissues from the little box at your bedside table to wipe down her thighs. You expected to use the tissues for self-love sessions and nights when the tears couldn’t stop. You never thought that you’d have to use them to clean your cum from your new sibling’s legs.

“You know exactly what I want: I want this”—she points at your cock—”in here”—then at the center of her shorts.

Immediately your already gray morals come out to play. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Heejin,” you say, biting your lip to stay quiet. It’s not intentionally hot or whatsoever, but Heejin’s mind particularly hangs onto that for a while. “We’re brother and sister now. We can’t do this. What if your dad finds out?”

“Aww, I get it. I do, really. But you’re so going to hit my guts if you fuck me right now.” She throws off her shorts, leaving her in nothing but a set of cute pink panties. Then, she scoots herself over so that your cock rests upon her small belly, right in front of her core. “See? You can spread me that well, and I won’t mind at all. I promise.”

Look at your cock and how far it can reach inside her, how it can push her walls apart. Oh god, it’s tempting. Everything about her, from her perfect face to her spread thighs, calls for you to forgo propriety and just fuck her.

“This bunny’s waiting for you, oppa.” Heejin does more than wait and pulls down your boxers. Pulls down her panties. Pulls down your ethics and morality and principles and everything you used to go by; down they go into the river of fire. “This bunny girl’s gonna fuck herself on this cock. You want that, don’t you, daddy? You want me to ride you and call you daddy. Make me call myself your little bunny. Yeah, I’ve got you all figured out.”

What she’s doing may be wrong, but what she’s saying is right. You, in all unfiltered honesty, want to see Heejin bounce on you and ride you endlessly. Her toned thighs and calves are made for it. She deserves getting what she wants after jerking you off.

But does Chan deserve this: have his new son and his daughter betray his trust? Turn the family upside down all because of lust?

Oh, who cares what he thinks? When Heejin slides her pussy down your cock in one try despite her refusing tightness, you lose your thoughts. The will to take her roughly, just like she deserves, takes its place. It rules your head with an iron fist, just like how you rule Heejin’s impossibly tight pussy with iron-clad thrusts.

“Oh, oh, oh fuck,” she gasps. She squeezes her eyes shut and grabs onto your shoulders. Her hold is tight. That’s one thing it has in common with her cunt. “Daddy, you’re so big. I can’t, p-properly ride it, you’re too big.”

Your cock is held hostage by Heejin’s stubborn cunt. She wants it to stuff her fully, but never could let it inside her. She’s too tight. Your hands on her waist, you push her down as gently as you could. She lets out deep groans and sighs.

“That feels so good, daddy,” she tells you. After that, you achieve a dream you never thought would come true, as light as it is compared to fucking her: a kiss. It’s not as passionate as her bouncing on your crotch, but it’s good enough to have you blushing. “Yes, you like it when your little bunny girl kisses you? You like how tight she is?”

You nod. That’s all you can do when you’re speechless. What else can you say to her? You can’t tell her that it isn’t true when every iota of her words are true.

“You can do better than that, daddy,” Heejin gasps, head tossed back. A storm of black hair hangs over your bed clothes. “I know you can. Yes, just like that. Do it. Fffuck me harder, I want it, fuck—”

Clearly, slow, precious pumps into her tiny hole aren’t going to work. So it isn’t exactly all your doing when you lift Heejin and suddenly have her pinned to the bed. The balance of power is reversed—you’re now pounding her to your mattress, spreading her legs and propelling your thrusts into the perfect target: her small, damp hole. You take advantage of how wet she is by thrusting bluntly and exclude the rest of your length for a chance to breathe. With Heejin, though, there’s no such thing as breathing. She’s left you gasping for air since your reunion.

“Hnnn, lookie here, daddy.” She lifts her shirt, revealing a surprising set of subtle yet hard abs, where your bulge appears and disappears. “You’re so big that you’re, fu— fucking reaching my tummy. That’s why you have to go deeper. Can’t waste such a big cock, right?”

She grabs your waist to aid your pumps. She must have done some serious lifting in the gym; those harsh tugs and pulls have got to be from somewhere. You’re thrown into a looped route of jamming your tip against her G-spot and cervix hard. Heejin’s grippy pussy refuses to let you go through the night without going down on her. Not that you’d have it any other way. Silly how just moments ago you were telling her not to continue her advances, yet now you’ve advanced past flirty banter with her.

Make it a point, no, a goal to thrust upward rather than only forward. She spreads her legs more, and you reach under her loose shirt to squeeze her breasts. Her nipples are perky and deserve each of your tweaks. Heejin whimpers, as if she were an actual bunny caught into a trap. What a terrible hunter you are, but it’s simply revenge. The disguised predator, Heejin, was actually prey—she’s caught into the ropes she went to with confident hops.

The hunter becomes the hunted.

“Fuck, you’re going to put a baby in me,” whines Heejin. “C-can’t do that, just—no, just cum on my stomach, please. My mouth, my legs, anywhere.”

When she puts it that way, it makes you spite the fact that it’s forbidden. You want to release in Heejin and make her feel your warm cum. Let it infiltrate her womb and give her a baby. You can’t have that happen, yet you want it to happen. It shouldn’t be like this.

“Please,” you say. You’re getting incredibly close that it rides on your tongue like the aftertaste of a dessertful. You can’t believe you’re actually begging to cum inside her, but any man would if put in your place. Anyone who thinks it’s pathetic clearly hasn’t met Heejin face to face.

“Daddy,” she says, “you can’t…”

Saddening news, and she isn’t too happy about it either. The tremble of her lower lip is one you capture with a firm kiss. Your breaths get caught in her mouth as you near climax. And the orgasmic Heejin’s wrapping her legs around you tight, as if daring you to breed her even if she’s clearly told you not to. It’s like her legs, sealed around your hips, bear the weight of the advantages and disadvantages and spread them out for you, yet the thing in between them makes you forget all about the cons.

It’s scary how you almost give in.

Just in time, however, you pull away and bust a load on her tummy. It’s the product of all the jabs your rod did at it. It’s only fair it gets to show the plentiful result laid all over the muscled skin.

Heejin looks down at the pool of cum while gasping for air. She swallows, then smiles. “Not bad for a guy who’s gonna be my big brother.”

You can already tell having sex with her is going to become a usual affair. The look she flashed you before leaving for school is telling enough. When she woke you up with a sloppy blowjob, saying in between soft suckles that “I have at least one hole you could fill,” you went insane. You’ve made your bed. Now you have to lie in it.

To be fair, you’d lie in Heejin forever if you could. But as a son, you have duties to fulfill. Although Chan told you that you’re free to do whatever you wish, you still have the sense to help around the house. You don’t want to be seen as a burden. You’d want to be anything but the new son who doesn’t know how to do things, especially for your new sisters.

Your new relationship with Heejin, though, exceeds familial bond. Will you hide it from Chan or put a stop to what she’s doing before it transforms completely? Down the road feelings from both ends might get involved and increase the overall taboo of the situation. Chan would probably get suspicious.

You don’t know what to do.

Take your mind off things. Make an extravagant meal, or at least a style-over-substance one. Follow the instructions of a recipe for mashed potatoes at the back of the gravy powder packet. Hell, you could do this: set cut and peeled potatoes in a pot of briskly boiling water, mash them after smearing them with butter, shake pepper onto those motherfuckers… done!

Put your masterpiece into a bowl and set it on the table. It actually looks pretty good. Maybe being a chef is your calling. You can already imagine the scenarios you’d go through as one. Chef Jay doesn’t sound too bad, right?

Chan is at work while Heejin’s at college. You’re glad you won’t be seeing Heejin for the remainder of the day; as much as you’d hate to see her go, meeting her would make you feral. She left a to-do list on a post-it sticky note on the fridge door, which looks like it’s been there for a while if you take into consideration the boxes all being checked.

A more recent one, however, is Chan’s own reminders written on a piece of ruled college notebook paper, apparently addressed to you and Nana:

Good morning! Have an awesome day ;)

Please treat yourself to the Mcdonalds in the fridge, just reheat it pls

Take care of yourselves, love you!

Ah, you wouldn’t have made mashed potatoes if you knew Chan had left some McDonald’s. You hope that he still remembers your favorite from years ago: a classic Big Mac with medium fries to go.

Open the fridge eagerly and—

There’s nothing?

You know who it is. That voice is decidedly more youthful than Heejin’s, but not anymore that high. It’s Nayeon. Nana, to be exact. Everyone you know calls her Nana in order to avoid confusing her with Im Nayeon who’s somewhere in the line of the kids of your parents’ friends.

Nana’s younger by only a year, hence being the perfect playmate for you back then. The two of you would run around and yell at each other gleefully, basking in the joys of childhood you didn’t know would last that short.

So, when you step closer to her, you don’t really believe it’s her. If there’s anything in common between the bright Nana and the laid-back Heejin, it’s that they’ve both grown up beautifully.

“Nana?” you ask.

Her hair was a silky black then, often wrangled in between with sand and dirt, but now, it’s a mass of coffee brown. It looks like she’s gotten glasses, too, aside from a light fringe that settles prettily on her forehead.

But then there’s Nana’s body, which you used to pick up as a child to mimic flying heroes with, which has grown… voluptuous. In the volleyball shorts and casual statement tee, it flatters her medium-sized bust and meaty thighs just right.

(It probably even coaxes you into thinking she’s the perfect… girlfriend?)

Her face still is adorable as ever. If someone were to put the cutest face in the world with the perfect body, the outcome would be Nana. She’s more than that, actually; she just so happens to be exactly your type.

Oh no, here you go again. Your feelings for her from your youthful days resurge, and you realize you’ll probably add another fuck-up to the list before this day ends. Meeting Heejin was one thing, but Nana, your first grade playmate slash friend slash childhood crush? Slash new sister? You’re as good as dead to Chan if he finds out what you want to do to her.

“Jay oppa!” says Nana. Her smile has grown more beautiful, just like the rest of her. It’s still cheeky, but wider. “You remember me, right?”

How could you not? “Y-yeah.”

“Aww, sweet!” Nana pokes you on the shoulder. “Anyway, I ate your Big Mac, sorry. I got hungry.”

Oh, so Chan did remember your favorites.

“One meal wasn’t enough for you?” ask her, grinning. You still got that playfulness in you with her. Hopefully she reciprocates.

She gives you the finger.

Scoff and turn away with raised hands. “If it makes you feel better, I made potatoes for you,” you announce, “but I guess I’ll have them since you ate my Big Mac.”

“Meanie.”

“Overgrown baby.”

“Jaybird.”

It’s just like the old times, except for today, nobody gets hurt. The two of you know the truth: you’ve missed each other so much. Not a day goes by when you don’t think of each other. You’re embedded into the depths of everyday thoughts, the times when she’d say oh no, I wasn’t thinking of you but only because she doesn’t realize it because you’re layers upon layers upon layers of idle thought.

It would take an expeditioner to navigate through the history you and Nana have.

You’re childish. What makes up for it is what you say next, because it’s kind of true and isn’t merely something to say just for the hell of it, as you step forward and lower your gaze to her with a sobering glare: “Brat.”

Nana approaches you with her hands folded behind her back. She tilts with each step, as if contemplating on whether she is one or not. “Am I?”

She’s so much smaller than you, yet your hands fill up when you place them on her hips. Her waist is tiny compared to the slopes of her hips and thighs. Her cheeks (on both parts, to be clear, because you know what you’re thinking) are sizable, too, and you can’t choose between the two pairs on which to squeeze.

“Yeah.”

“Can you handle it?”

You see where this is going. You’re still a mirror of each other, and the glass still reflects lust. “Nana.”

“Fine,” she says indifferently. She hops on the kitchen island and crosses her arms. That should be a sign that she’s going to be anything but. “Be like that. Pretend you don’t know what I wanna do. Even better, pretend you don’t like me.”

She’s got it all wrong. Draw in some air and let it out immediately. “I do like you, Nana,” you clarify. “But—”

“But?”

How do you tell her what the matter is without revealing that you just had sex with Heejin the night before? You’ve no idea how to go through this. Your feelings for her collide with your attraction to her sister, as well as what you did with her.

