Fanfiction fixes crappy endings

Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar

part 1 here! . part 2 here! . part 3 here! . part 4 here!

cr: 3vangel1ne_ on X

If you like listening to music while reading, I recommend this!

-

You woke up the next morning with a dull pounding in your skull and your mouth painfully dry. For one merciful second, your mind was blissfully blank. Then the memories crashed over you all at once.

The dimly lit hallway.

Satoru’s tall frame pressed back against the wall.

The broken whimper that escaped his lips when your mouth found his neck.

Your own lips still felt faintly swollen, as if you could still taste the warmth of his skin—sweet, soft, and addictive. Between your thighs, a traitorous heat lingered at the mere recollection of his hardness pressing against you.

The memory refused to leave you. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his flushed face—lips swollen, eyes wide with shock and something dangerously close to desperate want. 

But it was the scent that haunted you the most. He smelled so good—deliciously masculine, soft, and unmistakably him. And now, as you lay in bed, the faint trace of his cologne still clung to your skin, inextricably entwined with your favorite vanilla fragrance.

By the time you dragged yourself to the small breakfast counter in your dorm, guilt twisted sharply in your stomach making it impossible to eat. The jealousy that had fueled your drunken courage the night before now felt pathetic and ugly in the daylight.

The chat with Satoru had been open for nearly thirty minutes. The cursor blinked mockingly at the end of another half-written message you’d already deleted twice.

Hey, about last night…

Delete.

I’m really sorry. I’ll finish the project, you won’t have to see me anymore.

Delete.

Satoru, I need to tell you something important. I know about your channel. I’m not going to tell anyone, I swear. I just—

You stopped. 

How the hell were you supposed to explain this without sounding like a complete stalker? Hey! I’ve been getting off to your videos while pretending I didn’t know it was you and then I basically attacked your neck cause the real thing was too much to resist?

You groaned, burying your face in your arms on the counter. He hadn’t texted you either. But what were you expecting him to do anyway? After what you’d done, he was probably avoiding you cause he thought you were insane. 

“Fuck” you muttered.

By the afternoon, the guilt had become unbearable. You still hadn’t texted him, instead, you forced yourself to open the shared document for the chemistry project. You tried to work for a while, adding a few clumsy notes and sources, but every sentence felt forced and meaningless. 

Shoko texted asking how you were feeling. You replied with a vague “hungover af, but alive” and quickly ignored her follow-up asking if you’d talked to “pretty eyes” yet. 

Eventually you gave up on the document, flopping onto your bed, grabbing your phone to try and write an apology one last time.

Hey. About last night… I’m really sorry. I was way too drunk and I shouldn’t have done that. Can we still work on the project? I promise I’ll keep things professional.

You didn’t send that one either. Professional. As if you hadn’t left hickeys on his neck and felt him hard against your stomach while he whimpered into your mouth.

You realized then that you were terrified of the silence between you. If you sent that message, you would be forcing him to acknowledge what happened, and you weren’t sure you could handle his rejection—or worse, his pity. You just couldn’t do it. 

You were just about to lock your phone when a notification banner slid down from the top of the screen.

⤷ blue.sg uploaded a new video!                2 min ago

You knew you were a hypocrite. A massive one. You’d spent the entire day feeling guilty, writing fifty different apologies, and yet, here you were—thumb pressing on the notification before your brain could talk you out of it 

There was no title. Just a short description: from last night. 

The video started abruptly.

The camera was propped up on the sink, slightly crooked, as if he had thrown it there in a rush. Steam already filled the bathroom. Satoru stepped straight into the shower, fully naked, and the water crashed down on him immediately. His face was out of frame, but the water ran down his abs and over his impossibly hard cock.

He didn’t tease. There was none of his usual slow, shy build-up.

This was pure desperation.

His large hand wrapped around his throbbing cock and he started stroking immediately — fast, rough, almost punishing. The wet, obscene sounds of his fist flying over slick skin were loud even over the running water.

“Fuck…” he groaned, voice already wrecked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His hand moved frantically, squeezing tight, thumb pressing hard against the sensitive head every time he stroked upward. Precum mixed with the water, making everything look deliciously slippery.

“I accepted that—fuck—invitation cause I knew you were going to be there…” he panted as hips jerking forward into his fist. “I hate these things but I just wanted to see you.”

