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𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝑳𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒘

𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒐 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖

𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒊𝒕 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏. 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝑽𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒎, 𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏 𝒂𝒖, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒆𝒙 (𝒇𝒆𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄), 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆, 𝒔𝒆𝒙 𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒅𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒅, 𝒗𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒆𝒙, 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌 (𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒅) 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐, 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒙, 𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒑 (𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 27, 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 𝒊𝒔 21 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒔 22), 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒆 𝒂𝒖, 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒎𝒙𝒇𝒙𝒎, 𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆

𝑨/𝑵: 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒖 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒄 (𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑳𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒘) 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕

𝑾𝑪: 10.9𝑲 (𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑰 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒍)

𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐'𝒔 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆✯

𝑬𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚❤︎

Embarrassed. 

You experience this while sitting on your bed behind the curtain, holding one of your dildos. You were struggling to process what had just transpired while exhaling heavily and deeply.

“Why are you hiding, Mrs. Sakamoto?”

Why did he even try to communicate with you? Did he not humiliate you enough?  you asked yourself the questions as you grabbed your wet towel on your bed.

“Come on, the show was only beginning. We want to watch you squirt on that machine once more, so come back,” he teased. “I had no idea you could squirt that much.”

You responded, wiping the sweat that was dripping from your forehead, "That would be improper Gojo-kun."

"How so," the friend enquired. "How is it improper? Aren't you the one that left your windows slightly open? It appears as though you wanted to be observed.”

You said, "No!" as you pulled back the curtain to reveal your neighbour, Gojo Satoru, a young man of 21 years, smiling broadly and staring directly at you. "The place was simply warm and I wanted some air,"

Geto Suguru, Gojo's friend, replied, placing his palm on his back, "I would be really astounded if it wasn't." The 22-year-old grinned as he saw you once more hide behind your curtains. “After all that squirting and crying, the room had to eventually become warm, right?”

You stammered, trying to further distance yourself from them, "N-no." You felt so foolish, my God. Why did you act rashly tonight? Were you really that desperate for your dildo machine to fuck you with your dildo that you forgot to close your windows? 

Fuck, this was a whole fucking mess. 

And to make matters worse, your neighbours started to settle in on the windowsills while they waited for you to get back to your place, which was on your knee, your ass spread wide, and your sex machine fucking your soaked pussy with your dildo. 

“Come back, Mrs. Sakamoto, we want to hear your pretty moans once again,” Gojo urged with a hint of humour.

Geto remarked, "We want to watch you cream all over that gorgeous pink dildo you've got in your hands."

You addressed him with, "That indecent Geto-kun." "My husband wouldn't appreciate it if he found out that I saw you two staring at me," You said.

Gojo laughed as he threw his head back at this. Geto quickly adopted after. You were perplexed as to what exactly made what you just stated amusing. If your spouse found out, they may face terrible consequences, as you are aware. So why were they laughing?

“What husband?” Gojo enquired while laughing more. You peeked out from behind the drapes to take in his face. “You mean your absent-minded hubby, right?”

Geto answered, "I guess she meant her husband that fucks another lady inside their bedroom every other weekend," in response. You scowled when you noticed that they were both laughing again. “Her unfaithful spouse, who prefers stray pussies to his gorgeous wife's pretty and fat pussy.”

"I believe she is aware of that. If she didn't, wouldn't she be engaging in sexual activity with her husband instead of that sex machine?" Gojo enquired of his friend.

Geto said, before turning to gaze at you, "I think so." He swept his long, black mane behind his back while you watched, then looked into your eyes. “Look, honey, I'm not trying to be disrespectful or anything, but to be quite honest, I couldn't give a damn if you went ahead and told that little husband of yours that you caught us staring at his wife.”

Gojo leaned his hand on his knee and looked at you, saying, "He's right, mama." He observed your severe frown. He was beginning to regret bringing up your cheating husband in that way. You obviously already knew this. But with him being so young and having such an immature, mocking, and domineering attitude, all he needed to say was something to get you angry. To witness you stuff your fat pussy with that toy once more, he had to say something. "Right now, we just want to see you squirt all over your toy.”

You finally shut your curtains in their faces and yelled, "Fuck you both." How could they bring up such a sensitive subject. You were unaware that they were aware your husband was an adulterer. However, they had no right to put your affairs in your face in that manner. With you, they've gone too far. They have the arrogance to treat you with such disrespect after having already embarrassed, humiliated, and shamed you. You're not sure if you'll be able to talk to them the same way you used to after what just happened.

You enjoyed having them as neighbours and thought they were great company. Despite the fact that they occasionally acted touchy and flirtatious. But after what happened tonight, you're no longer so confident about them. 

You gently got out of bed to take apart the machine, sighing loudly as you did so. After finishing that, you hid the device in your closet behind a pair of your old shoes. You quickly collected up your toys and tucked them away in your drawer before rushing to the bathroom to take a shower.

You took your time getting ready and bathed as you pondered what just happened. You were having so much fun playing around with yourself when you heard a male moan followed by a mutter, "If she keeps squirting like that, I know I'm going to cum in my pants.”

“Fuck. Look how lovely her pussy is. To be that damn toy," you overheard someone else say. You can still picture your young neighbours Gojo and Geto looking at you from their window while biting their lips when you turn around. 

Never before in your life have you hid so quickly. You felt humiliated because they witnessed you enjoying yourself via their window. The fact that you saw them peering out your window humiliated you even more.

You were angry with them for treating you so disrespectfully. It's possible that you treated them too leniently or that you failed to put any restrictions for them. Perhaps they thought it was okay to speak to you in such an arrogant manner because of how relaxed you appeared to be around them. They were 6 years your junior. Consequently, you had assumed that they would regard you in some way. But your assumptions were incorrect.

What are you going to do now? 

Meanwhile… 

As he bounced back inside his bedroom and regarded his friend, Gojo grinned to himself. “We made a mistake, didn't we?”

“You think?” Geto laughed as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. “Tomorrow, we should apologise,” he said in a grave manner.

“What do you apologise for?” Gojo questioned as he observed Geto also take out a lighter from his pocket. “I won't apologise for looking, I promise.”

"I'm not referring to that moron. We need to apologise for what we said about her husband. The neighbourhood knows of her husband's adulterous activities, but we had no right to publicly shame her,” Geto stated to his close friend. “I get that we were having fun teasing her, but we went a little too far.”

Gojo let out a small sigh in recognition that his best friend had spoken the truth. Tomorrow, they have to make it up to you. In either direction. "Okay, then."

…

Since the incident, a few days had gone by, and Gojo and Geto still hadn't had a chance to apologise to you. Or perhaps it appeared more like you were trying to avoid them. 

Every time they would emerge from their home to speak with you, you swiftly went back inside. You stopped giving them your homemade meals and pastries. You even blocked calls from your number to theirs. The window to your bedroom had been permanently closed off from their view.

Though they were aware of your anger at what had transpired, they hadn't counted on you to be this angry. They were starting to regret what they had said to you. They detest the manner in which you currently handle them. They were eager to win back your favour, but they needed to find a strategy for winning your forgiveness for what they had said to you. 

So after another few days of planning and putting everything together, the Friday evening of the same week was when they decided that they were going to get you to forgive them no matter what. 

Friday Evening…

Your husband's daughter Akio was staring at you on the phone and asked, "He's gone again isn't he?”

“Yes, he claimed he needed to travel to Peru for work, but I know he's lying. He's dragging that chick on vacation,” you retorted with a heaving sigh.

Your stepdaughter groaned loudly as well before grinning dejectedly at you. “I'm sorry you had to deal with this mum.”

"Mum? Stop calling that. Keep in mind that I am around 4 years younger than you. I'd really like it if you called me Y/N," you grinned at her.

“Never in a million years, mum,” chuckled Akio. You shook your head at her and laughed. “I'll call you in the morning.”

You said, "Okay sweetie," and hung up. You had a great love for Akio. At first, you were taken aback by how encouraging she was of your bond with her father. And you were appreciative of that. Additionally, you were even more appreciative that she was there to console you whenever her father felt the need to cheat on you. She was there for you whenever you needed a friend. 

"All right, put Ashai Y/N out of your mind. Right now, your husband is not worthy of any of your thoughts,” you declared as you got up from your couch and walked to the kitchen. “It's time to prepare dinner. And then I can have a little fun tonight.”

A seafood paella may be nice. Inquiring, you asked. You went to get the supplies out of the cupboard and refrigerator. And then you soon began to cook. You heard a knock on your front door while you were making a stock for the rice.

You yelled out, "Who is it?" but got no response. Once more, you heard a knock. You asked, "Who's it?"

After a brief period of silence, the familiar voice "It's us Y/N" could be heard. Before returning to your dinner, you rolled your eyes and sighed deeply. Right now, you lack the energy to deal with them two. After all, you're still angry with them for the things they said to you that evening.

Gojo sighed loudly and then knocked on your door again from behind the locked door of your house.” Come on Mrs. Sakamoto, we just want to apologise for what we said to you that night.”

You rolled your eyes at them and said, "Oh really now."

"It was wrong of us to treat you with such disdain that evening. The initial tease was amusing, but we went a bit too far and would like to apologise,” Geto stated.

You said nothing in response to their apology. “Mrs. Sakamoto, please just come out and talk to us. I can smell your cooking from outside. We won’t leave until you come out and talk to us. We’ll sleep on your doorstep if we have to,” Gojo said while knocking at your door. 

“Come on out Mrs. Sakamoto,” Geto called. 

You sighed loudly as you rested your chopping knife on your cutting board and matched over to your front door. You yanked your front door open to see your young neighbours Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru standing there with a bouquet of flowers in their hands. 

They watched as you folded your arms over your chest as you stared up at them. “If I accept your apology, will you leave my home?” 

They shook their heads no and walked inside your home uninvited. You sighed heavily, like you said once before you did not have the energy to deal with them. So without another thought you went back to the kitchen to prepare your paella. 

They were seated around the kitchen island and they observed as you minced your sausages and veggie spices before turning their attention to cleaning the shrimp, mussels, and clams. "Smell good, Mrs. Sakamoto. What's on the menu?” 

You just replied, "Seafood Paella," gathering all the ingredients into a big bowl.

Gojo moaned, "I can already taste it on my tongue." Gojo stood up from his chair and walked cautiously up to your stove. “Oh, Su, it's so lovely.”

You stepped towards Gojo and pushed him away from the stove while complaining, "Can you move."

He protested, "Come on, I just want to see what smells so nice." You let out a long sigh and turned your back on him.

“Sato, enough already. Remember that we came here to apologise? We really aren't here to irritate her.” Gojo rolled his eyes since he knew his best friend was correct. "I am aware of the delicious aroma of the meal, and I am also certain that she will invite her charming and attractive neighbours to join her for dinner. Let's simply sit and behave for the time being.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Gojo mumbled as he sat back down on the stool around the kitchen island. “By the way Mrs. Sakamoto we’re really sorry for what we said that night though.”

Geto took the bouquets in his hands and said, "Yeah, we really are, and I hope these flowers can also serve as a part of our apology." He then got out of his chair, walked over to where you were, and handed you the flowers.  

While taking the flowers out of his hand, you sighed quietly. “Thank you; nevertheless, just because I've forgiven you doesn't mean I'll absolve you.”

“Huh?” Geto said as he regarded you in complete bewilderment.

You placed the flowers on the counter, then returned to preparing the rest of your supper. "You didn't apologise for observing me that night," you added. 

“But why would we?” You gave Gojo a dirty look as he inquired.

“Satoru?” Geto cautioned.

“What? Simply put, I'm curious." He questioned, "Why should we apologise? I won't apologise for staring at you, I promise. I mean, you looked great doing it, and I wouldn't mind seeing you do it again."

His words slightly burned your cheeks, but you didn't let it get to you. “Just be quiet so I can concentrate on preparing my meal. Or else tonight's paella will be burned for you both.” 

“Yes, ma'am,” Gojo responded. They both remaining silent for the remainder of the time made you glad. You used the quiet period to gather your thoughts. It was pleasant having someone around to keep you company while your husband was away with a lady who wasn't you. 

It was lovely to have them over to keep you company, even though you were still a little pissed off with them. In the end, they were both hilarious, understood how to have a good time, and could carry on a great conversation.

Despite all of that, you were unsure of how to engage them in a typical discussion now that they had witnessed what they weren't allowed to. We do understand. You should have closed your windows instead of acting carelessly. And upon more reflection, you realised that it was entirely their fault for staring. Just consider it: they're young college boys who probably wouldn't pass up the chance to see a naked woman. And honestly, you felt some sort of emotion since they didn't pass up the chance to glance at you.

You told them, "Dinner's ready."

“Should I pick up our regular plates?” Geto asked as he came up behind you.

“Yes, upper shelves,” came the reply. “Please take the drink out of the refrigerator, Gojo-kun.”

He said, "Ok mommy," rising from his chair and moving toward the refrigerator.

You muttered under your breath, "Please, stop calling me mommy. You sound just like my step daughter."

“Never in a million years,” he laughed. You gave him a sidelong glance and then flipped the flame underneath the pot.

Geto presented you with his dish and said, "Here Mrs. Sakamoto." You shared his dinner on his plate and then gave it back to him, grinning a little. After that, he handed you Gojo's plate. Before giving it back to Geto, you shared his meal. Finally, you distribute your meal before proceeding to the kitchen island.

 Gojo reached for the glass cups and set them down next to the juice on the table. They each said, "Itadakimasu," and made a small bow before diving into their meal. 

Geto took a bite of the shrimp and remarked, "Wow, this is very good.

Gojo hummed in agreement as he drank the clam juice and then shoved a spoonful of rice into his lips. He ate his meal, wiggling his body like a young child, and you laughed.

You grabbed a napkin that was already on the table and wiped the corner of his lips while saying, "You're creating a mess, Gojo-kun."

He licked his lips and remarked, "I'm sorry, but the food tastes incredibly great."

“It's true, Mrs. Sakamoto, your husband is slacking off on this delectable lunch,” Geto added. He noticed the brief grimace that crossed your face before a false grin swiftly concealed it.

“Thank you; I'm happy you like it.” For the remainder of the meal, everyone ate quietly. Gojo offered to do the dishes after you had finished eating while Geto cleared the table. Even though you urged them not to worry about it, they persisted in doing it.

They insisted that it was simply another way for them to express their regret. The room fell silent as you all worked to clean the kitchen area. It was a very nice silence until someone interrupted it.

“Mrs. Sakamoto, where is your husband at the moment?” Geto inquired abruptly, folding the towels he had used to clean the table before coming over to you.

“Why do you want to know that?” you snarkily questioned.

“Answer a question with a question, Mrs. Sakamoto, not cool,” he chuckled. Simply rolling your eyes, you ignored him. “I guess I'm curious to some extent.”

“Why?” you asked. 

"Well, I want to know why in the name of God on earth would a man neglect such a beautiful woman as yourself." You could feel the heat rising across your cheeks as you looked up at him.

“N-na-nani?” 