No outcome of this is morally right, but who cares for morality? You do, although you’re the last person who should be talking about that. You’re trying to salvage what’s left of your ethics and piece it together to make yourself believe that you’re a good person. Newsflash: you’re not. No good person would fuck his new sister and want to fuck the other, too.

Whir the script you used for Heejin for her younger sister. “We’re family now,” you say weakly.

Nana rolls her eyes. “Get off your high horse.”

“It’s not a high horse. It’s… it’s decency.”

“Hm. Okay.”

It’s surprising how quick Nana concedes. Her simple answer should have led to a simple result: the two of you never talking about this again and respecting the boundaries of the other. But no, she’s walking towards you, setting her hands on your shoulders. Her mouth is nearing yours, somewhere you’ve dreamed of it residing despite it being so wrong.

“Then stop me,” she dares you. It’s a tougher dare than the ones she made you do on the playground. “If you’re so righteous and don’t want to kiss me, stop me.”

You shouldn’t kiss her. You want to, but it’s something that should never happen. Your feelings for her since your childhood days can’t come out to play when she’s your new sister. No unspoken law of morality says that it’s fine for you to sweep her up in your arms, kiss her, and take her to bed. If you do, you’re committing multiple crimes.

Nana is the braver felon. She presses her lips on your mouth, and you have to admit, in spite of the wrongness, that it’s everything you’ve dreamed of. Her chapsticked mouth is soft and sweet. You really should have held back. Nevertheless, her tongue is in your mouth, and soon you’re holding her head in your hands so you could kiss her properly.

She’s turned you into a felon, too. So rob her of her breath. Hold her body hostage on the island. Kill your hesitation. You’re one of the same, yet only one of you has shown any hesitation in doing this. In fairness, there’s still a voice in the back of your head that commands you to stop.

You don’t listen to it.

“Did your dad put any CCTVs in the house?” you ask breathily. If you’re going to do something wrong, you should at least try to hide it.

“He’s old as shit. Of course he didn’t,” says Nana, giggling. “If you eat my pussy right now he won’t know. Unless, of course, you want to get caught.”

“So you’re scared of climbing trees but not getting caught having sex?”

“Hey, I’m not scared of climbing trees anymore! Now shut up and eat me. Consider this… your lunch, since I had your McDonald’s.”

“By all means, Nayeon,” you say, pulling down the shorts that live up to their name and the flimsy set of pink panties.

“It’s Nana—ohhhh…”

Her correction gets lost and translated into moans. You’re sending quick, dainty licks on her clit. Enjoy the shivers Nana does. You know well to prey on that area after that, besides your experience with an old high school fling and sex ed. You also know to caress her thighs to send chills up her body, somehow even bringing heat to her core.

She’s too light to cause injury, but she almost, almost does when she squirms her hips harshly into your face. “Oppa!” she squeals. Her fingers are wrapped at the edge of the island as she lifts her lower body up for you to devour. “Th-that feels so good—fuck—”

“Thought you didn’t like to curse,” you say. Break the contact with her clit and let your finger take its place.

“And I thought you were a virgin.”

You don’t realize that your finger rubbing on her sensitive little nub takes the offense out on it. “The fuck?”

“Y-yeah, I know.” Nana hisses. She rolls her hips up and down. “I thought you’d be too scared to have sex with me. You know, besides the obvious reasons.”

“So you’re saying I should be the guy you thought I would be? And stop?”

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

Laugh. “Relax,” you tell her. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll eat this delicious pussy of yours till you’re screaming, I promise.”

Nana laughs as well. She rests her calves on both of your shoulders and smiles. “Spoken like a true non-virgin.”

It helps that she’s so fucking delicious. You’d start having her as a rewarding meal after tough days rather than McDonald’s. She’s the perfect balance of sweetness and tanginess, filling your mouth like a rain of sugar. Wrapping your lips around her nub just brings out more wetness and moans that are just as sweet. Her sounds of pleasure are exactly what you’ve fantasized about them being: soft yet high, clinging to pitched tones and increasing in volume when you slurp on her nub.

Her sounds are so much different from her sister’s. Heejin’s moans are deep and unearth even deeper feelings of lust for her. Nana’s drive you crazy in a different way. They urge you to keep eating her, to keep suckling harshly on her little clitoris so you’d have her stiff nipples poke the front of the cloth of her shirt, to keep doing away with her tiny hole so that she’s begging in that cute little voice of hers.

She’s more passive than Heejin, too. It took rough patches for you to finally be able to fuck her sister into temporary submission. For Nana, it only takes a few licks here and there, and she’s already shaking. Still, you can’t choose between them.

Why choose anyway when you can have them both?

Nana, of course, is good enough for now. Though she’s got you in a padlock between her thighs and forcing you to keep eating her, you give in happily. Your hands are curled around her thick soft thighs to maintain her sprawled position on the island. And dear god, are you taking advantage of it. The suction of your lips is almost cruel, and the poor girl has to alternate between loving it and being overwhelmed.

Run your hands along her delicious backside then squeeze the two round globes. She moans appreciatively, and she’s faced with another two decisions to choose from: to reverse herself into your hands so you could play with her ass more or to go forward to have your mouth absolutely devouring her. Both options are sure to provide her pleasure, but she can’t choose just one. So she moves her hips forward and backward, grinding on the tip of your tongue and your rough palms. It feels so much better this way for her. She’s finally found a good routine.

“Oppa, oppa, Jay oppa,” groans Nana. “Please, p-please.”

She doesn’t specify what she’s begging for. She doesn’t need to anyway when you know the answer. That’s why you run your tongue along her soaked labia, then let it peek into the hole they welcome you in. Delve your tongue inside her deeply. Her ass lifts off the surface and you have to pull her down to earth though she’s close to meeting heaven because of you. No, she’s staying here, under your control and touch. She isn’t going anywhere.

Not that Nana would rather be anywhere else. She’s content with having you orally please her. She likes the feeling of being sprawled out before and under you and letting you have your way with her. She was wrong to think you were a virgin; the wildest laps of an inexperienced mouth definitely won’t feel this good.

She should eat your lunch more times if this is how it would end.

“Your tongue, fuck,” she says, voice shattered, “ it feels so good—don’t stop, please, I can’t—”

You don’t plan on it. Nana’s too delicious, too sweet to stop eating of. She’s definitely miles better than what you were supposed to have for lunch. Although your head still swirls at the idea that you’re actually having sex with your crush, hesitation is a faint dream. Her moans, sweet and whiny, prod you on and tell you a story of a climax approaching.

Draw out the plotline by tracing a line from her slit to her pearl, repeat then, shove a plot twist in there by suddenly curling your tongue inside her. She provides the dialogue and ending line:

“Jay oppa, I’m cumming!”

Nana’s screams switch to squeals when you spank her bubble butt while continuing to eat her out. She reaches for your head and pulls it deeper between her thighs, while her other hand rests on her left nipple. The combined pleasure unexpectedly makes her leak of squirted girl cum. Of course, you waste no time in licking that up.

“T-too much, fuck, oh yes,” she gasps. Her breaths are burdened with each word. “Spank me, oppa, just like that!”

Everything you do drives her crazy. From your spanking and sucking, her hips never fail to lose control. They knock, sway, and dance while her pussy drips with more accumulated wetness and cum. Despite her satisfaction, it’s clear that you won’t be able to drink all of her juices when the mere act of doing it forms more.

“Oppa, oppa, stop.”

Pause and look up at her with a mouth smeared with juices. “What’s the problem?” you ask. You’d hate to have done something wrong to her.

“I think daddy and Heejin unnie are at the driveway.”

Shit. You immediately pull away from Nana’s cunt. She barely gets her shorts on right when Chan and Heejin come in. Pray that the kitchen smells of what it’s supposed to instead of sex. You can still catch the slight scent of gratification in the air.

“We’re home!” says Chan. He comes bearing gifts: supermall department store paper bags strung in a single wrist. You’re strangely more drawn to Heejin rather than the clothes that might be brought home; she counts as a gift, right?

She’s barely wrapped, though. A tube top designed as a blue handkerchief dangles around her bust. The shawl doesn’t exactly play the probable role of a ribbon when it’s thinner than one.

Oh well, easier to unwrap and break into pieces.

“Hi, Jay oppa,” says Heejin. Her smile is wide; she knows you’re flustered by her choice of fashion today. She looks at Nana with a comparably colder gaze. “Nana.”

Sibling rivalry, you assume? The tension is incapable of going unnoticed. You wonder what it’s for. There must have been history between them. You wouldn’t know, however; you’re an only child. Were.

“How was the…” you say, trying to break the thickness in the air but find that you don’t have the words to do it. Why do you even bother? Oh, right, they’re your sisters now—as a big brother, you have to try and help them make ends meet.

“Oh, the mall?” Chan says. He’s unknowingly rescued you from awkwardness. He throws you the bag. “Pretty good! I got you a shirt. Heekki bought some stuff, too.”

“You didn’t get me anything, daddy?” asks Nana disappointedly. The redness in her face is lucky to be passed off as the heat’s doing.

“Maybe if you didn’t spill that water on the floor I’d give you your present early.”

The youngest sister tilts her head, but when she turns around, she realizes what her father means. Just when you thought you’d left the coast clear, there’s one piece of evidence you failed to hide: Nana’s slick and cum. It drools from the edge of the island and on the ground. Even worse, your shirt is stained, too.

“I—uh, daddy—”

“What? Gonna cry, Nayeon?” Heejin asks. She flashes her sister a taunting grin.

What is going on between these two? Why is Heejin bullying her? Why is Nana looking angrier than she’s ever looked in her life? You truly don’t understand.

“It’s Nana,” the younger girl replies. Her shoulders are visibly tense.

Chan gives them a stern look. You know what that means: cut it out, or I’ll make you. You’ve learned to translate those looks from parents of unruly children at public places. “Girls,” he pacifies them. “Don’t want to start a fight in front of your new brother, do you?”

“She started it!” Nana says protestingly.

“And I’ll end it. Cut it out and clean your mess up.”

Heejin smiles sweetly yet artificially as her sister obeys what she’s told to do. Then, she drags you to the bedroom out of sight.

Cut to black.

“You’re a bad person, Jay oppa.”

Those are the first words Heejin told you after she pulled you into her room. Her kisses aren’t as passionate anymore when they’re more angry than lustful. Her lips mash on your neck, mouth, and chest, all while she unbuttons your shirt with quickness you’ve never seen in her.

Your shirt’s torn off you before it could even live on to be a hand-me-down. An angry Heejin, you find out, can do things like that. She isn’t all seductive and sweet when she’s furious. And right now, she’s burning on every end with wrath.

“I think that’s why you agreed to have sex with me,” she says. Pulls off your bottoms so she can sit her bottom on you. “Because you wanted some kind of fucked up stress relief. And then you see me, and you go ‘hey, I could fuck this girl and since she’s such a slut she wouldn’t mind.’ That’s what you thought, right? That I’m just another dumb slut bunny?”

None of that crossed in your mind. All you knew when you were reunited with Heejin was that you were very attracted to her. “Heejin, it isn’t like that. And you’re not a slut.”

“For you,” Heejin throws her shawl to the corner of the room, “I am.”

She said it, not you. Still won’t agree to it. But when Heejin’s riding you at this pace that you can’t keep up with, you might change your mind.

Her thighs ripple photogenically when they slap onto yours. Your face can’t say the same. From the moment the door was closed, she pounced on you. She takes the role of a hunter again. She has her hand on your chest and her ass perched on your crotch. It all starts and ends there.

“Oh, and you looove lording it over me, huh?” she asks. She’s yelling at you, angry at you about something you don’t even know yet, which is supposed to make you feel scared. You should be cowering and promise yourself to never ever underestimate her again. Instead, you feel…

Aroused?

Your cock is hard enough to push past her slick walls and bask in their embrace. You hear your own breaths partner up with Heejin’s.

“You know I like you and your dick so much,” she continues. Her bounces are strong. Days and nights spent at the gym keep her stamina strong. Is she a singer, too? Her voice hasn’t cracked once. Or maybe she’s just that angry. “That’s why you like making me jealous. You know I can’t control myself around you.”

“Heejin, it’s n-not like that.” Surprised that you manage to get those words out of your mouth. All that’s coming from it are moans.

“So what is it?”

