𝖝𝖎𝖆𝖓𝖌

🕯️‧₊˚ 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

the wind gently swayed the church curtains as sunlight filtered through the leaves of the towering trees. it streamed through the stained glass, flooding the hall with shades of red and purple. it was inebriating to face such a blaze of color burning into your corneas so early on a sunday morning, yet there you were, getting drunk on it.

religion was never your kind of thing. you’re the skeptical, realistic type, someone who needs physical proof to believe in something. you’ve never been able to feel God’s hand guiding you, protecting you, telling you what to do. you lost your trust in Him when the emptiness you felt in gatherings like this began to grow.

you were so young, so naive and willing, yet already pressured by your parents to believe and behave, to act on your faith, to carry responsibilities far bigger than you. you tried so hard. it was so frustrating not being able to feel Him anywhere, not even in His own sacred house.

so you did the only sane thing you could and shut it down. fake smiles, polite handshakes, and hollow declarations of faith have kept up the act this long, but not forever. so each day you could feel your mask slipping, layer by layer, ready to lay bare your sinful flesh.

“peace be with you, church.” the pastor’s deep voice boomed through the microphone, snapping you out of your trance and drawing your eyes to the pulpit, where the tall man stood. his dark, asian eyes scanned the room warmly, as though trying to memorize every face, and his smile grew wider. the service was about to begin. “welcome to the house of the Lord. we’re blessed to gather here today. please, bow your heads with me as we open in prayer.”

as if by second nature, you rose from the wooden pew and lowered your head, the rest of the congregation following the gesture. pastor takayama had always delivered the most beautiful prayers, you were honest enough to admit that. every word was steeped in utmost emotion and care, and there was something undeniably beautiful about anything born from pure love and pure devotion.

maybe you were just a tormented child, but you had always felt a deep perversion lurking within your very core. along with that maddening, insatiable hunger for destruction, corruption, and the defilement of all things pure. your heart yearned for ruination.

you let yourself be lulled by the preacher’s intense yet nurturing words. your mind did its best to focus on the divine comfort they were meant to inspire, but there was nothing. as always, you felt alone.

“in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

the faithful mirrored the preacher’s sign of the cross and echoed the final amen in unison before taking their seats.

“my brothers and sisters in Christ,” pastor takayama said, his voice warm with unmistakable pride. “as many of you already know, my beloved son has returned from five years of missionary work overseas…”

you froze in your seat.

you had not, in fact, known that.

“and today, we are blessed to hear him deliver the message. our brother taki, my son, welcome home.” pastor takayama said, a broad smile spreading across his face as he stepped aside, allowing his son to take his place behind the pulpit.

a figure emerged onto the platform from the side door, a smile stretched across his face. his caramel hair was perfectly styled, and his black suit lent him an air of elegance and modesty, a true man of God. and yet, the mole along his jaw, the dimples carved into his cheeks, and the endearing way he shyly arranged his papers and bible upon the pulpit left no doubt.

it was still him.

it was still the same taki you knew.

your sanity shattered the moment all the feelings you had kept buried came crashing over you like a tsunami. your body tensed as you tried your best not to cry, already feeling a lump in your throat.

honestly, your mind had blocked out almost everything that happened between you two, but some things just refuse to stay dead.

how could you forget that sunday morning he adjusted the crooked collar of your dress before service, when his knuckles grazed your neck so softly that you nearly forgot how to breathe, trying to gaslight yourself into thinking that was normal best friend behavior.

or the youth retreat, when everyone else had gone to sleep hours ago, but the two of you remained awake on the cabin porch. wrapped in blankets, shoulders pressed together, talking until dawn painted the horizon pink.

you remembered the way his fingers had lingered when he handed you your bible that day. the way his laughter softened whenever it was meant only for you. the way every innocent touch somehow always felt heavier than just innocence.

but above everything, you remember the way he left you.

🕯️‧₊˚ 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

the night the two of you had stayed behind after choir practice, tasked with putting away sheet music while everyone else slowly filtered out of the sanctuary. one by one, the lights in the building clicked off, until only the soft glow above the pulpit remained, casting long shadows across the empty pews. the church had never felt so quiet.

you had been gathering loose pages from the piano bench when he approached, holding a stack of hymnals against his chest. he set them down beside you, and your hands brushed as you reached for the same sheet of music.

both of you froze, even though it was such a small thing. barely a touch. yet it felt as though the entire room had shifted around you.

“sorry,” he murmured, though neither of you moved away. you looked up, only to find him already watching you.

his expression was unreadable at first, caught somewhere between longing and restraint. the kind of look that made your heart pound so hard it almost hurt. you could hear nothing but your own breathing.

“we really need to stop ending up alone together,” you said, attempting a smile, hoping humor might dissolve the tension hanging thick in the air.

his lips twitched.

“i’ve noticed that.”

still, neither of you stepped back. his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before darting away, as if even looking felt dangerous.

you should have moved, said something sane. instead, you stayed exactly where you were, your body betraying every prayer you had ever whispered against this very moment.

taki reached up, fingers trembling just slightly, and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. the touch was so gentle it nearly undid you.

“i’ve… prayed about this,” he admitted quietly, hoping you would know exactly what he was talking about. a helpless laugh escaped you.

“me too.”

that seemed to break something in him, or in both of you. he took one small step closer, until the edge of the piano pressed against the back of your legs and there was nowhere left to retreat. not that you wanted to.

his hand settled lightly against your waist, hesitant enough that you could have pulled away at any moment, but you didn’t.

your fingers found the lapel of his suit, clutching it like an anchor.

“taki…” your voice barely existed.

“tell me to stop,” he whispered.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

his breath fanned across your lips, warm and unsteady. his nose brushed yours, a touch so soft it almost felt imagined.

every sermon you’d ever heard, every warning, every prayer, seemed to collide at once inside your chest. this was temptation. this was exactly what they had warned you about. a kiss would never be just a kiss, not after years of wanting, years of denying, years of pretending that what lived between you could ever be called friendship alone.

you knew the way his self-control faltered whenever you stood too close, the way your own resolve crumbled whenever he looked at you for just a second too long. a single kiss would become another, and another, until restraint was nothing more than a distant memory.

and yet, you had never wanted anything more.

his thumb traced the curve of your waist, reverent and trembling.

“we can’t,” you whispered. the words hurt.

he nodded, though he didn’t move away.

“i know.”

for one suspended moment, it seemed the entire world held its breath alongside you. then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he rested his forehead against yours. the gesture was achingly gentle, intimate in a way a kiss could never have been. his eyes fluttered shut, and you found yourself doing the same, surrendering to the warmth of his skin against yours.

you could feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing, could feel the way his hand tightened ever so slightly at your waist, as though he needed the contact just as desperately as you did. your fingers curled more tightly into the lapel of his suit, but neither of you spoke.

the sanctuary around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the quiet press of his forehead against yours, the brush of his nose against yours, the way your breaths mingled in the narrow space between your mouths.

his lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping him.

“you’re making this very difficult,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“what exactly am i making difficult?” you said, in a breathless laugh. his smile was small, almost helpless.

“being a good christian.” his gaze dipped to your lips, lingering there for a dangerous second before returning to your eyes. “and resisting the overwhelming urge to kiss you.”

his smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by something softer, which was infinitely more dangerous. his thumb swept lightly against your waist, and your heart nearly stopped. his pleading eyes were dark and searching, as if looking for permission you were too afraid to give, or too desperate to deny.

for one terrible, wonderful second, you thought he might finally close the distance. instead, he let out a shaky breath and leaned back just enough to look at you properly. his hand slipped from your waist, though his fingers lingered against your side for a fleeting moment longer.

“we should stop,” he said, and he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

you nodded, but neither of you moved.

after another long, impossible moment, he finally stepped back, and the sudden absence of his warmth felt almost unbearable.

you stared at each other across that newly restored distance, both of you looking slightly dazed, like survivors of some beautiful disaster.

then he cleared his throat, glanced toward the scattered sheet music, and gave a nervous, almost sheepish smile.

“we still have a lot of cleaning to do.”

you let out a laugh, shaky and unsteady.

“right.”

but as you bent to gather the papers, your hands were trembling.

and when your fingers brushed his again a moment later, neither of you mentioned it.

after that, being alone with taki became unbearable in the best and worst possible ways. a brush of hands while passing hymnals could leave you flustered for hours. sitting beside him during sunday service felt like its own kind of trial. even ordinary conversations carried an undercurrent that neither of you could quite ignore anymore.

and taki had noticed, of course he had.

you remembered the way he had started pulling back, little by little. lingering less after services. volunteering for tasks that kept him on the opposite side of the room. avoiding being alone with you whenever possible, as though distance alone could quiet whatever existed between you.

then, one sunday afternoon, he had found you sitting alone on the church steps, your bible resting in your lap. he had sat beside you, shoulders nearly touching, though not quite. for a long moment, neither of you had spoken. the summer breeze stirred the pages between your fingers.

finally, he exhaled.

“my father received a letter this morning.”

you turned to him.

“a church in south america is looking for missionaries. youth outreach, community work, the whole thing.”

your stomach dropped. you already knew where this was going.

“you’re going.” it wasn’t a question.

his jaw tightened, and after a brief hesitation, he nodded.

“i think i need to.”

need.

he stared out at the empty parking lot, his expression unreadable.

“i’ve been praying about it for weeks.”

weeks.

while you had been foolishly hoping the two of you were simply getting better at pretending.

“why?” you asked, though some part of you already understood. his laugh was soft, humorless.

“you really have to ask?”

that hurt more than it should have.

he finally looked at you then, and whatever composure he had been holding together seemed to crack.

“because i can’t do this.”

his voice was barely above a whisper.

“every time i’m around you, i forget every promise i’ve ever made to God. every conviction i’ve ever had. and one day…” he swallowed hard, eyes dropping briefly to your lips before forcing themselves back up. “one day, i’m not going to stop.”

your breath caught. he looked almost angry with himself for admitting it.

“and if that happens, i don’t trust myself to regret it.”

silence stretched between you, heavy and merciless.

you stared down at your hands, unable to argue, because the truth was, neither did you. and that was the worst of it all.

he reached over then, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment.

“i need to remember who i am,” he said quietly. “who the Lord has called me to be.”

you nodded, even though it felt like something inside you was splintering.

“when do you leave, taki?”

“two weeks.”

two weeks. it might as well have been tomorrow. he offered you a sad, crooked smile, one that never quite reached his eyes.

“i’m hoping a little distance will help.”

it wouldn’t help you.

but perhaps it had helped him. perhaps thousands of miles, endless days of missionary work, and the constant pursuit of God had given him the clarity he had been searching for. but for you, it had only left an absence so vast it seemed to swallow everything around it.

at first, he had promised to write. and he had, for a little while. short emails about the work, the people, the language he was slowly learning. polite, polished and careful messages that never once mentioned the two of you, never once acknowledged the conversation that had sent him halfway across the world.

then the messages became less frequent. weekly turned to monthly, monthly turned to silence. eventually, even that disappeared. you told yourself he was busy. that missionary work left little room for long correspondence. that poor internet connections and endless obligations were perfectly reasonable explanations.

you told yourself many things, but none of them made it hurt less. taki had erased himself.

the person who had once known every secret you kept, every fear you never voiced aloud, every ridiculous thought that crossed your mind, was suddenly gone. no late-night phone calls. no teasing text messages. no quiet conversations after church while everyone else drifted toward the parking lot.

for years, he had been woven into the fabric of your everyday life. now there was only empty space where he used to be.

sunday mornings were the worst. you still caught yourself glancing toward the pew where he used to sit, half expecting to see caramel hair and an irreverent grin waiting for you. sometimes, for one second, you almost did.

you hated how much you missed him, you hated even more that missing him felt so much like mourning.

because losing your best friend was one thing. losing him while knowing exactly why he had chosen to leave was another entirely.

and you couldn’t even be angry, he had done what he believed was right, he had chosen God. and perhaps, in some small, selfish corner of your heart, you had wanted him to choose you instead. that was the part you never confessed.

not to your parents, not to your friends, not even to God.

especially not to God.

🕯️‧₊˚ 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

five years.

five whole years, and somehow, the sight of him still had the power to undo you completely.

you sat frozen in the pew, fingers clenched so tightly around the edge of your bible that your knuckles had long since turned white. every rational thought had abandoned you the moment he stepped onto the stage, emerging from the side door with that same bright smile you had once known better than your own reflection.

older, certainly. broader shoulders, sharper jaw, a confidence that hadn’t been there before. the soft edges of youth had given way to something steadier, stronger. but the caramel hair was still perfectly styled, the dimples still appeared when he smiled, and the small mole along his jaw was exactly where you remembered it.

he adjusted the microphone, set his bible carefully upon the pulpit, and glanced out over the congregation.

his smile was easy, practiced, until his eyes found yours. for one disorienting moment, it felt as though the last five years had folded in on themselves. as though you were eighteen again, watching your best friend grin at you from across the church foyer.

it lasted only a second. a fraction of a second, really, but you saw it. the way his expression faltered, the way his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against the edge of the pulpit.

the way surprise, disbelief, and something infinitely more dangerous flickered across his face before years of practiced composure smoothed it away. if anyone else noticed, they gave no sign. but you noticed.

your pulse thundered in your ears. so long, and he still looked at you like that. like distance had been a lie, like time had solved absolutely nothing.

his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and when he finally spoke, his voice remained perfectly steady.

“thank you, father.”

the congregation murmured warmly. you, meanwhile, were trying very hard to remember how breathing worked. because whatever peace taki had traveled across the world to find, it seemed to vanish the exact moment your eyes met.

his gaze lingered on you for just a fraction too long before he forced himself to look away.

when he spoke again, his voice had already shifted, steadier now, more controlled. the kind of control that had clearly been learned, not felt.

“brothers and sisters in christ, i am truly happy to be home.” he began, hands resting lightly on the pulpit, “today, i want to speak about something that is not always easy to confront.” a pause.

you watched him swallow once, as if grounding himself.

“temptation.”

the word settled over the congregation like a warning. he opened his bible with careful hands, though his eyes did not immediately drop to the page.

“we often think of temptation as something obvious,” he continued. “something loud. something easy to recognize and walk away from.” a faint, almost bitter smile flickered across his face. “but i have learned it is rarely that simple.”

your fingers tightened around the edge of the pew. because you knew exactly what he was doing. he finally looked down, tracing a line of scripture with his finger.

“there are temptations that do not present themselves as sin,” he said quietly. “they present themselves as comfort. as familiarity. as something you convince yourself God must surely understand.” his voice softened, but it did not waver. “something that feels less like rebellion… and more like home.”

the air in the room seemed to shift. you could feel it. the subtle tension that crept in when a sermon stopped being abstract and started becoming personal.

taki turned a page.

“and yet,” he continued, “scripture does not ask us to discern how something feels. it asks us to discern what it is.” a beat of silence. “because what draws us in is not always what is meant for us.” his eyes lifted again. and for the briefest moment, they found yours, and you couldn’t breathe.

he didn’t hold the look long enough for anyone else to notice, but it was enough for you.