His strokes became even faster, almost angry.

“I was trying to make up my mind to send you a text….something I would never do anyway —ahh—fuck—but then you show up in front of me looking like the prettiest fucking angel I’ve ever seen in my life and I completely forgot how to function”

His voice cracked beautifully as he twisted his wrist on the upstroke. A broken whimper escaped him, high and needy.

“I know you were drunk… I know it didn’t mean anything to you. You weren’t thinking straight, but I… fuck—”

He was breathing hard now, almost sobbing between words. He fucked his fist harder, hips snapping forward desperately. Water ran down his toned abs and over his throbbing length as he squeezed tighter.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. That vanilla is like a fucking drug. I can still smell it on my skin. You smelled so fucking good.” he whispered the last word as he leaned his forearm against the tiled wall for support “Your lips were so soft and wet… you tasted like alcohol and sweetness and I— ahh— I got so fucking hard it hurt. I came in my pants like a desperate loser. I couldn’t even move. Just sat there on the floor with your lipstick on my neck and my pants ruined like a pathetic puppy.”

A particularly filthy moan tore out of him. The camera caught everything: the way his heavy cock throbbed in his hand, the way his abs clenched, the way his knees almost buckled.

“I’m so fucking pathetic for you…” he whimpered, voice hoarse and trembling. “And I know it was nothing to you, but to me— fuck, to me it was everything. I wanted to beg you to keep going. I wanted you to push me down, sit on my face, use my cock however you wanted. I would’ve let you ride me right there in that hallway”

He let out a ragged, shuddering breath, his head dropping. 

“I wanted to cry after you left. I sat on the floor with cum in my pants and still got hard again ten minutes later just thinking about your tits pressed against me” He let out another filthy, desperate moan “—fuck—I wanted to grab them so fucking bad, wanted to bury my face between them and suck on them—ahh— please… even if you regret it, even if I’m just a mistake, use me. I don’t care how pathetic I sound.  I’ll whimper and beg and cum all over myself every time you want. Just— fuck— just let me have something.”

He was stroking so fast now the motion was almost blurry. His balls were drawn up tight, cock swollen and dark.

“I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum— fuck—!”

A loud, broken cry ripped out of him as thick, powerful ropes of cum shot against the shower wall. He kept stroking through it, moaning shamelessly, body jerking with every spurt. There was so much that even with the water running, it dripped down the tiles in messy streaks.

He stayed there for a long moment afterward, breathing hard, forehead pressed against the tile, water cascading over his trembling figure.

Then, almost like he suddenly remembered the camera existed, he reached out with a wet, shaky hand and stopped the recording.

You sat there in silence for a second, heart hammering against your ribs. 

The screen went black, leaving you staring at your own reflection. Your breath was shallow, your heart still racing, and the air around you felt thick with the heavy, lingering presence of Satoru’s confession.

He’s talking about me.

The realization slammed into you with dizzying force.

You’d spent the whole day torturing yourself, convinced you’d crossed an unforgivable line by watching his content and then kissing him. Meanwhile, Satoru had an entire secret porn channel dedicated to jerking off and whimpering for you. 

And last night, after what happened at the party, he had run straight home and broken down in the shower once again because of you.

The irony hit so hard you almost laughed, except the sound came out as a shaky exhale. For a long moment you just sat there, chest heaving, panties soaked and thighs pressed together.

Suddenly, all the guilt transformed into something hot and sharp in your chest.

Power.

This shy, sweet boy who blushed when you looked at him had been secretly obsessed with you. Filming himself falling apart for you. Begging the camera for you.

And now you knew.

A part of you wanted to close the app, to preserve the sanctity of what you’d just witnessed, but the need to see how the world reacted to your boy was too strong to ignore. You tapped it.

You read through them, a wave of possessiveness washing over you, layering itself onto that newfound sense of power.

You didn’t need to watch any more. You had seen enough. The adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin had shifted into something else entirely, no longer fueled by the video itself, but by the idea already taking shape in your mind.

Without another thought, you opened your messages and typed:

Cho. I need a favor.

—

The hallway outside room 127 smelled faintly of instant ramen and laundry detergent. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you stood outside Satoru's door, your fist hovering in the air for a split second before you finally knocked.

The lock clicked.