“Wait, is this about Nana?”

She growls. Her pace quickens, and you’re off the edge again, your hands planted on the white mattress shaking and failing to keep you up. Her voice is like a trigger word that shuts all your systems down.

“See,” she says. She shuts her eyes and bites her lip. “You even, hahm, call her Nana, too.”

Give up on trying to remain stable. Place your hand instead on Heejin’s ass to help her meaningful grinding. “Everyone calls her that.”

“But you don’t even call me Heekki or anything. It’s not fair, you know. You and your fucking crush on that bitch.”

Well, she’s right. You do have a crush on Nana. She doesn’t have that wrong. The thing is—

“I’m sorry, Heekki.”

You’d tell her that as many times as she wants if that’s what makes her feel better. You still want more sessions like these with her, maybe less violent, in the future, even if your feelings for her sister are beyond mere lust.

Right, Nayeon. Nana. What do you do about your attraction to her? Could you like Heejin and her at the same time? It isn’t fair to both parties, including you. You can’t just lead them on. You’re not supposed to, to be more precise; they’re your sisters. But of course, you break that taboo and are fucking the eldest sister to her guts in her bed after having just eaten her sibling’s pussy. You wouldn’t choose one over the other.

“Hnnn, yes.” Heejin minces her words in heavy, dark tones that sound a lot more desperate than the real her. It really is your fault. You’re making her this way. “Call me that again, Jay oppa. Please? I’m, I’m your Heekki, right? Your only bunny girl?”

Little white lies, little white lies. “Yes, Heekki,” you reply. “Now hop on daddy’s cock like a good little bunny.”

“Yes, of course I will, daddy!” She’s nearly sobbing when she resumes her riding. The flexes of her thighs help her lifting and resting on your crotch. She gasps because of your hands sneaking under her handkerchief top and squeezing her ample breasts. “D-daddy, please, Heekki loves your cock, please fuck me harder!”

Jerk upwards. Heejin’s perfect pussy is a real-life fleshlight. She could be your toy anytime, one you’d bring and fuck anywhere. She’s too fitting for all the secret desires embedded in your heart. Who wouldn’t want a slutty little bunny girl toy like Heejin, with an unexpectedly sexy deep voice and a fit body?

You’re all too focused on her tiny cunt. Her hole is just made to be bred. You have to remind yourself you can’t do it. It’s hard to resist when her cunt is virginally tight and the flesh of her ass is enticing to play with. Even her groans tempt you, all those little whines and pleas shoot right at your heart (and dick.) You want to fuck her like nothing’s wrong, like she isn’t your sister and you’re not supposed to be doing this.

“Daddy, daddy, oh, daddy—” Heejin gasps.

Swipe at her clit and she screams. Shut her up with the finger you used to rub her nub, sliding it into her unprepared yet otherwise welcoming mouth. “Shut up, slut. That’s what you are, right, Heejin? Daddy’s slutty bunny girl?”

Self-contradicting or something. Oh, you don’t know.

Still with your fingers forcing her mouth open, she nods. “Mmm. Mhmm, daddy, your slut bunny, yes—”

Heejin isn’t angry anymore. Your cock turns out to be the solution to her problems, even jealousy. You’d hate to tell her that her envy is rational.

How would you tell her?

She sucks on your fingers, eyes glowing with tears of need. “Cumming’n you, now, daddy,” she breathes. “I want to be daddy’s only bunny girl, t-the one who gets to cum around his big cock everyday, please. I’m not mad, Heekki’s not mad anymore, I promise.”

Kiss her, and for a moment you forget about your own trials, too. The world gives its toughest times (resisting the urge to fuck your new sisters dumb) to its strongest soldiers (you).

You have more secrets about yourself and what you’ve done than you can count on ten fingers. Not even a sworn oath could drag them from your lips. Torture like waterboarding or a knife to your throat would be useless. Your lips are sealed at all times. No exceptions.

That’s why you’re able to fuck both Nana and Heejin without them knowing about it. It’s been months and it’s still going on. You can’t believe it reached this point.

You enjoy the differences between the two girls whenever you fuck them. They don’t think that you’re fucking the other either. The angry sex you had with Heejin *reduced her worries about your possible (and very real) attraction to Nana by a lot.

*(Citation, if required:

The girl was on your thigh, a night when Nana and Chan were out. You and Heejin made up an excuse: we’re too tired. It’s a school night. Some shit. The point is that the two of you threaded the circumstances and made it line up to you being alone. No distractions.

Heejin still calls you daddy, and that time was no exception. She was naked from the waist down. Her upper body being clothed in a tight baby tee didn’t make it less sexy. Seeing how the piece of clothing wrapped around her lithe form turned you on already. To add to that, she was riding your thigh, hand on your length. You made the small living room your heaven.

“Fuck,” Heejin whimpered. She chewed on her bottom lips as she rode your thigh, making use of your bounces and your hands on her hips. “Daddy, how’s it that you’re so good even when your dick isn’t inside me?”

You were flattered. Therefore, (and it was the only right thing to do in response to that), you bounced her harder. Let her grind down on your knee and stimulate her clit on the curved edge. She’s a good girl. No past tense for that one. Heejin is always your good girl, and you’re her daddy who spoils her too much. No past tense for that one either. You truly do spoil her too much—you let her drag you in the bathroom when you’re shopping just so she could drop to her knees to suck you off. You buy her expensive brands though you’re sure she makes more money than you. You do too much for her.

Her payment is better than anything you give her. She’s a good little girl who bounces on daddy’s lap and has his cum as milk before bed. Remembering that, you lifted the baby tee up to kiss her nipples. You let a slight chew ride the edges of the brown little area, then sucked hard. It gave you the reaction you wanted, the reaction you craved: Heejin cumming on your thighs.

Her grip on your cock was too tight and she never stopped jerking you off. You came on each other, bathing skin with love and lust. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Nana’s the more oblivious one. She knows she has you wrapped around her finger, too much in fact that she doesn’t entertain the idea of you liking Heejin, too. *She was eager but scared at first. Now, she fucks you without doubt, without regret.

*(Another citation:

It was after a meaningful talk that she suddenly brought up that “you haven’t fucked me yet, Jay oppa,” she said. Her natural pout made it easier for you to dive into the subject.

“Sure I have,” you replied. “What are you talking about?”

You thought back to the times you fingered her to squirt and put your mouth on her. Nana was always weak for that, and you assumed that was the only way she liked it. That was why you didn’t bother extending it past that.

“Yeah,” said Nana, looking at the night sky from the terrace, “but you haven’t, like, actually put your cock in me. I want to see it! I want it inside me!”

“Alright.” You sat up. “Sure.”

“Huh?” Her cheeks reddened. She didn’t expect that at all.

“What? Let’s do it.”

“I thought you’d be all hesitant or something,” Nana explained shyly. She looked everywhere except your piercing gaze. “I think that’s why I asked. Um… what am I even saying? I want your cock, Jay oppa.”

“Come get it then.”

You loved seeing Nana so shy and bashful. It was so different from the playful arrogance she sets when she’s around you. She could be so cute sometimes.

All the time. You still haven’t gotten over what you felt for her. It’s been long since you were adopted by Chan, yet your crush on Nana’s been longer. You think that maybe she does have the same feelings. After all, why would she let you fuck her? But you keep telling yourself you’re making it more complicated than it should be. To keep on Nana’s good side, and out of your own fear, too, you need to fuck her. No sappy feelings mentioned, just the good ol’ rawdogging.

You’re happy about getting to fuck Nana. Still, it isn’t the same as getting to be her boyfriend.

You went on, nonetheless. The first time she sank down on your length, she let out the cutest sound you’d ever heard. Nana was adorable in every way. Her hands scrunched up to her face like a bunny’s would as she shyly let her pussy take in your size.

“You’re so big,” she said.

“Heard that a couple of times. What’s new?”

“Asshole.” Nana slapped your shoulder. “You sure I could do it?”

“More than. You’re almost there.”

You tried to act like you were no stranger to this and therefore didn’t care. It was difficult when Nana’s pussy was so closed around your girth that you had to guide her downwards. Her thighs twitched and her moans were higher than they usually were. When you went down on her with your tongue, she always screamed, or when you fingered her under the blanket while watching a movie. This sound from her, a whiny gasp tangled in between a shout and a cry, was new.

You wanted to become more acquainted with it, for which you started to thrust.

“Fffuck,” she whispered with a wince. Why was the pain good? It wasn’t supposed to work like that. “Jay oppa, that feels really good.”

“Doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“Just a little. Just keep, fffucking. Me. And I’ll be okay.”

You couldn’t help it. You dove in for a kiss. You held her face in your hands as you pumped away inside her. This time, you made sure to be careful. It was the first time you had ever penetrated her.

It was the one of many times, though, that you made her cum.)

“Jay.”

Deja vu hits you. Or maybe you’ve been substituting grief with it. It’s been almost a year and everything still reminds you of your parents. Jay isn’t exempted from that. You zoned out on him, just like you did to your mother and father.

It’s your duty to look at him and pay attention. He’s done so much for you already. It’s the least you could do. It’s what you would have done if you’d known that fateful day that your parents would die. “Yeah?”

Chan smiles. “Are you alright?” he asks you. He pushes the tinfoiled chocolates towards you. Dessert is an everyday thing in his house. “We lost you there a little.”

Unwrap one and pop in your mouth. “I’m fine, thanks. What were we talking about?”

“I was saying I got a promotion.”

You smile. Good things happen to good people. “Congrats, hyung!”

“Thanks, Jay! But…” Hesitantly, he continues, “because of that, I’m going on a business trip. I’ll be gone for two days.”

Heejin’s eyes widen theatrically. “Oh no,” she says in faux disappointment, “oh no, daddy.”

It sounds like she’s addressing you rather than her own real father. More context clues: she’s inched closer to you and has a hand on your thigh. She gives it a nice squeeze, causing you to straighten suddenly. This is the riskiest Heejin has gotten.

Steal a glance at Nana, who sits at the opposite side of the dinner table. She’s staring at the two of you with fire in her eyes. While she’s too cute to be menacing, she still sends a clear message: get Heejin off you now. She can’t bear with her sister being all touchy-feely with you, or having you alone with her. If she didn’t want to save face, she’d have pounced on the table to tear Heejin’s hair out.

And she’s got such a pretty, pretty face to save, doesn’t she?

“D’you think you kids could behave while I’m gone?” Chan asks. He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, you’re all of age, and it’s technically legal, but if you want me to stay—”

“Oh, daddy, it’s fine!” says Heejin. She looks at you sweetly and raises your joined hands. “Jay oppa and I are good friends! We’ll keep the house clean!”

“What about you, Nana? What do you think?”

Nana’s glowering stare at you and her older sister is prolonged and envious. She truly can’t look intimidating with such an adorable face, but you feel her anger. It’s telepathic how she could sit there in silence and still tell you wordlessly that she’s angry. Furious is probably a better term; you can see flames rise from her eyes.

She swallows and composes herself the best she could. “I’ll be fine,” she says quietly.

Chan asks his daughter if she’s sure, and asks the older girl the same as well. He doesn’t leave you out either. He wants to balance a family and work life properly. Both should hold the same weight on the two pedestals.

That’s how you end up with him gone for two days, and during the first few minutes of his departure, you and Heejin are kissing each other. Nothing more than that is what you promise. Chastity isn’t the best virtue to go by in terms of happiness, but you attempt with what you could to keep it pure.

This is where you understand the self-contradiction, for Heejin’s stark naked from the waist and up. You can feel every bit of unclothed flesh beneath your palms. You can be the expeditioner, Heejin could be the map. You’d spread her, map out each bit of pale milky skin in the connection of your two bodies’ threshold. You’d tear her and use her to the point of impurity.

But as you said: chastity.

It’s not like Heejin’s a saint herself. The skimpy booty shorts grind down on your lap as you kiss in her bedroom. Play with her nipples you will, then also take the time to appreciate her soft thighs.

“These thighs are fucking amazing, Heekki,” you say. The nickname’s a familiar aftertaste in your mouth now. A delicious one.

“You want to fuck them, oppa… daddy? What should I call you?”

A hand on the nape of her neck, you lay Heejin down on her bed. “I don’t care. Whichever, just make sure you let me fuck these legs.”