“there are battles we do not announce to others,” he said, voice quieter now. “battles that take place in silence. in the mind. in the heart. battles where no one else sees the cost of saying no.” his jaw tightened slightly. “and sometimes,” he added, softer still, “the hardest act of faith is not resisting what is clearly wrong… but walking away from what feels almost right.”

your throat burned. it was no longer a sermon, it was a confession. he closed the bible gently.

“i have prayed for strength in those moments,” he said. “and for understanding. and for distance, when necessary.” a pause, longer this time. “because love without wisdom can become its own kind of temptation.”

the word love hung in the air longer than anything else he had said. then he exhaled, almost imperceptibly. and when he spoke again, his voice returned to the congregation as a whole.

“so i ask you today,” he said, composure fully restored, “what are you holding onto that God is asking you to release?”

his gaze lingered for a moment too long over the congregation before he lowered it to his bible again, as if the weight of his own words had finally caught up to him. when he spoke, his voice was steadier now, but quieter than before.

“brothers and sisters in Christ,” he said, “if you have your bibles, i would like you to turn with me to the book of matthew.”

a soft rustle spread through the sanctuary as pages turned in unison. he waited, not impatient or rushed. he was composed in a way that felt practiced too well.

“matthew, chapter five, verse twenty-nine.”

you opened your bible, fingers slower than the rest of the room. around you, the congregation followed.

taki’s hand rested on the edge of the pulpit as he read.

“if your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away.” the words landed sharply in the silence, and he paused just long enough for it to sink in.

then continued, voice softer now, almost reflective.

“it is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.”

he closed his eyes briefly, as if steadying something inside himself. when he opened them again, he wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, but his gaze felt heavier than it should have.

“Christ speaks very clearly here,” he said, “about the seriousness of what leads us astray.” a faint breath. “he does not tell us to negotiate with it, to manage it, to keep it close enough to control.” his fingers tightened slightly against the pulpit. “he tells us to remove it.” a longer pause. “because there are things in our lives that we will always be tempted to justify,” he continued, voice quieter, “simply because they feel too much like part of us.”

the room felt still.

he finally looked down at his bible again, though he wasn’t really reading.

“and yet,” he said, almost to himself now, “Christ calls us to something higher than what feels natural.” his throat moved as he swallowed. “even when it costs us something we are not ready to lose.” that sentence hung there, unfinished in spirit, even though it was complete.

he lifted his eyes again, addressing the congregation once more, voice carefully restored.

“so i ask you today,” he said, “what are you holding onto that Christ is asking you to lay down?” a pause. “and are you willing to trust that what he removes from you… is not destruction, but salvation?” he closed the bible gently.

but his hand did not leave it right away, and neither did his eyes, for just a fraction of a second, leave somewhere far too specific in the congregation.

🕯️‧₊˚ 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

the moment the final prayer ended, the sanctuary slowly began to dissolve into movement.

chairs shifting, soft goodbyes, the rustle of bibles being closed. the congregation spilling out in quiet clusters of conversation that felt far too ordinary for what had just been said from the pulpit.

you stayed seated. you told yourself it was just habit. just respect. just the need to breathe before stepping back into the world after something that had felt too heavy, too personal, too precise to simply walk away from.

but really, you were waiting. for what? you weren’t sure.

the crowd thinned. the voices faded into the hallways and out toward the parking lot until the church finally began to feel like itself again: vast, hollow, echoing. only then did you stand.

your fingers tightened around your bible as you made your way down the aisle, each step quieter than the last, as if the building itself was holding onto the silence that remained.

you didn’t go far.

just toward the side corridor. the one that led to the smaller rooms, storage rooms, forgotten corners of the church where hymnals, chairs, and old decorations were kept.

you told yourself you just needed air. you turned the corner and stopped. taki was already there, standing just outside one of the storage rooms, near the half-open door, his hand still resting lightly on the frame as if he had been about to step inside but had hesitated at the last second.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

the narrow hallway felt even smaller here, boxed in by plain walls, crucifixes, and stacked chairs visible through the open door behind him. the air smelled faintly of wood polish and dust.

he looked at you like he had been caught somewhere he didn’t expect to be seen, like he had assumed you wouldn’t be here anymore.

“i thought you had left,” you said, though your voice came out softer than intended.

his expression shifted, just slightly, embarrassment flickering across his face before he looked away.

“i was going to,” he said, but he hadn’t. that much was obvious.

silence stretched between you, heavy with everything neither of you had said for five years and everything that had just been spoken from a pulpit you were still trying to process.

his gaze flickered over your face, brief but unmistakable, then away again. like looking at you too long might undo something he had spent years trying to rebuild.

“your sermon…” you started, then stopped. because there was no clean way to finish that sentence.

he let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, with no humor in it.

“i didn’t plan it to sound like that,” he said.

you almost smiled at that.

“it didn’t sound like something you planned,” you replied.

that made him look at you properly, really look. and something in his expression tightened, like the words had landed somewhere they weren’t supposed to reach. another silence, longer this time. he pushed himself away from the doorframe, but only slightly. not enough to close the distance, not enough to leave.

“you’re still here,” he said quietly, it wasn’t a question. you swallowed.

“so are you.”

his eyes dropped for a second. to your hands, to your bible, to anywhere but your face. when he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“i didn’t think you would be.”

something about that hurt more than it should have, because it sounded like he had prepared himself for absence, not presence, not you, here, right now.

you took a small step closer without meaning to, then stopped, as if your body had remembered something your mind was still trying to deny.

“your sermon was about temptation,” you said carefully. his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“it was about scripture,” he corrected, but there was no conviction in it, you both knew better.

the silence that followed was crowded with everything from five years ago. with everything from an hour ago. with everything neither of you had been brave enough to name out loud.

his hand finally left the doorframe, slowly, like it cost him something.

“i should go,” he said, but he didn’t move.

you nodded, even though your chest felt like it had forgotten how to expand.

“you always say that,” you whispered. that made him pause, properly this time.

his gaze lifted back to yours, and this time he didn’t look away immediately. for a second, he looked like the boy who used to sit beside you after service, pretending not to care how close your shoulders were. for a second, the years collapsed.

then he exhaled. soft. controlled. careful.

“and you always know when i don’t mean it,” he said.

neither of you smiled, neither of you moved.

the hallway behind you stayed open, but neither of you moved toward it. the silence that had followed his words felt occupied, like something had stepped into it and refused to leave.

taki exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face for a brief second, as if trying to reset himself. when he lowered it again, his composure was still there, but thinner now. less certain.

“i should go,” he said again, but he didn’t move. his body betrayed the sentence before his voice could finish it.

you stayed where you were, just inside the storage room now, the smell of dust and old wood wrapping around you. stacked chairs lined the walls in uneven towers, hymn boards leaning slightly to one side, as if even the room itself had been forgotten in pieces.

he glanced at the door then back at you, like he was measuring distance instead of space.

“this is…” he started, then stopped, jaw tightening slightly. “this is not appropriate.”

you tilted your head slightly.

“you think i don’t know that?”

that made him pause. his eyes flickered, something almost frustrated crossing his expression before he looked away again.

“i didn’t expect you to be here,” he said, quieter this time.

“you already said that.” you almost laughed.

a breath left him, sharper now, like he was losing patience with himself rather than with you.

“because it’s true,” he said. then, softer, almost like an admission he didn’t intend to say out loud: “i prepared myself for you not being here.” that landed wrong, kind of painful. just enough disorienting. like you had been removed from a version of his life he had already rehearsed.

you took a slow step forward without thinking.

not close, just enough that the air between you changed. his reaction was immediate. subtle, but undeniably, his shoulders tensed. his gaze dropped for half a second, then lifted again, sharper now.

“don’t,” he said, careful. you could feel the pleading tone in his voice. you stopped, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

the storage room suddenly felt too small for how much was happening inside it. he let out a slow breath through his nose, as if trying to steady something that kept slipping.

“i thought distance would make this easier,” he admitted. his hand brushed the edge of a table beside him, full of old books and packs of candles, grounding himself without looking at it. “it didn’t.”

your throat tightened slightly.

“so what now?” you asked quietly. that question seemed to cost him something. his jaw flexed once, twice, then he looked at you fully. not like a pastor, the preacher's son, holy creature of God. just him. and for the first time since he’d stepped off that pulpit, the control in his voice cracked at the edges.

“i don’t know,” he said, followed by an honest, uncomfortable pause. then, quieter: “i thought it would.” silence filled the space immediately after. he shifted again, but not away from you. “you shouldn’t be here with me,” he said, but it sounded less like a warning and more like an attempt to convince himself.

you looked at him for a long moment.

“then tell me to leave.” the words hung there.

he didn’t answer right away.

and in that pause, something shifted again, almost imperceptibly, like the space between conviction and hesitation had just widened.

his gaze held yours, and for a second too long, neither of you moved toward the door. the silence stretched painfully, thinner now, like it might tear if either of you spoke too loudly.

you watched him for a moment longer. then, quieter:

“pray.”

that made him blink.

“what?” his voice came out lower, caught between confusion and caution. you lifted the bible slightly between you, grounding the suggestion in something that couldn’t be easily dismissed.

“you said it yourself,” you murmured. “temptation.”

his expression shifted immediately, tightening, wary.

“this isn’t—”

“then treat it like it is,” you interrupted, soft but steady. “like it’s something that needs to be… handled. taken off.” you lifted your gaze to look at him, searching for his familiar dark orbs. “exorcize me, taki.”

the weight of the word lingered in the air like poison, and his jaw flexed, eyes going wide as if you just said the craziest thing possible.

you took a small step closer, not to crowd him, just enough that he had to notice it, feel it. you couldn’t endure the feelings he awakened in you anymore, not after all these years. you would do anything to silence the unbearable pull toward sin.

“pray for me,” you said. “pray over me.”

his gaze searched your face, like he was trying to find the part of you that didn’t mean it, hoping it was all a strange dream.

“you shouldn’t ask me that,” he said quietly.

“why?” you asked.

he hesitated, because any answer would expose him too much.

your voice softened, but didn’t waver.

“if this is what you think it is… then do something about it.”

another silence.

he exhaled slowly, like he was weighing something he already knew he was going to lose. then, reluctantly, he stepped closer, just enough. his hand lifted, but stopped midway, hovering between you like it didn’t quite belong to him anymore.

“this is not a solution,” he said, almost under his breath.

“try it.” you replied quietly. “you’re soon to be a pastor. let's test your faith. let's see if your Lord can save you from me.” you spoke as if the words had stopped being yours, as if something greater had taken hold of them, something lower, darker. the moment was like an obscene twist of that passage, in matthew 4—Satan urging Jesus to throw himself from a height, to prove that God and his angels would save him regardless. but Jesus, in all his divine certainty, knew better than to test God. would taki have that same restraint?

you saw it, in the way his control thinned just a little more. his hand moved, slowly and carefully, like every inch forward had to be justified.

when his fingers finally reached you, they didn’t fully settle at first, just hovered near your forehead, close enough that you could feel the warmth without contact. your bodies electrocuting each other with the heavy, pent up desire.

a hesitation, a last chance to stop. this time, you didn’t give it to him. your hand lifted, almost instinctively, and closed gently around his wrist, deciding. his breath caught.

“don’t–” he started, but it came too late. you guided his hand the remaining distance, his fingertips touching the skin in your forehead. everything stilled, the scene would be almost heavenly if not for the tangible tension between you two.

his eyes dropped to where your hand held his wrist, where his fingers now rested against your forehead, the contact deliberate now, undeniable.

the sign of the cross should have been quick, automatic and rehearsed, second nature for someone soon to be a pastor. but the way his gaze lingered, heavy and consuming, made it feel like something else entirely. something far less innocent.

“you’re making this worse,” he said, voice low, strained. as always, he didn’t pull away. his hand moved slowly, unevenly, your own guiding it. gentle, certain, as if the motion no longer belonged to him.

“L–Lord, grant me the strength to do what is right…” a shallow breath, your hand never leaving his wrist. “to cast out… what should not remain.” your fingers tightened. “in the name of the Father,”

forehead.

the touch lingered a second too long.

“the Son,”

his hand moved down, slow, uneven, coming to rest at the center of your chest. his fingers traced the line they were meant to follow, but not cleanly, not distantly. there was too much awareness in it now. of your closeness, of your hand around his wrist, of the way you were guiding him, controlling him.

“and the Holy Spirit,”

his voice faltered slightly as his hand moved again, brushing one shoulder, then the other. he hesitated again, not because he didn’t know how to finish, but because ending it meant letting go of you. of your touch, and the act you were doing.

the last word still hung in the air. neither of you moved. then your grip tightened around his wrist, and his breath caught, his eyes widening, somewhere between fear of what you might do and even worse: wanting it.

“don’t–” he started, but it broke halfway through, unsteady. you didn’t let go.

slowly, deliberately, you lifted his hand again, drawing it up from your chest, not in any practiced motion, not in anything sacred, but toward your lips. close. far too close.

his breath caught the moment your lips met his fingers, capturing them in slow, deliberate motions with your tongue, impossible to mistake, impossible to ignore.

you didn’t look away, not once. as if you were testing something, crossing something. as if taking him in, consuming his holy flesh, even like this, might silence whatever had been building between you, and wash away your sins.

there you were, bible in one hand and the other holding his wrist, securing his hand on your mouth, where your tongue sucked like it had been waiting for this moment for far too long. you couldn't help but press your thighs together as his eyes watched your every move, causing a warm feeling low in your stomach.

his fingers pressed down on your tongue, curiously, cautiously, and you whined. his eyes widened as your moan rang in his ears, activating something dangerous in him. it all felt blasphemous, demonic. the warmth creeping into your core felt even worse when he started slowly thrusting his fingers into your mouth, watching as so much drool began to drip down your chin.

you let go of his fingers with a soft, wet pop. your lips were flushed, your breath unsteady, your heart pounding so hard it ached against your ribs.

for a second, nothing. he just stared at you with half-lidded eyes. like he didn’t recognize what he was looking at anymore, like he didn’t recognize himself. his chest rose and fell too quickly, his breath uneven, his hand still half-raised between you like it had forgotten what it was supposed to do.

your voice broke the silence.

“amen.”

the word barely left your lips, and something in him snapped.

his hand came up too fast, almost clumsy, gripping your jaw, pulling you into him like distance had become unbearable in a single second. he then crashed his lips on you, finally kissing you.

that was it, the moment it stopped being just temptation and became sin. but perhaps it had always been sin, born in the very first glance you shared, when desire burned too brightly to be named.

the kiss was hard, messy, and desperate. nothing like the restraint he had been clinging to just moments before. it wasn’t careful, measured or anything holy. just utterly perverted. his tongue entering your mouth without warning, moaning low like in a trance, like he had been holding himself back for too long and didn’t know how to do it anymore.

his breath came uneven against yours, his grip tightening, fingers pressing too firmly against your jaw, keeping you right where he wanted you, trying to take back control. his other hand found your waist, rough, grounding, like he needed the pressure, needed to feel something real beneath his hands.

“we shouldn’t–” he tried, the words breaking against your lips, barely formed, already failing.