"I'm curious—did you do something wrong? How come he won't make love to you? Why must you have sex with a sex device?” You were being moved toward the kitchen counter as he asked while doing so slowly. When your hands made touch with the cold, wet, marble counters, you gasped. “You had to irritate him somehow.”

"I concur, I do. A man wouldn't betray his wife if there was no good cause to."   Gojo added as he came up to both Geto and you. You looked up at them and started whimpering. Their piercing gaze made you feel tiny. And it's a shame that despite the fact that you are older than them, they still make you feel so little.

When Geto questioned you and you didn't answer, he pushed your head back and curled his fingers under your chin to cause a sensation. “I asked you a question, Y/N.”

You've known your extremely attractive neighbours for years, and not once have they used your first name in conversation. You were typically referred to as mama or mommy by Gojo while Mrs. Sakamoto by Geto. You had goosebumps, though, as you heard him say your name like it belonged there.

You stumbled and tried to divert your head away from his stare, "It's none of your business," you said. After giving you a tongue click, he squeezed your chin harder to keep you gazing at him.

Gojo rubbed the soft skin of your cheeks with the back of his hand and said, "I suppose you're correct. Your business is not our business.”

“I just don't see why a man would cheat on a woman like you,” Geto countered.

"A woman exactly like me. What does that actually mean?” You grunted.

Geto's face brushed into yours, and a sly grin spread across it. “He has a gorgeous wife who, in my opinion, has a beautiful figure as well as a wonderful personality.”

Gojo hummed "Mhm" in agreement. “Beautiful body, for sure. You have the loveliest ass and the most gorgeous boobs.”

“Don't forget about that fat, wet, squirting pussy she's got there,” Geto said. Your whimpering became considerably louder as your body began to tremble. “If I were your husband, I wouldn't dare to be unfaithful to you. I would rather fuck you every day. Your pussy deserves an actual cock. Not a machine-attached, plastic dildo. We could offer you that cock, if you'd want.”

Gojo said, pulling his hand away from your face to play with your hair, "Mhm, mama, you deserve better than him." They could clearly see that you were trembling. Their recent conversation with you had an effect on you. You didn't know what it was; perhaps your husband's neglect of you was the root of it. But all of a sudden, your body felt warm. 

“As I'm sure you're aware, Y/N, Toru, and I have been keeping a watchful eye on you. You recall the day you came over to our place with freshly baked cookies while wearing a short summer dress.” Geto let go of your chin and placed both of his hands on your hips. "We've been watching you since that day," he muttered. "Y/N, you got our attention. We need you.”

Now that was something new. You were unaware that these two were drawn to you. It would make sense, though, given what you've just realised, why they always want your company.

It was understandable why Gojo would openly flirt with you in front of your spouse and why Geto would touch you in places that only your husband could touch. such as your hip or the area of your back that sits right below your ass. It also clarified why they were unafraid to converse with you in the manner that they do. You've never given it this much attention before, but they've admitted that they need you now. There was nothing else for you but to think about it.

A hand brushed up your exposed thighs, interrupting your ponderous thoughts. “That night, I know we couldn’t resisted you when we watched you having sex with the dildo machine. As I sat there and observed your pleasure, all I could think about was how much more efficient I am than a machine,” Gojo whispered in your ear. "We could fuck you so much better than that sex machine. Mama, we could make you squirt much more. I am aware that it has been a while since you last experienced a real cock within your pussy. For you, I would give my cock. Geto would undoubtedly love giving you his cock. What do you think, mama? Would you like to be fucked by our cocks?”

You clenched your thighs together and muttered, "Th-that would be wrong, Gojo-kun.” It wouldn't take long for you to become a sweaty, hot mess if they kept whispering dirty comments to you like this.

“Eh? It’s not though. I mean if your husband is cheating on you, wouldn’t you want to do the same to him?” Gojo asked, 

You muttered, "Two wrongs don't constitute a right.” The hand on your thigh moved up even more until it was resting directly below your ass. “Cheating is improper.”

“It is, but we’re offering you a good time, so come on, what’s the harm in that?” Gojo asked. “Just give us a chance to rock your world tonight and many other nights that are yet to come.”

“So how about it, Y/n?” Geto asked as he placed a kiss on your cheek. 

Their offer sounds a bit tempting. God what were you going to do. 

… 

You didn’t know how you ended up like this, but it was too late to turn back now. 

A soft moan escaped your lips when you felt Gojo’s lips working themselves along the side of your neck - gently sucking on your skin while his hands massaged your boobs. “Shit,” you whispered when he bit and sucked into your skin - pulling the flesh between his teeth and groaning at how sweet you tasted for him. 

The soft sounds that left your lips made their cocks twitch with excitement. “Your moans are even prettier to hear up close,” Geto whispered as he hooked his fingers under your chin and turned your face towards his. 

"Geto-kun," you mumbled. The corner of his mouth twisted up into a smile as he slowly drew his lips up to yours. He kissed you in the manner in which your spouse had never kissed you—that is, softly, lovingly, moistly, passionately, and breathily. He wasn't attempting to win the argument; instead, he wanted to draw you together and share a single breath, feeling, or eternal and passionate moment. Your cheeks began to heat up as his tongue stroked them in a swift, thrilling, and delicious manner. Later, he developed a tougher, more persistent tongue that was more enthused by the fire within and more interested in finding the mysterious molten fire that flowed through both of them. 

Gojo muttered as he pulled away from your neck, "I'm becoming jealous, mommy, I want a kiss too.” His fingers tightened around your chin, yanked you away from Geto, and his lips struck yours violently, as if he were attempting to flatten and obliterate your mouth. With your mouth open and tongue slicing through his tight-gritted teeth to the moist interior, you retreated with hunger. You tightened your hold on his head, as if to prevent him from escaping, and his smooth skin scraped against her supple cheeks. Your tongues sparred back and forth like wrestlers, each attempting to pin the other, as you moved your mouth against his. 

Gojo gave you a few quick lip licks before he pulled away, leaving a trail of saliva connecting your lips to his. He watched as you gasped for air and then opened your eyes to face him. He gives them a tight squeeze as his hands move from your thighs to your breast. Geto smiled at your weak attempt to hold back a loud moan by biting your lips. “Can I see your pretty tits, mama?” Gojo asked as he placed a kiss on your cheek. 

You reached for him, pulled him down so you could kiss him again, and you gave him a nice head shake. Gojo smiled against your lips, reaching up to rip your shirt open. Your nipples had become firm, and you gasped when the chilly air hit them. “Oh fuck,” Geto whispered. The rest of your clothing was strewn over the sofa as Gojo withdrew from you. You swivelled your head from one face to the other to observe how both of them bit into their lips as they leisurely admired your boobs. Geto hummed as he started to fondle your left boob with his palm, saying, "So soft." 

"So perfect.” Gojo mumbled, dipping his head to take your nipple in his mouth, "Too bad Mr. Sakamoto won't get to play with mommy's tits again.” You felt him wrap his wet tongue around your breast and gently bite it with his teeth, which made you scream and arch into his mouth. He sucked and savoured the flavour of your soft boobs as you watched with blushes burning with embarrassment. And as you listened to him more, you became even more aroused. Your pussy was starting to get wet. 

Geto yanked Gojo's head from your nipple and hurriedly hoisted you up in his arms, "Satoru, let's take Y/N to her room."

You struggled to get out of his grasp, pleading, "Wait no, don't go to my room."

As he ascended the stairs with you, Geto grinned, and Gojo followed. He reached the top of the stairs and strolled down the corridor towards your room, asking, "Why not? Y/N, got something inside you don't want us to see."

And just as you were going to respond, Gojo approached you both and shoved open your bedroom. As they cautiously entered your room, you quickly buried your face in Geto's chest. “Wow, mommy, you were planning on having a good time tonight, weren't you?” Gojo teased.

“Right, Satoru, it's a good thing we arrived.” You heard Geto saying from above you, "She won't have to fuck herself with that machine anymore.” You were so mortified that they had to see that you had your toy out for some self-indulgent play tonight. God, you were mortified. Why did you consent to allow them to have sex with you? 

Your thoughts were interrupted as Geto threw you on your bed and then walked out of the room. Gojo took up your device and dragged it closer to the bed as you looked in terror. “It would be entertaining to watch this machine screw you up close. But I believe I would rather stick my cock in you.”

“Agreed.” As he climbed onto the bed and In order for you to lie down between his legs, Geto gently pulled you. He then said, "Move that item into the closet.” Gojo followed instructions, pulled his shirt off over his head, climbed up onto the bed, and hung over you.

Gojo kissed your lips again and then moved his hand to push open the button on your shorts, saying, "You look delicious mama." After finishing that, he snagged his fingers inside the shorts and tugged them down your legs with your soaked underwear. You observed Gojo throw your clothing upon the ground. He put his hand on your knees and gradually spread your legs apart. He grinned. "Wow mama, what is this?" Gojo raised your legs and pressed them up to your chest while he questioned.

“What is it?” Geto asked with genuine curiosity on his face. Although you were perplexed as well, when you felt him tug at the thing that had been plucked from inside your ass, you suddenly had a flashback. You were conscious of placing a buttplug inside your ass earlier today. Just before your stepdaughter called, you managed to forget that you had it in you. How did you not feel it inside of you? Only God knows. 

Gojo was still grinning at you and said, "Su, come have a look at this." Geto moved his body out from under you before hovering above you.

You responded in embarrassment, "No don't look," and you pushed him away. But you couldn't push him because of his size. You screamed, "Don't look," but it was already too late.

Before circling to slap your left ass cheek, Geto sang, "Now this is what I like to see." He spanked your right ass cheek and stated, "A nice pussy on display with a pretty anal plug, plugged into a beautiful ass." Each time he spanked your ass, you let out a moan.

Right now, your mind was so blank that you couldn't think. Geto smacked you once more before coming back to sit behind you, which caused tears to start streaming down your cheeks. "Mama, I want to see you squirt. I'm curious how many times we can get you to squirt before we let you have our cocks,” Gojo remarked as he kissed your thighs and then lowered your legs onto the bed.

You whimpered, "Please, no.”

“Why don't we investigate?” Geto questioned as he raised you into his lap and then opened your legs widely. 

"Gojo-Kun, Geto-kun, don't do it, please.” You beg, "It'll hurt.” Your plea, however, was ignored when Gojo placed his fingers against your slick, pussy lips.

“We're aware, mama,” Gojo stated as he slowly caressed your slick-coated clit in slow and gentle circles. "And that's the fun part. It's time to stop being formal and start using our real names, I believe.”

Geto put his hand around your neck and yanked your head back onto his shoulders, saying, "Now repeat after me. Sa-to-ru and Su-gu-ru.”

You sobbed, shaking your head, "No."

"That's OK. Geto grinned down at you and added, "We'll have you chanting our name in no time."

Gojo continued, "We will," while further pressing his finger into your clit.

…

This is utterly, totally, and totally wrong. You curled up into Geto’s lap as he held you tightly against his chest as Gojo inserted two large digits into your moist pussy. Gojo urged, "Come on, mommy, give it to me," and quickly pushed his fingers in and out of you while his thumb stroked your clit. 

You screamed, "Ugh, fuck," as your walls stretched around his fingers and you tried to close your legs, but Geto's strength made it feel nearly impossible.  Your lungs felt constrictive as you frantically gasped for air. Your hips slightly rose off the bed and you humped his fingers that were tightly tucked inside your pussy. You shrieked when you felt Gojo's fingers stroking against the soft, spongy area inside your vagina, "Fuck, don't touch there!"

Gojo continued to assault the area with his fingers while grinning. “Oh my god, Mama.” Gojo licked his lips and marvelled at how you creamed around his fingers. "Look at how wet your pussy is," he remarked. It was quite a sight to watch how much your pussy was dripping. The sight of your dripping pussy was doing so much for him and his best friend; they wanted to feel your tight pussy wrapped around their cocks while they repeatedly made you cum around them.

Another throaty groan escaped your lips as he pulled his fingers out of you and whacked your puffed-up clit, and your thighs started to tremble. He inserted his fingers inside your warm pussy, his fingers' tips probed even further inside of you, tickling that gooey area. You screamed, "Satoru, fuck," as your pussy tightened around his fingers. 

Geto pressed your knees into your chest and mumbled, "Let it go Y/N." You started crying once more without trying to hold back your tears due to the stimulation. You screamed as Gojo inserted another finger; the sensation was a little unpleasant at first but quickly became wonderful. Geto watched as your pussy clenched around Gojo's three fingers and said, "That's baby, come on."

Gojo smiled as he looked up and noticed your expression of being fucked out. He kept pushing his fingers in and out more quickly, relishing the obvious joy written all over your face. Your mouth was open, eyes were half-lidded, and your round cheeks were streaked with tears. Drool was running down your chin.

"Y/N, are you not going to squirt for us?" You instantly shook your head no when Geto asked. "Add another finger," he remarked after grinning. Your walls are being covered in a delightful ache as soon as Gojo's fourth finger stretches your pussy and you regret not telling him that you were about to squirt. 

You yelled, "Fuck, stop this is too much," and then you gritted your teeth. 

Gojo advised you to "just let it go mommy" as he put his thumb on your puffy clit to assist you to adjust yourself for his fingers. Your body started to stiffen up on Geto's lap as Gojo continued to circle your clit with an unbelievably fast pace and pressure, your wetness pooling his entire hand. You have been anticipating your orgasm and have been feeling its onset for some time. Your lower stomach burned and strained as you prepared to squirt all over them.

“Fuck, Satoru ah-ah fuck,” you screamed as your pussy gripped tightly onto his fingers. 

"Let me have it!" Gojo's voice's low pitch was all the push you needed. Your climax was about to happen. You screamed loudly, your body seized as you painfully arching your back from Geto's lap and leaning your head back against his shoulders. Gojo gushed, "There’s the waterworks I’m looking for," as he watched the clear liquid spurt from your pussy. Gojo swiftly yanked his fingers out of your pussy and tweaked your clit to see you squirt even more.

Even though your legs were shaking like crazy, you cried, "Sa-Satoru too much," as you attempted to distance yourself from him. Geto only makes your legs wider, though.

Gojo slid his fingers inside your pussy while maniacally giggling, "More." He repeatedly thrusted his finger into your pulsating hole. It didn't take long before you had another orgasmic wave. He moaned, "Yes, yes," as he saw you squirt all over his lower body. He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, slapped your pussy hard, and then drew back to inspect his moist fingers.

Geto said to his friend, "Move Toru, it's my turn."

"Huh, not finished?"

“You believed this had ended, right?” Geto questioned as his hands caressed your inner thighs and cupped your pussy in his palm.

You screamed in pain when you felt him place his index finger between your wet pussy folds, "Suguru, I'm sensitive."

“And,” he mocked. He lightly stroked the space between your pussy folds and began to slide his finger up and down, causing the moisture there to moisten and your body temp to rise. 