“Oppa it is.” Heejin grins cheekily. She spreads her arms just as much as she tightens her legs together, letting you appreciate the smoothness of her pits and her slim, beautiful arms. Not to disregard the muscles denting the skin, though. “Isn’t it so sexy? I’m fucking my big brother, and my little sister can barge in anytime. It’s so risky, right, Jay oppa?”

Slip your cock between her pressed flesh, and you easily discover that her thighs are as good as they look. Slide in, slide out, and repeat the cycle like a habit of vice. You’d never want to recover. Something could speak to you in the back of your head, urging you to let go of what’s wrong, and you wouldn’t listen. Even if that something was, let’s say, Nana?

Speaking of…

“What’s wrong, Jay oppa?” said girl’s older sister asks, curious about your sudden alarmed look.

You’d say a lot of things to her, now that you have the chance to. Only one comes to mind: “I, I think there’s someone at the—”

“I fucking knew it.”

That’s how it all starts. It begins with the scene that goes like this: Nana stands at the doorway with shock veining red in her eyes. Her hand is firm on the door knob; looks like someone forgot to lock before they fuck. That someone may be you or Heejin. You never know. It’s too late, anyway. Nana already knows.

You’d adlib a lot of things in this situation, too. However, none of them sound plausible. You can’t speak when you feel this odd sense of guilt brimming in the core of your heart. Seeing Nana’s horrified expression, you realize that it’s rooted from you thinking you’ve betrayed her. There’s her, obviously being your childhood crush and the girl you’ve fucked weeks on end, and then there’s you, fucking her sister in the bedroom where she’s supposed to flee for sisterly advice and familial gossip. It’s so incredibly wrong, all of it: your girth being locked between Heejin’s thighs, her obviously enjoying the way the underside of your cock rubs her preyed pussy, and Nana, the other girl you’ve been fucking. The other sister you’re fucking.

“You lying bitch,” spits Nana, glaring at Heejin. Such a word should never escape her mouth when she looks that pure and sweet, but she isn’t what she looks like, sexually speaking. Emotionally speaking. “I’m gonna tell dad, and you’re so fucking screwed.”

“Then I’ll tell him you fucked me, too,” you fire back. Venom laces your words.

Heejin looks at you in horror. “What?”

Oh no.

Oh god.

You definitely should have thought before you spoke. Now, the cat’s out of the bag. The taboo secret you’ve tried to hide for so long from both siblings is out in the open. You can’t lie or fuck your way out of this anymore. It’s not going to work.

Nana catches on a loose thread in her sister. She tugs it to sew back her own pride. “Yeah, that’s right,” she says haughtily, “he fucked me, too. What, you thought you were special or something?”

“Hey.” She’s really going in for the kill. You have to put a stop to it before it escalates: “Let’s all just calm down—”

Heejin turns to you and laughs after a short, bitter little scoff. “No fucking way, Jay.” She drops her legs and kicks you away. Tumble into the bedroom cabinet. “You tricked us.”

She’s right. You’ll admit that because you can’t even deny it yourself. It’s true through and through; you hid two secrets from three people: your sisters and new father. But secrets always come to light, and today just so happens to be the day for your dirty little secrets.

“Yeah,” pipes up Nana. “You wanted to use two girls as your personal cumdumps you could just throw away. You don’t—”

She stops. The older girl is awfully silent and suspicious, though you are for other reasons as well.

“Oh.” She stares at Heejin for a moment, then laughs. The palm she’s placed on her mouth is only there for dramatic effect; she doesn’t bother stifling her smug laughs. “Oh. I see it now.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

Nana walks over with surprising confidence in her steps and wraps her hand around your cock. That’s the last thing you expected her to do. Your moans are a little rougher this time because of that. Nana doesn’t bother stopping to reconsider what she’s doing: jerking off her new brother in front of her sister who shares her own blood and flesh.

She pouts so pitiably that it could be a genuine emotion if she pleases. “You don’t let him cum inside you, do you, my sweet unnie?” she asks. “That’s right. I know you don’t.”

Heejin’s eyes go all bunny wide. The irony of it all could be entertaining enough for your average telenovela enjoyer. It helps that she plays her role of the shocked and offended domineering sister so well.

But this isn’t a telenovela; this is real life. You’re actually going through this. You can’t turn it off in spite of your desire to. When there’s the yearning inside you to see what more there is to unfold, though, you give in. You don’t say a word to stop the sisterly quarrel. You simply stand there prone to Nana, who jerks you off with an unrestrained anger.

Heejin, who’s used to playing the cruel girl to her sister, finds herself in a position she’s never had to experience: getting the short end of the stick. Getting pierced by the end of the stick. Was her sister’s all-too-true accusation the forbidden apple to the shame she feels out of nowhere for her naked body?

She stutters. You’ve only heard her stutter when you’re fucking her. It��s so strange to hear how she clumsily stumbles over her words in real life where she’s got no escape. “Okay,” she says, giving up, “so I don’t let him cum inside me. So what? It’s not my fault I’m not a slut like you.”

“Oh please,” scoffs Nana. Waving off her sister’s insult is also a first for her. “Tell me something I haven’t heard before. At least I get to feel his warm, thick cum inside me. You’re too scared to even let him fuck you in a position that isn’t missionary.”

“Girls,” you say, in one last futile attempt to calm them down. Do you even want to calm them down? You’re not sure.

Nana pulls you away from her sibling and smiles with such untainted sweetness that it makes you forget she was mad in the first place. Well, she’s still a little mad for what she says next:

“Come on, oppa.

“Let me do something for you that she can’t.”

Her shirt becomes a figment of your imagination. You swear it was on a few seconds ago. But now, you see how it is: no bra. Not even a white camisole. Her perky breasts are there for you to toy with. You have multiple choices, actually: her soft tummy and wide hips are there, craving for your attention. Of course you give it to them, in the form of lingering hungry touches.

Your lips are on hers all of a sudden. It doesn't even take minutes for you to have your mouths and tongues all over each other, licking where you can and kissing till the lust ferments. (Hint: it would never.) There’s an imaginary time limit going on for you and Nana, and so you’re tearing clothes off each other and stealing kisses as fast and as needily as you can.

It doesn’t take the whole time limit for Heejin to get jealous. “Get off him,” she growls. She kisses your back, the touch sending shivers on your skin. Her nipples push on you. “You like me better, don’t you, daddy? I’m your Heekki, right?”

You don’t know. As of now, you like the other bunny girl better. “We’ll see.”

“‘Daddy’?” Nana giggles. “That all you got, Heejin?”

“Where’s the ‘unnie’?”

“You’re not the unnie unless you prove yourself to be one,” the youngest of the three of you answers in a sickeningly flattering tone. She brushes Heejin’s cheek. “So what’s it gonna be?”

Heejin stammers again. The smarmy and arrogant her is lost in the jealousy she gathers because of Nana pushing you down the bed. When she sees how you react to it with your needy face and hands on her waist, the anger burns inside her harder.

Still, it surely can’t be the flame of fury that’s making her this hot and bothered, can it?

Nana backs off to present her ass to you. She circles her hips in the air, giving you a show, then places a hand on both of her cheeks. The denim shorts barely cover up the swells of her ass. “Take this off me, please, oppa?” she asks. And it’s so polite that it isn’t really your fault that you give in and tug the messily cut thing she calls shorts down.

“Daddy!” Heejin says in protest. She’s naked as well, but she’s still left out.

“I think I should be the one calling him daddy here,” gloats Nana. She rubs her ass on your cock. It perfectly pleasures the underside of your length. “After all, he’s the one who’s going to put a baby in me. But I’m sure you won’t mind.”

Her panties slide down her legs. And now, she descends.

Down she goes, but she’s only going higher. Your cock splits her pussy open, and it’s just as good as the first time. Nana still brings the same thrill you get when you fuck her hot body. Her bounces are more precise, and she learns to give you more than just the benefit of getting to screw her—she gifts you a show of her bountiful backside unintentionally clapping with the other cheek.

Spank her for that, though you should really reward rather than punish her when she’s only making you feel good. Doesn’t matter; she loves it. She looks back at you and bites her lip sultrily.

“Fuck,” you groan, “such a good girl, Nana.”

Her moans are perfected with pitch and pleas. Nana’s expressions are timed well with your thrusts and guiding hands on her hips.

“I’m a good girl, too, daddy,” Heejin says softly. She kisses your mouth. “I’ll show you, okay?”

Chan’s eldest daughter climbs on top of your face. You pull off her shorts as well—you welcome all kinds of pleasure here. Nana slams herself down harder, and right on the second you groan due to it, Heejin’s already planted her pussy on your face.

See, these are the thighs you’ve dreamed of. These are the kind that would actually crush your head. Her muscular skin ensures that your head is subjected not only to thick softness. And yes, you’ve eaten Heejin out before, in times when you’d keep her prone on the edge of her bed while you pull orgasm after orgasm out of her with just your tongue, but this time you do it with increased gusto. The sisters’ blended moans sound better than any choir of your choosing. Name a band as well, while you’re at it, and Heejin and Nana’s voices would still outdo their songs.

“Yesss, thank you, daddy!” gasps Heejin. “Oh, mmm, I’m your good little girl. And because you’re my daddy, you should always eat your good girl out.”

“You talk like an attached trophy wife,” Nana remarks with a snortle. That’s not fair on her part; you know how desperate she can get when you’re fucking her, but you can’t really oppose it when Hejein’s muffling your mouth.

The other girl can’t retort either. Your tongue’s too good to her. “Shut up. He likes my pussy more. And he treats it sooo well, don’t you, my daddy? Better than you do Nana?”

Let’s see: well, you don’t know. Both sisters have amazing bodies you’d do any time of the day. You haven’t really given the intensity you submit to them much thought. It’s hard to think now when Heejin’s urgently riding your tongue while Nana rides your cock.

“No answer,” Nana says triumphantly. “I guess he’s biased there.”

“Hmph.”

“The better girl for oppa is the one who doesn’t immediately cum just because he’s touching them. Bet?”

“It’s a bet,” replies Heejin. She really shouldn’t be giving in to a deal she’s sure to lose; you know what the quintessential quiver of her hips mean. Then again, she’s not one to back down from a competition.

It’s kind of entertaining to see the differences between the two girls. It counts back then as well. It’s like they switched personalities with how the other fits the former just as well. Nana’s not afraid to use you. She rides you at a lightning-impulsed pace, rocking your cock with a tightness you’ll never forget. Her cries are wrapped with weak gasps. On the other hand, there’s Heejin, who’s still used to being the submissive little girl to you when it’s nothing close to her real cocky attitude out of the bedroom, who’s still afraid to use you. Oh, don’t forget her moans—their depth and groany tinge make your cock throb. Too bad it’s inside Nana.

(It’s actually not that bad at all; the pulsing and twitching cause Nana to shake deliciously. Her slow, meaningful grinds bring you to life.)

Hence, you’re fucking Heejin with your tongue faster, with no care for the juices that slide down your chin and the sides of your mouth. Her clit bumps your nose. It’s an advantage you take—you push and pull her back and forth to get her shivering whenever her precious pearl hits the tip of your nose.

Nana isn’t left out of the equation either. Push your lower body upwards so that your tip meets the end of her pussy. Shimmy them so that it rubs her walls. She gasps girlishly and soon finds out that she isn’t made for the fight she started with her sister. She’s chosen to fight the wrong battle.

“I’m close,” she whimpers. Her eyes are sealed shut. “You’re too good, oppa.”

“M-me too!” Heejin says. Her voice is on the brink of a yell. Sloppily suck her clit and she’s past that. “Daddy, daddy, daddy, keep licking me like that, oh!”

“Shit… Jay oppa!”

You’re soaked on both ends. Try to clean up Heejin’s stream of cum the best you could and pump Nana’s slick out of her. In the midst of everything, you don’t stop. You want to keep hearing the girls’ beautiful cries of pleasure.

“God, enough, daddy,” begs the shaking Heejin. She’s slapping her own breasts, lip bloodied under her teeth. “I want to cum on your cock, too.”

A better premise. “Sure.”

“Wait.” Nana stops the two of you. “Who came first?”

Heejin turns away with pink cheeks.