“i know.” you hummed, hands dropping the bible to tug at his caramel locs.

his grip shifted, sliding from your jaw just enough to tilt your head, deepening the kiss without thinking. instinct had taken over where restraint had collapsed.

“t–this is wrong,” he murmured again, but it came out quieter, less certain, his breath catching between each word. “everything brings you to me, no matter how much my brain wants to push you away.” he pulled away just enough to drag his lips down to your neck, desperate, like he needed somewhere else to put all of it, pressing open-mouthed, sloppy kisses against your skin. you shivered in his touch, his soft lips leaving faint marks.

his hand at your waist tightened, pulling you closer, closing whatever distance had somehow still remained. his thumb pressed into your side, grounding himself, because he needed something solid to hold onto while everything else slipped.

“taki…” your body responded before your mind could catch up, your hips moving instinctively against him, slow and unthinking, humping, you had already lost whatever restraint you were trying to hold onto.

the sound of his name on your lips changed something in him. in a swift motion, he lowered his hand from your waist, gripping your right leg to pull you closer, shifting you against him like he couldn’t stand even a breath of space between you. at this angle, his bulge could hit your core repeatedly over the layers of clothing, drawing broken moans from your mouth that he swallowed with a kiss.

“don’t– don’t say my name like that,” he stuttered, his voice sounding like he was already past the point of stopping himself. without warning, he lifted you, completely instinctively, his lips trying their best to not leave yours, you let out a small, startled gasp, caught off guard as the ground disappeared beneath you.

still holding you against him, he crossed the small room in a few unsteady steps, the urgency in his movements almost unrecognizable, and set you down on the table in the storage room, before stepping between your legs, kissing you ferociously.

“God…” he prayed. his forehead dropped closer to yours, breath heavying, like the word had undone something in him instead of grounding him.

his hand tightened where it already held you, as if checking again that you were still there, still real. then his restraint slipped further. his fingers moved into your breasts, fondling them, and your mouth found his as another moan slipped. his waist worked desperate movements into your core, humping as your summer dress rode up just enough for your panties to show. the angle felt so good that you couldn’t help but want more.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, a string of saliva connecting your lips, his hand still holding your breasts. his face was a mess, mouth swollen and bitten, his hair tangled from your desperate hands.

your body felt hot. as if the room itself would suffocate you.

then his hand slipped downward, unhurried but certain, until it came to rest between your legs, right where you ached for. he traced slow, reverent circles on you, like anything less controlled would undo him completely.

your body reacted before your thoughts could follow, a small, involuntary sound slipping past your lips as your fingers searched for his.

“nnghh– t–taki…” you moaned, your eyes never once leaving his. you were desperate, as your eyebrows met on your face in a pleading expression, feeling your clit throb against his fingertips and the corner of your eyes water. you needed more.

“maybe–” he stopped mid-thought, swallowing hard. you looked at him. “maybe if it’s just… i mean, it’s not really– right?” a shaky laugh slipped out of him, completely wrong for the moment. “right?” he repeated, softer now, like he was asking you to fix it for him. his expression was pitiful as he unbuckled his belt and tugged his pants and boxers down, letting his hard cock spring free. the head was flushed red, and you could see a bead of precum on it. you bit your lip again, restraining a moan. he looked… delicious. you wanted to consume him.

his gaze flickered away for a second, then snapped back like he couldn’t stand not looking at you.

“maybe God can–” he paused again, longer this time, like the sentence had stopped making sense halfway through. “maybe he can forgive it if it’s just a little… just… the tip, right?” he shook his head once, almost imperceptibly, arguing with himself mid-sentence. “it’s not even that bad,” he added quickly, too quickly, as if speed could replace certainty. “it’s not– i mean, it’s just–” he said, tugging on the hem of your panties just enough to expose your core. he then angled his cock at your entrance, giving it a slow pump. both of you moaning loudly with the contact because you were embarrassingly wet.

“ki, it hurts.” you pleaded, the old nickname rolling naturally off your tongue. your eyes watering as he dragged his cock through your slick folds, coating it thoroughly. “please– make it stop.”

he paused. letting out a dry chuckle in disbelief.

“you make it impossible to be good.” he confesses. and with a slow, careful motion, he sinks into your slippery mess, just the head breaching your entrance before he stops, your walls fluttering with the intrusion. his eyes lock onto yours, pupils blown wide with lust.

your cunt starts sucking him in, accommodating his size. he has barely slid the first two inches, but he's so thick that even that feels like too much. you let out a moan, which mingles with a strained groan from taki as your walls clench tightly around his tip.

“see…” he whispered, voice uneven, like even speaking was something he was barely managing. “it’s not… it’s not that bad, right? God wouldn't punish us for such a small sin.” he stated, trying to reason himself, sliding in and out in a painfully slow rhythm. “i keep praying,” he whispered, almost disoriented. “i keep saying i’ll stop… i keep saying i’ll–” a moan escaped his lips when you clenched around him. “–i keep saying your name.”

it slipped out like an accident, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. how could he, a man of god, still be thinking of you after all these years?

his forehead dipped forward slightly, hovering too close again, but he didn’t commit to the distance or the closeness, stuck somewhere in between.

“i– i pray and it turns into you,” he said, quieter now, more fractured, his thrusts shallow and growing more desperate, his hands holding your legs around his waist. “i think about God and it turns into you. i think about stopping and it turns into you.” he lowered his head to whisper at your right ear, like he was in a trance. his movements turning sloppy as your cunt made embarrassingly loud wet sounds. “you, you, you, you–”

the emptiness you felt inside your core turning unbearable now. you needed more, you ached for more. so you thought to yourself—if you’re going to sin, then let it be a sin worth dying for.

“taki…” you whispered, like his name was the only thing still holding you together. and then you moved, quickly locking your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until he was fully inside you, his entire length finally pressed deep against you, where you needed him the most.

the moan you let out after that was guttural, bordering on painful, he was so big, so thick. too much, but just perfect. taki looked at you with a helpless face, tears welling up in his eyes, mouth agape, trying to process what just happened.

he started moving without thinking, losing control completely, hitting your core repeatedly in a way that made your toes curl. he lowered his head to the crook of your neck again, pressing soft kisses against your skin, contrasting completely with the hard way he was pounding into you, making the books and other holy objects on the table tremble with the rapid motion.

“oh my G–God—” you stuttered and he moaned, the pleasure taking over your mind and body. “ki– it feels so good— i want this forever.” you said and he whined between bites against your skin. “i’m sorry– i’m so so sorry, taki.” you cried out, tears running through your face. “i am sorry for being what pulls you away from God.” a confession.

taki froze for a brief moment, his movements faltering as he lifted his face to press his forehead against yours, just like that day in july.

“don't be sorry.”

“wh–”

“this is the closest to God i’ve ever felt.”

the words didn’t sound like blasphemy to him anymore. for once, he was completely certain. his breath slowed slightly, still uneven, but no longer breaking apart in the same way. his gaze softened as it stayed on yours, like he was seeing you differently now. not as something to fight, but something he was terrified of losing, and needed so desperately.

his lips found yours in calmness and certainty for the first time that day. it was a sweet kiss, drunk on what didn’t feel like sin at all. and if it was, taki would burn through hell just to do it again. for you, he would do it all again. and again. and again.

taki’s hands came up to your face, slower now, deliberate, like he understood the gravity of touching you and chose it anyway. his thumb brushed under your eye, catching the trace of tears, slower this time, memorizing the shape of you, committing it to something deeper than memory.

“ki– harder. please.” you plead, feeling the knot building up. and he obeys. there’s no hesitation in him, no space where doubt could take root, only the quiet, overwhelming fact that whatever you ask of him will be done, out of devotion.

if you asked him to stay, he would never leave. if you asked him to fall, he would do it willingly. and if it meant undoing everything he once believed in, he would still choose you, again and again, as if obedience to you had become the only faith he had left.

“G–God– i–” the word collapsed on itself, breath hitching violently. “i c–can’t– i can’t–” he shook his head, like it might force the thoughts back into place.

“forgive me–” you say, followed by a pause. feeling a sharp, immediate recoil from taki.

“no– don’t– don’t, i don’t want– i don’t want it to stop–” he was in a trance, trying his best to think straight. “why does it f–feel like this?” his voice shook, desperate now. “why does it feel so– so good?” you could only moan at his words, savoring the quiet, dangerous pleasure of watching someone so righteous unravel at your touch.

your breath began to lose its rhythm completely after that. every broken word and moan leaving his mouth sounded like devotion twisted into something unbearable, intimate enough to make your entire body feel feverish.

your fingers tightened around his biceps instinctively as another shaky breath left you, your forehead falling briefly against his shoulder. you were so close to seeing heaven, and you could see taki almost coming undone too.

every inhale sounded uneven, fragile, like he was trying and failing to hold himself together for just a little longer, savor the moment he has been waiting for for so long. your name left his mouth in a whisper, trembling against your skin like something sacred unraveling at the seams.

his hands held you tighter, not desperate enough to hurt, but enough to say stay here. stay with me, don't let me leave you again.

the room had begun to blur around the edges, your thoughts dissolving into warmth and pressure and the overwhelming feeling of him everywhere at once. his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you like devotion had finally consumed him whole.

“i love you,” he said suddenly, breathless, immediate, sounding like he couldn’t keep it inside anymore. “i love you so much–”

the confession hit you all at once.

your eyes squeezed shut as emotion crashed through you in dizzying waves, your body trembling beneath the sheer intensity of everything.

“taki…” you breathed, voice shaking, fragile. his head lifted slightly at that, eyes searching your face like he was afraid of what you were about to say, but needing it anyway.

“i love you,” you said.

his expression changed instantly, like something inside him collapsed into relief and disbelief at the same time.

“you–” he exhaled sharply, as if the words had physically struck him. “you do?”

you nodded against him, breath uneven, your hands trembling where they held him.

“i do,” you whispered again, softer now, but no less certain.

his arms pulled you closer immediately, like he couldn’t stand even a fraction of distance anymore, his forehead dropping to yours again as his breathing completely fell apart.

“i love you,” he said, voice cracking open. “i love you so much it– it hurts.”

the words wrapped around you, sinking into your chest like a warm hug. you cried out a loud moan as he started hitting your sensitive spot over and over again. and when you came, your body responded before your mind could catch up. a wave of overwhelming pleasure flooding through you, so intensely that your breath hitched sharply, gushing out an obscene amount of wetness.

taki trembled against you as he came undone right after with a sloppy thrust, holding on just as tightly, his voice breaking into fragments of your name and confessions, like he couldn’t separate the feeling from the person anymore. hot spurts of cum painted your walls white, but he didn't stop. he kept fucking you through your high until you both hissed from the overstimulation.

his weight settled against yours in a way that felt exhausted, real, grounding. his face found the crook of your neck, and he exhaled shakily, like he had been holding his breath for years without realizing it. for a moment, he didn’t move, just stayed there, close enough that there was no space left between thought and touch, between him and you.

his arms wrapped around you again, slower now, still connected to you because he couldn’t bring himself to pull out. his forehead pressed against your shoulder, then your neck, as if he couldn’t decide where you felt most like home.

your fingers moved instinctively through his caramel locs, gentle at first, then lingering when he didn’t pull away.

“don’t move,” he murmured, voice quiet and vulnerable. “just… stay like this for a second.”

you gave a soft breath of a laugh, still catching your own rhythm, but your hand didn’t stop its movement in his hair.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

he stayed still for a moment longer, as if testing whether the world would really let him have this. let him keep you like this, without interruption, without consequence, without punishment.

then his arms tightened just slightly around you again, not holding you in place, but holding onto the fact that you were there at all.

“good,” he murmured softly, the word barely more than air against your skin.

his lips brushed your shoulder, then lingered there, not quite a kiss, just an instinctive gesture of closeness. your fingers continued to thread gently through his hair, slower now, soothing in a way that seemed to pull the last of the tension out of him. you felt him exhale fully for the first time in what felt like hours.

taki shifted slightly, just enough to look at you again. his eyes were still heavy with everything that had happened, but softer now, fragile.

“i meant what i said,” he murmured after a moment, voice low but steady. “i’m not going anywhere either.”

your hand slid from his hair to his cheek, holding him there gently.

“good,” you repeated softly, mirroring him, a faint smile tugging at your lips as he leaned into your touch like a puppy.

and it was in that moment that you understood true paradise is found only after eating the fruit.

you squirmed, nuzzling your face further into the crevice where his neck met his shoulder. your hair brushed against his jaw, and he laughed softly at the sensation.

“what’s with you?” he wondered.

“nothing,” you mumbled, lying straight through your teeth.

he didn’t say anything, only continued to watch the game. you told yourself that maybe you’d feel better now that you were closer to him, skin to skin.

but after a few minutes, even that wasn’t enough. the ache between your leg was too much, the desire for some sort of pressure there. you needed him.

you slowly brought your hips forward, dragging your clothed pussy against the side of his leg. it was such a small movement that it went unnoticed by k, or he thought you were just readjusting yourself into a more comfortable position.

even that movement alone, though, felt good. so you did it again, a little faster. and then again, and again, rutting yourself back and forth on him in slow, calculated movements that you prayed would go unnoticed by him.

but, of course, your boyfriend caught on quickly. how dumb did you think he was to not be able to notice you quite literally rubbing yourself on him like he was a pillow?

“you could’ve just told me you were horny, you know,” he spoke up, gaze still directed on the tv.

the game was still playing, and it looked like he was paying attention, but he couldn’t focus now. not when he knew his girl needed him.

“you’re busy,” you said, your hips having come to a halt.

“yeah, i am,” he responded. “but clearly that doesn’t matter to you. go ahead, keep going. there’s nothing stopping you.”

your eyebrows tugged together in confusion. he knew you were horny, but didn’t want to help you? didn’t want to finger you or eat you out or fuck you like you were so craving him to?

“but w—”

he suddenly grabbed your hips, pulling you so you were sitting fully on his lap. your pussy brushed against his bulge in doing so, and you gasped at the sensation, at his unexpected hardness.

“you want me so bad,” he said, putting his arms behind his head. “well, you have me. now make yourself feel good.”

he was just watching you, the tv blocked by your body.

you felt shy now with the attention you previously wanted now on you and only you. he looked like he was getting slightly impatient, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting, so you shifted your hips forward, grinding your cunt against his lap.

you sighed in relief at the pleasure, and he continued to only watch. he didn’t even touch you, kept his hands strictly behind his head, biceps flaring without even trying.

your hips moved faster, almost like you were riding him. only, you were both fully clothed. but you wanted that to change.

you climbed off for his lap for a second to stand up between his legs, and slide your shorts and panties down in one go. you didn’t miss the way his jaw fell slack for a moment, and the natural instinct he seemed to have to reach out and touch you when you moved to sit back down on his lap.

“fuck,” he mumbled to himself as you began to rub your bare pussy on him over his sweatpants.

you seemed shameless about it, but you were embarrassed deep down. of course it was embarrassing. you were so desperate, so horny for your boyfriend that you were half naked, dry humping him while he was fully clothed, leaving a wet patch of your arousal on the front of his gray sweatpants.

at that, you leaned forward and hid your face in his chest, too humiliated to let him look at you any longer. still, your hips moved. it felt too good to stop.