You exhale "Fuck" as you turn to the side to see Gojo standing there with his hooked into his sweatpants. You saw as he pulled his underwear and sweatpants down the length of his legs. Your mouth dropped open as you saw Gojo's long and girthy cock. How the hell is he so massive? He was far larger than your husband, and he may have the largest cock you've ever seen. If his cock was this massive, does it mean Geto's cock is also massive? It had to be because you could feel it pressing against your back the entire time but didn't really pay attention to it until now.

Gojo stretched out and stroked your cheek, saying, "I want you to suck off. Su, could you kneel mama down?”

“I want to eat her pussy anyway, so no big deal. You'd like it, wouldn't you?” Geto yanked his hand away from your cunt and shoved them in his mouth. He hummed as he completely sucked his finger. “Y/N: On your knees."

You obeyed orders and carried them out. Your ass was facing Geto and your face was towards Gojo as you knelt down on your hands and knees. Gojo murmured as he hooked his fingers under your chin and raised your head to face him, "You look nice like this." He massaged your chin, asking, "Have you ever sucked a cock as big as mine? You haven't, mama, I bet."

Looking up at him made your eyes well up with tears. This entire incident was embarrassing beyond belief. For goodness' sake, you were 27 years old and being bullied by two college students who also happened to be your neighbours. Well bullying isn’t the right word to use, but you understand where we’re going with this right. 

“God, mama, you look so lovely.” You opened your mouth a little, tilted your head back even farther, and Gojo dragged his thumb across your bottom lip. Gojo pushed his face closer to yours and murmured, "Open your mouth and stick your tongue for me.” You stretched out your tongue and opened your mouth. Your cheeks were cradled in his hands as he grinned. He opened his mouth and pointed it at yours, and you watched as a large glob of spit fell upon your tongue. 

Although you were somewhat surprised by his action, you welcomed it anyway. He lost it when he noticed that you were swallowing while looking intently into his eyes. As soon as he saw your lips pouted, he assaulted them, giving you a hard kiss and a lip sucking motion. You groaned into his mouth, sending the sound directly to his already hard cock. 

Geto took advantage of the moment to remove his shirt over his head as Gojo continued kissing you before reaching out with his hand to pull the ties on his sweatpants, slipping them down his strong, muscular legs. As he put his palm on your ass cheeks, Geto exclaimed, "Now this is a sight I'd like to see every day. If only I had my phone, I could have taken a picture of your wet pussy on display and the anal plug in your gorgeous ass. I'll then set it as my wallpaper after that.”

You shrieked and withdrew your lips away from Geto after he spanked your behind. “To believe I'll have you like one day is a dream come true,” Gojo kissed your cheek once more before getting up. He took hold of his enormous cock and gave it a few pumps before resting the tip on your lips as you stared. "Arch that back for Su. He’s gotta change his position so that he can eat your pussy while you suck my cock, mama.”

“That’s right baby, arch that back nicely for me,” Geto said as he watched as you arched your back for him. You felt him draw his hands, up the back of your thighs and squeezed your ass. “You ok Y/N?” he asked. 

“Mhm, just a little sensitive, please don’t be too rough,” you whimpered. 

He chuckled as he aligned his face with your pussy and said, "No promises. Your body froze the moment his tongue touched your pussy. When his tongue's tip circled your core, a cold sweat started to appear on your forehead. What was that? What the hell is going on? Your body was struggling to understand this overwhelming sensation as your mind entered a state of sudden panic. You couldn't help but moan as he softly bit into your clit since your mind was so numb from lust and pleasure. 

The demon was sucking up your pussy from behind, and you groaned, "Oh fuck." as you turned to face him. His smile was obvious as he watched you as his tongue caressed your clit, and you could see it on his face as he did so. Your husband has never gone down on you in this way or made your pussy feel so hot. You cherished this sensation and yearned for more. 

Gojo remarked as he tilted your head back to him, "Hey mama, open up your mouth for me." The moan that was about to come out of you was suppressed by thick swallowing. He gently inserted the tip of his cock to your lips as you slowly opened your mouth to receive it. When he felt your gentle lips encircling his cock, he groaned loudly. It felt really warm and happy inside your lips; God, it would be wrong to abuse such a place. Gojo snarled "Fuck" as he inserted more of his cock into your mouth. He sighed, placing his palm on your cheek to comfort you, "Fuck, your mouth is so warm. Move your head for me.”

You stared up at him and gently started to bob your head up and down on his cock. To Gojo, you were such a sight to behold; your presence was messing with his brain. His heart swelled at the thought that he played a part in the way you appeared to be high on joy and lust. You were never going to get rid of him at this time.

Geto was performing miracles with his tongue on your pussy as you slowly bopped your head on Gojo cock. When Geto pressed his tongue flat on your clit and hummed at how wonderful you tasted on his tongue, your eyes fluttered and you choked over Gojo's cock. He hummed into your pussy, which caused an exhilarating sensation to spread throughout your body. He then dragged his tip from between your plump pussy lips and collected your sweet, dripping slick on his tongue. 

Gojo grinned as he sensed your mouth closing around his cock and a fresh round of tears streaming down your cheeks as Geto slid his tongue between your smooth folds, savouring your sweet scent before switching to suck on your puffy clit. Gojo moaned, "Fuck, mama," as he slowly turned his hips around and pressed his mouth on yours. His toes curled into the earth as a result of the sensation of your tongue slipping effortlessly under his cock as you took more of him. Geto watched you attempt to slide all of his best friend's cock down your throat from behind, and he has to admit, it was incredibly sexy. 

“Su, how does she taste?” Gojo questioned as his hips accelerated a little.

Geto moaned "Fucking delicious" into your pussy. Gojo gave Geto a quick glance and observed the thrill in his eyes as he inserted his middle finger into your warm pussy and then cupped your clit in his mouth.

The moment your hip pulled back against his face, Gojo dick started to escape your lips. You rested your head against your tummy to prevent yourself from disintegrating, and Gojo laughed. Geto softly drew his finger along the silky walls of your room, brushing against the soft, delicious region with his finger. You quickly clamped your fists around his additional finger.

When he pulled his lips away from your clit, he saw you with your head resting on Gojo's belly while he was massaging your hair. “What? Is she capable of handling your dick?"

"Your lips are distracting her," Gojo said with a chuckle.

She is so soaked. Your arousal spread across his fingers as he added, "I'm going to make her squirm again."

“While you're at it, prep that ass too. Before we double stuff, I was considering taking turns, but I can't wait.” Gojo continued to touch your hair and added, "I gotta fuck that luscious ass.”

Geto poked your clit with his thumb and said, "Why don't you come prep her ass yourself."

Gojo smiled down at you and said, "No, I'm staying right here, I got to keep mama comfy.  You are so fucking wet, mama."

Geto spanked your ass and listened as your pussy squelched each time he entered your warm cunt as he said, "Yeah, Y/N has such a slutty hole." "Only a slutty hole like yours would be capable of making such obscene sounds," he said.

Gojo whispered, "Mommy's got a slutty cunt."

You sputtered, "Fuck, please," out of breath.

You want to get up, Y/N? Geto questioned as he observed your trembling thighs.

You sighed again, "Please..." and shook your head. Another groan from your lips as he withdrew his fingers away from your wet cunt and greedily sucked on it with his entire mouth before forcing his tongue into you. Your cheeks were stretched apart as Geto's hand reached out to grab the fat of your ass and licked your tender areas.

His thumb pressed on your throbbing clit, and his mouth moved in such a lovely rhythm that you felt as if you were ready to collapse. Your body was experiencing such intense pleasure that the delicious feelings made the walls quake.

“Oh, God, Su…” You yelled, "Fuck stop, " as your hand reached out to grab Gojo's thighs. "Too much, too much," you cried. He shook his head no and kept berating your pussy with his mouth. She felt her orgasm coming on, and you closed your eyes while keeping hold of the bed sheets with your other hand.

Gojo mumbled, "Come on mama, squirt all over his face." As he continued to whisper, you could hear the sly smirk spreading across his lovely face. "Come on, give it to him, give it to him... Give it to him."

Your body froze, and squirted from your cunt as you shouted. Geto flicked at your clit to help you get through your powerful orgams while humming contentedly. God, you were squirting so much, they might have to change your sheets later. When you eventually calmed down, Geto hummed, "Fuck." Before pulling at your butt plug, he gave your ass a kiss on the cheeks. As he carefully started to withdraw it out of you, he heard you hiss.

"Mama, do you have any lube?” Gojo enquired.

You stutter "I-in my top dr-drawer." Because of the intensity of your orgasm, you were unable to breathe.

"I'll get the lubricant and condoms," you say. As he backed away from you, Gojo said. While you wait for Gojo to return with the object, Geto whirls you around to face him and requests that you kiss him.

… 

With everything Geto spilled while working his fingers into your tight ass, your ass felt incredibly slimy. As you sobbed from the piercing pain of Geto's fingers within your ass, Gojo kissed your forehead. Geto muttered, putting his third and last finger into your ass, "Almost perfect."

You cried, putting your hands on Gojo's wrist and looking up at him, "Fuck, this is weird." You could feel Geto's fingers encircling your constricted, puckered hole.

“Toru, do you have your condom on?” Geto questioned as he gently kissed your ass and then withdrew his fingers. Geto kissed you right on the butthole then spun you around and planted you on his lap.

"You, yeah?" Gojo muttered as he approached from behind you and put his hand on your lower back.

"No, I'm still wearing my underwear. Would you mind putting it on for me?” If it weren't for the situation you were in, you would have been startled to hear him say that.

Gojo murmured, "Fine," then yanked off Geto's underwear, grabbed the condom, and rolled it down his length. As you saw everything, you couldn't help but wonder how he planned to squeeze that inside of you. Geto's cock begs to differ if you thought you would have had a problem with Gojo's cock. Your husband could never come close to their size. 

Even the largest dildo you owned couldn't compare to theirs in size. You must have been wearing a frightened look because Gojo could be heard laughing behind you. Gojo kissed your cheek and whispered, "Don't worry mama, they'll fit. First, let's get you on Geto's cock.”

You nodded, helping Geto's waist to be straddled with Gojo's help. Gojo grabbed his friend's cock, gave it a few pumps, and then used the tip of Geto's cock to tease your pussy. They saw you cocking your head back, enjoying the puff of your kissable lips. “God you're so fucking lovely,” Geto exclaimed as Gojo prepared his cock for your entrance.

Your pussy lips split as Gojo slowly sunk you down onto Geto's cock, taking his cock inch by inch, and you both groaned as he did so. “Shit,” Geto  moaned when you tipped your body forward and pressed even harder against his cock. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you urgently gasped for air as you tried to acclimatise to the intense heat and the thickness of his big cock. 

“Now that his cock is filling up your pussy. Time for me to fill up your ass.” Gojo pushed you on to Geto’s chest and grabbed your ass cheeks, spreading you wide open for him. He was nice enough to spit on your butthole before pressing the tip into your ass. 

You gasped in pain as Gojo rammed his massive cock into your ass. You sobbed and put your hands on Geto's shoulders, saying, "It hurts."

Gojo muttered, "Relax," and he watched as your adorable little butthole slowly wrapped his cock. You held onto him like a vice, sinking further into him, and he cursed beneath his breath. He eventually got far inside of you and he muttered, "Fuck, your ass is so tight," and pressed his face into the back of your neck.

You were pushed even further into Geto's solid body by Gojo’s hips, which were firmly compressed into your ass. You sobbed, biting into Geto's shoulder, "It hurts, pull it out." God, Gojo's cock was tearing you apart from the inside out. They were using their cocks to both rip and stretch you open.

Gojo kissed the flesh of your neck and mumbled, "No.” This was too much for you; it went beyond what you knew you were capable of handling. You did have a sex machine, and it caused your pussy to burn bright red. However, given how strongly they feel inside of you, you are unsure if you will even have a pussy or even an ass for the machine to use.

"We need to… shit,” Geto said in a low voice. "We have to move.” You felt Geto grab hold of your waist and pull you away from his body, which caused their cock to move a little inside of you and a hiss to escape your lips. “Don’t worry Y/N, we'll do the work. Just sit here and take our cocks ok?”

You wanted to tell them no, to get their cocks out of your holes, and to forget that you had given them permission to have sex with you. However, if you did, you would have to resume having sex alone. And that's not what you wanted. You didn't want to be without a real cock. I mean, they offered you their cocks, so why not accept it? After all, your husband won't engage in sexual activity with you, so why not? 

And if you were to be brutally honest with yourself, even if their cocks hurt, it felt much better than your toys. Additionally, the fact that they were attractive didn't help. Although young, they were attractive and maybe a little cocky.

You let out a long breath before opening your eyes to face Geto. "All right, but don't be too rough." 

"Your ass feels too nice, so I can't promise you that, but I'll try,” Gojo whispered as he threw his arms around the middle of your waist and gave you another kiss on the neck. “I'll make an effort to be gentle for you, mommy.”

"Don't call me tha- ngh," you moaned as you experienced Gojo pulling his cock out of you and then pushed back in. "Augh" you screamed once more, when Geto lifted your hips to pull his cock from you. And then, just as he was about to thrust back in, Gojo slid his cock out of you.

"Fuck, Y/N, your pussy is so tight," Geto groaned as he and Gojo began to develop a rhythm. Your tongue, that had saliva trickling from its pink tip, was protruding slightly from the corners of your mouth. When you feel their cock slide into you, plunge into your holes to the core, and grind their hips into your clit and ass. Your eyes started to roll to the back of your head as you struggled to catch the air that was being quickly drained from your lungs. 

Your legs' muscles started to spasm a lot; they stretched out your holes to such an extent that you were stunned. Every time they pushed into you, they plunged so deeply. It was a little too difficult to maintain your balance. Fortunately for you, they were clinging onto you for your own freaking life. “Mama, how do you feel?”  Gojo questioned as he drew his lips away from your neck to bite at your ear. “Do you enjoy the feeling of my cock into your ass?”

As you opened your eyes once again, burning tears burned inside of them. You cocked your head just enough to see Gojo's heated cheeks. He gazed at you and waited for you to respond, the tips of his ears glowing pink and that arrogant sneer flickering across his face.

You moaned through your words, "Funny, it feels weird, b-but so amazing," as you gazed into his gleaming eyes. 

He grinned and leaned his head slightly over your shoulders to kiss you on the lips. You sense him extending his hand from your waist to seize both of your arms and place them on your butt. He spoke into your mouth, "Spread those cheeks for me. I want to fuck you deeper, so spread them out.” You moaned and nodded your head and did as you were told. “Yes… fuck yes,” he groaned as he plunged deeper inside of you. 

Once a thumb touches your clit, your entire body tingles with electricity. You saw that Geto had taken one of his hands off your waist as you looked down. He was now staring up at you with his thumb pressed into your clit. I'll become envious if you ignore me, Y/n. He gave a smug grin and cocked his head back before turning to face you once more. "I'll make you squirt once more. Satoru, change places. I want to see her pussy in all its glory.”