Nana’s known her all her life, so she reads that look better than anyone else could. “Of course you did.” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t deserve to sit on his cock.”

“I do…” Her eyes are glossy. Her desperation really doesn’t go away with shame. If she were to be honest, it’s the shaming that deepens it. “But please, daddy, please—”

“Fine. Let’s ask oppa what he wants us to do. We’ll see who’s the better girl for him”

You can’t recognize Nana anymore. You know how big of a sub she can get, yet you didn’t realize how rough she can be as a dominant party in the bedroom. With how she orders around her sister and you, you’d think it’s a usual thing for her. Maybe it is.

“Nana-ya,” Heejin says, trying to bring the tone she lorded over her little sister with back. It ends up weak—it’s to no avail.

“Do it,” Nana tells her with a pitch of finality. “Ask him.”

“Fuck,” the other bunny girl says nervously. She swallows, then turns to you. You’re just as on the edge as she is. “Daddy, what do you want us to do?”

You have plenty of situations you could make them turn into reality. Some even cross the line. There are already plenty of boundaries you’ve soared past. You just have to choose one out of the many fantasies you have because now that you’re looking back at the chaos of it all, you wanted this to happen. You wanted them to find out. There’s a fucked up voice inside you that insists on becoming riskier, becoming more careless. It’s supposed to be blocked out.

Still and all, there’s Heejin and Nana beside you on the bed, with their shared pouty lips and eyes glistening with want. Said distinct, glossy features give you an idea.

“Suck my cock,” you say finally. In other settings that would have been a grave insult to the average middle school outcast. For Heejin and Nana, it’s the word of a deity himself.

Both girls don’t waste precious time on questioning if two sisters sucking their new adopted brother’s cock is morally right or not. What matters above all is that their lips decorate your length. It’s like they’re determined to give it a bath. It’s the only way you know how to explain it when Heejin’s round, doll-like eyes stare in awe at her sister running her lips up and down the sideless shape of your cock and your sensitive slit. Shiver on the occasion she licks there. Nana knows how to take cock as much as she’s learned into the art of fucking your face. It goes both ways here, you see. You wouldn’t have thought she was the one who was just recently a virgin.

Heejin leaves the tougher things to the expert. While she’s the one who first sucked your cock between the two of them, it’s clear that Nana’s better at this. She can hear your ragged moans. She remains determined to please you. She kisses your heavy balls, sucking on the prickled skin on each and licking at them lovingly.

“Fuck… Heekki…”

That’s a sign for Nana to up her game. She glares at you, and it’s everything but subtle. She throws out all the anger she’s held in her heart after the PDA you put on with Heejin recently onto sucking your cock. Her throat is tight and her mouth is warm as your cock enters and exits, stabbing through the breaths for air that never quite make it to her lungs. She doesn’t mind losing air. She does, actually, but she’s quite more focused on getting your attention back on her.

Heejin doesn’t let up on the competition. Like you said, she isn’t the type of girl to back down from a challenge. Whatever she competes at she’ll give it her all. She might have lost and came earlier than expected just a few minutes ago, sure, but she’s a competitive girl. She always wants to be on top. Or if not, underneath you.

That’s why her lips alternate between your testicles. Bite your lip to suppress yourself from tugging her hair. It doesn’t work; your hand ends up sifted in her hair and tugging so that her nose pressed on your pubic patch. From there she has to take in your musky scent and have the precum from your tip drip down the side of her face.

“We’re being good girls, Heejin,” Nana says after pulling away from your cock.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” the older one of them admits. She licks the underside of your base teasingly, sending a gasp and a sudden shot of cum out of you. “What d’you think, daddy?”

They seem to not have noticed that you orgasmed a bit. They keep lapping and kissing your cock like nothing could compare to it. No piece of arcade candy or slice of cake could match the taste of your cock. They feast on it, the little devils they are—Heejin decides to take a turn at swallowing your cock whole and succeeds while Nana kisses your thighs. You’re sensitive all over, and they have no signs of stopping. They’ll keep suckling and licking all day if you don’t conquer control again.

Therefore: get up like your latest orgasm didn’t occur.

“On your stomach. On the bed. Now.”

Soon they’re scrambling to follow your orders. Aren’t they always? Their butts are in front of you side by side. They say sisters have a lot in common—for this situation, it’s the wetness rolling droplets down their luscious thighs and the two replicas of the same, passive look as they turn their heads to you. They’re waiting for your next command.

You don’t give any. It’s all on you now.

Push yourself inside Heejin’s slick pussy. Perhaps she deserves to be fucked, like she says. So don’t bother to extract lengthy inches and just fire short, driven thrusts. Spank Nana to keep her occupied. Her moans are as sweet as her sister’s, much more when you finger her.

Tandem and might. They’re foreign concepts to you since you weren’t a sporty kind of kid. You still find yourself taking all those out on the two girls. You position yourself so that you’re able to pump fast into Heejin while keeping the deep thrusts going while curling your fingers into Nana’s weak spots.

“That’s not fair, Jay oppa,” she tells you, face buried into the sheets. It’s lucky that you even get to make out a fraction of her words. “I was the one being good.”

“Maybe he just likes me more,” quips Heejin wittily. It’s a lost sound when you punish her with a pronounced pump. Little do you know that she’d find it hot. “Fuck yes, you’re amazing, daddy.”

She gives up on trying to keep her head raised. She drops it and groans with the bed muffling the way of her voice. Who could have ever found out that the tuck of her bottom lip under her teeth, an action so simple, could fruit such lust inside you?

“Of course you’re being good, Nana. Only good girls get bred.”

They don’t get what you mean until you pull out of Heejin and slip into the sister you mentioned. Nana’s back curves beautifully and she sighs as she’s filled to the point of overflow with your hot and sticky cum. You slap her ass hard, leaving a red trace of your hand on her cheek. She grinds seductively into your cock burying itself to the depths of her pussy.

“Noooo,” sobs Heejin, green with envy. “Please, gah, just let me have your cum. I promise I’ll let you cum inside me all the time. Can do it even with my dad watching, or Nana, just please—”

“Desperate little slut. Will you let my naughty big sister have what she wants, oppa?”

In one way or another, Heejin always gets what she wants. She could be the one underneath you, sure, and she’d remain the benefactor.

Such is the beauty of having her cum beautifully and instantly on your fingers after you finger out some cum from Nana’s pussy into hers.

Chan never does find out what the white on Heejin’s bed is from. Is it from a girl’s problem that isn’t too known? He doesn’t know. It might be glue. Whatever. He’s not that well-versed into feminine problems, so he simply assumes those are the source of them.

He also doesn’t know why the sisters suddenly don’t fight anymore. It’s a well-kept secret that you’ve made a pact with them, told them that you could be theirs as long as they kiss you and don’t tell. It works well to keep the sisters in line, and it’s beneficial for Chan, too. He doesn’t have to pacify repeated arguments anymore.

So far the peace in your new home is maintained. The bedroom is exempted.

Obviously.

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luckycloverforducks · 2 months

Text

Fuck it, HH swap AU

Their core personalities and backgrounds stay the same, it's mostly a role switch

Niffty <--> Husker

Angel Dust <--> Vaggie

Alastor <--> Charlie

(the typical for swap AUs, I know,,)

Everyone else stays the same

These r edits bc I was just figuring out their designs for the AU, I'll draw them normally another time (Husker isn't here cuz I can't find a good png of the mf)

In this AU Alastor started the hotel mostly because he randomly thought up the idea once and thought, "that's fucking hilarious, I'm doing that" + a secondary sentimental reason he'd kill me for saying (he got genuinely fully invested in the cause eventually)

He advertised it on his radio show suddenly out of the blue after 7 and a half years of radio (lol) silence. Alastor still owns Husker's and Niffty's souls but they're also obviously friends (or atleast close to it)

Also he can read tarot bc why not :3

Charlie is closer to her dad in this AU and more sheltered, adopting a more aloof, smug, and dangerous persona so sinners take her seriously, she also has a very slight condescending outlook towards sinners but she's at her core still compassionate and still views them as her people and want to protect them to a certain extent, and she still thinks the Exterminations are unnecessary and cruel, but she doesn't feel like she can do much about it since according to Lucifer's stories and discouragement, she knows heaven likely wouldn't listen much if at all, but when she heard of Alastor's little project it resparked hope in her and she decided to invest in it, becoming co-owner and funder for the hotel.

Angel Dust/Anthony never made a deal with Valentino and actually stayed in his family's crime/mafia business for the 1st half of him being in Hell, but his dad is a POS and kicked him out for being gay so he started doing s3x work, and then he met Alastor after he brutalized his harassers one day, and Angel wanted to repay the favor somehow. Alastor seems interested in him so they struck a deal (not a soul deal, just a simple deal) which has Angel/Anthony is under Alastors protection in exchange for Angel/Anthony's loyalty and assistance when needed (which is a rare case so Angel still feels like he owes Alastor). They grow friendly with time, and Alastor offers to have him be patient zero for his redemption project, and he accepted.

Vaggie/Vi is still a fallen exterminstor and still met Charlie the same way she did in the show, but after that they went their separate ways and Vi finds herself making a deal with Velvette. Instead of being a pornstar like Angel in the show, she is an influencer and a rockstar/singer, she does enjoy making music and playing the guitar but Velvette tends to overwork her and make her do things she doesn't really like for views/popularity. Velvette is the nicest to Vi/Vaggie compared to with her other employees (which isn't a very highly set bar tbh) but she also frequently break her boundaries.

Vi met Charlie again during one of her concerts and they got close and started dating. (Also one sided Velvette x Vaggie is sort of slightly maybe canon in this AU bc toxic Yuri is fun (and it's only fully one sided after Charlie and Vaggie/Vi started dating))

She helps manage the hotel when needed, but is honestly only there cause Charlie is.

Not much about Niffty changes tbh (she's perfect the way she is, utterly unhinged 😍) she's just a bit more mellowed out and less hyper (she's still hyper just not all the time like in the show) and she's also a bartender and has surprisingly good taste for alcohol, and also frequently makes borderline poisonous drinks while experimenting, but when she gets it right it's really good. Doesn't stop the others of being terrified of her drinks though

Husker is a more smiley and charming in this AU, using a laid back attitude to put people at ease and more willing to open up to him if they need to (he used to use the information people share as blackmail when he needs to back when he was an Overlord, although he never actually needs to spread anything, just threats), and he's still very observant but he's also slightly more unhinged- He's a sort of butler/cleaner for the hotel

He still gets grumpy time to time, but mostly when he's drunk, which isn't as often anymore ever since Niffty was put in charge of the bar (understandably so)

He has a bit of an anger issue and also gets annoyed easily, and sometimes makes unhinged threats as a sort of joke (they stop being much of a joke once you genuinely piss him off)

He likes things clean and tidy because it helps him pretend to be put together

He and Alastor are a bit friendlier compared to in the show, hes still one of the few people that knows more about Alastor, though hes still bummed about the whole being owned by Alastor thing (Husker can also read tarot to a lesser extent bc Al taught him for funzies and Husker thought it's interesting)

His gambling addiction is also ever so slightly worse

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin angel dust #niffty #hazbin vaggie #swap au #hazbin hotel swap au #velvette mentioned #radiodust #chaggie #Velvette x Vaggie #seriously am i the only one who thought of this ship?#huskerdust #the ship tags are mostly just for reach but at the same time not really #i love them #btw #if u even care #UpsideDown/Swap AU

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astroboots · 9 months

Text

Punch-Out Love

Artwork by @guruan

FIGHT NIGHT

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You're lucky enough to score ring-side seats at a boxing match on Friday night. Getting the best view in the house of boxing champion: Miguel O'Hara.

Word count: 1,500

Next Chapter

Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

You know fuck all about boxing.

About the only thing you know about the sport was from the glimpses you caught watching scratched up old recordings of Muhammed Ali fights on the boxy mini-tv of your old childhood friend's house.

It always seemed barbaric. The practice of watching two human beings beat the shit out of each other for spectator's entertainment. It seems like something that was better left in the Ancient Roman times. Have we all human beings as a society, really not come further some 2,000 years later?