“does that feel good?” he asked in that honey-like voice of his. “does it feel good using me to get off?”

you clenched your eyes shut, your hole tightening around nothing, frustratingly.

“please, k,” you practically cried, pressing your cheek against his chest.

“please what?” he asked, his voice mocking your desperate one. “what else could you possibly need?”

“touch me,” you begged, your thighs tightening around his waist as you ground down harder on him. “please, k, i’m close. please touch me.”

you were so sweet when you begged, he thought. and you’d been good, using his lap to make yourself feel good like he’d told you. so, he complied.

he brought his hand down to your hips, and snaked one down between your legs, cupping your cunt. you were practically dripping into the palm of his hand, humping it in desperation because you were so close that you didn’t care anymore.

he inched the tip of his finger into your soaking wet, warm hole, and that was all he needed to do to send you over the edge. you were cumming on his hand and on his lap in just seconds.

you choked out a sob and pressed your face into his neck again, your hips riding his hand to milk out your climax. he shoved his finger deep inside you, groaning when he felt your cunt tightening around it.

you sighed when he pulled his middle finger out a minute later. and you thought it was all over, but then he was bringing his finger up to your lips, and sliding it into your lips.

you sucked his long finger, swirling your tongue around it to taste your own essence, and k watched with a serious face, his cock throbbing underneath you.

“my needy girl,” he mumbled in awe, his other hand stroking your hair. “my sweet, needy girl.”

-

you rise up and slam back down, taking him to the hilt in one swift motion, and that's when the whines spill out freely, pitching higher and more desperate. "shit— oh fuck, pussy's gripping me tight so good," he groans, head tipping back against the pillow, neck veins bulging as he strains against the pleasure.

his moans echo off the walls now—raw bursts that mix with the wet slap of your bodies colliding, each one laced with a growl that reminds you he's no passive participant. one hand slides to your hip, fingers splaying wide to guide your rhythm with firm pressure, urging you faster without fully taking over, while the other tangles in your hair, tugging sharply to arch your back and expose more of you to his greedy touch.

he's relentless in his reactions, body responding to every grind with a fresh sound: a sharp inhale turning into a whine when you circle your hips, making his cock drag against your inner walls, a deep moan rumbling out as you lift and drop again, his free hand trailing down your spine to slap your ass lightly, the sting making you tighten around him and pulling another vocal spike from his lips.

"harder—fuck, make me feel every inch of you," he demands through gritted teeth, voice cracking on the last word into a needy moan that borders a snarl.

sweat beads on his forehead, trickling down his temple as his chest heaves, but he doesn't break eye contact—staring up at you with that intense gaze, lips parted to let out a string of moans that grow louder with each thrust.

"yeah, just... ahh, shit—cunt's milking my cock so good, baby, don't you dare slow down."

his touchiness ramps up as the tension builds; hands everywhere—gripping your thighs to spread them wider, thumbs pressing into the soft skin there; sliding up to pinch your nipples again, twisting just enough to make you shudder and clench, which rips a particularly loud whine from him, high and broken.

"fuck, yes. do that again," he pants, bucking his hips up sharply to bury himself deeper, his cock pulsing hotly inside you.

even as you ride him relentlessly, his reactions scream partnership: moans that urge you on, whines that beg for more friction and touches that claim you back—fingers tracing your collarbone, then down to where your pussy swallows his length, spreading your lips wider for a better view as he watches himself disappear into you.

by the time you're both trembling, his sounds have built into a symphony with yours—loud whines fracturing into moans, each one punctuated by a grunt when he thrusts up to match your pace. his hands clamp onto your waist, guiding you harder as his abdomen contract, cock swelling thicker.

"i'm gonna cum—fill your pussy up, do you want that?" he growls as you nod viciously, raking your nails down his pecs. the words dissolving into a final, echoing whine as he erupts, hot spurts flooding you while his body shudders beneath yours.

Having Maki as your husband had accustomed you to such a specific routine. You were incharge of fixing the bed after you two woke up since he sets up his alarm earlier than yours. While he cooks breakfast for the both of you before going to work. You appreciate how he tries to make different breakfast each day, and never forgets to ask for your opinion as well the night before.

Your alarm went off thirty minutes after your husband woke up, he had already taken a bath and is now cooking breakfast, while you gave yourself a few minutes before getting out of bed. Once you've done fixing the sheets and arranging the pillows neatly, you left the bedroom and quickly trudge your way towards the kitchen.

Greeted by the heavenly aroma of the food, you spotted the figure of none other than your husband, humming a tune from his favorite song, wearing only a black tank top and slacks to not mess up his work clothes.

Once you were behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, face immediately buried on his back as you inhaled the smell of laundry from his clean top, with his body wash seeping in as well.

A calm, content sigh escaped your lips as you mumbled, "good morning, Riki." Although you couldn't see it, Maki had the biggest puppy-like grin on his face right now. He slowly removed his grip from the spatula and caressed your arm around him.

"Good morning, baby." He greeted back, the smile not leaving his face. Maki urges you to take a shower as he finishes up breakfast.

Whenever Maki comes home late at night, dead tired because of some annoying client he wanted to punch right in the face, coming home with the thought of you waiting for him as you prepared dinner is definitely the most perfect thing to him.

Once you heard the rustle of the keys from just outside the door had you sprinting towards the entrance, waiting for your husband to come inside with giddiness rushing through your body.

Usually, Maki comes home earlier than you. At rare times where he's late such as today makes you want to greet him like he always does when it comes to you. When your husband finally opened the door, a tired frown plastered on his face, his expression quickly changed into a soft one— a gentle smile now present on his face upon seeing you with the cutest expression ever.

"Welcome home, Riki!" You exclaimed, waiting for him to close the door behind him before you stepped closer, loosening your husband's necktie, a reminder that he's finally home after a long day. Maki's strong arms quickly wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer into a hug.

"I'm home, wifey." He mumbled tiredly, voice deep yet filled with love.

Great.

You freeze, heat flaring behind your ears. Your hands go useless for a second, hovering above the mess as if you can will it back into order.

A hand appears in your periphery—long fingers, clean nails, a silver ring catching the light. He crouches without hesitation, gathering your books with a quick, practiced rhythm, as if helping is something he does the way other people breathe.

“Here,” he says, voice soft enough that it doesn’t disturb the quiet. “This one’s yours too, right?”

He holds up a notebook—yours, yes, with the corner bent and your name scrawled on the first page. When you look up, your mouth opens on a thank you that gets snagged on your own surprise.

Because Euijoo is—beautiful, yes, but not in a distant way. More like… deliberate. Like someone who’s learned how to exist in his own skin and decided to be gentle with the world anyway. He wears a plain hoodie and a scarf that’s too thin for the weather, and his hair is damp at the ends as if he ran here through drizzle. His eyes are dark and awake and kind.

“You dropped your whole semester,” he whispers with a faint smile.

You swallow a laugh, relief loosening the tightness in your chest. “I’m trying to make an impression.”

“Mission accomplished.”

Your fingers brush when you take the notebook. Electricity is such a cliché, but you feel something—small and quick and bright—skitter through your bones like a match struck in the dark.

He stacks the last book in your arms with careful precision. “Do you want help carrying these?”

You should say no. You’re an adult! You can manage a few books. But his hands are already reaching, his posture already angled toward your burden like he’s decided you’re something worth making lighter.

“Sure,” you whisper, and then, because the quiet makes honesty feel dangerous, you add, “If you don’t mind.”

He takes half the stack and nods toward the study tables. “I don’t.”

That’s it. That’s the beginning. Not fireworks. Not a dramatic confession under moonlight. Just a Tuesday that thinks it’s a Monday, and Euijoo deciding—wordlessly, instinctively—that you matter.

…

You become a pattern in each other’s lives the way the seasons become a pattern: slowly, then all at once.

At first it’s small. Study sessions that start as coincidence and turn into agreement. Coffee runs where he remembers—somehow—that you like two sugars and no lid because you hate the taste of plastic. Messages about deadlines, jokes about professors, photos of lecture slides taken at an angle because you’re late and he’s already in the room.

You learn him in pieces.

Euijoo taps his pen against his teeth when he’s thinking. He looks up when he’s nervous, like he’s checking the ceiling for permission. He laughs with his whole body—shoulders, eyes, hands—like laughter is a thing that has to be let out or it will split him open.

And he’s good. Not performative-good, not the kind of kindness that expects applause. Just—good in the way some people are good the way some nights are clear. He holds doors, yes, but he also notices when you’re quiet for too long. He walks you home when the campus gets emptier and the streetlights flicker, and he never makes it feel like a favor. He just… does it. Like it would be stranger not to.

One evening in late October, you’re sitting on the grass outside the student union, sharing fries that taste like salt and oil and comfort. The air smells like fallen leaves and distant smoke from someone’s cigarette. Euijoo has his knees pulled up, arms folded over them, scarf looped too loose.

You’re telling him about your family—some half-complaint, half-confession—and your voice does that thing it does when you’re trying not to be vulnerable.

He listens without interrupting. When you finish, you stare at the fries so you don’t have to stare at him.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

You glance up.

His eyes are steady, almost solemn. “You don’t have to earn love.”

The words hit you like a hand on your chest—not pushing, but anchoring.

You blink. “I—”

“You don’t,” he repeats. And then, softer, like he’s telling himself as much as you, “You’re already… you.”

You swallow. Something inside you shifts, like the world has tilted a degree in a direction you didn’t know existed.

For a second, you think you might cry. Instead, you steal a fry and point it at him like a weapon. “Are you always this serious?”

He breaks, smiling, tension falling away. “Only when it matters.”

“Does this matter?” you ask, waving the fry.

He watches you, eyes warm and bright. “Yes,” he says, and then he leans forward and bites the end of the fry you’re holding.

Your fingers freeze.

His lips brush your knuckles.

It lasts half a second. It feels like a lifetime.

You stare at him, caught somewhere between laughter and panic, and Euijoo’s gaze flickers—down, then up—like he knows exactly what he just did.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t look sorry. He looks… struck. Like he’s just realized something about himself and he doesn’t know where to put it.

You manage, very calmly, “It’s just a fry.”

He nods, eyes dropping again, voice rougher. “Yeah. Just a fry.”

But you both know it wasn’t.

…

The first time he kisses you is not planned, and that’s what makes it feel inevitable.

It happens in December, when the cold becomes a personality trait and the sky goes dark at four in the afternoon. Finals week has turned everyone into ghosts with caffeine breath. You’re exhausted in a way that feels like your bones are full of sand.

Euijoo finds you in an empty hallway outside a lecture room you’re not even supposed to be in, sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, your notes spread around you like you exploded.

He crouches beside you. “Hey.”

You lift your head. Your eyes burn. “I’m failing.”

“You’re not,” he says immediately, like he’s correcting an insult.

“I don’t understand anything,” you whisper, and the worst part is how true it feels in the moment. Like your brain is a locked door and you’ve lost the key.

Euijoo’s hand hovers near your shoulder, then settles there gently. His thumb moves once, a small stroke through your sweater. “Look at me,” he says.

You do.

He holds your gaze, steady as a heartbeat. “You’re tired,” he says. “Not stupid.”

Something in your throat tightens. “I can’t—”

“Breathe,” he tells you. “Just breathe with me.”

You inhale. He inhales. You exhale. He exhales. His eyes never leave yours, as if he’s physically keeping you from falling apart.

The hallway is silent, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above you, the distant sound of someone laughing far away like another world.

You don’t know who moves first. You only know that Euijoo’s face is suddenly closer, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your cheek, his palm warm against your cold skin. His eyes flick down to your mouth and back up, a question he doesn’t ask out loud.

You nod, barely.

He kisses you like he’s been carrying it for months. Like he’s been holding his breath and finally decided he’s allowed to exhale.

It’s not desperate. It’s not messy. It’s—precise, careful, reverent. He pulls back after a second, forehead almost touching yours, and you see it: the stunned softness in his eyes, the way his pupils look blown wide, as if he can’t believe this is real.

“Okay?” he whispers.

You laugh, shaky. “Yeah.”

He swallows. “I… I wanted to do that for a long time.”

Your heart kicks hard. “Why didn’t you?”

His gaze drops, and for the first time you see him looking unsure—Euijoo, who always seems so quietly certain.

“Because,” he says, voice low, “I didn’t want to be the kind of person who takes something you weren’t ready to give.”

You stare at him.

His eyes flick up again, earnest enough to hurt. “I don’t want to ruin you. Or—well, us.”

You lift a hand and press your fingers to his scarf, anchoring him the way he anchored you. “You didn’t.”

Something shifts in his expression—relief, tenderness, a bloom of something older than a crush.

He kisses you again, slower, and you swear you feel it all the way down to your ribs.

…

After that, you become each other’s home in the middle of everything that keeps changing.

You learn the shape of Euijoo’s affection: the way he tucks you into his side when you’re waiting for the bus, palm splayed on your shoulder like a claim that isn’t possessive, just protective. The way he watches you when you talk, like he’s memorizing the movement of your mouth, the curve of your smiles, the moments your eyes light up. The way he says your name like it’s a secret and a prayer.

Sometimes you catch him staring.

Not in a creepy way. In a wrecked way.

Like he’s looking at you and remembering that you exist, and it hurts him because it’s so beautiful it’s almost unbearable.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask once, half teasing, half self-conscious. You’re sitting in his tiny dorm room, legs tangled on his bed, a cheap movie playing on his laptop. The air smells like laundry detergent and instant noodles.

He blinks, as if returning from somewhere far away. “Like what?”

“Like I’m—” You wave a hand, searching. “Like I’m the answer to a question you didn’t know you asked.”

His mouth twitches, but his eyes don’t soften into humor. They stay serious, almost raw.

“You are,” he says simply.

You laugh, because you don’t know what else to do when someone says something that honest. “Euijoo.”

He reaches out and takes your hand, threading your fingers together. His grip is firm—not painful, but solid, like a promise.

“I mean it,” he says, voice quiet over the movie’s dialogue. “Sometimes I look at you and I think… how is this real?”

Your chest tightens. “It’s real.”

He nods, but his gaze flickers, betraying something inside him that doesn’t fully believe he gets to keep good things.

You squeeze his hand. “Hey.”

He looks at you.

“Don’t make yourself suffer over something you haven’t lost,” you whisper.

For a moment, his eyes shine like he might cry. Then he lifts your hand and presses his mouth to your knuckles—gentle, devotional.

“Okay,” he breathes. “I’ll try.”

But you learn, over the months, that Euijoo’s love is not a simple thing.

It’s not light. It’s not casual.

It’s deep and old, like it was waiting in him long before he knew what to call it.

…

By spring, everyone knows you’re together.

Not because you make a show of it, but because Euijoo looks different when you’re near. Softer. Brighter. Like his body relaxes into a shape it prefers.