Before you could even understand what he might have just stated, Gojo was already manhandling your body in his grasp. He quickly yanked your hands away from your behind and encircled himself with them. After that, he carefully raised you off Geto's cock while keeping his dick firmly lodged inside your ass. He turned his back to the headboard and just as you were going to remark that this position was too uncomfortable for you, he started to lightly bounce on his dick. " Don't worry mama, you're not ready to be fucked like this yet," he swiftly assures you, as he mumbles in your ear. “We can fuck you another time, in this position.”

He sat down on the bed after that. Your knee was caught in his clutches, and he stretched you wide open for Geto. You observed as the 22-year-old squeezed between your legs before pressing his cock at your entrance. He wasted no time in stuffing you to the gills with his cock. “Fuck,” you screamed and your arms flew up to wrap around his neck. 

“Don’t fucking move Satoru,” Geto warned as he pressed his thumb into your clit again and he began to rub tight circles while he fucking into you. “You’ll get to fuck her ass after I cum.” 

“Fine by me,” Gojo chuckled. Your body started to cramp up beneath him, your pussy squeezing as you creamed around his shaft, and another scream was wrenched from you. 

You screamed, "Slow down, slow down," your thighs even quivering as he delved deeper, but he didn't stop; instead, he went more quickly. The sound of his balls smacking against your wet pussy and the delicious yet masculine aroma of him drove your arousal. Your pussy continued to flood with your sticky, allowing him to slip deeper within your warm hole. He sighed and lowered his mouth to yours before ramming his tongue between your lips and giving you a sloppy kiss.

With each forceful, deep swallow, your body jolts. Your tits are bouncing as you slowly start to go temporarily blind; at this point, ecstasy has rendered your thoughts numb. Geto whispered, "Fuck, Y/N, are you going to squirt for me?” The bed creaked and slammed against the walls as he grunted and snapped his hips with brutal pace. He could feel the climax rapidly approaching because of the way you were squeezing and creaming even more around his cock.

Your eyes were tightly shut as your wrist and fingers clenched around his neck, and you exhaled, "I gonna..." He moans, pressing his thumb on your throbbing clit to push you toward an orgasm. 

In the euphoria of your climax, you yelled and completely lost sight. He continued to fuck you throughout your orgasm, never slowing down as he chased his. Geto groaned, "Ah, yes, keep going that way, I'm almost there." He captured your lips once again as you continued to squirt all over him. 

“Fuck I could cum in you,” Gojo moaned from below you as he watched as what was happening above him. Geto came hard too, and when he did, you could feel his cock jerking hard inside your warm cunt. He spilled his seed into the condom and groaned, "Fuck," within your mouth. Sincerely regret that he didn't choose to cum in your pussy. “Fuck,” he groaned as he pulled away from you lips and slowly pulled his cock out of you. He tapped your pussy twice then he said, “I’ll leave you to the mercy of Satoru.” He then left the room and went to the bathroom to set up things for a possible aftercare session. 

Just then you felt Gojo groped at your breast. “You didn't think that this was over, I didn’t get to cum.” 

“I don’t have much energy left,” you managed to breathe out. 

“Don’t worry mama, I’ll go slow.” 

Gojo once again succeeds in shifting into a sex spoon, just like previously. He pressed himself behind you and put one hip and one leg on the top of your back leg. Before beginning to slowly glide inside of you, he grabbed hold of your breasts and kissed your cheek. Within you, you were able to feel the entire length of his cock. The mushroom tip was striking the deepest regions of your body, and you could feel the veins in his cock. 

This position was too intimate, too hot for you to handle. This made Gojo’s fat cock fill up perfectly, and he was loving every second of it. You’ve felt this good having sex before. “Feels good right mama,” Gojo whispered as he squeezed your breast in his hand as he thrust inside you slowly and gently. 

Your flawless skin begins to break out in goosebumps, and the hairs on your arms begin to stand up as you moan into your burning arousal. Gojo is right there, his warm hand gripping your tits as he slowly pounds into your throbbing ass and rolls his hips in tight circles, making sure his cock hits every sensitive area there.

If only your spouse had handled you the same way he was handling you and the way Geto handled you in the past. You pant and cling to his forearms that were supporting you as the slow movement of his hips made your already moist empty throbbing pussy even drier.

You called out, "Satoru," as you grabbed his fingers on your breast. His fingers entwined with yours as he said, "I know you're close, mama. I can feel your ass squeezing my dick.” After giving you many kisses on the cheeks, he enquired, "Do you want me to play with you pussy? One final time for me, I can make you squirt.”

He didn't really give you a chance to respond since he had already started to rub slow circles around your clit, pushing back your hood and teasing it with his index finger while rubbing your nerve endings with his middle finger, making you burn and buck at him.

You cried out, "Toru, I'm close," and grabbed his fingers with your own as his hips began to move more quickly.

Mama, let it go. Let it all go," he grunted, gasping for air while working those delicious, soft thrusts inside of you.

The intensity of it all made you start crying as you drew nearer, but Gojo merely held you tighter and gave you a deeper fuck. His hips were swaying, making your panting more frantic and desperate. You started to buck into his grip while gasping, panting, and on the verge of unravelling.

Your lower regions clenched as your entire body arched into his cock, filling the room with the slick sound of your excitement. Your orgasm came on suddenly, like a tidal wave, and slammed you so strongly that you felt like bursting into tears and trembling in your thigh.

"That's it mama." Gojo quickened his pace and it wasn’t long before he knocked him over. He was groaning so loud as he emptied his cum inside the condom. “Fuck, so good.” As you both came down from your high, Gojo slowly pulled out of you. 

You rolled over to lay on your stomach and murmured, "Done?" You have done enough. They had taken away all your strength, so you had nothing more to give them. You simply wanted to go to bed right away. You just fucked your young neighbour, well they fucked you. And you’re married. But the deed is already done.

Well, screw it.

Gojo was massaging your back when he said, "Yeah, we just need to get you cleaned up."

“Too exhausted too,” and just like that, you were out cold.

"So Suguru, what do you say?" Gojo questioned as he observed Geto leaving the restroom.

"Fuck Mr. Sakamoto, I say," Geto declared as he approached the bed. "His wife is now ours. He is completely stupid. It must be a dumb excuse for him to ignore his wife."

Gojo remarked, looking over at his best friend, "Damn right she is. We'll take her if he doesn't want her."

Geto laughed and added, "Yep, so delighted we were caught staring through her window. Come, let's clean her up."

@getosbigballsack 2022

ུᩧ JJK TWITTER LINKS P3 !

৻ꪆ instructions. before clicking, you must be logged into your acc and have twitter open in order for these links to function .

TOJI FUSHIGURO. ꒱‎

plap plap plap. ⋆ reversed cowgirl. ⋆ penetration + fingering. ⋆ demolishing your pussy. ⋆ exhibitionism. ⋆ pounding you from the back. ⋆ breath play. ⋆ you’re so easy to break. ⋆ riding him.

CHOSO KAMO. ꒱‎

jerking him off while making out. ⋆ choso being affectionate. ⋆ working your hand on him. ⋆ polite roughhousing. ⋆ worshiping you. ⋆ gameplay. ⋆ overstimulation. ⋆ 69ing. ⋆ bdsm.

NANAMI KENTO. ꒱‎

idk but the watch is soooo giving nanami. ⋆ thrusting inside his cute girl. ⋆ sitting on his lap. ⋆ wearing tiny skirts to get him to fuck you. ⋆ touching you. ⋆ what a pretty sight. ⋆ riding him.

GOJO SATORU. ꒱‎

his way of taking care of you. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ rubbing your clit. ⋆ mutual masturbation. ⋆ gojo coded. ⋆ folded missionary. ⋆ grinding yourself on him. ⋆ semi-public. ⋆ spooning you.

GETO SUGURU. ꒱‎

ghostface leaving you brainfucked. ⋆ cnc w ghostface. ⋆ helping you shove a dildo up your hole. ⋆ fingering you while pampering you with kisses. ⋆ fucking you too good. ⋆ bath sex.

SUKUNA RYOMEN. ꒱‎

nasty backshots. ⋆ he only feeds his cock to bimbos. ⋆ taped up cunt. ⋆ bdsm. ⋆ hes so mean when fucking you. ⋆ headlock. ⋆ at his service. ⋆ manhandling. ⋆ pounding you from below.

twitter links | jjk

afab for all links ! disclaimer im poc, but only could find these links. if you have better accounts send it to me via ask box. (nsfw) highly requested and includes both sub and dom afab reader. warnings aren't listed. proceed at your own accord.

choso

link - fuckng choso during movie nigh | sub choso link - choso fucks your tits in bed link - cums on your tits link - giving choso a hj after a bad day | sub choso link - eating you out

sukuna

link - sukuna 'going easy' on you link - in his domain link - "takin it real deep, huh?" link - " you can take it" link - " spoiled girl.." link - "you can take more than that, human"

gojo

link / link - riding gojo link - "you're on birth control, right?" link - "long day at work satoru?" | sub gojo link - "pls let me have it baby" | sub gojo link - " sweet boy" | sub gojo link - someone's house party!

suguru

link - pus eating link - guided pussy eating link - "ya feel me ma?" link - tit sucking link - lazy link - make it quick

toji

link - ride ! link - "lose the attitude." link - early morning? link - breakfast in bed link - tease ! link - ones enough!

to see links you must log into your twt acc. all rights reserved

— drunk confessions.

kazuha x gn reader

part 1. part 2.

warnings: golden apple event spoilers(?), cursing, alcohol, fluff, slightly suggestive

“Venti, what was in that drink??”

“Err, he might’ve drunk one of my cocktails..?”

Your face felt hot as a very drunk Kazuha clung onto you, giggling randomly and cooing your name while leaning uncomfortably close to your face.

“Y/nnnn~ hic- look at meee,” he whined tugging on your shirt while turning his head to try to catch your eyes. You felt as if you were about to burst from all the affection.

“Heh, seems as if you don’t mind Kazuha’s drunk antics though,” Venti giggled, eyeing your arms wrapped around Kazuha’s waist, while he clung onto you.

“Oh my archons, Venti! Guess what?”

“What, Y/n?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, face hot with embarrassment. Your other friends giggled, as Venti feigned being hurt.

“Y/nnn~” Kazuha drawled, tracing your lips with a finger.

Fuck.

You could hear snickering coming from the others as you shot a glare at them.

“What is it?” you sighed, finally looking into Kazuha’s eyes, though you almost immediately regretted it.

His eyelids were drooped as he stared intensely at your lips, almost hungrily. Glancing up at you he giggled and puckered his lips.

“Kiss!”

Oh my archons. He’s too cute…

“Hehehe, you heard him Y/n, give the big baby a kiss!” Paimon cooed while you dug your face into Kazuha’s neck, hiding your expression from the teasing looks being sent your way.

“Kissss- hic- k-kiss,” Kazuha pouted.

“Shut up Kazu, you’re drunk,” you mumbled into his neck. You could hear your friends resuming their conversation about the island and such as you looked up again.

“Y/n…”

“What now, Kazuha?” You sighed glancing at his flushed face.

His hands cupped your warm cheeks as he leaned closer to your face, staring deep into your eyes. You gulped as he leaned dangerously closer to you.

Softly, he brushed his lips against yours, kissing you for a beautiful moment, a moment where everything and everyone froze, a moment where it was only you and Kazuha, and a moment that didn’t last long enough. Kazuha leaned back and giggled with red hues decorating his beautiful face. Fuck, you were burning up. The lingering feeling of his soft lips stayed, your hand reaching up to brush your lips tentatively, feeling the tingling of a few seconds ago.

You can’t take this anymore.

Abruptly standing up, you dragged Kazuha to the stairs, feeling him stumble beside you as ooo-ing could be heard behind you.

You led him to the balcony, opening the door and then closing it behind you, inhaling a breath of cool air. “H-hic- Y/n…?” You turned to face Kazuha, then pulled him towards you, smashing your lips together once more. Your lips tugged and melded against each other, panting and soft hums being heard from both persons.

He bit your bottom lip, tugging and rolling it softly between his teeth. Your breath hitched as your mouth opened, allowing Kazuha to slip his tongue inside. Your tongues intertwined sensually as you continued kissing each other hungrily, as if you could never get enough.

You wove your fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling at it, making Kazuha release small mewls into your mouth. Unfortunately, you had to part for air, as the two of you panted, your foreheads pressed together in a comfortable silence.

“Y/n..” He whispered, tilting your chin up, directing your gaze into his eyes. “Hm..?” You hummed.

Ah, he was too beautiful, his messy hair strewn over his shoulders, ponytail having fallen apart moments ago from your tugging. His eyes, like crimson jewels staring into your own with such emotion it could make you overheat on the spot. His lips, the soft pink lips that easily sang words of poetry, the lips that captured yours so easily, bringing you into a hopeless love filled daze.

“I love you.”

You hoped it wasn’t just the alcohol in his system making him say these things, because you just couldn’t resist whispering the confession back, letting the walls fall down, letting vulnerability slip out.

—

“Damn, what took y’all so long?” Xinyan wiggled her brows as you sat down, Kazuha back to clinging onto you. “Needed to get fresh air,” you said dismissively. “With Kazuha?” Lumine pointed out teasingly. “Shut up,” you flushed.

Kazuha giggled and started pressing kisses all over your neck and face. “Mine, mine, mine~” he sang in between each kiss. You grumbled, heat once again rising in your face.

“Oh??” Venti smirked at the lovesick birds, noticing the change in your demeanors.

“All of you, shut up.”

Studying Tips when you are easily distracted

Pomodoro Technique, I can't stress it enough how helpful it is. There are many apps, and some allow to change the amount of time for breaks and work. Maybe you can't do 25, then do 15. Others need more time to get "in the zone" and can do 40 minutes.

During breaks, walk away from your desk/workspace. Don't go to far, look through a window, take a glass of water, go to the bathroom, or if you can go outside for a few seconds to take deep breaths of fresh air. The important thing is to mentally detach yourself from that task to reset your mind.

Change subjects. Don't spend four hours on the same topic, it gets way too boring. Divide your time between a subject you like and one that is harsher for you and viceversa.

One hour a day does 100% more for your productivity than five hours of cramming the night before.

Your brain won't function properly if sleep deprived. It doesn't matter how much you studied all night, more often than not you will fail from exhaustion. And no, caffeine doesn't do the trick, it will just give you more anxiety. It's like a rollercoaster of crap. Trust me, been there done that, it sucks.

Make a list of all the things you need to do in order of importance and urgency. Instead of a boring check mark, draw flowers or whatever you like and once completed you can color them.

Your head won't remember everything you have to do, take a small notebook with you everywhere and write down (right in that moment or you will forget), tasks, chores, homework, assignments, essays, etc.

You don't have to make your notes as perfect as the one from pinterest or studyblr (in my opinion that takes way too much time to do and is not that productive), but adding color, sticky notes or small drawings can make it much more pleasant to look at.

Eliminate from your desk/workspace all distractions, or as much as you can. Some of the pomodoro apps I mentioned before, they ring when time is up, it's automatic. So, you can put away your cellphone to not be tempted to scroll through social media.