Your bestie used to get mad at you for this. Constantly defending the sport from your criticism, because (according to him) it's not just about smashing each other's faces in. Supposedly, there's an art to the sport. Boxers are taught to respect their opponents and adhere to the principles of good sportsmanship. It takes great mental discipline, dedicated work and years of hard and punishing training to master boxing.

You never saw any of that in the matches he showed you. All you saw were two men needlessly being hurt, sustaining brain damage for rich people's enjoyment.

Then again, he was more than a little bit biased, considering it was his dream to go pro one day. Tall and gangly, with his scrawny antelope legs, thick-rimmed glasses and big-ass braces, he looked like he couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag, much less another person. You never understood how exactly he thought he was going to make it as a boxer.

But you never found it in you to burst his unrealistic bubble when he used to point at the screen excitedly, drawing your attention to Ali's footwork and the artistry in it.

"It's like he's dancing," he used to say.

Except dancing is done with swelling music in the background. In dancing you often have a partner. It's an embrace. It's gentle and kind.

Boxing... was not that.

So you don't know how you managed to find yourself in the ringside seats of a local boxing match on a Friday evening, staring up at the boxing ring with the glaring ring lights shining into your eyes.

"Aren't these seats amazing?" Jess shouts excitedly over the familiar lyrics of ‘We Will Rock You' being belted out by Freddy Mercury on the loudspeaker.

You smile, and nod, because boxing-fan or not, she's right, these are some amazing seats. And considering you didn't have to pay a dime for them, personal aversions aside, you're never going to turn down free stuff.

Jess' husband tested positive for covid at the last minute, and you're the only one in your social circle that is anti-social and single enough to not have any plans on a Friday evening.

On the monitors above you, the menacing headshots of the two fighters swish into view.

"The first guy is an old reigning champ," she explains to you, as she leans in, shouting into your eardrums (and yet you can still barely make out what she's saying over the music). "The challenger is some new kid on the block. Has an amazing track record. Zero losses in the season. He's something else."

You look up at the gigantic screen, at the sharp cut cheeks, strong thick brows and the intense pitched brown eyes staring down at you.

Angry looking dude.

...Handsome too.

With a face like that, surely he could've gone into other careers. Calvin Klein model, movie star, or a news anchor. You wonder what makes a guy voluntarily have his face bashed in for money as a career.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud booming voice announces from the stage.

You jump in your seat from the suddenness, as you see a bald and overly formal dressed announcer in the middle of the ring.

"Welcome to the electrifying boxing showdown of the century! Are you ready to witness some knockout action tonight?"

The crowd around you cheers with a pandemonium of shouting and whistling.

"Introducing our first fighter, a true hometown hero! With an impressive record of 20 wins, 15 by knockout, and only 2 losses, standing at 6'3 feet, and weighing in at 340 pounds of determination and strength, give it up for ‘the Knockout King’ Bobby Kane!"

You watch as the reigning champion walks down the tunnel to the midst of adoring cheers as he waves and gestures at the crowd like royalty.

Every inch the king that he is nicknamed, he jumps over the rope and stands tall and proud over the ring.

The man is huge, bulging with almost grotesque muscles. He's so large that you almost expect each of his steps to send a reverberation throughout the hall, as if this was Jurassic Park and he's a T-Rex.

"Now, entering the ring with the confidence of a warrior, fighting out of the red corner, with 15 wins, 10 by knockout, and no losses, standing at an astounding 6 feet 9 inches, and weighing in at 310 pounds of raw power, let's hear it for tonight's challenger, ‘Steel Jaw’ Miguel O'Hara!"

Wait what? You do a double take at the announcement. Six foot nine?!?! What kind of giant is that?

From the far corner of the hall, you see his silhouette emerge, and your eyes go wide at the sight of him. Tall doesn't even begin to describe him.

There's a 200 year oak tree at Central Park, and with the shadow this man casts, you think their height must be nearly comparable. If you thought the Knockout King was tall, the "King" is practically tiny compared to this challenger.

You watch, as the man with cheeks so sharp they mind as well be blades (and god never has a nickname made more sense to you) as he strides towards the stage. He reaches the rope and barely even has to climb over it with how tall he is.

He's leaner than his predecessor. Every inch of him is cut muscles and tanned gorgeous skin as he stands in front of you. His presence is electric. The air crackles where he stands, towering over the stage.

You swear that his towering height blocks out the ring lights with it, casting the stage in the darkness of his tall shadow.

Somehow, he's even prettier in person compared to the still image of him blown up and plastered on the big screen. Soft brown curls and pouty lips. You don't understand in what world a man like that is a professional fighter.

From this distance, with the way that the light refracts from his irises, his eyes almost glow with a scarlet red that takes your breath away as you look up at him and meet his eyes.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was staring at you.

The bell rings out, but he's not looking away. The intensity you find there is enough to make you swallow your tongue. Your face prickles with heat and for several long moments you forget to breathe, until the air seems to thin around you and your vision starts to swim.

Then he turns to face his opponent.

You're not quite sure where to look. There's so much happening at once. For his size, Miguel O'Hara is surprisingly deft on his feet. His footwork is somehow both unpredictable yet intentional all at once.

The King throws a strong punch, as he lunges forward, after his tall opponent. But O'Hara dodges them seemingly without effort. It's followed by punches so quick, the movements blur together.

Strike after strike. The King is giving it his all. But none of it properly connects. With every failed hit, you can see him growing increasingly more frustrated.

Your heart is in your lungs, and despite how close you are to the stage, you almost want to get up from your seat for a closer look.

Safe as you are behind the ropes, adrenaline rushes through your veins with a fury. You can't recall the last time you felt this ecstatic about... well, anything.

With each punch O’Hara dodges, you feel yourself lurch back in your seat, trying to dodge the punch with him.

It's titillating.

Exciting.

O'Hara's movements are precise and honed with intention despite the ferocity in his movements. Each one is measured and intricate and if you didn't know any better you'd almost call it graceful.

You think back to those moments in your childhood friend's home, and his excited words buzz in your ears now. For the first time ever you finally understand what he had meant.

It is like a dance.

Before you, O’Hara's eyes cross over in your direction and for a split of a second, you swear your eyes connect again. His gaze holds you there, pinned to your seat, and excitement shoots through the entirety of your spine until you feel lightheaded from the attention.

Then he finally steps forward, no longer evading.

It's brutal and efficient.

An uppercut that connects cleanly to his opponent's jaw.

Spit and blood flies out from the man's mouth, the flabby flesh of his cheek vibrating from the impact as he lands on the floor with an ear-shattering thud.

Then the guy is out.

Barely even eight minutes in.

There's a stunned and shocked silence. The crowd seems both enthralled and disappointed at how fast it all went. On the ring floor, you can practically see the circle of cartoon birds flying above the defeated King's head.

You may not know anything about boxing, but you know that this man is not getting up anytime soon, no matter how far the referee counts.

Tearing your eyes away from the motionless body splayed out on the ground elevated above you, you can see the victor towering menacingly over the body.

But Miguel O'Hara isn't even looking at his defeated opponent

No, his eyes are staring straight into the sea of awestruck spectators. Except he’s not looking at them.

He's looking at you.

~ Next.

Author's note: What's that you say? CiCi wtf are you doing starting another series when you already got one going on? ... Idek man. But I hope you guys enjoy it, cause I had a blast writing it, smut will ensue in later chapters I promise!

Dedications and Credits: Buckle up it's gonna be a big one!

Firstly to @guruan when I say she's my muse THIS IS WHAT I MEAN! Look at that beautiful artwork. I am drooling into my panties. I am crying between my legs. I am so damn horny! I cannot thank this amazingly talented genius enough. Please please give this wonderful brilliant human your love by following her, and drop by her KO-FI SHOP cause the art this woman bless us with is UN-fucking-REAL

Then to @djarinsbeskar who put this idea into my head. In my mind she is the OG Boxer AU champion and mastermind. If you are in the mood for more boxing content, she has a wonderful, devastatingly sexy series Boxer!Din AU that is just woof woof bark bark.

#miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderverse #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you

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unholyhelbig · 3 months

Note

request: oversight au, nat and reader run into reader’s ex or ronnie’s father who was abusive to them… how will mob nat react?

Title: Old Flames [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When reader has an unexpected run-in with an old flame and things go less than well, Natasha takes things into her own hands.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): Talks of past domestic abuse, talks of abortion, buried alive references, broken glass, blood (always), Heights, threatening statements, non-consensual kiss, horrible grammar (aways).

[a/n: Okay, I had way too much fun with this. While I loved writing the main story, it's also super great to branch out into some more dynamics with Mob Boss Nat, because I haven't made her mean enough yet.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

The apartment building on the corner of twelfth and Hawke was a large midcentury brick building that structure that stretched to the sky. A metal fire escape latticed up the side and stretched clotheslines dripping with shirts and pants connected it to the adjacent building that had long since been used for storage.

Up until this point, you had avoided this building. Luckily, the tenants were quite timely with their rent and left little need for an enforcer to knock door to door. But it was right after the holidays and things were tough. That much, you understood. But it didn’t’ change the fact that three units were more than two months behind on their rent.

Them, you could appeal to with hot chocolate and some gentle urging. But according to Clint, there was a particularly nasty group of people living on the top floor that had gotten multiple noise complaints thrown their way.

The address hadn’t seemed familiar until you stood at the entrance and got a good look at the golden door that contrasted the rest of the structure. You’d written the code to the door on your palm, and you were having trouble differentiating the last number. It was a zero, or it was an eight.

“Gross, you’re sweaty.” Kate had pulled your hand a small distance from her scrutinizing stare, trying to read the smeared purple markings. “I knew we should have used the napkin.”

The woman dropped your hand and stepped up to the small box on the side of the entryway. She hit every button known to man until the fragile voice cracked through the speaker. “Yeah, uh-huh, pizza. I have pizza. Pepperoni-“Her ramblings were cut off by the loud buzz in.

You were treated to an innocent smile as she wrenched open the door and allowed you to follow her in. She was innovative, annoyingly so. Most of the time it worked in your favor but sometimes you found her testing your temper just to prove a point. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed your hesitation.

It was coming back to you now; the large entryway that was lined with lock and key mail slots and a bolstered wooden staircase that was scarcely used compared to the elevator. Natasha kept good care of the place, had repainted and made sure every single lightbulb was humming in synch.

Some would say that she improved the neighborhood, block by block. But there were still those who liked the way things used to be; living paycheck to paycheck with an angry and withering stare being sent your way with each collection call.

“I’ve got Miss Henderson.”

“Oh, come on.” You protested “She sounds so cool.”

Miss Henderson was an older woman who lived on the fifth floor. Most of the time, her rent was late because it had simply slipped her mind. One look at Kate and she’d write a check before offering some of the sweetest cookies you’d ever tasted, often sending her back with a plateful.

From what you had heard, she used to travel with a circus as an acrobatic performer. Her act was death-defying; a performance that relied on her partners quick bladework. The Swordsman and his Enchantress. There were illustrations of their travels hung up around her unit- ones that you would kill to see.

“Too bad, next time.” Kate mock pouted at you before clapping you on the back. “Don’t make too much of a mess up on the top floor, alright? I don’t want to scrub carpets today.”

She took the stairs two at a time and left you alone in the lobby. A cool blast of wind hit your back as a tenant walked in with their dalmatian, pink tongue lolling to the side as his owner checked the mail, barely sparing you a glance.

The type of New York residents that occupied this space had changed greatly. The last time you’d been here was a walk of shame that left your feet raw and bleeding. You’d rushed from the apartment with so much fever that you never returned for your shoes, or your dignity, for that matter.

This time, you had shoes on, ones that you had scrubbed free of blood until they looked presentable. They were leaden on the stairs up to the top floor. Once you reached the fifth, you could hear Kate’s distinctive laugh behind the oak door. At least she was close.

The top floor was nearly silent. You could hear a television, a hockey game that you’d been listening to sparingly on the way over here. It sounded like Toronto was pulling through. The sound of a beer cracking pulled you away from the muffled announcers words.

A radio was resting in an upper window. You and Kate had heard it from the street below, a French Pop station that you could barely make out the words of. French was never your strong suite, one language requirement in high school was enough for you.