He walks you to class and carries your bag when you’re tired. He buys you ridiculous little things—a keychain shaped like your favorite animal, a cheap bouquet from the corner store because it “looked like you.” He leaves notes in your textbooks when you’re not looking: Eat. Sleep. Don’t die. I love you.

The first time he says it out loud is in April, on a night the wind is warm enough to feel like a hand.

You’re sitting on the roof of a campus building you’re probably not supposed to be on, legs dangling over the edge, the city sprawled below like a sea of lights. Euijoo has brought two cans of soda and a blanket that smells like him.

You’re talking about nothing—summer plans, internships, how adulthood feels like standing at the edge of a cliff and pretending you’re not scared.

Euijoo goes quiet. When you look at him, he’s staring at his hands, fingers worrying the tab of the soda can.

“What?” you ask gently.

He exhales, and the sound trembles. “I’m thinking,” he says.

“About what?”

He turns his head and looks at you.

And the expression on his face makes your breath catch—like he’s standing in front of something sacred. Like he’s terrified of saying the wrong thing and breaking it.

“I love you,” he says.

The words aren’t dramatic. They’re not shouted into the wind. They’re said like a fact. Like a confession. Like something he has carried for so long it has become part of his spine.

You stare at him, stunned for a second. And then warmth floods your chest so fast you almost choke on it.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Euijoo’s eyes squeeze shut for a heartbeat, as if he’s absorbing it physically. When he opens them, they’re wet.

“Hey,” you say, voice soft. “Why are you crying?”

He laughs, but it’s broken. “Because—” He swallows hard. “Because I didn’t think I would get this.”

You reach for him, pulling him into your arms. He clings like he’s been starving. His hold is careful but fierce, hands spread over your back, his forehead pressed to your shoulder.

And you feel it: the way his body shakes, the way his breathing stutters, like his heart is trying to learn a new rhythm.

It hits you then, quietly, like a truth settling into place.

Euijoo loves like he’s afraid.

Not of you. Not of love.

Of losing it.

…

Time moves the way it always does—relentless and tender. You survive finals. You survive summers that stretch like taffy and winters that make your cheeks sting. You move from dorm rooms to tiny apartments, from instant ramen to grocery lists and shared chores, from “I miss you” texts between classes to “What do you want for dinner?” shouted from the kitchen.

You grow up together in all the unglamorous ways that matter.

And somewhere along the line, Euijoo changes.

Not in the sense that he becomes a different person—he doesn’t lose his gentleness, his quiet humor, his habit of tapping his pen against his teeth. But something in him settles. Deepens. Hardens into certainty.

You see it in the way he stands behind you when you’re cooking, arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder. In the way he looks at you at parties, across crowded rooms, eyes finding yours like a compass needle snapping north. In the way he reaches for your hand in public without thinking, like your fingers belong there.

At first, his love feels like a bright, frantic thing—like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t hold you, you’ll disappear.

Then, gradually, it becomes something else.

Something older.

Something that doesn’t just want you.

Something that wants a life.

…

It happens on an ordinary day, which is how you know it’s real.

You’re in a grocery store aisle arguing about cereal, because you’ve reached that stage of intimacy where your biggest conflicts are about sugar content and brand loyalty. Euijoo has a box of something aggressively healthy in his hand, and you’re holding a bright, childish, chocolate-covered option like it’s the only joy left in the world.

“You can’t eat that every day,” he says, trying to sound stern.

“You eat instant noodles like it’s a personality,” you shoot back.

He huffs, amused. “That’s different.”

“It’s literally not.”

He looks at you, eyes narrowing, and you prepare for him to make some ridiculous comeback.

Instead, his gaze shifts—past you, down the aisle.

You follow it and see, near the endcap, a young couple with a toddler. The child is in a puffy jacket too big for her, hair sticking up in staticy wisps, cheeks flushed. She’s holding her parent’s finger with both hands, babbling happily while the adults laugh and try to wrangle her toward the cart.

It’s nothing special. Just life.

But Euijoo goes still.

Not stiff. Not tense. Just… quiet, as if something inside him has stopped moving long enough to listen.

You glance at him. “Euijoo?”

He doesn’t answer at first. His eyes are fixed on the child’s tiny hands, the way she leans into the safety of her parents like she has never doubted she’ll be caught.

When he finally looks at you, it’s like he’s seeing you in a new light.

His pupils are wide. His mouth is slightly open, like he’s been punched with the thought.

“What?” you ask, suddenly nervous.

He swallows. His throat moves hard. “I—” He stops, as if he doesn’t know how to say what’s in him without breaking it.

You step closer, lowering your voice. “What is it?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, then to your hands, then back to your eyes, like he’s trying to anchor himself.

“I don’t think,” he says slowly, “I love you like a boy loves someone anymore.”

Your breath catches.

He keeps going, voice raw, as if once he starts he can’t stop. “I think… I love you like—” He presses a hand to his chest, fingers splaying over his heart. “Like something in me is old.”

You blink, stunned. The grocery store hums around you: carts squeaking, a kid whining somewhere, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

Euijoo’s eyes shine. “Sometimes I look at you and it feels like my bones crack if I don’t hold you,” he whispers, and there’s a faint, trembling laugh in the words, like he knows it sounds insane but it’s true anyway. “And it scares me, because it’s not just… wanting you. It’s not just missing you.”

He leans closer, voice dropping to a confession meant only for you. “It’s like my soul knows you. Like it’s been waiting.”

Your hands tighten around the cereal box.

Euijoo reaches out and covers your fingers with his, warm and steady. “I keep thinking about… years,” he says. “Not just weekends. Not just next semester. Years. Like—”

He swallows again, and this time his voice breaks slightly. “Like I want to marry you.”

The words land in you like a bell struck deep.

Euijoo’s eyes fill. He looks almost anguished, like saying it hurts, like wanting you this much is something he both craves and fears.

“I want to call you my wife,” he whispers, and his expression twists, love and terror braided together. “I want… kids. I want to watch you hold our baby like it’s the only thing in the universe. I want to watch us get old and complain about our backs and still reach for each other in our sleep. I want to sit at a table with you and our grandchildren and think—we did it.”

Your throat tightens until you can barely breathe.

Euijoo’s voice drops even softer, almost a plea. “And it makes me feel like I’m breaking, because if I want it that much—if I let myself want it—then losing it would kill me.”

He looks at you like you’re the sun and he’s been orbiting you without admitting it. Like he’s terrified you’ll say no and confirm his worst fear: that good things aren’t meant to stay.

You set the cereal down carefully on the shelf, hands shaking just a little.

Then you step into him.

Euijoo inhales sharply when your arms wrap around his waist. For a second he’s frozen, as if he can’t believe you’re doing it, and then he folds around you—tight, fierce, protective. His hold is the kind of hold that says mine without ownership, home without walls.

You bury your face in his shoulder. “Euijoo,” you whisper, voice thick.

He presses his cheek to your hair. His breathing is uneven. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut in, pulling back just enough to look at him.

His eyes are wet. He looks wrecked.

You cup his face with both hands. “Look at me.”

He does, trembling.

“I want that,” you say.

He stares. “What?”

“You,” you whisper. “All of it. The years. The old love. The terrifying love. The stupid grocery store fights. The kids, if we decide. The getting old. The being yours.”

Euijoo’s breath leaves him like he’s been shot.

“You mean it?” he asks, voice cracked.

You smile through the ache in your chest. “I’ve meant it.”

His face crumples with something so intensely relieved it hurts to witness. He closes his eyes, forehead dropping to yours, and a sound escapes him—half laugh, half sob.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he whispers, words desperate with sincerity. “I’m going to love you so well. I’m going to—”

“You already do,” you murmur.

He shakes his head, as if he can’t accept that it’s enough. “No,” he says. “More. I will—more.”

And then, right there between the cereal and the pasta sauce, Euijoo kisses you like a man who has found the thing he intends to keep for the rest of his life.

Not reckless. Not showy.

Burning.

Deep.

Old.

Like he’s making a vow with his mouth.

When he pulls back, his eyes are shining so brightly it feels like staring into a flame.

He looks at you the way people look at miracles.

And you realize something too, in the quiet after his confession:

Euijoo doesn’t love you like a story.

He loves you like a future.

…

Later, when you’re home and the groceries are half-put away and you’re both still dazed from what happened in aisle seven, he comes up behind you in the kitchen.

You’re rinsing apples at the sink. The window above it is dark, reflecting your own faces back at you: you in a soft sweatshirt, hair messy, Euijoo behind you like a shadow made of devotion.

He wraps his arms around your waist.

His chin settles on your shoulder.

You feel him breathe in, slow and deep, like he’s inhaling you into his lungs.

“You’re real,” he murmurs.

You turn your head slightly. “I’m real.”

His grip tightens, just a little. The kind of tightness that says he’s trying to fuse you into him.

You cover his hands with yours. “Hey,” you whisper. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

He exhales, shaky. “I’m not afraid of you,” he says.

“I know.”

He nuzzles your shoulder, voice low. “I’m afraid of how much I want this. Because it’s… huge.”

You turn around in his arms and face him fully. His eyes are soft but haunted, like the depth of his love sometimes scares even him.

You reach up and smooth your thumb under his eye, catching the smallest hint of moisture. “Then we’ll hold it together,” you say. “We don’t have to carry it alone.”

Euijoo stares at you like you’ve just handed him the missing piece of himself.

Then he smiles—small, trembling, utterly ruined.

“Wife,” he whispers experimentally, like he’s tasting it.

Your heart stutters.

You laugh, breathless. “Not yet.”

He nods, serious as a vow. “Someday.”

You lean into him, forehead against his, and for a moment the whole world narrows to the space between your breaths.

Euijoo’s arms tighten around you, and you understand what he meant about bones and cracking and needing.

His love is not gentle because it is weak.

It’s gentle because it is powerful enough to be careful.

“Someday,” you agree softly.

Euijoo closes his eyes, and his soul—no longer crying, no longer breaking—sounds like it’s finally found a place to rest.

And when he kisses you again, it’s not like a boy.

It’s like a man who has already chosen you for every version of the future.

Every season.

Every lifetime.

TAGLIST: @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @voucearse @ruuroom @wensurr @sunoo-mint-choco @leehanaholic @delirioastral @todorokiskitten

The soft glow of your lamp filled your room as you sat at your desk, fingers paused over your laptop’s keyboard, waiting for the words to come to your mind so you could write them down. Your best friend, Minju, was on the phone which you had propped up against the right hand side of your laptop screen. She was meant to be helping you write this assignment but all she has done so far is distract you with dumb boy talk. “You know, if you’re still struggling to concentrate you should hit up that guy,” Minju teased, her voice getting more disoriented as her wifi was of shocking quality. 

You roll your eyes, remembering how Minju had been trying to get you to talk to the college drug dealer, to buy some weed and actually relax for once. You were always far too busy studying, attempting to get good grades whilst your best friend was at parties every other day of the week. “Weno’s nice, and he has good weed, I don’t know why don’t just text - he doesn’t bite,” your friend giggles through the phone, your cheeks turning a dark shade of pink due to her teasing.

“I never said he wasn’t nice I just,” you struggle to find the nicest way to tell Minju that you don’t want to buy weed. That smoking the stinky, green stuff has never been on your to do list. 

“I’m not-” Your words were cut off by the sound of the call ending, the war between Minju’s WiFi and herself had come to an end, her WiFi being the champion once again. You sigh, shutting your laptop down and admitting defeat, there was no point in trying to study when you couldn’t even focus on the screen. Your phone ended up in your hands as you grumbled, bored and fed up of studying. The time was getting on and yet you had made no advancements on your project, the feeling of failure starting to settle in your bones. 

“It wouldn’t hurt,” You spoke to yourself, opening up iMessage and scrolling up on Minju’s chat until you found the dealer's attached number. You clicked on it, attempting to draft up a message but how the hell do you send a message to a drug dealer? You mutter under your breath, turning your phone off and setting it on the bedside table. If you couldn’t study, there was no harm in taking a small nap right? 

You turn the lamp off, pulling the blanket up to your chest whilst cradling your well loved plushie. “Stupid Minju and her stupid weed,” your words come out angry and sleepily, directed to your friend who was probably on her way to some party rather than studying.

–

The sound of your alarm wakes you up, the soft sunlight of the outside world filtering into your bedroom in soft streams. You had slept through the entire evening and night, the nap spiralling into almost full blown hibernation. 

There’s banging at your door, aggressive and persistent but your sleepy mind is too tired to even think about who it could be. You slowly make your way over, your plushie hanging from your side as you hold it by its paw. “Who is it?” “OPEN. NOW.” Minju’s voice fills your ears, hand stilling on the door handle before you reluctantly answer it. Her and her energetic energy fill the small space of your dorm, a pungent smell following her. “GOD! I’ve been calling you all day. Where have you been!” She crosses her arms over her chest, the whites of her eyes slightly red.

“Just been sleeping,” You yawn, eyes fluttering close as you fight the urge to fall asleep right there and then. Minju doesn’t let you continue your sentence, spewing out whatever gossip she had absorbed from the late night she had spent partying. 

The morning passes in a haze, Minju sleeping in your bed as you attempt to study even if your best friend complains you hate her. Her words are less slurred every time she wakes up for a few moments, the high of whatever she consumed wearing off. 

You look at your phone, thumb lingering over the messages app. You cave in, pressing it and finding the dealer's contact through your group chat with a few friends. The action feels wrong, foreign and straight up illegal, your palms getting slightly sweaty as you think of a message to send

How the hell do you message a drug dealer? Hey, do you deal the good stuff LOL You cringed at the message, but it was too late to delete it as the read receipt popped up under the bubble. You immediately turned your phone off, not wanting to know what was on the other side but admittedly you only lasted a few minutes before checking.

If ur the police then noIf ur a customer, then yes A small bubble of regret formed in your gut at the message, maybe you shouldn’t have done this but the ship had already sailed. You slowly turned your phone over as if it was hiding a monster of some sorts. Not the cops LOL I just have never done this before I have 40 dollars, I don’t know if that’s enough I’m rambling aren’t I?

Your texts came through in panicked bursts, only adding to the anxiety in your stomach but the response somewhat eased that. Meet at 7, behind the dorms. You had never been more excited for 7 PM more in your entire life. – You fixed your hoodie for the 8th time, flattening down the nonexistent creases, fiddling with the strings. You adjusted the drawstrings on your sweatpants, wearing the most oversized clothes to look as normal as you could but you still looked out of place, a lone girl hiding behind the dorms in the late hours of the day. 

Minju had left at 4 PM after eating almost every ounce of food in your dorm, ensuring you’d have to go grocery shopping tomorrow. Your head turned when you heard the sound of an engine, signalling the fact that the dealer had indeed arrived. However you weren’t expecting a handsome man to step out of the car. “You the, I've never done this before girl?” He raised an eyebrow, taking in your rather cute appearance. Your oversized clothes basically swallowed your limbs, making you look more like a teddy bear than an actual person.