If you have spent quite a few hours studying, take a long break (not in your bed). You should move to stimulate blood circulation. You could listen your favorite music and dance while eating a snack. Or maybe water your plants, do your prayers if you're religious, anything that isn't related to study. Your mind will thank you.

Know when to stop, it's unhealthy if you overdo it. Melatonin, sleep hormone, usually starts production around 9 o'clock (my psychiatrist told me this) and between 10 and 12 is the moment when your body rest the best.

Also, Melatonin can be affected by blue light emitted from screens. If you can try to avoid them for at least two hours before going to sleep. So that you can regain a normal sleep schedule. This will also improve your mood and eventually your concentration.

There are apps (at least for Android, don't know for Apple) that can block the usage of other apps. It's very helpful and until now it has given me great results.

Make sure to take time to practice your hobbies, hangout with friends, spend time with your family or walk your pet. Your entire life can't be about studying and grades. If you don't enjoy the process of going to highschool/college, you will end up hating it. Even if it's just for 15 minutes. Allow yourself to not be productive. You are not a machine. It's okay to relax from time to time. Your mental health is more important. Even at the cost of success.

ellie & abby twitter links pt. 2 ♡

18+, minors DNI.

🇵🇸 LINKS | before engaging !!! | m. list | join my tag list!

els <3

♡ ellie feeling on your ass <3

♡ ellie pleasuring her girl

♡ ellie fingering you

♡ grinding w/els

♡ ellie fingering you in her car (hint: skip to 0:44)

♡ choking w/ellie (you!receiving)

♡ sub!ellie riding you

♡ ellie using a dildo on you

♡ ellie rubbing herself on you <3

♡ els caring for you

abs <3

♡ abs’ strap-on

♡ abby getting off to you

♡ eating sub!abby from the back

♡ dom!abby doing dom!abby things <3

♡ rough strap-on sex w/sub!abby

♡ abby’s strap-on (again!)

♡ doctor!abby, coming home to fuck you post work

♡ abby fingering you w/her heavy hands

♡ abby rewarding you w/her dick

♡ possessive!abby fucking you to remind you you’re hers

SAGAU - Beloved of Teyvat

1 | Next >

Unlike its foolish people, Teyvat would never—could never—fail to recognize its owner.

Its essence flowed through their very veins, and theirs through it, in an eternal cycle that could never be broken—not if the land, skies and seas had anything to say about it. It knew them. It carved itself for their joy. Nothing, nothing, could separate them. Never again.

The mortals could boast and brag as they please; Teyvat was the Divine One’s most devoted worshiper.

Getting hit by Truck-kun and being isekai’d into Teyvat had not been on your list of things to do today. Getting chased out of Mondstat by stone and sword, running and running through even the collapse of your lungs until you couldn’t hear the screams to find you and make you pay, definitely hadn’t been planned either.

And now you sat lost in the mountains, surrounded by trees. Had you run north or south? You couldn’t remember, memories lost in the haze of getawaygetawaygetaway that had driven you there.

You turned to get a better look at your surroundings. Mondstat below and Dragonspine beyond that, you had to be in the Stormbearer Mountains. Could you have picked a worse direction? If they found you again…

Oh god, they’d find you again.

They had to already know you’d boxed yourself in, the knights had already been mobilizing themselves, you’d already lost your chance to escape. The realization of your situation quickly dawned. Whatever crime they’d found you guilty of, nobody was willing to hear you out.

So, here you were, in pain, exhausted, and out of choices. But dammit, you were the one who guided the traveler through even the Spiral Abyss, you were the one who definitely didn’t run away from every enemy when you finally left Mondstat because you were scared, and you were the one who fought against those bullshit scaled domains for the whalers without a shield to guard you.

If there was anything you could do, it was bullshit strats.

And unlike your pursuers, you had game knowledge.

For example, you knew how to avoid the Anemo Hypostasis' attacks. Should push come to shove, you could avoid Beth’s attacks and direct its attention toward the Knights, then escape while they were distracted. If they were even willing to follow you that far to begin with. So you could probably lie low up there until they lost interest and sneak your way down to Liyue under the cover of night. Maybe Yanfei would be willing to—

“They’re here!”

Ah shit.

Next time, you told yourself as you broke into a run, you’d think on the go. Hopefully, you could get past the hypostasis before they could catch up. Or at least before they could land a hit.

You scrambled up ledges, bloodying your pants on sharp rocks, and didn’t dare to look behind at the rapidly encroaching footsteps.

“Freeze, imposter!”

Met with a ledge you couldn’t climb and a knight on either side, you turned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You were so close. “I swear I didn’t do anything!!”

Staring you down was Jean, the Dandelion Knight herself.

“You dare?” She stared you down with a fury you didn’t think her capable of. As if you’d personally slaughtered Barbara in front of her eyes. “Looking at me as you are, you dare claim innocence?!”

“I don’t understand,” you pleaded, desperate. “All I did was walk into the city, I didn’t even say anything!”

“You little!” Lisa spat from Jean’s side, calling on her vision. You flinched, hiding behind your arms as though they’d protect you, every part of you screaming for help.

The pain never came.

Instead, you yelped in fear as wind wrapped around your body, cradling you in its gentle caress.

“Jean?” a woman’s voice questioned, you couldn’t make out who over the wind in your ears.

“Acting Grand Master!” a knight cried not a moment after. “The- the hypostasis!”

You tipped your head back to see. Your eyes met with the vision of Beth looming over you, somehow seeming furious despite lacking any features to speak of. But the pure killer intent behind you couldn’t be mistaken even to someone as civilian as you.

Then, you were moving again, pulled over the hypostasis and toward its arena (why had it left its arena?), given a first-class seat to Beth’s ensuing battle with the knights. And a perfect view of the approaching horde of slimes and Hilichurls. You could even make out a few boars and squirrels among them.

A warning bubbled up in your throat, but soon died on the winds.

The knights fought valiantly, even when the first few monsters approached, even when the boars started charging their backlines, but after the first bird swooped down and knocked Lisa’s catalyst away (the catalyst you gave her, she tried to attack you, kill you, with the catalyst you gave her) Jean finally called a retreat.

The monsters didn’t make it easy, a few Whooperflowers even

And once the Knights were naught but a speck in the distance, the winds returned you to the ground, laying you softly in the center of the arena. The Anemo Hypostasis seemingly turned its attention to you, again reaching out with its wind. You cowered behind your arms once more, but the wind stayed as gentle as ever, soothing your aches and burns.

Blinking, you looked yourself over and found yourself rid of reddened marks and jagged cuts. It had healed you. Why would it do that?

Instead of anything that would give you an answer, Beth returned itself to its stasis above you.

A few minutes passed before you allowed yourself to crawl out from your position. It didn’t stir even as you stood by it.

Staring at it, you brought a hand to the nearest cube, running your fingers over its smooth surface. Something like contentment radiated through your fingers and it glowed… happily? Warmth radiated through you and you couldn’t help but smile in response.

It had really come to protect you, hadn’t it?

Apparently, there was more lore behind Beth, and maybe the other hypostases, than you thought, that they’d assist you in your moment of need. It probably did something to bring the other monsters as well.

You looked over your shoulder to where they had been and immediately stumbled back onto Beth as a Hilichurl’s cry rang out.

How… long had they been standing there?

Two Hilichurls stood before you. A short, stocky one with a bag of fruits and a taller, lankier one with a bowl of what looked like a stew of some sort. Both immediately thrust out their items in offering, looked at each other, then dropped to their knees and placed the food on the ground before you and backed up a few paces.

They were giving you food. Hilichurls were giving you food.

In your state of shock, you looked over your shoulder, idly recalling that Hilichurls disliked areas of high elemental energy. Why would they push past that to give you food?

Too exhausted to think, let alone run or fight, you dropped to sit on the ground and picked up the bowl. Hilichurlian food or not, these guys had saved your life.

So you dug the spoon in and took a bite of the (surprisingly tasty) stew.

[Quest Completed: Return]

[Quest Reward: User Interface Unlocked]

[Would you like to accept? Yes/No]

...what.

-----

@nicebonescomrade I ended up rewriting this because I liked the Hypostasis idea!

This is my first Genshin work (and my first work of writing in over a year rip) so I hope it's alright :) This concept has been on my mind for a while so here we goooo

ahh i'm so nervous posting this ; - ; pls be nice (but I always accept constructive criticism)

Kiss Me, He’s Watching

fake bf!Heeseung x being stalked!reader - You kissed Heeseung to escape your stalker’s gaze—but the danger didn’t end there. One fake kiss, and suddenly everything is terrifyingly real.

Warnings: stalking, fear, explicit smut, possessive dynamics

-

The fluorescent lights of the subway car flicker overhead, casting an unflattering glow across the half-empty train. It's later than you'd usually be out on a weeknight, but your coworker's birthday drinks ran longer than expected. You check your phone: 11:43 PM. Only three more stops until home.

That's when you feel it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

You glance up from your phone, trying to appear casual as your eyes scan the car. And there he is. Third seat from the door. A man in his thirties, wearing a dark jacket despite the warm spring evening, staring directly at you. When your eyes meet, he doesn't look away. Instead, his lips curl into what might be considered a smile, if it weren't so utterly devoid of warmth.

You quickly look back down at your phone, heart rate accelerating. It's nothing, you tell yourself. Just another weird encounter in the city.

The train slows to a stop, doors sliding open. You remain seated, two more stops to go. From your peripheral vision, you see the man stand up. Relief washes over you—he's leaving. But instead of exiting, he simply moves to a seat closer to you. Your stomach drops.

When the doors close and the train lurches forward, you decide you're not waiting two more stops. You'll get off at the next station, find a busier platform, maybe even grab a taxi the rest of the way home. Anything to shake this feeling.

The next stop arrives. You stand quickly, moving toward the doors. As they open, you glance back—he's standing too. Following you.

Panic rises in your throat as you step onto the platform. It's nearly deserted at this hour, just a few late-night commuters waiting for trains going the opposite direction. You walk briskly toward the exit, the sound of footsteps behind you matching your pace.

That's when you see him—a young man leaning against a pillar, scrolling through his phone. He's striking even under the harsh station lights, with delicate features contrasted by sharp eyes and broad shoulders. Something about him radiates both gentleness and strength. You make a split-second decision.

You approach him quickly, heart pounding in your ears.

"Excuse me," you say softly, your voice shakier than you'd like. "Can you please pretend to be my boyfriend for a minute? There's someone following me."

He looks up from his phone, confusion crossing his face for only a moment before his eyes flick past you, assessing the situation with remarkable speed. His expression shifts to understanding, then determination.

"Of course, babe," he says loudly enough to be overheard, smoothly slipping his phone into his pocket. "I was wondering when you'd get here."

In one fluid motion, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours is startling but comforting.

"He's still watching," the stranger whispers against your hair. "Is that the guy? Black jacket, about five-nine?"

You nod almost imperceptibly.

"I'm Heeseung, by the way," he murmurs, maintaining the charade by playing with a strand of your hair.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper back.

You both stand there for a moment, locked in an embrace that feels both foreign and strangely safe. But you can still feel the stalker's eyes boring into your back.

"He's not buying it," Heeseung says quietly, his breath warm against your ear. Then, even softer: "Want me to kiss you? Might be more convincing."

Your eyes widen slightly, but the footsteps behind you seem to be getting closer. You nod again, bracing yourself.

Heeseung's hand gently tilts your chin upward. His eyes meet yours, silently asking one more time if this is okay. There's something unexpectedly tender in his gaze that makes your breath catch. Then he leans down, pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant—the kiss of strangers playing a part. But as his arms tighten around you, something shifts. His lips move more confidently against yours, and you find yourself responding, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders. For a brief moment, you forget about the man watching you, forget that this is all pretend. There is only the softness of Heeseung's lips and the steadiness of his hands at your waist.

When you finally break apart, you're both slightly breathless. Heeseung's eyes search yours for a moment before he looks past you, his expression hardening.

"He's still there," he says, voice lower now, a protective edge creeping in. "What's this guy's problem?"

The stalker stands several feet away, his stare unrelenting, suspicious. Clearly, your performance hasn't convinced him.

Something in Heeseung snaps. He steps slightly in front of you, shielding you with his body.

"What are you looking at?" he calls out, his voice echoing in the nearly empty station. "You need something?"

The man doesn't respond, just continues staring.

"What?" Heeseung's voice rises, anger evident. "You need more proof? Want me to fuck her in front of you too?"

You grab Heeseung's arm, both shocked and grateful for his protective fury. The few remaining commuters on the platform turn to stare.

The stalker finally breaks his gaze, muttering something under his breath before walking toward the exit. But the look he gives you before he turns away sends ice through your veins—this isn't over.

"Hey, are you okay?" Heeseung asks, turning back to you, his expression immediately softening. "Sorry if I went too far. I just couldn't stand the way he was looking at you."

"Thank you," you manage, suddenly aware that you're trembling. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here."

"Which way are you headed?" he asks, concern etched across his features.

"I'm two stops down, but I think I'll just get a taxi now."

"I'll wait with you," he says firmly. "Or I can ride with you the rest of the way, if you want."

As you both head toward the exit, you feel Heeseung's hand gently rest against the small of your back—a protective gesture that makes you feel safer than you have all night.

Neither of you notice the stalker watching from the shadows as you leave the station together, his eyes narrowed with suspicion and something more dangerous simmering beneath.

-

The taxi ride is quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional direction you give the driver. Heeseung sits beside you, a respectful distance between you now, but his presence remains solid and reassuring. The adrenaline from earlier is beginning to wear off, leaving you feeling drained and slightly embarrassed.

"I'm really sorry about all of this," you finally say, glancing over at him. In the dim light of the passing streetlamps, his profile looks almost ethereal. "I can't believe I dragged a complete stranger into my problems."

Heeseung turns to you, his expression earnest. "Don't apologize. That guy was seriously creepy. Anyone would have needed help."

"Not everyone would have helped the way you did," you point out. "Most people would have just walked away."

He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "Well, I'm not most people."

The taxi pulls up to your apartment building, and you reach for your wallet, but Heeseung already has his card out.

"Please, let me," he insists, paying the driver before you can protest.

"You really don't have to—"

"Consider it my good deed for the day," he says with a gentle smile that makes something flutter in your chest.

You both step out onto the sidewalk, and suddenly you're not sure how to end this strange encounter. A handshake seems too formal after what you've shared, but anything more feels presumptuous.

"I'd feel better if I saw you safely to your door," Heeseung says, breaking the awkward moment. "If that's okay with you."

You nod, grateful for his consideration, and lead him into the building. The elevator ride to the fifth floor is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Standing next to him, you notice he smells faintly of sandalwood and something uniquely his own.

When you reach your apartment door, you turn to face him. "Thank you again. Seriously. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there."

"I'm just glad I could help," he says, and there's a sincerity in his voice that's rare these days.