Silently, you prayed, that it was a coincidence. That the radio didn’t’ belong to the very men that you were meant to speak to. They were flighty, you told yourself. They weren’t ones to stay and if they chose to stick around after all these years- well, you’d be impressed.

You knocked twice on the center door, the deep forest-green paint threatening to chip under the elements. The music stopped abruptly, and while you could hear that someone was whispering quietly in French, you couldn’t make out the words.

The man that opened the door was too familiar for your liking; his pale waxy skin, his deep brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black, the tattoos that were smattered in different designs against his throat, down his collarbone. Pockmarked on his arms. His hair was longer than you remembered, greasier and tied up in a bun.

He took you in for a singular moment, shock reflecting in his stare, but before he moved to shut the door. You stopped the action with one strong hand, putting your boot between the frame and the wood for extra measure. “Don’t be like that, Kazi.”

“All these years, and now you’re coming back for child support?”

He raked his eyes up and down your body in a way that made you feel violated. You held your stance. He seemed impressed by the bout of strength.

You tsked “if I wanted child support, I would have gone after it by now. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

He scratched under the sleeve of his tank-top, considering you the same way you considered him. Eventually, he seemed to figure he had nothing to lose pulling the door back and letting you enter the apartment. Waves of memory washed over you.

Kazi still had the same futon covered in the same ratty blanket. There was a kitchen table that was stacked with different folders that he would never, in a million years, let you view. A blue funnel was drying on the dishrack, and countless liquor bottles that had been emptied and cleaned were lined up, ready to be filled with the slightest bit of homebrewed alcohol.

He was still running the same scam after all of these years. You remembered liking the danger about him, the way his stubble felt against you when you straddled him. He’d been so alluring to a good girl like you. He would street race at night with another guy you’d met a handful of times, Robbie Reyes.

God, you had been so naive back then. He was drawn in by your innocence and you were entrapped by his experience. If only you knew where you’d end up in seven years; with Kazi’s biological daughter being raised by the most powerful woman in the city.

The moment you told him you were pregnant, he told you bluntly to get rid of it. That same night, he’d thrown an empty liquor bottle at you, just barely missing your head. You’d refused outright and accepted his anger in turn. Glass shards cut into the soles of your feet, and stained the snow all the way back to your dorm room.

The way he stared at you now infuriated you. “What do you want, then?”

“You’re two months late on rent.”

“I figured you’d keep tabs. Most women do. But my rent? That’s a new one.”

You picked up a small paperweight that you remember being fond of when you returned to this apartment after a first date where Kazi was a perfect gentleman. He’d bought dinner, and walked you back to his place. The glass object was tinted yellow, a small mosquito suspended in the center. He must have gotten it in a museum gift shop.

“Truthfully, I’m shocked you still live here.” You tested the weight of the object. “Most landlords aren’t very lenient about tardiness.”

“Yeah, well. She’s not very attentive. What can I say?”

Oh, but Natasha was quite attentive in more than one aspect, at that. You couldn’t’ help the smile that spread against your lips. Kazi was growing agitated with your presence, always quick to temper.

With all the strength you could muster, you threw the paperweight at the wall directly behind him. In its innate cheapness, it shattered into a million pieces, littering the carpet and slicing little bites into his skin. Kazi flinched and covered his face with his arms.

“Fuck! Y/n, what the hell!” He screamed.

“You have two weeks to backdate the rent, Kazi. Another week to get us this month’s amount. That sounds reasonable to me. Attentive, even.”

He reached into the back of his sweatpants and pulled out a silver Kimber, pumping the top chamber and aiming it at you with a shaky hand. He was too lax with his hold. A pinprick of crimson was dripping from a cut on his cheek.

“Come on, Kazi. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure you can push some half-rate liquor. Sell a few of your gold fillings, and come up with the money my employer is required.”

“Employer? You work for that… monster?”

“Now, there’s a big word.” You closed the distance between the two of you, not giving him a moment to react before you wrenched the gun from his hand and threw it onto that ratty old blanket that adorned the futon he’d found on the side of the road. “So much horrible implication behind it too. You shouldn’t name call.”

Your boots crunched against the shattered glass. Kazi was barefoot, he flinched as flesh was dug into by uneven shards. You could smell the rancid coffee on his breath. He had a mole just on small of his nose.

“What happened to you?” he whispered, “Where’s that girl that stormed out of my apartment because she didn’t get her way?”

“A lot can change in seven years, Kaz.” You glanced around his apartment. “Well, most people change. Some people don’t go anywhere in life.”

Kazi pressed forward, his dry lips suddenly against yours. You froze in an instant, appalled by the acrid taste of cigarettes and stale morning coffee that he had no-doubt heated up in the microwave and drank black. The kiss was strong, rushed and painful in the way that his teeth knocked against yours.

It took less than a second for you to push him away. His head hit the cabinet behind it, rattling the glasses inside. Your hand was splayed out on his chest, nails digging into the stained tank-top he wore. He grinned wolfishly at you. Your teeth had dug so hard into his lip that it drew blood.

“I like this rough version of you, sweetheart. It’s hot.”

You reeled back and slapped him across the face with as much force as you could muster in your close proximity. The radio in the window seemed to flicker out of power at that moment, or maybe they had just run out of shitty pop music to play. Either way, the two of you were engulfed in silence.

“Shit, baby, hit me again!”

He had no idea how much you wanted to abide by that, though, you were quite positive that it would do nothing but spur on his arousal. This wasn’t going to work. If he kept pushing the way he was, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from pulling your own weapon.

It suddenly became too much, standing in the middle of this time-capsule of an apartment. The memories were too strong. When the two of you were together, everything you did was for his benefit. And while this had been fun at first, testing him like this, it was too much.

You grabbed the collar of his sweat-soiled shirt, wrapping it around your fingers with enough force to tear the fabric away. “Two weeks, you fucking asshole. If you don’t have the money by then, I’m sure the city will have a fun time scrubbing your brain matter from the sidewalk.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He sneered.

You pressed your booted foot down on the top of his, listening as the glass dug deeper into the soft skin. This time, he did cry out in pain, the grinding of pieces close to bone making his eyes water. You placed your hand over his mouth, muffling his protest. “I will make your miserable existence a living hell, with or without the money, for what you did to me. Do you understand?”

“You’re so full of shit-“ you pressed your full weight down and you squirmed under your hold. “Yes! Yes, I get it. Fuck!”

You pulled yourself away from Kazi entirely, straightening his shirt. He was slumped against the counter, staring at you with pure rage in his eyes. He shifted his full weight to his other foot, grimacing at the edged stain on the wooden floor.

“You should really clean that up.” You gritted, mouth still tasting of stale smoke. “Glass can be dangerous, Kazimirez.”

By the time you got to the car the only thing on your mind was taking the hottestshower possible. You’d pawed through Kate’s glovebox rather frantically and counted it a small blessing that that there was a single unwrapped piece of gum at the very bottom.

She cringed as you popped it in your mouth and let the minty dusty taste coat your tongue. If you could, without raising suspicion, you would have dumped solvent on it, just to take the taste of Kazi out of your mouth.

“I don’t know how long that’s been in there.” Kate said, watching you warily as you picked up her water bottle and downed half of that too. It seemed to take the rest of the rancid flavor away.

“I don’t care”

“You should care, I bought this car used.” She frowned, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Okay, I didn’t’ buy it. I bought the license plates though, that’s my civic duty.”

Her words were enough for you to roll your window down and toss the gum from it. Despite your profession, you weren’t a very good liar. Not when it came to Natasha. She’d ask you about your day like usual and you’d crumble under her seemingly innocent gaze.

Nothing Natasha did was innocent.

“What happened up there?” Kate asked.

The two of you were well out of the city by now, and still had about a half-hour until you got to the mansion. The family liked their privacy, and after a year of living there permanently, so did you.

When you didn’t answer right away, she kept going. “Because I got cookies. Nearly choked on one when Miss Henderson insisted on a private show. It’s seriously a wonder that a woman her age can still bend like that.”

“Katie,” You warned, “Gross.”

“Impressive actually. She kept her clothes on, which I am eternally grateful for. It looks like you had a more eventful visit with the French dudes upstairs.” She scoffed, “Who the fuck is French anymore?”

You rolled your eyes and slumped further into your seat. Kazi was French. You used to crumble when he gave you the choppiest lines that he could remember. According to him, the language is harder to speak than it is to read and write. You never questioned him, just like you didn’t question a lot of things.

“I have a… history with the man who rents 807.”

“A history, or a… history?”

“The first one. The second one. Shit- I don’t know, both! He’s Ronnie’s dad.”

Kate slammed on the brakes with enough force for a layer of rubber to be peeled from the tires of her mostly stolen care. The seatbelt cut into your neck and you figured yourself lucky that you’d taken a back road that was rarely used, god forbid she cause an accident.

“Dude!” You shouted as she put the car into park.

Kate twisted her entire body in the seat, placing her hand on the back of your seat. The motor was sputtering wildly, trying to compensate for her abrupt stop. Something had to be damaged, you thought, with her force on the pedal.

“Don’t dude me. Are you really that dense? If you haven’t noticed, Natasha is possessive over her things. And you? Well, you’re one of her favorite things. She’s not going to take this well in the slightest.”

“Kate, I think I know how to handle my girlfriend.”

“No, you know how to handle Natasha, the sweet, loving woman who would die for you and your child. Admirable, really. But you don’t know how to handle Miss Romanoff, mob boss extraordinaire.”

But you had seen Natasha in action before, countless times. She’d always kept this calm coolness about her that you were in awe of. Maybe Kate was right. You’d only seen a fraction of her jealous side at the first party you had ever attended in the house. That night she ripped the dress she’d picked out specifically for you to shreds.

“I was dating a man named Eli when I was first taken in by the Romanoff’s, He turned out to be… not so favorable despite my constant reassurances. Natasha just knows. She had him dig a grave right off I-25 and then she made him lay in it.”

Your jaw threatened to drop at the simple fact. Kate removed her hand from the back of the seat and eased off the brake before she slowly got the two of you back up to an acceptable speed.

“All Eli did was cheat on me one night in a club. It wasn’t great, but I wasn’t sure if it warranted that kind of reaction. I never knew if she was proving a point to me, or to Eli. Either way, the smallest offense against any of us is met with archaic conviction.”

You didn’t respond to Kate, instead you stared at the trees that were whizzing by in a lush green wall of color. You’d decided that she was right- any type of reaction Natasha was going to have to Kazi would be severe.

“You’ll be fine.” Kate tapped her fingers nervously on the wheel, trying to backtrack her words. “As long as he didn’t’ touch you.”

It didn’t seem to matter how ferociously you scrubbed your skin with the honey scented soap you shared with Natasha, you swore you still smelled like smoke. It clung to your clothes, and lingered in the air after you’d shoved them to the bottom of the clothes basket.

The water was blazingly hot, filling the bathroom with a thick mist that made it slow to breathe. Natasha had chosen a dark blue tile that seemed to transport you into another world. Even without the scaring remembrance of Kazi’s lips against yours, his hands where you didn’t want them, you could stay here for hours.

Her hands were freezing cold and startling as they splayed against your naked stomach. You let out a small noise, going rigid before registering Natasha behind you. Her front was pressed against your back, and you’d know the curve of her body anywhere.

“Izvinite, moya lyubov', I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turned in her arms and took in the state of her. She’d stripped down just as you had, small drops of water littering her skin like a constellation in the sky. She’d been in the sun today, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose giving her away.

There was a bruise forming against the side of her jaw, one that you ran your waterlogged fingers over. Her eyes were an intoxicating shade of green, playing off the indigo tiles. You wanted to scold her for getting the bruise in the first place, but you were so entrapped by her simple presence, the way she fit so perfectly against you.

Natasha closed the distance between you both, pressing her lips against yours in a hurried kiss. You moaned into the embrace, allowing her tongue to find purchase in your mouth. God- you had missed her in the short few hours you’d been apart.

“Did you take up smoking?” she asked, barely pulling away, the words were spoken flushed to your lips. “It’s a terrible habit, darling.”

The glovebox gum hadn’t done its job, and apparently the swish of mouthwash and subsequent teeth brushing hadn’t done anything either. Of course, Natasha noticed. Of course. You weren’t going to try to hide it, though the thought did occur to you to save some heartache. But you were hoping you could placate her in a less slippery spot of the house when you were less naked and incredibly turned on by her presence.