 Weno stepped closer, hands in his pocket, his confidence was undeniably attractive. You could only blush at his words, turning away in slight shame before you nodded. “Yeah,,, yeah that’s me, I got the money,” You reached into your hoodie pocket, eyes widening when you realised you must have left it in your dorm. “I think I left it in my dorm… do you want to come up?” Your words were quiet, barely audible but Weno seemed to have heard by the way he was already heading towards the entrance to your complex. The elevator ride up to your floor was silent and once you unlocked the door to your dorm, he stepped right in and made himself at home. “I won’t be long, I only wanted some weed to help take some stress off my shoulders,” You shyly admitted, feet slowly dragging you towards your bedroom door. “Stress relief?” He repeated, eyebrow raising but he made no comment on it, watching as you scampered off to your room. 

You emerged a few moments later, a wad of cash clutched in your trembling fingers, extending it out to him. “There's 40,, I don’t know how expensive this stuff is,” You mumbled, looking down Weno only smirked, taking the money and counting it before pocketing 20 and returning the rest. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, grabbing a small baggie and offering it to you. “Thanks,” You looked at the bag slightly dumbfounded, unsure of what to do with it but that was nothing a youtube tutorial couldn’t fix. Weno sensed your discomfort, a slight thought crossing his mind, remembering you had never smoked before so you probably had no idea on how to roll a blunt.

 “Extra ten bucks and I’ll teach you how to roll,” He hummed, brown eyes finding your own. You nodded almost eagerly, handing him a ten dollar bill and following him to the couch. He seemed to be more comfortable in your own space than you were, man spreading as he grabbed some papers from his back pocket, leaning forwards to use the coffee table. Weno explained the steps in detail, hands moving slowly so you could see each small step of how he rolled the blunt, looking up every once in a while to make sure you were still following. “You get it?” He finished up with the blunt, holding it out to you. 

“Yeah, I think so,” You nodded, unsure but with more knowledge than you did before. The blunt rested between your fingers uncomfortably, no idea on how to hold it properly. Weno watched as you fumbled with it, a small smile crossing his lips at the innocent display, a girl drowning in oversized clothes struggling to hold a blunt. 

He leaned in slightly closer, his large hands encasing yours as he positioned the joint correctly in your hand, “Like this,” He mumbled, the scent of his cologne and mint gum filled your nose, eyes flicking up to look at him. “Thank you,” You whispered, the tips of your ears turning pink in embarrassment as you lit the end of the blunt, taking a shaky inhale. The smoke filled your mouth and lungs far too fast causing you to cough and splutter, eyes watering and your fist pounding on your chest to try get it out. Sour smoke came from your mouth in aggressive puffs, tears running down your cheeks as you tried to breathe, your inexperience was almost endearing. 

“You’re a virgin, you’ve never smoked before and you thought it was a good idea to buy weed, learn how to roll and smoke for the first time all by yourself,” He spoke more to himself than you, taking the blunt from your hands. He raised his hand to his lips, the mouth piece of the joint resting between his lips as he took an inhale, not flinching or resisting, just letting it fill his lungs. His face relaxed, jaw no longer tensed and his eyebrows no longer raised, his thighs unclenched falling out more and his eyes fluttering shut.

  The smoke left his parted lips in tendrils, wrapping around the 2 of you in a way which felt oddly domestic. “Go slowly, you wanted to relieve stress not cause more,” His words are teasing, yet they lack any real bite to them.

 You avoided his gaze, looking down and nodding slightly ashamed. Weno lifted the joint to your lips, “Inhale slowly,,” You took a shallow breath in through your mouth, slow and controlled. The smoke filled your lungs at a much slower rate this time, still tinging the back of your throat but in a much pleasurable way this time.

“Atta girl,” He mutters, pulling the blunt away as you held the smoke in your lungs. After a few seconds, you relaxed your lungs allowing the smoke to travel around the room in whispers, each holding a moment of stress or a worry you couldn’t quite get rid off. “Woah,” You giggled, the world around you seemed more fuzzy now, more slow paced. The loud thoughts which raced through your mind a mile a minute seemed to slow down, more round around the edges, softer, smoother. You turn to Weno with a sappy smile, watching as he takes another hit, offering you the blunt again.

Between the 2 of you the blunt is finished within 40 minutes, you taking longer pauses between the few you do have whilst Weno has more longer and fuller drags. Conversation flows between you like second nature, college talk to personal lives to how many pets you had and your favourite fruit. Weno was far from the cold person he acted like, the dark clothes and prickly shell made him seem a lot like a hedgehog, one which was simply just scared to let people in. “You still look kind of tense,” Weno mutters, stretching his arms up above his head which causes his graphic tee he was wearing to ride up and show a slither of his abs. Your eyes linger for a beat too long, a blush spreading across your cheeks when you realise he noticed.

 “I guess, I’m always tense though,” You shrug the moment off, but his eyes linger on how tight your shoulders seem to be, how the worries and stress of your thoughts seem to have buried themself deep into your bones. “You know, I know a better way to relieve stress,” He shuffles, his jean clad thigh pressing into yours. “Yeah?” Your words came out a lot weaker than you wanted to, eyes glazed over in need of something you hadn’t even realised you desired.The weed was making everything seem so much fuzzier, the lines blurring and words slurring. 

You didn’t even realise what was happening before your lips were colliding with his, the soft, plump, pink pillows encasing your own slightly chapped lips in a bruising kiss. Weno’s hands grabbed your waist, pulling you into his lap as his tongue traced your bottom lip, asking for entrance. Once granted, his tongue delved into your mouth, exploring each crevice of you, tasting everything that he could. The rings on his fingers dug into your waist slightly as he reached under your hoodie to squeeze your waist. “You gonna let me take care of you baby? Take all that stress off your pretty shoulders?” Weno mumbled as he kissed down your neck, lips locking onto the junction where your neck met your shoulder. A soft moan passed your lips, fingers reaching up to tangle in his blonde mullet, tugging desperately on the soft strands.

 “Yes, Fuck, I’ll let you,” Your head tilted back as he sucked on your neck, hands coming up to cup your breasts, squeezing them roughly. Weno’s hands wrapped around your waist again, squeezing your ass and standing up with you in his arms. Once inside your room, he laid you down on top of the bed kneeling in between your legs. His lips never left yours, kissing you as if it were the only thing that kept him alive. His right hand slipped into your sweatpants, cupping your heat and groaning at the fact your panties were already wet.

 “Already wet from some kisses? Shit,” You only whimpered at his words, legs spreading wider so he could feel your wet core better. “Take this off for me pretty,” He tugged at the hem of your shirt, helping you pull it over your head before crashing his lips against yours again. His hands were already on your hips again, untying your sweatpants and pulling them down your legs. You whined, head tilting back as you went to shut your legs but Weno used his large hands to keep them spread, kissing down your breasts. “So fucking sexy, gonna fuck the stress from your pretty bones. Make this pussy feel so fuckin’ good,” He groaned against the soft skin of your stomach, groping at what ever part of your body he could reach. Your face was flushed pink, blush spreading from the tips of your ears to the expanse of your collarbones. No man had ever made you feel like this before. Weno’s lips trailed down your body, spreading your thighs wider as he looked at your clothed pussy, cotton panties completely drenched, the white fabric had turned slightly see through. He inhaled deeply, a soft grunt passing his lips at the sickening scent of your arousal. “Is this okay baby?” Soft brown eyes darted up to look at you and all the words on the tip of your tongue dissolved, giving a soft nod in response. Hesitance was noticeable in his eyes, the way his lips brushed against your thighs instead of purposely touching your cunt. Like he was unsure of what to do. Weno smirked gently, pulling your panties down your legs before pocketing them in his jeans. His lips found your thighs, sucking dark hickies into the plush area before he was licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit. 

Your head tilted back, eyes squeezing shut as your hands tangling in his blonde hair to ground yourself. “Fuck!” You whined, his tongue flicking against your clit in a way which made your toes curl. Your slick was starting to run down his chin but that didn’t deter the man, only doubling down, his nose rubbing against your clit as he fucked his tongue into you. His hands grabbed your thighs spreading them wide, your back arching into his face, “So good, feels so good,” You moaned, biting the back of your hand to silence yourself. “You taste so good baby, could eat your pussy for fuckin’ days,” Weno’s voice had become hoarse from how vigorous he had been sucking on your clit. One of his ringed fingers traced your entrance before he was crawling up the bed, slotting his lips against yours like it was the final piece of a missing puzzle.

 You could taste yourself on his tongue but it didn’t matter, it was only a distraction from 2 of fingers sliding into your tight cunt. You broke the kiss to moan into his shoulder, only then realising he still had all of his clothes on.

 “Off, off, please, Weno,” You begged so prettily, batting your eye lashes at him to try to convince him to take his clothes off faster. Weno could only chuckle, kissing your cheek, “Soon pretty, let me make you feel good first okay?” He curled his fingers, hitting a spot which made you see stars. “ ‘M, fuck, ‘M gonna cum,” You panted, his fingers speeding up before his thumb found your clit, tracing the sensitive bud with the pad. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, Weno’s lips pressed into the shell of your ear, “Cum for me pretty, make a mess on my fingers. Show me how good I make you feel,” Your pussy clamped down on his fingers, forcing him to only rub your clit as you orgasm crashed over you, white stars dotting your vision. Your toes curl, a sinful cry of his name as you come down, eyes fluttering shut and nose scrunching up in tiredness. “Wanna make you feel good too,” You whispered, pulling him into a kiss, pushing his shirt up his back until he was breaking the kiss to pull it over his head. You ran your fingers over his chest, feeling the defined muscles, reaching to squeeze his biceps. Weno groaned, a small smile on his face at how eager you were to make him feel good.

“It’s okay baby girl,” He cups your face in his large hands, thumb running over your bottom lip before pushing inside of your mouth. You whine, shaking your head eagerly as you try to grab his cock but he shies away.

“Please?” You bat your eyelashes but he only smiles gently, looking at how fucked out you are from the combination of the high from the weed and the high from your orgasm. Weno gets up from the bed, disappearing into the kitchen before returning with a bottle of water.

“Drink up,” he places it down on the bedside table, your entire body slumped down in the bed, head hiding in the pillows as soft snores left your parted lips. He chuckles softly, turning around and heading to the door of your dorm to leave you to sleep.

Weno makes his way downstairs of the complex, one hand in his pocket to try conceal how his cock was straining against the front of his jeans. He sighs to himself, lighting a cigarette as he gets in his car, a whirlwind of thoughts clouding his hazy mind.

Getting high with customers was one thing he had done once or twice considering most of his customers were close friends or college students. But this? Getting high with a girl he didn’t know and then eating her out? Fucking hell, a new low for even him.

His hand made its way to his jeans, unbuckling the belt and pulling them down to midthigh. It was far too late for anyone to come by now, so jerking off in his car to the lingering taste of your pussy on his tongue wasn’t that bad.. Right?

Weno smears the precum across his tip, thumb digging into his slut just the way he liked it, hips bucking up into his hand. He could still taste you, his tongue running along his bottom lip to try to mimic the way he had done it to your pussy. He groans, head tilting back against the head rest as his hand speeds up.

“Fuck,” The street lamp catches on his eyebrow piercing making him look like something out of a porn movie, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he remembered everything he did to you. The way you came so hard on his tongue, moaned his name so prettily it was all so perfect.

Weno squeezed his eyes shut, imagining your face in front of him as he spilled into his hand, cum shooting from his tip and landing on the steering wheel. His chest heaved, hand trembling slightly as he brought it to his mouth to clean it of his seed.

“Next time baby,” Weno mumbled, tongue dancing along the back of his fingers to make sure his hand was completely clean, wiping the steering wheel down with a cloth and chucking it out the window. “Next time i’ll fucking ruin you.”

–

As soon as you woke up your body made sure to tell you how much you fucked up last night, your brain throbbing in the confines of your skull. The entire memory of the previous night seemed blurred by the weed you had smoked, evident by the faint smell of the pungent drug clinging to your clothes.

You grimence, making your way to the shower to rinse off the dirty and grime from the night before. Your head rests against the wall as your legs tremble below you, hands slowly washing over your body when you notice all the hickies on your stomach, going all the way up to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

You choke on your own spit, the shower suddenly feeling a lot hotter when you put the pieces together of what had happened last night. You quickly finish up, conditioner barely washed out of your hair as you wrap a towel around your body and go to your bedroom.

“Minju please pick up,” you mutter to yourself whilst speed walking to your bedroom, grabbing your phone and speed dialing your best friend. Once, twice and then three times, yet not a single time does she answer. You groan, smacking your forehead against the wall in annoyance.

Your memory of last night is far too blurred to string a coherent story out of it, leaving you with no choice but to message Weno to clarify that you weren’t going to have a pregnancy scare.

hey , so i just wanna know what happened last night,, if you remember?

You tut, deleting the message, deciding it's too straight forward. You needed a way for him to not suspect that you’re demanding for a run down of what happened when you were too high to understand. 

You around? I got 40 bucks n a hangover LOL

Typing out the message gives you a horrible sense of deja vu , your stomach clenching in anticipation. The read receipt shows up on your screen within seconds, those 3 dots appearing and then disappearing for almost 3 whole minutes before Weno’s response comes through.

Be @ urs in 20 

You squeak, looking at the time on your phone and the fact you’re still only dressed in a towel. You drop the damp towel, running around your bedroom to find some sort of decent clothing to wear to look good but not good enough he knows you’re trying. 

You only have one sock on your foot and your trousers half way up your legs when the door goes, a loud assertive knock ringing through the dorm. You tense, stumbling towards the front door as you manage to put your clothes on.

“You look rough,” Weno smirks, his pierced brow arching at the state of you. Your hair is still damp from your shower, trousers on backwards and your shirt on inside out. He walks into your dorm, not caring that you were half dressed and hung over. 

“Yeah well, I-I,” You try to think of a defense but you can’t, your hand was shakily holding out the 40 bucks and he just shook his head. “Nah, on me this time if you let me stay and smoke again,” 

You cock your head at the smug look on his face but nod, the thought of smoking alone still seemed extremely daunting. He hums, sitting down next to you as he lights the joint and takes a long drag, holding it out to you after.

“Thanks,” You whisper, small fingers brushing against his when you take the joint, bringing it to your lips and taking a longer drag than you thought you could. Your eyes shut, the weed soothing the headache that your previous high had left behind. 

You let the smoke leave your parted lips, Weno happily reclaiming the joint to take a few more drags. His eyes linger on your stomach, looking at the hickies he had left the night before. The way your thighs were barely contained in your PJ bottoms that seemed to be a size too small.

“They look good on you,” Weno’s lips tug into a smirk when you look at him with that innocent, confused look. “What? My trousers?”  You chuckle but he shakes his head, his large hand pushing up the hem of your shirt to see your stomach.

“These,” his ringed fingers trace over the dark marks, your thighs clenching together at the sensation of the cold metal on the sensitive marks on your skin. “O-oh, yeah. I guess they do,” You stumble over your words, the joint resting between your lips before you take a drag, then another and another, wanting anything to get rid of the embarrassment from his words.

“Easy there baby girl, you’ll get wasted,” Weno reprimands you, taking the blunt from your hands and taking the final toke before putting it out on the bottom of his shoe and leaving it on the coffee table.