An idea strikes you. "Wait here for a second?" You unlock your door and rush inside, grabbing a pen and scrap of paper from the entryway table. You quickly scribble your number on it, then return to the hallway where Heeseung waits patiently.

"Here," you say, offering him the paper. "In case you ever need someone to pretend to be your girlfriend." You attempt a joke to lighten the moment, though your heart beats a little faster as he takes the paper.

Heeseung looks at your number, then back at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. He pulls out his phone, inputs your number, and then you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

"Now you have mine too," he says. "If you ever feel unsafe again or if that guy shows up, call me. Doesn't matter what time."

"I couldn't possibly—"

"I mean it," he interrupts, his expression turning serious. "Promise me you'll call if anything happens."

Something about the intensity in his eyes makes you nod. "I promise."

"Good." His expression softens again. "Get some rest, Y/N. It's been a long night."

"You too, Heeseung."

He waits until you're safely inside with the door locked before you hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

-

The next morning, the whole encounter feels almost like a dream. You might have convinced yourself it was, if not for the new contact in your phone: "Heeseung (Subway Hero)."

Life returns to normal surprisingly fast. You're more cautious on your commute, taking earlier trains and staying in crowded cars, but there's no sign of the creepy man. After a week passes without incident, you begin to relax.

You think about texting Heeseung several times. Your finger hovers over his contact information, but what would you say? "Thanks again for pretending to be my boyfriend and kissing me"? "Want to grab coffee sometime when I'm not being stalked"? Everything sounds awkward or presumptuous. He was just being kind to a stranger in trouble. You don't want to mistaken his kindness for interest.

So you don't text him, and the days pass.

Almost two weeks after the subway incident, you're working late at the office. The design project you've been assigned has a tight deadline, and you've lost track of time staring at your computer screen. When you finally look up, it's past 10 PM, and you're the only one left on your floor.

You pack up quickly, suddenly aware of how quiet and empty the building feels. In the elevator down to the lobby, you check your phone and see a notification for an email from an address you don't recognize.

The subject line reads: "I SAW YOU WITH HIM."

A chill runs down your spine. You should delete it without opening it, but morbid curiosity gets the better of you. The message contains just one line:

"I know he's not really your boyfriend."

Your hands start to shake. Below the text is a photo—of you and Heeseung leaving the subway station together that night. The angle suggests it was taken from a distance, from someone following behind.

As you step out of the elevator into the dimly lit lobby, another email notification appears. Same sender.

"You're alone now. Look up."

Your heart nearly stops. Slowly, you raise your head from your phone screen and scan the lobby. At first, you see nothing unusual—just the security desk (empty at this hour), the entrance doors, the row of potted plants along the wall.

Then a shadow moves near the entrance, and you see him. The man from the subway, watching you through the glass doors, that same cold smile on his face.

Without thinking, you step back into the elevator and frantically press the button for your floor. As the doors close, you see him moving toward the building entrance.

Your fingers tremble as you pull up Heeseung's contact. It's been two weeks. He probably doesn't even remember you. But you promised.

He answers on the second ring.

"Y/N?" His voice is alert, not groggy despite the hour. "Is everything okay?"

"He found me," you whisper, watching the elevator numbers climb. "The guy from the subway. He's here at my office building. He has pictures of us. He knows—he knows you're not really my boyfriend."

There's a brief silence, then Heeseung's voice comes through, calm but urgent. "Where exactly are you now?"

"In the elevator, going back up to my office. I don't think he can get past building security without a keycard, but he was right outside."

"Okay, listen to me. Go back to your office, lock the door if you can. What's the address?"

You tell him, surprised at how clearly you remember his address despite your panic.

"I'm leaving now. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay on the phone with me, okay?"

"Okay," you manage, stepping out of the elevator and hurrying down the hallway to your office. You lock the door behind you, then turn off the lights and move away from the windows. "I'm sorry to drag you into this again."

"Don't apologize," he says, and you can hear rustling in the background, the jingle of keys. "I told you to call if anything happened."

"I know, but—"

"Y/N," he interrupts gently. "I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you anyway."

Despite everything, a small flutter of warmth spreads through your chest at his words.

"He thinks I'm your boyfriend?" Heeseung continues, and you hear a door slam shut on his end. "What are you going to do about this guy?"

"I don't know," you admit, sinking down beneath your desk, phone clutched to your ear like a lifeline. "I guess I should file a police report, but—"

Your sentence is cut short by another email notification. With dread, you open it to find another picture—this one of your office building, with a simple message: "I'll wait."

"Heeseung," you whisper, fear making your voice crack. "Please hurry."

-

"I'm five minutes away," Heeseung reassures you, his voice steady despite the sound of rapid footsteps on his end. "Stay where you are and keep talking to me."

You curl up tighter beneath your desk, eyes fixed on the locked office door. The building is eerily quiet at this hour—every distant sound making your heart race. Is that the elevator? Footsteps in the stairwell? Your imagination is turning every creak and hum of the building into a threat.

"Tell me about your day," Heeseung says suddenly.

"What?"

"Your day. What were you working on that kept you at the office so late?" His tone is deliberately casual, trying to distract you from the panic.

You take a shaky breath. "A design project for a new client. They're launching a sustainable clothing line and needed the branding finalized by tomorrow morning." Speaking helps—focusing on normal things makes the situation feel slightly less terrifying.

"You're a designer?" There's genuine interest in his voice.

"Graphic designer, yeah. What about you? What do you do when you're not rescuing strangers on the subway?" You attempt a weak joke.

There's a soft chuckle on the other end. "Music production, mostly. I work at a studio downtown."

"That sounds amazing," you say, briefly forgetting your fear. "Do you work with anyone I might know?"

"Maybe. I've worked with—" He cuts himself off. "I'm at your building now. Is there a security guard?"

"There should be, but I didn't see anyone when I was in the lobby."

"There's no one here now either," Heeseung says, his voice lower. "How do I get up to your floor?"

"You need a keycard for the elevator after hours," you explain, anxiety flooding back. "But wait—if there's no security guard, where did he go? And how would the stalker get in without a card?"

There's a moment of silence before Heeseung responds, his voice tight. "I don't know, but I don't like it. Is there another way up? A stairwell?"

"Yes, but it needs a keycard too—" You stop as another email notification appears. With trembling fingers, you open it.

The message contains just three words: "I'M INSIDE NOW."

"Heeseung," you whisper, terror making your voice almost inaudible. "He says he's inside the building."

"Shit," he mutters. Then, more decisively: "I'm going to try something. What floor are you on?"

"Seventh."

"Give me two minutes."

The line goes quiet except for the sound of Heeseung's breathing and occasional grunts of effort. You're about to ask what he's doing when you hear a distant alarm begin to wail.

"What's happening?" you ask.

"Fire alarm," Heeseung explains, slightly out of breath. "Building security will unlock automatically. I'm coming up the stairs now."

Relief washes over you—until you realize that if the security systems are overridden, there's nothing keeping the stalker from accessing your floor either.

As if reading your thoughts, Heeseung speaks again. "Stay hidden. I'll be there soon. Which office number?"

"705. It's at the end of the hallway on the right when you come out of the stairwell."

"Got it. Almost there."

You hear the sound of a door banging open through the phone, then rapid footsteps. A moment later, there's a gentle knock at your office door.

"Y/N? It's me."

You scramble out from under the desk and rush to the door, pressing your ear against it. "Heeseung?"

"It's me," he confirms. "Open the door."

Your hands shake as you unlock the door. The moment it opens, Heeseung slips inside, immediately locking it behind him. In the dim emergency lighting, you can see he's breathing hard, hair slightly damp with sweat—he must have run the entire way.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, the relief of seeing a friendly face overwhelming in your state of fear. He stiffens in surprise for just a moment before his arms wrap around you, holding you securely.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs against your hair.

You nod against his chest, embarrassed but unable to pull away just yet. His heartbeat is rapid beneath your ear, his body warm and solid—an anchor in the storm of your fear.

When you finally step back, you notice he's scanning the room, eyes alert and wary. "We should go. The fire department will be here soon because of the alarm, but I don't want to risk running into this guy."

"Okay," you agree, quickly gathering your belongings.

Heeseung peers out the office door, checking the hallway. "Clear. Let's go to the stairs—they're closer than the elevator."

He takes your hand as you hurry down the corridor, his grip firm and reassuring. At the stairwell door, he pauses, listening intently before pushing it open.

"Stay close," he instructs as you begin descending.

You're halfway between the fifth and fourth floors when a door slams somewhere below you. Heeseung freezes, pushing you gently against the wall, his body shielding yours. You both listen, hardly breathing.

Footsteps on the stairs—coming up.

Heeseung's eyes meet yours, his expression tense but determined. Silently, he gestures upward. You nod in understanding.

As quietly as possible, you both backtrack, climbing up instead of down. When you reach the eighth floor, Heeseung carefully opens the door, checking that the hallway is clear before pulling you through.

"We'll try the elevator on this floor," he whispers. "The alarm should have reset the security lockdowns."

The eighth floor is darker than yours, with only emergency exit signs providing dim red illumination. Heeseung keeps your hand firmly in his as you navigate to the elevator bank. He presses the call button, and you both watch anxiously as the numbers climb from the lobby.

The distant sound of a door opening makes you both tense. Heeseung positions himself slightly in front of you, his stance protective.

The elevator seems to take forever. Three... Four... Five...

"If something happens," Heeseung says quietly, "run. Don't wait for me."

You're about to protest when the elevator finally arrives with a soft chime. The doors slide open, and you both quickly step inside. Heeseung jabs the lobby button repeatedly, then the door close button.

As the doors begin to shut, you catch a glimpse of a figure at the end of the hallway—a man in a dark jacket. Your breath catches.

The doors close fully, and the elevator begins its descent.

"That was him," you whisper, leaning against the wall for support. "That was definitely him."

Heeseung's jaw tightens, a mixture of anger and concern crossing his features. "When we get to the lobby, we're going straight to my car. No stopping, okay?"

You nod, trying to calm your racing heart.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors opening to reveal chaos. The fire alarm has drawn several security personnel and what looks like the beginning of a fire department response. In the confusion, you and Heeseung slip out relatively unnoticed, his arm around your waist guiding you swiftly through the crowd and out to the street.

"This way," he says, leading you to a sleek black car parked half on the curb—he must have been in a hurry when he arrived.

Once inside with the doors locked, you finally allow yourself to take a deep breath. Heeseung starts the engine but doesn't immediately drive away.

"Are you hurt at all?" he asks, turning to examine you with concern.

"No, I'm fine," you assure him, though your hands are still trembling. "Just scared."

He nods, reaching out to briefly squeeze your hand before putting the car in drive. "I'm taking you to my place," he says, pulling away from the curb. "I don't think it's safe for you to go home tonight."

Under normal circumstances, going to a near-stranger's apartment would set off all kinds of alarm bells. But nothing about this situation is normal, and the safety Heeseung represents outweighs any reservation you might have.

"Thank you," you say simply.

He glances in the rearview mirror frequently as he drives, checking that you're not being followed. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving you feeling drained and slightly nauseous.

"I should call the police," you say after a few minutes of silence.

"Definitely," Heeseung agrees. "But let's get somewhere safe first."

His apartment turns out to be in a secure building with underground parking and a doorman—facts that provide immediate relief. Inside, the space is surprisingly homey: a modern open-concept layout with warm lighting and comfortable furnishings. A keyboard and small recording setup occupies one corner of the living area, confirming his earlier mention of music production.

"Make yourself at home," he says, gesturing to the couch. "I'll get you some water."

As he moves to the kitchen, you sink onto the sofa, the events of the night finally catching up to you. Your phone chimes with another email notification, and you nearly drop it in fear.

Heeseung notices your reaction, returning quickly with a glass of water. "Another message from him?"

You nod, unable to open it.

"May I?" he asks, holding out his hand for your phone.

You pass it to him, watching as he opens the email, his expression darkening as he reads.

"What does it say?" you ask, not sure you want to know.

Heeseung looks up, his eyes filled with protective anger. "He says he knows you're with me now. That you've 'chosen your side.' And that he'll be watching both of us." He sets your phone down. "We're definitely calling the police. This is serious stalking."

While Heeseung contacts the authorities, you sip your water, trying to make sense of this nightmare. How did this happen? One random encounter on the subway has spiraled into a genuine threat to your safety. And Heeseung—a complete stranger two weeks ago—is now putting himself at risk to keep you safe.

When he finishes the call, he sits beside you on the couch, close enough that you can feel his warmth but not touching. "They're sending someone over to take your statement. They also advised documenting everything—all the messages, photos, any evidence of him following you."

You nod, staring down at your hands. "I'm so sorry for involving you in this."

"Hey," he says gently, waiting until you look up at him. "None of this is your fault. And I'm not sorry I helped you that night, even if it means being involved now."

"Why?" The question slips out before you can stop it. "Why would you do all this for someone you barely know?"

Heeseung is quiet for a moment, seemingly considering the question carefully. "I've seen what happens when people look the other way," he finally says. "My sister had a stalker in college. Not as extreme as this, but scary enough. People knew—her friends, her roommates—but no one really did anything. They thought it wasn't their problem." His voice hardens slightly. "I won't be that person. Not ever."

The personal revelation surprises you. "I'm sorry about your sister. Is she okay now?"

He nods. "She's fine. It eventually stopped, but it affected her for a long time. Made it hard for her to trust people." He meets your eyes. "That's why I want to help you end this now, before it gets worse."

His words wrap around you like a shield, and for the first time since you saw that man on the subway, you feel truly protected.

"Thank you," you say again, the words inadequate but sincere.

The police arrive about twenty minutes later—a female officer who takes your statement professionally and thoroughly. She confirms what Heeseung already said: document everything, file for a restraining order as soon as possible, and take precautions with your personal security.

"What about tonight?" you ask as she's preparing to leave. "Is it safe for me to go home?"

The officer hesitates. "We can have a patrol car drive by your residence periodically, but we don't have the resources for constant surveillance. Do you have someone who can stay with you? A friend or family member?"

Before you can answer, Heeseung speaks up. "She can stay here. I have a spare room, security building, doorman. She'll be safe."

The officer looks between the two of you. "That would certainly be safer than being alone," she agrees. "And it might be good to have someone with you for the next few days at least, until we can locate this individual."

After she leaves, a quiet falls over the apartment. You're exhausted but too wired to sleep, and the thought of imposing on Heeseung even more makes you uncomfortable.

"I can take you home if you'd prefer," he offers, reading your hesitation. "Or to a friend's place, or a hotel."

You consider the options, but the thought of being alone—or explaining this bizarre situation to a friend in the middle of the night—seems overwhelming. And a hotel doesn't offer the same security as Heeseung's building.

"If you really don't mind, staying here would make me feel safer," you admit. "Just for tonight. I can figure something else out tomorrow."

"I don't mind at all," he says, and there's such sincerity in his voice that you believe him. "Let me show you the guest room and find you something to sleep in."

The spare room is simple but comfortable, with a queen-sized bed and attached bathroom. Heeseung lends you a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that dwarf your frame but are clean and comfortable.