Satoru looked exhausted. His white hair was a mess, as though he'd been dragging his hands through it for hours. Dark shadows sat beneath his eyes, and an oversized black hoodie swallowed his frame. His blue eyes widened when they landed on you.

“Can I come in?” you asked.

He swallowed, then stepped aside without a word.

The apartment was quiet. The small living room was neat enough to look recently cleaned, yet something about it still felt lived in—a mug abandoned on the table, the white hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch, the faint scent of coffee still hanging in the air. 

Satoru hovered awkwardly by the kitchen counter.

“You can... sit.”

You lowered yourself onto one end of the couch.

He remained standing for another second before sitting on the chair opposite you, hands resting on his knees, unable to meet your eyes for more than a moment.

“Do you want anything? Water? Tea...?”

You shook your head.

“No.”

Silence settled between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was suffocating.

Satoru’s knee bounced almost imperceptibly. His fingers twisted together before he forced them apart again. 

Every few seconds, he'd glance at you, only to look away the instant your eyes met.

You reached into your pocket without saying a word.

Unlocked your phone.

Opened the video.

Then, leaning forward, you placed it face-up on the coffee table between you and gently slid it across until it stopped in front of him.

He frowned, then looked down. The moment he recognized what was on the screen, every trace of color vanished from his face. 

The video replayed from where you’d left it paused.

The shower. His voice. His hand.

Slowly—almost fearfully—his gaze lifted to yours. His expression was pure panic.

You held his eyes for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Were you filming yourself while thinking about me, Satoru?”

the song that sounded in my head after the end

1- I'm sorry

2- bro is so famous he got 248 likes in like 10 minutes

3- that ""smau"" took SO long to make. I hated every second of it. it doesn't make ANY SENSE but I needed to do it.

4- actually I'm not sorry

Reblogs are sooo appreciated part 6 coming soon ! masterlist

taglist: @butterbeanandsparkleface @seungkwansflower @ninjaturtletoes @krispy7akay @wiserion @aaudreys @chosslut @erideight @quanxistoelicker @stuckinadream0 @nanahach1 @carcelswaifu @c4ndyyy @cridtiins @cupidslie @suguphile @msblyshie @ashtraaay @lovvsp @itsjustmesofiedk @cutiepie208 @gojodotexe @shinobui @emeraldlegacyobserver @ifartmatcha @sparklefarts214 @kissmekissmecure @di1f-lover @mafezinhasworld @skylaryippee @toru-saki @kun4ril @marsieonist @s3werslvtt @affinityblues @bat-brainzzz @ariilovesmoney @trizymiia @looha @megsbows @srslyoceans @whatsernamekei @gojoful @zlinguss @gabbiepickle @tootyallfarty @boomboom-tanjiro2019 @hauntedbyink @dasiybynight @winniethepoohjusttookapooh

So, iirc, a zanpakuto spirit is born from the soul of its master, right? So it embodies an essential part of who they are. Their inner world is a reflection of their own soul.

My point. My point is that Hyorinmaru is Toshiro’s zanpakuto. Often cited as the strongest ice-type zanpakuto. And Toshiro has made repeated reference to how the struggle, for him, was never in unlocking or strengthening Hyorinmaru’s power, but in trying to hold him back.

And it just occurred to me. Toshiro is protective as all heck. Overprotective as all heck. Only of like, one or two people, but still.

It’s so freaking obvious and adorable I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.

Hyorinmaru is overprotective of Toshiro.

You have this big eff-off Ice Dragon that could freeze anyone solid with a glance, and he sees his master—a tiny little boy—and this absolute primordial force of freaking nature looks at this tiny little lonely kid and goes:

“If anything happens to this child, I will kill everyone in a thousand mile radius, and then myself.” bruh you’ll already be dead but that’s beside the point

And whenever Toshiro goes into battle, he has to hold this guy back.

Hyorinmaru’s in full-on Papa-Dragon, I’ll-Make-Sure-You-Don’t-Ever-Speak-To-Me-Or-My-Son-Again mode, ready to murder everyone in the same area code of whoever so much as threatened his boy, and Toshiro has to focus on making sure he doesn’t.

And of course. Of course now I’m picturing their interactions through this lens. I mean. Can you just. Imagine an overbearing, manifested Hyorinmaru coiling around his little master and grooming him like a kitten.