A soft cloud of smoke fills the room, making everything seem a lot warmer, closer and sensual. The yellow sunlight pierced through the fog, creating rectangles of purity on the ground. 

“I can’t wait anymore,” Weno groans, his right hand tangling in your hair to pull you into a kiss, the way you gasped and immediately kissed back had his cock twitching in his sweatpants. He pulls you into his lap, grinding up into you as the kisses get more and more sloppy.

“Thought about you, in the car, touched myself to the taste of your fucking cunt.” he rests his forehead against yours, hands squeezing your waist.

“Thought about you too,” you shyly admit, your own hands going down to his cock, “thought about sucking your cock,” your words catch him off guard, eyebrows raising before he smirks in satisfaction. 

You needed him just as much as he needed you. “Yeah? Then c’mere baby,” He  spread his legs, shuffling so he sat with his back against the cushions, guiding you to kneel between his spread thighs. He cupped your face in his left hand, thumb stroking your cheek whilst his right untied his sweatpants. He lifted his hips to slide his sweats and boxers down, kicking them off. His dick slapped against his stomach as it was freed, the tip a deep red leaking with precum from the neglect it had suffered. You leaned forward, tongue giving the head a soft lick which drew a long groan from his lips. You smiled, taking the sensitive tip into your mouth and suckling slightly before pulling off and licking from base to tip, your small hand wrapping around his length to jerk it in time with your licks, flicking your wrist when you got to the tip.

 Weno’s mouth was parted into a small O shape, hands gripping the armrest so tight his knuckles were white, “Fuck baby, you’re so good at this. My little cock sucker hm?” He moaned gently as you took almost all of him down your throat, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Feels so good baby, better than my hand” He bucks his hips, your throat constricting around his cock as you gag. Tears pool in the corners of your eyes, running down your cheeks as you try take him even deeper, your soft gargles being the only noise in the room.

A hand tangled in your hair as you started to bob your head, “Jesus, I’m gonna cum so fast. Shit your mouth was made for me wasn’t it baby? Taking my dick so well,” He rambled, guiding your head up and down. You hummed in contentment around his cock, your right hand coming up to cup his balls, feeling the heavy weight in your palm. You gently squeezed, tongue digging into his slit in the most perfect way.

 “Baby pull off- shit, fuck- I’m cumming, cumming, gonna cum in your perfect mouth!” He whined, head tilting back as he tried to pull you off but you only sucked harder, feeling his salty release coat your tongue. 

You moaned gently, sucking every last drop out before pulling off and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “You taste nice,” You giggled, before you could say anything, Weno was yanking you back into another desperate kiss.

 He laid you down on the couch, kissing your neck as he yanked your trousers and panties off, fingers finding your dripping slit. He slid his fingers in with almost no resistance, your thighs parting. 

“F-fuck,” Your eyes screw shut, hands clawing at his shoulders as he pulls his fingers out to take his shirt off. He cleans his fingers before forcing them back inside of you, his cock rubbing against your thigh.

“Please just fuck me, need you,” You pant, hand reaching between the two of you to pull his fingers out and grab his cock instead. “You’re insatiable,” He growled, nuzzling into your neck as his tip caught your entrance, slowly pushing inside. The stretch was delectable, eyes screwing shut as he finally bottomed out, giving you time to adjust, his balls resting against your ass.

 You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close whilst he pressed soft kisses all over your shoulders, mumbling how pretty you were, both far too high to care about how domestic it was. “Move, please move,” You kissed his neck, feeling his hips retract before snapping forward again. You let out a sharp gasp, the head of his cock reaching a place so deep you didn’t even know it existed. “Oh fuck, so so deep, so deep, so perfect,” You babbled, every word that came to mind you let slip from your lips. “You feel so good, so tight, so warm, taking me so well.” He moaned, arms barricading your head as he picked up the pace on his thrusts. “Such a good girl,” He moves you so you're bent over the arm of the couch, hand landing down on your ass in a firm spank.

You arch up into his touch, clit rubbing against the arm rest with each thrust he gave, his thumb circling your ass. “Weno,” your words were broken, the mixture of weed and pure bliss making you a drooling, cock drunk mess.

“Close!” You mewled, the arm rest was wet from your slick, a ring of white cream forming around the base of Weno’s cock. “Cum on my cock baby, fuck cum with me please baby girl, I’m gonna fill you up so well, have my babies. Gonna look so good round with my kid,” He babbled, thrusts sloppy and untimed as he stilled, spilling his seed deep inside. His release triggered your own, walls clenching around him to milk every last drop of his cum from him, toes curling and thighs dropping down onto the bed. He slowly pulled out, pressing a kiss to your forehead before using his shirt to wipe the cum which was dripping out of you. “Took me so well,” He smiled slightly lopsided, skin covered in a slight sheen of sweat. He laid down next to you, tucking your body under his arm as he nuzzled into your hair.

 An unfamiliar warmth spread through Weno’s chest, one of your legs draped over his to keep him close and he felt oddly at home. He pushed his thoughts to the side, letting sleep encase his thoughts. The morning sure would be awkward considering he had begged to make you pregnant, he just hoped you were the type to forget what you did when under the influence. –

Waking up with a guy in your bed and a headache so bad you were convinced you were going to die, was not the way you wanted to start the weekend.  Your back killed, pain spreading all down your spine as you opened your eyes.

You rub your eyes as you try to sit up but a strong hand around your waist keeps you in place. “H-huh?” you look down, realising that you were in bed with Weno draped behind you.

“Stay still baby, tryna sleep,”  Weno mutters into your neck and the night seems to flood back into your mind in quick bursts of colour. The way his lips were on yours, his cock inside of you, cum dripping out your cunt. 

You blush, hiding your face in your hands but you don’t attempt to move, you turn around so you can rest your head on his warm chest. “Gotta stay in case you have any more stress,”

You giggled at his words, looking up at him as his brown eyes were half open desperate to go back to sleep. “You’re my stress toy,” Weno’s pierced brow raises at your sleepy claim but a smile forms on his lips at the name.

it started out small. 

glimpses of nicholas’ skin when he takes his hoodie off. your shoulders brushing when you pass each other in euijoo’s cramped one-bedroom. eye contact that went on for too long when euijoo wasn’t looking.

you felt a gnawing in your chest whenever you’d turn over these memories in your head. what’s worse is that you liked replaying it over and over, analyzing and scrutinizing down to the millisecond.

did he feel it, too? 

nicholas, of course, noticed. nothing gets past him. you can see it in the glint in his eye when he catches you staring. there’s intention in the featherlight brush of his fingers against your elbow as he gently moves you out of his way. there is no other explanation for the light squeeze he gives to your side when he hugs you.

he was toying with you. and you were toying with euijoo. sneaking behind his back with all the filthy thoughts you were conjuring up, movies playing in your head with nicholas in the starring role. 

you love euijoo. more than anything. he’d do anything for you, and you did not take that for granted. 

but the thrill of the unknown, the pull of the unexplored urge–it called to you. like an itch that’s begging to be scratched. it tormented you for weeks, all your thoughts filled with nicholas, nicholas, nicholas. he was there every time you looked up, talking animatedly with your oh-so-clueless boyfriend. he was there on euijoo’s bedroom floor, half asleep, eyes meeting yours when you get up from bed to get a glass of water. euijoo mumbled for you to come back under the covers. you said you would only be a minute. 

nicholas was there when you turned around, glass in hand, not really thirsty. not for water, anyway.

“euijoo wouldn’t mind,” nicholas said. 

it angered you at that moment. how dare he? how dare he assume what your boyfriend would feel? 

more than anything, it infuriated you how willing you were to just accept it. 

yes, he wouldn’t mind. come fuck me over the sink.

you brushed past him, ignoring the delicious shiver that overtook your body as you did so.

-

“i don’t mind.”

euijoo mutters the words as you’re astride his lap, mid-makeout on his couch. you freeze, eyeing him, mortified as the conversation you had with his best friend last night comes flooding back. 

“what?” you whisper in disbelief.

euijoo shifts under you, his erection pressing against your core. you bite your lip to keep yourself from whining at the contact. his eyes lock in on yours, lids hooded as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips

“nico told me. about last night. about all the other times,” euijoo explains. he chuckles when he sees your eyes darting to the side, a sign that you were about to lie.

“it’s okay, baby. it’s fine if you wanna fuck my best friend.”

you feel like a ton of bricks has just slammed into you. your vision swims and you feel lightheaded. you’re convinced you’re about to collapse.

“w-what…?” you begin, unable to find the proper words to articulate your thoughts. 

euijoo tucks some of your hair behind your ear. his eyes peer into your own; his are the loveliest shade of brown, soft when he looks at you with the love you know only he can give. they harden now, mingled with mischief that you only ever see when he’s plotting something. 

“i wanna watch,” euijoo simply says. 

“i want to watch you fuck my best friend.”

-

if there’s one thing to know about your boyfriend, it’s that he always enables you. 

euijoo is your biggest cheerleader and supporter. in times when you doubt yourself, he’s ready to tell you that there's nothing to worry about. in your brightest moments, he is the first to catch you after the freefall, to tell you that you’ve been great, you were amazing, you were breathtaking. 

in everything you do, no voice rises higher than euijoo’s. and with your every whim, every beck and call, euijoo is there to answer.

even when your whims involve messing around with his best friend while euijoo jerks off to the side. 

“n-nico,” you choke out, face shoved into the mattress. nicholas grasps your hip tighter, his cock dragging relentlessly against your walls.

“what is it, princess? too much?” nicholas coos, voice mockingly sweet.

“but your boyfriend just started enjoying the show.”

at this, euijoo exhales, head thrown back as his hand moves faster around his own rock-hard cock. you attempt to turn, to look euijoo in the eye, but nicholas just forces your face even further into the bed. 

“behave,” he says. “take it like a good fucking girl.”

nicholas uses both hands to hold you in place now, plowing through your soaked hole as you scramble for purchase at the sheets beneath you. there’s a burning humiliation in the pit of your stomach, shame washing over you as you realize just how much you’re enjoying this. nicholas is thicker than your boyfriend and he’s stretching you out in ways euijoo has never done before. your boyfriend is just as gone as you are; his eyes are glazed over as he watches nicholas fuck the daylight out of you. 

“why didn’t you let me sample this pussy sooner, bro?” nicholas chuckled. he lands a hard smack to your ass and you whine. “she’s squeezing me so hard. how do you not cum inside every time?”

“i do,” euijoo breathes out. “she lets me cum inside each time and she fucking loves it.”

nicholas groans, falling forward as he hammers his way in and out of you. your face is hot, the knot in your stomach twisting even tighter. they’re talking about you so callously, like you’re to be used only for their pleasure. 

the thought makes you shiver. you’re so close. 

“euijoo,” you cry out, wanting your boyfriend’s hands on you. your hair is yanked back instead, the gasp in your throat cutting out as nicholas brings you up to press his chest to your back. one of his arms wraps around you while the other tugs you back by the arm. 

you’re fully at nicholas’ mercy. 

“come on,” nicholas urges, his thrusts growing sloppier. “need you to cum all over my cock. make it worth it for your cuck boyfriend.”

it’s a slap to the face, the way that this is what brings you over the edge. you let out a string of profanities mixed with nicholas’ name, your walls clenching almost painfully around him. nicholas grunts when he spills himself inside you, pumping into you a few more times to make sure his cum is pushed all the way in. 

he lets go of you and you slump onto the bed, trembling and ashamed and guilty and so fucking turned on.

you turn your head and you swallow down a moan when you see your boyfriend absolutely debauched. his cum splattered all over the front of his shirt, his hand covered in a mess of his own spunk. euijoo catches your eye and you visibly see him stiffen once more. 

“you guys are freaks,” nicholas laughs, leaning down to kiss your temple. he pulls you closer to him, fingers sliding between your folds. 

you writhe against his hold but he pins you down to the bed.

“thankfully, so am i.”

-

since then, euijoo had no qualms about sharing you with nicholas. though, the whole setup opens up a new set of questions, an ethics can of worms that none of you feel like tackling just yet. 

for now, the three of you are happy to fuck. even if it sometimes meant watching from the sidelines while euijoo finally let himself make out with his best friend. 

a wonder, truly, what a little intervention can do. 

and an intervention is exactly what you need because another problem arises when you meet the other side of the friend group. 

you knew euijoo’s and nicholas’ other friends well enough, seeing them whenever you tagged along to some of their outings. you’re not particularly close to any one of them, but you’ve had some good conversations in the past. it’s also not beyond you to admit that they’re all good-looking. 

and they’re all here tonight.

the music is loud in the club, bass shuddering through every cell in your body, but you’re about three vodka sprites in, so you don’t really mind. in fact, it’s nice, the melodies enveloping you while nicholas’ hand is on your shoulder, maneuvering you through the crowd. a safe enough placement, one that doesn’t raise questions or looks. you are still euijoo’s girlfriend, after all.

you don’t even remember who brought up the idea of going out tonight. it must have been nicholas, because this is more his scene than euijoo’s. but you’re enjoying yourself, and you visibly light up when the rest of their friend group comes into view.

“_______’s here!” nicholas announces to the cramped booth, gently nudging you to take a seat. you squeeze into the space between jo and yuma, your alcohol-muddled brain thankfully recalling their names just in time. 

“hi yuma, hi jo,” you greet, smiling at both of them. 

jo returns with a shy upturn of his lips while yuma stretches, placing his arm on the backrest behind your head to give you more space. 

“hey, _____,” yuma responds, leaning close as the music turns up again. 

“where’s euijoo?”

you turn to look at the other man, stopping short when your noses almost brush. his eyes are bright up close, feline-like. you’ve only spoken to him a grand total of two times before, but the way his irises peer down at you makes your hands clam up. you blink, giggling nervously as you cup a hand around your mouth.

“getting drinks!” you say directly into yuma’s ear. 

he smells heavenly and you hope you’re subtle enough as you inhale, eyes fluttering slightly.

you pull back, squinting at him while the strobe lights go crazy above your heads. his face is illuminated with the different colors of the club, his eyes trained on your own features. yuma grins, his gaze dipping lower to survey your outfit.

“i like your dress,” yuma compliments, inching closer again.

“what?!” you call out over the music.

yuma chuckles, a hand sneakily sliding to your waist. his lips graze your ear as he says his next words. 

“i said i like your dress, pretty girl.”

you flush, jolting back. another tense laugh escapes you, your lips mumbling a halfhearted thanks. your heart is slamming against your ribcage and a flutter erupts in your belly. 

what is wrong with you?

just then, euijoo returns with the drinks and nicholas, who had taken a seat on the other side of the booth, immediately goes to whisper something in your boyfriend’s ear. they both glance at you and there’s a hint of mischief in nicholas’ eyes. euijoo, on the other hand, looks more inquisitive than anything.

nicholas lets euijoo go, who eventually finds his way to you, leaning down to give you a kiss. 

“hey, baby,” euijoo murmurs softly against your lips. 