"Try to get some rest," he says, lingering in the doorway. "I'm right across the hall if you need anything. Anything at all."

"Thank you, Heeseung," you say, the words becoming something of a mantra between you. "For everything."

He smiles—a small, tired smile that still manages to reach his eyes. "Good night, Y/N."

After he leaves, you sit on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed by the events of the day. You should be terrified—and you are—but there's also a strange sense of security that comes from knowing Heeseung is just across the hall. A man who was a stranger two weeks ago has become your shield against a nightmare you never saw coming.

When you finally lay down, exhaustion quickly overtakes your racing thoughts. You fall asleep to the distant sound of Heeseung moving around the apartment, the knowledge of his presence a comfort in the darkness.

-

You wake to sunlight filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the smell of coffee. For a moment, disorientation grips you—until memories of the previous night come flooding back. The stalker, the chase through your office building, Heeseung's rescue, and now... his guest bedroom.

After using the bathroom and attempting to make yourself somewhat presentable, you venture out to the main living area. Heeseung is in the kitchen, back turned to you as he works at the counter. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair slightly rumpled from sleep.

He turns at the sound of your approach, offering a gentle smile. "Morning. How did you sleep?"

"Better than I expected," you admit. "Something smells amazing."

"Coffee and breakfast," he says, gesturing to the stove where eggs are cooking. "I figured you might be hungry."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture catches you off guard. "Thank you. Again."

He waves it off. "Sit. Eat. Then we can figure out what to do next."

Over breakfast, you both discuss the situation more calmly than was possible the night before. You need clothes and personal items from your apartment, but the thought of going there alone makes your stomach clench.

"I'll go with you," Heeseung offers immediately. "And I still think you should stay here for a few days, at least until the police locate this guy."

"I can't impose on you like that," you protest.

"You're not imposing if I'm offering," he counters. "Look, this guy has clearly fixated on both of us now. It makes sense to stick together." His expression softens. "Plus, I'd worry about you being alone."

The admission brings unexpected comfort. "Okay," you agree. "Just until they find him."

After breakfast, Heeseung insists on driving you to your apartment to collect some essentials. The daylight makes the situation feel less threatening, but you're still jumpy, constantly checking over your shoulder. Heeseung stays close, his presence a constant reassurance.

At your apartment, everything looks normal—no signs of disturbance or intrusion. You quickly pack a bag with clothes and necessities for a few days, while Heeseung checks each room, making sure the space is secure.

"All clear," he reports when you finish packing. "But we should let your building manager know what's happening. And you might want to consider getting your locks changed, just in case."

The practicality of his advice grounds you. This isn't just a nightmare to be endured; there are concrete steps you can take to protect yourself.

Back at Heeseung's apartment, you call your boss to explain the situation (leaving out some of the more frightening details) and arrange to work remotely for a few days. Heeseung does the same, rescheduling his studio sessions to work from home instead.

"You don't have to do that," you tell him. "I'll be fine here alone."

"I know," he says. "But I'd rather be here. Just in case."

The rest of the day passes in a strange bubble of temporary safety. You work on your laptop from his dining table while he tinkers with music tracks at his home studio setup. Occasionally, one of you will make coffee or suggest ordering food, and you find yourself settling into an easy rhythm despite the bizarre circumstances.

In the evening, after dinner (takeout from a nearby Thai place), you sit together on the couch, the TV playing a movie neither of you is really watching. Your mind keeps returning to the danger lurking outside—and to the stranger who has become your protector.

"Can I ask you something?" you finally say.

Heeseung turns to you, giving you his full attention. "Of course."

"That night on the subway platform... when you helped me..." You hesitate, searching for the right words. "Why did you believe me right away? Most people would have thought I was crazy."

He's quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "The fear in your eyes was real," he finally says. "I've seen that kind of fear before. It's not something people fake." His gaze is steady, sincere. "And honestly, what did I have to lose by helping? If you were making it up, the worst that happens is I feel a little awkward for a few minutes. But if you weren't..." He shrugs. "Then maybe I could help keep someone safe."

His simple explanation touches something deep inside you. In a world where so many people turn away from others' problems, Heeseung's instinct was to step forward, to protect.

"Well," you say softly, "you definitely did that. Twice now."

A small smile tugs at his lips. "And I'll keep doing it until this is over."

Your phones sit side by side on the coffee table, both silent for now. But you know the stalker will contact you again. And when he does, you won't be facing him alone.

In this moment of quiet, with the city lights twinkling beyond the windows and Heeseung's steady presence beside you, you allow yourself to breathe. The danger hasn't passed, but for now, in this space, you're safe. And that's enough.

-

The following day, a detective calls to update you on the case. Heeseung sits next to you on the couch as you put the call on speaker, his presence steady and reassuring.

"We've identified the individual from the security footage," the detective explains, her voice professional but tinged with concern. "His name is Lee Minhyuk. He has a history of stalking behavior."

You feel Heeseung tense beside you. "What kind of history?" he asks.

There's a brief pause on the line. "I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily, but you should both be aware that this isn't his first fixation. He's been linked to at least two similar cases in the past three years."

"And?" you prompt, sensing there's more she isn't saying.

"And in the most recent case, the situation escalated to physical violence." The detective's voice becomes more serious. "The victim had a restraining order in place, but Minhyuk violated it. She was hospitalized with non-life-threatening injuries. He served eight months before being released on good behavior."

Your blood runs cold. Beside you, Heeseung's jaw clenches, his eyes darkening with anger and concern.

"So what happens now?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear churning in your stomach.

"We're actively looking for him," the detective assures you. "We have units checking his known addresses and places of employment. But until we locate him, you need to take every possible precaution."

"What about police protection?" Heeseung asks.

Another pause. "Unfortunately, we don't have the resources to provide continuous protection at this time. We can increase patrols in both your neighborhoods, but—"

"That's not good enough," Heeseung interrupts, frustration evident in his voice. "If this guy is violent—"

"I understand your concern," the detective says. "Believe me, I do. But the best advice I can give you right now is to stay together, maintain awareness of your surroundings, continue documenting any contact he makes, and call 911 immediately if you believe you're in danger."

After hanging up, you sit in stunned silence. The abstract threat has suddenly become terrifyingly concrete—a real person with a name and a violent history.

"Y/N?" Heeseung says softly, concern etched across his features. "Talk to me."

"I didn't think it would be this serious," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "A violent stalker? How is this happening to me?"

Heeseung reaches for your hand, his warm fingers wrapping around yours. "We'll get through this," he says firmly. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We just need to be careful until they find him."

You nod, but the detective's words echo in your mind: escalated to physical violence... hospitalized... released on good behavior.

That night, despite Heeseung's reassurances and the security of his apartment, sleep eludes you. You toss and turn in the guest bed, startling at every small noise in the building. When exhaustion finally pulls you under, your dreams are plagued by shadows and footsteps and cold, unblinking eyes watching you from dark corners.

You wake screaming sometime after 3 AM, drenched in sweat, the nightmare still vivid in your mind. In it, the stalker—Minhyuk—had broken into the apartment and was standing over the bed, watching you sleep, something glinting in his hand.

Before you can fully register what's happening, the bedroom door bursts open and Heeseung is there, hair disheveled from sleep but eyes alert and searching for danger.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" he asks urgently, scanning the room before rushing to your side.

"Nightmare," you manage, still trembling. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to wake you."

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, but concern remains etched across his features. "Don't apologize," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head, embarrassed by your reaction despite the lingering terror. "It was just a bad dream."

Heeseung studies your face for a moment, clearly unconvinced. "Would it help if I stayed? Just until you fall back asleep?"

The offer is so sincere, so free of judgment, that tears spring to your eyes. You nod, unable to voice how desperately you don't want to be alone right now.

Without another word, Heeseung moves to sit with his back against the headboard. After a moment's hesitation, you lay back down, surprised by how much safer you feel with him there. He doesn't touch you, but the sound of his steady breathing eventually lulls you back to sleep.

The pattern repeats the next night, and the next. Each time, the nightmares grow more vivid, more terrifying. Each time, you wake calling Heeseung's name, and each time he's there within moments, a solid presence against the fear.

The third morning after another disrupted night, you find Heeseung already in the kitchen when you emerge from the guest room. Dark circles shadow his eyes—clear evidence of his own interrupted sleep—but he smiles warmly when he sees you.

"Morning," he says, sliding a mug of coffee across the counter. "Just how you like it. Two sugars, splash of milk."

You're touched that he's noticed this detail about you in such a short time. "Thank you. I'm really sorry about last night. Again."

He waves away your apology. "Stop apologizing. It's not your fault."

"But you're exhausted too," you point out, gesturing to the faint shadows under his eyes.

Instead of denying it, Heeseung reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a colorful box. "Nothing that sugar can't fix," he declares with a mischievous grin, presenting the box of Frosted Flakes with a flourish. "Breakfast of champions."

The childish delight on his face as he pours two bowls is so incongruous with the somber situation that you can't help but laugh. "Seriously? Frosted Flakes?"

"Don't judge," he says, defending his choice with mock seriousness. "Tony the Tiger has gotten me through some tough times."

You accept the bowl he offers, taking a bite and exaggerating your enjoyment. "Mmm, you're right. They're grrrreat!"

Your tiger impression is terrible, and it makes Heeseung burst into laughter, nearly choking on his cereal. The sound is bright and genuine, lightening the heaviness that's hung between you for days. For a moment, it's easy to forget why you're here—that somewhere out there, someone is looking for you.

"So," Heeseung says when you've both calmed down, "I was thinking we could watch a movie tonight. Something completely mindless and happy. No suspense, no thriller elements, nothing remotely scary."

"That sounds perfect," you admit.

That evening, after you both finish work, Heeseung makes good on his promise. He builds what can only be described as a pillow fortress on the couch, complete with every cushion and throw blanket in the apartment. He microwaves popcorn and pulls out an assortment of candy that would make a dentist cry.

"What are you, twelve?" you tease, but you're smiling as you say it.

"Sometimes," he admits with a shrug. "Being an adult is overrated."

You settle into the nest of pillows as he scrolls through options on the TV. He ends up selecting an animated film about dragons that's clearly meant for children but is visually stunning enough for adults to enjoy. As the movie plays, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in days, occasionally stealing glances at Heeseung as he laughs unreservedly at the funny parts.

When the movie ends, neither of you makes a move to get up right away. The comfortable silence stretches between you, broken only when Heeseung reaches for his phone.

"Oh God," he says suddenly, covering his mouth to suppress his laughter. "Have you seen this?"

He passes you his phone, showing a ridiculous viral video of a cat walking dramatically to music. It's silly and inconsequential, but soon you're both laughing uncontrollably, sharing more videos and memes back and forth, your shoulders pressed together as you huddle over the small screen.

For the first time since this nightmare began, you feel normal. Just two people enjoying each other's company, finding joy in the absurd corners of the internet. The shared laughter creates a bubble around you both, keeping the fear at bay, if only temporarily.

Eventually, the hour grows late, and you can't suppress a yawn.

"Time for bed," Heeseung says, noticing immediately. Something flickers across his face—concern, perhaps, knowing what sleep has meant for you these past few nights.

On the fourth night, after a particularly brutal nightmare where you couldn't scream, couldn't move as Minhyuk approached, Heeseung makes a gentle suggestion over breakfast.

"Maybe it would help if I just stayed in the room from the start," he offers, his voice careful, non-presumptuous. "The guest bed is plenty big enough. I can sleep on top of the covers if that makes you more comfortable."

The idea of not being alone with your fears is so appealing that you agree without hesitation. "Are you sure you don't mind? I feel like I'm completely disrupting your life."

"You're not," he says simply. "I'd rather be here than listen to you suffer alone."

That evening, a new kind of awkwardness creeps in as bedtime approaches. You've never prepared for sleep knowing Heeseung would be there from the beginning. The nighttime routine you've developed over the past few days—brushing teeth side by side at the dual bathroom sinks, moving around each other with careful politeness—suddenly feels different, charged with awareness.

"I'll give you privacy to change," Heeseung says, retreating from the guest room after retrieving what he needs for the night.

When he returns fifteen minutes later, hair damp from a shower and wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, you've already changed into the pajamas you borrowed from him (a t-shirt so large it reaches mid-thigh and a pair of shorts with a drawstring pulled tight). You're sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through your phone, trying to appear casual though your heart beats a little faster at the sight of him.

"I found something," he says, holding up a small bottle. "Lavender spray for the pillows. My sister swears by it for better sleep." He looks suddenly self-conscious. "It's probably silly—"

"No, it's... that's really thoughtful," you interrupt, genuinely touched by the gesture.

He approaches the bed hesitantly. "May I?"

You nod, and he lightly mists the pillows with the fragrant spray. The gentle scent fills the air, surprisingly comforting.

"And I have one more thing," he adds, reaching into his pocket and producing a small portable speaker. He places it on the nightstand and connects his phone. Soft piano music begins to play, quiet enough to not be distracting. "I use this when I can't turn my brain off after a long day in the studio."

The care he's putting into making you comfortable brings a lump to your throat. "Heeseung, you didn't have to do all this."

He shrugs, a shy smile playing at his lips. "I want you to actually sleep tonight."

You both settle into the bed, Heeseung on top of the covers as promised, you underneath them. Despite the physical barrier of the duvet between you, there's an intimacy to sharing this space intentionally, rather than him rushing in after a nightmare has already claimed you.

"Good night, Y/N," he says softly, reaching to turn off the lamp.

"Good night, Heeseung," you reply, the lavender scent and gentle music already making your eyelids heavy.

You sleep better that night—not perfectly, but the nightmares, when they come, are less intense. Heeseung's presence seems to anchor you, giving your subconscious something to hold onto when the fear threatens to drag you under.

The next morning, you wake to find Heeseung already gone, the side of the bed where he slept neatly made. For a moment, disappointment washes over you until the smell of coffee draws you to the kitchen.

"Perfect timing," he says when he sees you, sliding a plate of toast and scrambled eggs across the counter. "I was just about to come wake you."

"You didn't have to cook," you say, though your stomach growls appreciatively at the sight of the food.

"I didn't mind. Besides, you slept past nine. I was starting to worry you were hibernating." His teasing smile makes the kitchen feel warmer somehow.

Over the next few days, a new rhythm emerges. During daylight hours, you share the apartment comfortably, each working on your respective projects but coming together for meals and breaks. You learn that Heeseung is meticulous about some things (the organization of his music equipment) and charmingly chaotic about others (the state of his sock drawer). He learns that you're grumpy before coffee but surprisingly cheerful during thunderstorms.

Small rituals develop without discussion. Morning coffee prepared just the way you like it waiting for you when you wake up. Evening walks around the secure courtyard of his building, his hand finding yours whenever you pass through a shadowy area. Movie nights where neither of you watches the screen as much as you share childhood stories or debate the merits of different ice cream flavors.