A groan of a different cadence than she was used to escaped you as you dropped your head to her shoulder and clenched your eyes shut. “No, I didn’t take up smoking.”

“You taste like you have,” She gently led your eyes to hers. It was tender compared to the first time she had done so. “Licking ash trays again?”

“Gross, no.”

Natasha valued honesty above all. That much had been clear from the moment you met her. She’d nearly taken your head off in the gym when you repeated your one-night-stand with the enemy. The devil incarnate who happened to only be decent in bed. You remembered her hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to give her the answers she craved.

“What is it, pet? You can tell me.”

“Do you… I’ve been with men before.”

She let out a small chuckle that reverberated off the deep tile. “Yes, I know. I didn’t want to make assumptions, of course, but Ronnie does have a father.”

The way you stared at her in the silence that followed the statement made the smile on her face falter until it dropped entirely. She must have seen something behind your eyes, something that weighed the situation down more than she was intending on a typical Wednesday night.

“I’d completely blacked it out and didn’t realize it until I stepped foot into the lobby, but he still lives in the same apartment on the top floor. He thought I was after child support, or something but things sort of… escalated.”

You felt like a child, spilling your secrets about a vase you had broken. This time it was a cheap paperweight with a bug in the center that you frankly felt bad for. The words came out like emotional vomit, granted, Natasha had become used to your rapid admissions.

Her grip tightened against your chin, “Escalated how?”

“He kissed me, and I hit him hard enough to break his jaw.”

That same silence enveloped you again. The scalding water had lost its effect, numb and beating against your back. The two of you were still impossibly close and there wasn’t much escape for you in a shower this size. The glass door having fogged up and only giving you a stunted view of the large bathroom.

Natasha had an immeasurable rage behind her stare, her lidded expression ran as dark as old blood. It chilled you to your core. She reached beside you and shut off the constant flow of water. You’d been in here for about an hour now and the cold air that touched your skin felt like an assault of needles. You instinctively wrapped your arms around your center to preserve warmth.

“He laid his hands on you.”

“Yeah, Nat, he did.”

“He touched you.”

“I gave him hell for it, but it didn’t seem like it was enough.”

“Without permission.”

“He’ll never do it again.”

Whatever split-second decision she made; it was done without the usual calculation behind her eyes. She threw the door to the shower open and forcefully shoved a towel into your arms. While you revered in the warmth, you watched as she sauntered in her usual way out of the bathroom and into your shared bedroom. She was dripping wet.

“Natty!” You stumbled over the partition and nearly slid on the bathroom floor. It was much colder outside of your cocoon of warmth and subsequent mist. She thankfully hadn’t left the room and was pawing through her side of the dresser. You nearly lost your footing once you reached hardwood. “Fuck,”

She seemed to find what she was looking for, a plain black tank top that hugged her sides and looked entirely uncomfortable to wiggle into while damp. You watched with baited breath in a sloping towel as she adorned herself with underwear and pants, before turning towards you.

“Get dressed.” She ordered in a dangerous tone.

Shit. She was going to make you dig your own grave. You’d just showered all of the grime from Kazi’s apartment off and in a matter of minutes you would have dirt up to your knees. Natasha may have let Eli live after his blunder, but maybe she’d cover you completely and let you suffocate in your own efforts.

Numbly, you put on a pair of sweatpants and the closest shirt you had. There was no need to get dressed for your own funeral, you supposed. The worms would chew through whatever you wore regardless.

Clint was stretched out on the chase in the foyer, a pair of thick-lensed glasses balancing on the tip of his nose. Regardless, he still squinted at the book in his hands. You wondered why he wasn’t in the living room, but caught a glimpse of a particularly intense game of twister between Ronnie, Yelena, and Kate.

Darcy held onto the board, flicking the small plastic needle and calling out the colors. When Kate clocked the anger in Natasha’s eyes, she dropped to her back, taking down Yelena and Ronnie with her.

She gave you a pleading look, but you were already too far gone to return anything other than a flushed expression. You followed obediently after Natasha. She opened the front door and watched you with a calculated expression before slamming the front door hard enough to shake the glass fronting.

“Get in the car.”

“Do you want me to grab a shovel?”

“What?”

She contemplated this for a minute, growling softly. The near silence was terrifying. Her arms crossed over her chest was terrifying. Your mouth with incredibly dry, and you wished that you were back under the constant stream of water.

“No. I don’t think we’ll need that. Get in the car.”

Numbly, you did as you were told, placing your hands in your lap. This was quite possibly the last time you would be sitting in any car, much less, next to Natasha. She reached across you and pulled your seatbelt into place, tugging on the upper portion until she was sure you weren’t going anywhere.

The tires picked up traction on the gravel and the drive that usually took an hour seemed to whiz by. Natasha was quiet, the route to the city more than familiar by now. She run her hands against the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. You could hear her breathing deeply, trying to ease her nerves. You didn’t dare say a word.

For a moment, you figured that she’d abandoned the idea of burying you alive and switched her ideals to something much more sinister and public. She pulled her car up to the front of the very building you had left a few hours ago, the sun just barely setting behind the skyline. You blinked at her, and then up at the very property that she owned.

“Come on.”

There was no room for discussion. The air here was clouded with the scent of smoke and the coolness of the cement structures around you. It was moments like these where you much preferred the country.

Of course, Natasha knew the code, she had recited it to you earlier as you and Kate ate lunch by the docks, stretched out on the hood of her car. It was wrong then and your nerves were too elevated to pay attention now. She got in without the theatrics.

There seemed to be more activity as the day for working folks began to wind down. Two people halted their conversation by the mail-slots, nodding solemnly at the woman. On the third floor, you caught a glimpse of a woman struggling to push her keys into the lock, juggling her gym bag. The sixth floor held a small boy who darted from one apartment to another, edging across the hall.

She kept climbing until that same irritating French pop filled your ears. He must keep it on at all hours of the day, just to drown out his own miserable thoughts. “What apartment?”

You lifted your chin slightly, hands shoved in the pockets of your sweatpants to ward off the biting chill. “807.”

“Spasibo, lyubimyy.”

Natasha’s booted foot connected with the center of the very door you had politely knocked on earlier in the day. You flinched, covering your face with a guarded arm. The wood of the doorframe seemed to splinter, slivers reigning across both sides of the entrance.

“What the fuck!”

Kazi was hunched over the kitchen table, the funnel that had been drying by the sink was positioned perfectly in the mouth of a soaked and peeled liquor bottle. He had a stack of his own labels ready to place evenly on the finished product. Both of his feet were haphazardly wrapped with gauze, small sprouts of blood worming through the soft material.

He’d taken care to clean up the glass, but with the way Natasha headed straight towards him, that didn’t matter much. More of it fell to the floor and shattered upon impact. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and started walking him backwards across the living room. Kazi seemed too stunned to speak, his words caught in his throat.

“I-I-I didn’t mean it! Please!”

“When you speak to me, you’ll do it clearly.” She gritted, shoving him towards the window. Somewhere in the scuffle, the radio had fallen from its perch on the cracked windowsill, crashing to the alleyway below with one last fizzled cry. “You had no trouble saying whatever you wanted earlier, did you?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I told that bitch I would have the rent!”

“Yeah? Was that before or after you shoved your tongue down her throat?”

Natasha bent Kazi’s torso fully over the screenless window. He grasped frantically at her hands, clawing at them as the balanced him over the long drop to the pavement below. His bare feet kicked, trying to throw her off her equilibrium, but he was much too weak for any type of damage.

“You walked out on them.”

“What? Oh, my god, what?! I told her to get rid of it- I didn’t walk out on anyone! You’re batshit lady!”

To you, it didn’t’ seem very wise to throw insults at the woman holding you above an eight-story drop, but Kazi never was known for his intelligence. His bravado, maybe, but never anything more. He looked so small compared to Natasha’s anger.

“She didn’t get rid of it, Kazi. She kept the kid that you couldn’t have bothered to give another thought to. She made a life for both of them. She fucking loves that kid enough to fill the absence you left.” Natasha let her hand slip, letting him waver in his height for a moment before pulling him back up. He was crying, sobbing for his life. “And you have the nerve, to touch her, to break her and then come rushing back when she was strong enough to pick up the pieces?”

“I wasn’t ready,” he moaned out “I couldn’t be a dad.”

“It seems like there are a lot of things you can’t do, doesn’t it? You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. A pathetic excuse for a human being and once we leave here- I never want to see your face in my city again. Am I clear?”

Kazi let out another course of intelligible, wet, words. His back was nearly breaking under the force of Natasha’s hold, her knee directly up against his crotch, pushing down with all the strength she could muster.

“Y/n, I think this is a teaching moment, don’t you?”

The softness of her words as she addressed you caught you off guard. There was no malice. In fact, she beckoned to you as if she was calling you into the living room to join her under the blankets for a movie. Your heart raced fast enough for your chest to ache as you closed the distance between you both.

“See, the trick is making them think that you’re going to let them go.”

She said this to you as if Kazi wasn’t a slobbering mess under her touch. He’d carved little half-moon marks against the tops of her hand, some of them starting to leak blood with the sheer force of his struggle.

“You have to get creative with the fear aspect. If they think they’re going to die, it tends to work in our favor. Doesn’t it, Kazi?”

“Please,” He whimpered, “I’ll do whatever you want. I’m sorry, y/n, I’m sorry.”

Natasha did the seemingly impossible, she pushed him further out the window, his calves struggling for purchase against the drywall. “Oh, now that simply won’t do. You must keep her name out of your mouth.”

“In situations like these, darling, it’s best to keep full control. If he was anything other than wretched, then maybe you’d have to worry about him fighting back. You’ll get some people like that, but that trick is having leverage, literal and physical in cases like this.”

“I see,” You let the words escape you in a single breath “and how long do we play this game?”

“Until they know it’s not one.”

It took little effort for Natasha to push Kazi the rest of the way out the window. In spite of his clinging grip, the force of gravity was enough to do the work for her. His cry stunted in his throat and it only took a few seconds for a dull thud to echo through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable sound of a car alarm going off.

With a small gasp, you leaned over the window yourself, staring down at the white Toyota that now had a sizeable dent in the top, the windshield spiderwebbing. Kazi let out a groan that you could hear from up here, blinking up at the sky with malice and shock in his eyes.

“Nat,” You breathed.

“Please, eight stories is survivable. Some people need to be taught a lesson.” She shrugged, pulling you back into the apartment by the sleeve of your shirt. “I’ll pay for the car repairs, if that makes you feel better, detka.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“Of course I did.” She reached forward and cupped both of your cheeks, forcing you to look at her. It was impossible to ignore the gesture, the words that she had said with so much blind passion. Tears threatened to overtake your waterline. “moya lyubov', he put his hands on you without permission and before that… before that he hurt you in ways unimaginable. I meant every word I said.”

You could hear sirens in the distance, a hazard of living in the city. They could be for Kazi, you supposed, something to take care of the surely broken ribs and the bruised ego. But, they could be for something more important.

You pushed forward and kissed Natasha delicately. You wanted to be impossibly close to her. Most gestures you had received in the past had come in the form of flowers, maybe the occasional box of chocolate from the drug store. Once again- Natasha had proved something to you.

Her chuckle vibrated into the kiss, “Mm, we should probably leave.”

You couldn’t agree more. You wanted to get out of this stupid apartment that was teeming with memories of your time with Kazi. The way he claimed his love for you, and forced you to make a horrible decision all in one exhale.

As the two of you walked down the long and winding steps, Natasha asked, “What was with the shovel thing?”

You laughed, suddenly feeling foolish for fearing Natasha in the first place. Her silence caused waves, and somehow, that was worse than if she’d threatened you outright, something that she never did with much heat.

“Kate, she told me about her ex-boyfriend, Eli, I think she said his name was.”

“Ah, Eli.” She frowned, “He cheated on her, and I only made him dig for an hour.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, as long as you never make me dig my own grave.”

“I would never do that. There is no punishment in things you can’t control.” Natasha gave your hand a squeeze, her solemn words punctuated with a slowly creeping smile. “Besides, detka, that’s simply not my style. It was much too messy.”

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