“you wanna step outside for a minute?” he continues, pulling back and offering a hand to you. “we can take a smoke break.”

you take his hand in yours, the air feeling a little too stuffy all of a sudden. yuma’s eyes are still on you as you stand, his gaze unabashedly trailing down your figure. 

what you don’t see as you start walking is the brief, wordless exchange between euijoo and yuma. the younger smirks up at your boyfriend and euijoo merely raises his brows in acknowledgement. 

you and euijoo emerge into the back alley of the club, where a couple of other smokers are standing, heads bowed together as they converse amongst themselves. he steadies you on your ridiculously tall pair of heels, guiding you to the far end before pulling out the pack from his pocket. 

euijoo lights the stick that you place between your lips, leaning in further to drag his mouth down your neck as you take your first inhale. 

“euijoo…,” you sigh, blowing out the smoke into the chilly night air. he straightens and looks at you, eyes focused as if assessing something. 

“you like my friends, don’t you, baby?” euijoo says, more statement than question. 

you swallow, brows knitting together, mildly confused by the sudden declaration. 

“of course, i like your friends. they’re all really fun,” you supply. “why?”

“that’s not what i meant, angel,” euijoo clarifies, crowding into your space. he walks you backward toward the wall, his large hands resting on your hips to keep you in place. you drop your cigarette in surprise, cussing under your breath at the waste of a perfectly good smoke.

“you fuck nicholas on the regular. of course you’d think he’s fun,” euijoo continues, smirking when he sees you visibly stiffen at the mention of your…arrangement with nicholas. 

“th-that’s different, juju,” you stammer, pouting up at your boyfriend. “what are you getting at?”

euijoo slides a hand up your thigh, slipping his fingers beneath your dress. you gasp, head swiveling to the side to see if any of the other people out here can see you. to your surprise, it’s just you and euijoo out here. 

“anyone else you want to add to your roster?” euijoo questions with an arch of his brow. he hooks his thumb into the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down. 

“euijoo, n-!”

“no?” your boyfriend interrupts. he’s looking at you, towering over you, waiting for your response. his gaze figuratively shrinks you in size. stern, stoic.

he’s waiting to see if you’ll use your safeword, if the idea of letting him play with you out here is a hard no. 

“please,” is all you can say. 

euijoo yanks at your underwear, making you gasp as the fabric rips. it falls into a pathetic heap on the ground and he kicks it away, tongue clicking as he feels between your legs. you’re soaked because of course, you are. you can’t help it when you’re around him.

euijoo lightly presses his middle finger onto your clit and you shiver, hands clutching at his arms. he starts to stroke your cunt, gathering your wetness and spreading it around. 

“nicholas told me you practically let yuma grope you earlier. and you didn’t even try to stop him.” euijoo’s voice is quiet, but it’s rough around the edges. 

“that’s not true,” you say defensively. euijoo slips one finger into your leaking hole and you whine. 

“try again,” euijoo demands. he fucks you shallowly with his finger, watching you squirm as you try to keep yourself upright. 

“yuma told me he liked my outfit. that’s all,” you explain, grinding your hips against his hand, trying to create more friction. 

you realize anyone can walk out and see you like this. the tattered pink lace on the ground is evidence enough of what you’re up to. 

you can’t find it in yourself to care.

euijoo adds a second finger in and you almost sigh in relief. he starts to fuck you properly now, curling his digits against that spot within you. 

“he likes you, you know,” euijoo whispers, his other hand coming up to hold you by your chin. his grip is solid, tight enough to keep you still. 

“he told me himself some time ago,” he adds.

“so when he says he likes your outfit, he really means he wants to see you out of it,” euijoo concludes. the squelch of his fingers ramming in and out of your pussy is loud in the alleyway and a new wave of embarrassment washes over you. 

“i-i didn’t know!” you whine, nails digging into euijoo’s arms. he’s hitting all the right spots and you can feel yourself approaching your release. 

“of course you didn’t,” euijoo says through gritted teeth. 

“you want that, though, right? you want another one of my friends to have his way with you?”

you gasp, clenching around euijoo’s fingers as the words register in your mind. without meaning to, your hand reaches down to rub at your clit. you can’t help it. you need it. you need to cum. you’re just so desperate for it.

“yeah, that’s right. i fucking thought so,” euijoo mocks, sneering at your blissed-out face. 

euijoo pumps his fingers in and out of you a few more times before you’re cumming all over his hand. you feel tears slip down your cheeks as euijoo keeps you in place, watching as your whole face crumples in pleasure. he doesn’t stop even when you’re pushing his hand away in protest. 

your knees feel like jelly, and thankfully, euijoo finally lets you slump against him, spent and gasping from the intensity of your orgasm. 

euijoo wraps his arms around you, keeping you upright as you catch your breath and the rest of your bearings. he presses a kiss to your temple.

“your birthday’s coming up,” euijoo says. there’s a conspiratorial tone to his voice and you pull back just enough to look at him. 

“okay…?” you begin, waiting for euijoo to continue.

your boyfriend chuckles, smoothing down your dress, concealing any indication that you’ve gone full commando. 

“let’s talk about it later. but i have a feeling i already know what to get you.”

-

third time’s the charm, they say. and, indeed, this is the third time your boyfriend has bitched you out like some common whore. 

“happy birthday, baby,” euijoo greets, kissing down your neck, hands smoothing over your naked body. 

you move to wind your arms around him, but the bite of the handcuffs stops you from moving any further. you whine pathetically and you hear nicholas chuckle from the other end of the room. he’s the one to blame for these wretched restraints. 

“relax, baby,” nicholas drawls as he approaches the bed on which you lie. he kisses you fully on the lips, cradling your face gently. 

“let us do all the work, hm?”

you nod reluctantly, eyes wide as you look between your two lovers. 

your soon-to-be third one sits at the corner.

yuma eyes you hungrily from where he’s seated. you’re completely bare, a feast before his eyes. 

euijoo approached him with a proposal immediately after that night at the club. you and your boyfriend had talked at length about it, gauging both your interest and capacity for yet another unexplored facet of your sex lives. 

“can he keep coming around even after my birthday?” you had asked.

euijoo smiled at you then, pinching your cheek playfully. 

‘if you want him to. but you’re getting so greedy, babe,” euijoo had said with an incredulous laugh.

you rolled your eyes at him, toying with the ends of his hair near the nape of his neck. you tugged just enough to have euijoo humming in contentment. 

“baby, it’s your fault for spoiling me.”

euijoo’s voice snaps you back to the present, his hand leaving a warm trail down your outstretched leg. 

“let’s let our newcomer have a go first.”

yuma grins as he pushes off his chair, approaching you like a tiger on the prowl. the bed dips where he kneels over you, his eyes raking over every inch of your body. 

“you’ve been keeping this to yourselves?” yuma asks, giving a low whistle. “don’t mind if i do.”

“play with her nipples,” nicholas directs. “she likes that.”

yuma smiles at you, reaching over to roll both your stiff buds between his fingers. you buck up at the contact, handcuffs rattling against the headboard. 

“she’s a sensitive one, isn’t she?” yuma observes, ducking down to take one into his mouth. you moan, squirming under his touch. 

yuma flicks his tongue harshly against your nipple, his hand sliding down between your legs. you whimper, thighs automatically parting for him. 

“is she always this easy?” yuma asks, grinning up at you with your nipple still between his teeth.

“yes, she is,” euijoo confirms. you turn to him, eyes pleading as yuma slips two fingers in one go. you moan, hips already chasing after yuma’s hand.

euijoo just snickers at your helpless expression. 

“you wanted this, babe. don’t come crying to me now.”

yuma pulls away from your chest and hurriedly levels his face with your pussy. he licks the two fingers that were just in you, groaning when he gets a taste of your arousal. 

“fuck, she tastes good,” yuma says, sucking his fingers clean of you.

the way they’re talking around you and not to you adds to the thrill building up in your belly. it’s mortifying, being laid out like some prize for them to take. but you like it. god, you like it so much. 

your restraint clatters loudly once more when you feel yuma seal his mouth over your core, zeroing in on your clit. he wastes no time, sucking and licking all over. 

“yuma!” you cry out. 

he hums against your pussy, eyes fluttering shut as he feasts on your soaked folds. euijoo and nicholas watch from separate seats, hands palming the bulges in their pants. 

you whine and whimper and beg, grinding your hips against yuma’s eager mouth. he leaves you on the edge, working you to your limit. one moment, he’s sucking hungrily on your clit, the next, he’s plunging his tongue deep inside you. your head spins as you try to keep up, but it’s already too much. yuma shakes his head side to side, lapping messily at your core. a broken whine leaves your lips.

your wrists protest as you strain against the handcuffs again, your body seizing up as your orgasm crashes down on you unexpectedly. yuma doesn’t let up and you’re left to sob, to plead for him to stop.

but you don’t really want him to stop. 

“stay fucking still,” yuma curses against your quivering cunt. he continues to eat you out, as if he hadn’t just shattered you less than thirty seconds ago. 

it hits you like a freight train when you cum again, twitching and begging yuma to please stop, no more, no more!

you can hear euijoo and nicholas’ moans and grunts but your vision blurs from the back-to-back orgasms. you can vaguely make out their hands furiously pumping up and down their cocks as they watch you unravel under yuma.

yuma resurfaces, thankfully, mercifully, leaning down to kiss you hard. you taste yourself on him and he makes sure you get a good mouthful, his tongue slipping in between your lips as he sloppily makes out with you. 

he pulls away just enough to discard his bottoms and underwear, cock already stiff and eager. he’s similar to euijoo, but his tip curves ever so slightly. you lick your lips, impatient to have yuma inside you. 

he angles himself against your waiting hole, slipping just the tip in first, both of you sighing at the first stretch. 

“god, you make the prettiest sounds,” yuma praises before kissing you again. he pushes all the way in and you squeal against his lips. 

yuma fucks like an animal in heat, loud and unrestrained. he grunts in your ear, pounding into you while you gasp and sob from the sensation. your arms and wrists hurt but your entire body is alight with pleasure, yuma’s dick dragging deliciously against your walls. 

“fuck, look at you,” nicholas’ voice drifts into your consciousness. he’s standing by the left side of the bed, still jerking himself off to the sight of you and yuma. 

“i get why euijoo’s addicted to seeing you get fucked by other guys,” nicholas adds with a breathless laugh.

“shut up,” comes euijoo’s response from the right side of the bed. his arm reaches over to tug nicholas closer to him. their lips meet in a heated kiss and both their hands speed up around their cocks. 

“woah,” yuma chuckles, grunting with the effort of sliding in and out of you while you’re clamped down around him. “gotta get in on that action later.”

you whimper in response, too fucked out to formulate any audible words. nicholas and euijoo pull away from each other and yuma takes this opportunity to pause, adjusting his stance, bracing his knees firmer on the bed. he takes your legs and throws them over his shoulders, folding your knees to your chest.

your eyes roll into the back of your head at the new angle, yuma reaching deeper into you. you don’t think either euijoo or nicholas had even reached that deep into you before. 

you feel yourself hurtling towards yet another orgasm as yuma slams into you over and over again. your fists are clenched, your body tense from the unnatural position, but the coil in your abdomen grows taut, tighter and tighter with each thrust from yuma.

it’s like a dam breaking when you finally cum again, a cry ripping from your throat as the world goes white. yuma’s hips stutter, then he stops altogether, cumming inside you a moment later. he presses your knees even harder against your chest, making sure not one drop of him escapes you. 

“shit, move, i wanna cum inside her, too.”

you hear euijoo’s frantic voice first before you feel yuma abruptly pull out. a second later, euijoo pushes in, and you sob from the sudden intrusion. euijoo ekes out three cursory thrusts before he’s spilling himself in you. 

“holy fuck,” nicholas whines. “fuck, fuck, fuck, get out, juju–”

all you can do is whimper when nicholas slots himself inside you, filling you up yet again with hot, sticky cum. he starts to move once he’s relieved, fucking his, euijoo’s, and yuma’s cum further into your messy pussy. 

you feel warm lips press against your forehead, pulling you back to this plane of existence. at least partially.

“still with us, angel?” you look up to see euijoo eyeing you carefully. you smile tiredly at him, nodding.

“yeah,” you affirm.

“good,” euijoo responds almost too quickly. 

he’ll stop mid fuck if he heard a warbling noise that delivers a small pang into his heart, catch his breath before letting you know that, yes. he heard you. as if saying, go ahead. lemme know what you really need. take from me, use me. and by the gods, do you both know he loves that. that’s where he gets his pleasure from, seeing you in absolute euphoria by his hands. it satisfies him that he’s able to be that for you.

so there he was, fucking you into oblivion, watching down where his cock was disappearing and reappearing with your glistening slick coating until he heard a small noise.. that was out of the usual pleasurable tune he loved to hear, and his attention snaps back up, glancing wildly like he can see your expression from the back of your head. like somewhere past your beautiful hair, he can see the slight furrow of your eyebrows twitching with maybe discomfort. just maybe.

but he doesn’t even ask, he doesn’t have to. he just stops altogether, and that was your signal to take over.

he watches as you directly and almost immediately tell him the pace you want with your body, seeing how soft and sensual your hips roll back onto him, realizing that you need more emotional connection when your own movements makes you whine a little softer, more breathless and needy. you rut harder at his base, wanting him fully in before rolling back and forth again with desperation and swiftness.

sometimes he’ll know that you need a change of pace, whether it’d be by seeing the way your lower body plops back down onto the mattress for a small rest, or by a change of tone in your insistent whines. only then he would directly ask, because he’d only verbally ask if he’s the one taking from you.

“want me to take over now?”

silence, just soft moans puffed into your pillow cradling your face from underneath.

“do you need the fast pace again?”

you’d whine, shaking your head as much as you can that position, a short curt shake. no, not yet and he stays. stay still as he hears your whine turn more breathless when you pick your pace up again and your hips rut back into him, aimlessly and slow. it’s lazy, it’s deep. you want to fully feel him, the physicality of his cock, veins thrumming against your suctioning walls, the twitch as he nudges right against that yummy spot.

it goes on for a hot minute.

nicho’s self restraint is impeccable, because of course, this pace isn’t doing it for him but the way you clench tighter, the more your rolling hips added onto the swirling arousal in his stomach; it’s killing him. his plush lips were pursed into a thin line, shutting himself up as his fingers gripped tighter onto the sheets on each side of your body.

he lets it go for a while because that’s how much time you need, up until he finally hears a specific whine fall from your lips. he doesn’t have to be told twice but still, he asks just to make sure.

“mhm.. you need it, baby?”

he watches the way you raise your ass again, slightly, to prepare for the impact of his thrusts, and the slight nod you shake into the pillow. that’s all he needed for him to start smacking his hips back into your squelching cunt with fervor. now with even more force and drive from the building arousal he got after watching your small moment of using him. he watches as you snake an arm around his wrist right next to you for grounding, some extra support as you brace the strong impact of his pelvis driving into you repeatedly. “that’s it, baby, hold still, hm?”

“i’ll fuck you to sleep, just relax.”

and oh, does he fuck. and hard. deeper than what he could possibly be just so he can hear your blissful noises from the change of pace. he knows you like it as much as he does, getting a kick from the sudden feeling. but he also knows how much you love a slow moment too, so he lets you have it whenever. <3