At night, you continue to share the bed, the arrangement becoming less awkward with each passing evening. Your bedtime routine evolves into something almost domestic—Heeseung reading a book while you finish an email, you applying lotion to your hands while he sets the alarm, both of you gravitating to your respective sides of the bed with increasing comfort.

One night, as you're both getting ready for sleep, Heeseung emerges from the bathroom wearing a ridiculous sheet mask that makes him look like a cartoon character.

"What on earth is that?" you ask, unable to contain your laughter.

"Skin care is important," he says with exaggerated seriousness, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. "This one makes me look like a panda. There's a tiger one too if you want to join me."

"Absolutely not," you declare, still giggling.

"Your loss," he shrugs, before lifting his phone. "Wait, this requires documentation."

He sits beside you on the bed, holding up his phone to take a selfie. You try to duck away, but his arm catches you around the shoulders, pulling you into the frame. "Say cheese!"

"I am not posing with you looking like that!" you protest, but you're laughing too hard to resist properly.

He snaps several photos in quick succession, capturing your failed attempts to escape and your helpless laughter. When he shows you the results, you have to admit they're hilarious—Heeseung looking serene in his panda mask while you're caught mid-laugh, head thrown back, joy written across your features.

"Delete those," you demand without any real heat.

"No way," he replies, holding the phone out of your reach. "These are artistic masterpieces."

You make a grab for the phone, but he's quicker, holding it high above his head. What follows is a playful tussle that ends with you both breathless with laughter, the momentary physical contact feeling natural rather than forced or awkward.

Later, when you're both settled in bed, lights off and the now-familiar lavender scent surrounding you, Heeseung speaks softly in the darkness.

"It was good to hear you laugh like that," he says.

You turn toward his voice, though you can only make out his silhouette in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "It felt good to laugh," you admit. "Thank you for... all of this. For making this situation somehow bearable."

"You don't have to thank me," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Besides, now I have blackmail material with those photos."

You swat blindly in his direction, your hand connecting with what feels like his shoulder. He chuckles, the sound warming you from the inside.

By the sixth day of your stay, with no word from the police about Minhyuk's whereabouts, your new routine has solidified. During the day, you both work from the apartment, occasionally sharing meals or brief conversations. In the evenings, you watch movies or talk, carefully avoiding discussion of the situation unless there are new developments. And at night, you sleep in the same bed, the space between you a boundary neither has crossed.

Until tonight.

Something wakes you—not a nightmare this time, but some small sound or shift in the atmosphere. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:17 AM. The room is dark except for the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.

That's when you feel it. The sensation of being watched.

Your eyes dart to the window, heart hammering in your chest. The logical part of your brain knows it's impossible—you're on the twelfth floor, the windows don't open more than a few inches, and there's no balcony or fire escape. But in the shadows cast by the streetlights, every flutter of the curtain looks like movement, every reflection like eyes staring back.

You close your eyes tightly, telling yourself it's just paranoia, just your mind playing tricks in the aftermath of so much stress and fear. But when you open them again, the feeling intensifies. You swear you can see a figure in the darkest corner of the room, watching, waiting.

A sob builds in your throat, but you suppress it, not wanting to wake Heeseung again, not wanting to be more of a burden than you already are. Silent tears slide down your cheeks as you stare at the ceiling, trying to control your breathing, trying to convince yourself you're safe.

But your body betrays you. A small tremor runs through you, then another, until you're shaking with the effort of containing your fear.

Beside you, Heeseung stirs. You feel him turn toward you, hear the soft intake of breath as he realizes you're awake and crying.

"Y/N?" His voice emerges from the darkness, heavy with sleep and barely above a whisper. "What's happening?"

You can hear how deeply he'd been sleeping in the thickness of his words, the way he has to clear his throat softly after speaking. The digital clock reads 2:17 AM.

"I'm sorry," you whisper back, voice breaking. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

There's a rustling of sheets as he shifts beside you. Even in the darkness, you can sense him fighting against the pull of sleep, forcing his eyes to stay open for your sake.

"No, s'okay," he mumbles, words slightly slurred. You feel his hand fumbling across the covers, searching until his fingers find yours. His touch is warm, clumsy with drowsiness. "You're shaking," he observes, concern gradually replacing the grogginess in his voice. "Another nightmare?"

You shake your head, though you're not sure if he can see the gesture in the darkness. "Not exactly. I just... I can't stop feeling like someone's watching me. Like he's here, somehow."

Heeseung makes a soft sound of understanding. You hear him yawn, then feel the mattress dip as he pushes himself up to sitting position. He reaches for the bedside lamp, missing it the first time, his movements slow and uncoordinated. On the second attempt, he manages to switch it on.

The warm glow reveals his face, softened with sleep. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up at odd angles. One cheek bears the imprint of his pillow, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, struggling to stay fully open. Despite his obvious exhaustion, there's nothing but patient concern in his expression as he blinks slowly, trying to focus on you.

"It's just us," he says softly, his voice a comforting rumble in the quiet room. "Just you 'n me here. You're safe."

He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, clearly fighting the heaviness of sleep still clinging to him. The gesture is so innocent, so childlike, that it momentarily distracts you from your fear.

"I know it's irrational," you say, wiping at your tears. "But my brain won't stop. I can't turn it off."

Heeseung's eyes drift closed for a moment before he catches himself, snapping them back open with visible effort. He studies your face, his own expression thoughtful despite the sleep that keeps trying to reclaim him. His eyelids flutter, heavy, but he persists, present with you even as his body begs for rest.

"Can I..." he begins, then pauses to stifle another yawn. "Can I try something? To help distract your mind?"

There's such sincerity in his sleepy determination to help you that you find yourself nodding, willing to try anything to escape the endless loop of fear—and to allow him to go back to sleep.

"Close your eyes," he says, his voice a gentle murmur.

You comply, though a small part of you tenses at the thought of not being able to see any potential threats.

"Focus on my voice," Heeseung continues, his tone soothing despite the drowsiness that makes his words flow together like honey, slow and sweet. "Nothing else matters right now. Just this room..." He yawns again, soft and unguarded. "Just this moment."

The bed shifts as he moves closer, his movements languid with fatigue. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, sense his protective presence drawing nearer despite how desperately his body must be yearning to return to sleep.

You try to follow his instructions, concentrating on the low timbre of his voice, the warmth of his hand still holding yours.

"Y/N," he says, his voice closer now. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

Your eyes fly open in surprise, meeting his serious gaze. There's concern there, and something else—a softness that makes your breath catch.

"To distract your mind," he explains quietly. "Give it something else to focus on besides fear."

The idea is so unexpected, so far from anything you'd anticipated, that it cuts through the panic clouding your thoughts. You find yourself nodding before you've fully processed the request.

Heeseung moves closer, the space between you disappearing as he gently cups your cheek with his free hand. "Tell me to stop if it doesn't help," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

Then his lips meet yours, soft and questioning at first, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But instead of retreating, you find yourself responding, your body instinctively leaning into the contact, seeking comfort and connection.

When his tongue traces the seam of your lips, a soft "mmm" vibrates from his chest—a sound so quietly pleased it makes your stomach flip. You part your lips instinctively, and the moment his tongue slides against yours, a low, satisfied hum rumbles from his throat.

"Is this—" you try to speak, but his tongue sweeps deeper, stealing your words, your thoughts, your very ability to form sentences.

His kiss grows bolder, more insistent, and your brain begins to short-circuit with each stroke of his tongue. The fear that had been cycling through your mind evaporates under the wet heat of his mouth. He tastes faintly of toothpaste and something uniquely him, and when he gently sucks on your bottom lip, he makes another sound—a soft "hmm" that shoots straight down your spine.

You pull back slightly, trying to gather your thoughts. "I—" But that's all you manage before he chases your lips, recapturing them with gentle insistence, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into nothing.

"Shh," he whispers against your mouth, his breath hot against your sensitized lips. "Don't think."

And then he's kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding alongside yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. The hand in your hair tightens just enough to send a shiver through you, and a soft groan—"Mmh"—escapes him when you respond by pressing closer.

His teeth graze your lower lip, and suddenly your mind is completely empty, wiped clean of everything except the sensation of his mouth on yours, his hand in your hair, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating from him.

The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you breathing hard. You open your mouth to speak, to try to articulate how effectively he's scattered your thoughts, but all that comes out is a breathy "I—you—" before words fail you completely.

Heeseung's lips curl into a small smile, understanding in his eyes. "Not thinking anymore?" he asks softly.

You shake your head, unable to string together a coherent sentence. Your brain has turned to absolute mush, every thought process suspended in the warm haze he's created.

"Good," he whispers, and then his lips are on yours again, the gentle scrape of his teeth followed by the soothing slide of his tongue making you gasp. He makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan—"Aahh"—when your fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him closer.

Time loses all meaning as he kisses you again and again, each one melting into the next until you're not sure where one ends and another begins. Sometimes gentle and exploring, sometimes deeper and more intense, but always with that same effect—emptying your mind until there's nothing but sensation.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing uneven, pupils dilated in the dim light, you try once more to speak. "That was—" But the words won't come, your brain still offline, thoughts scattered like confetti.

"Did it help?" he asks, his voice rougher now, lower.

You nod, surprised to find that forming words feels like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. "My—" you start, then swallow and try again. "Brain... empty," is all you manage to articulate, gesturing vaguely at your head.

A smile touches his lips, genuine and slightly pleased. "Good," he says simply, his thumb brushing your lower lip, still sensitive from his attention. The small touch sends another wave of blankness washing through your mind.

He starts to move back to his side of the bed, and you make a small sound of protest, hand reaching out to stop him. Again, you try to speak, to ask him to stay close, but all that comes out is a breathy "Don't—" before words fail you once more.

Understanding flickers in his eyes. He settles beside you, closer this time, one arm wrapping around your waist as you turn toward him. The position brings your faces close together, your breath mingling in the small space between you.

"Better?" he asks.

"Much better," you admit.

He kisses you again, slower this time, more deliberate. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. Each kiss blurs the edges of your thoughts more, until your mind is blissfully, wonderfully blank—no fear, no stalker, no danger. Just Heeseung, his lips on yours, his arms around you, making you feel safer than locked doors or security systems ever could.

When exhaustion finally begins to reclaim you, Heeseung presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead. "Sleep," he murmurs. "I'm right here."

And for the first time in days, you drift off without fear, your head tucked against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm in your ear—a constant reminder that you're not alone.

The nightmares don't come again that night.

-

Sunlight filters through the curtains when you wake the next morning. For the first time in days, you've slept through the night without nightmares. The space beside you is empty, but the sheets still hold the faint warmth of Heeseung's body. You stretch, a strange mixture of embarrassment and comfort washing over you as memories of the previous night return—his lips on yours, the way your mind had emptied of everything but sensation, how easily you'd fallen asleep afterwards.

The sound of movement in the kitchen draws you from the bed. You brush your teeth and attempt to tame your sleep-rumpled hair before venturing out, unsure what to expect after crossing such an intimate boundary with someone who was a stranger just a week ago.

Heeseung stands at the counter, back to you, humming softly as he measures coffee grounds. He's wearing a faded t-shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, his hair still mussed from sleep. The scene is so domestic, so normal, that for a moment you forget why you're here—that somewhere out there, someone is looking for you with dangerous intent.

He turns at the sound of your approach, a soft smile spreading across his face. No awkwardness, no regret, just warmth.

"Morning," he says. "Sleep okay?"

You nod, relief washing over you at his easy manner. "Better than I have in days."

He pushes a mug of coffee across the counter—already prepared the way you like it. The simple gesture of remembrance makes your chest tighten with something you're not ready to name.

"Thanks," you say, taking a sip to hide whatever might be showing on your face. "For the coffee. And for... last night."

Heeseung's expression softens, understanding in his eyes. "You don't have to thank me for that."

An almost comfortable silence settles between you as you both drink your coffee, the events of last night hanging in the air—acknowledged but not discussed.

"I thought I'd make us a real breakfast," you finally say, needing to do something, to contribute somehow to this strange partnership that's formed. "Since you've been cooking for me all week."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," you interrupt, already moving toward the refrigerator. "It's the least I can do."

Heeseung watches with amusement as you examine the contents of his fridge. "What did you have in mind?"

"How do you feel about omelets? You have vegetables that need to be used."

"Omelets sound perfect," he says, leaning against the counter as you gather ingredients.

The simple task of cooking is grounding. You wash and chop bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, concentrating on the steady rhythm of the knife against the cutting board. Heeseung moves around you, setting the table, occasionally brushing against you in the small kitchen. Each brief contact sends a small jolt through you—not unpleasant, just heightened awareness.

You're halfway through dicing an onion when a notification sound from your phone breaks the peaceful bubble. Your hand falters, the knife slipping slightly. It's probably nothing—an email from work, a news alert, anything—but your heart instantly accelerates, your mind immediately jumping to the worst possibility.

Heeseung notices the change immediately. "Hey," he says gently. "Want me to check it?"

You nod, hating how easily your calm has been shattered, how quickly fear reclaims its hold. Heeseung picks up your phone from the counter, checks the screen, and his shoulders relax.

"It's just an email from someone named Sarah. Subject line says 'Project Updates.'"

Relief weakens your knees. Just work. Not him.

But the damage is done. Your hands have begun to tremble, and the vegetables in front of you blur slightly as your mind slips back into the spiral of fear. What if he figures out where Heeseung lives? What if he's watching the building right now? What if—

"Y/N." Heeseung's voice, closer now. You didn't notice him move, but suddenly he's right behind you, his chest nearly touching your back. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine," you lie, but the knife trembles visibly in your grip.

Heeseung gently removes the knife from your hand, setting it safely on the cutting board. Then his hands are on your shoulders, warm and steadying, turning you to face him. You expect to see pity in his eyes, but there's only warmth and understanding.

"You're not fine," he says softly. "And that's okay."

"I hate this," you whisper, frustration bleeding through the fear. "I hate that one notification can do this to me. I hate that he has this power."

Heeseung's hands slide from your shoulders to cup your face, his touch so gentle it makes your breath catch. "He doesn't have power over you," he says firmly. "This reaction—it's just your brain trying to protect you. It's not weakness."

You close your eyes, trying to believe him, trying to slow the racing of your heart. When you feel his breath against your cheek, your eyes flutter open to find his face much closer, his gaze questioning.

"Let me help you think about something else," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a register that immediately sends warmth spreading through your chest.

You nod, barely perceptible, and then his lips are at your jawline, not quite kissing, just brushing against the skin there. Your hands find his waist, needing something to anchor you as he traces a path down to your neck. When his mouth settles against the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, a small sigh escapes you.

The first gentle scrape of his teeth against your skin makes your thoughts scatter like startled birds. He follows it with the soothing warmth of his tongue, and your grip on his t-shirt tightens involuntarily.

"Is this okay?" he whispers against your skin.

"Yes," you breathe, tilting your head to give him better access. "Don't stop."

His lips curve into a smile against your neck, and then he's kissing the spot again, more purposefully this time. One hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other rests at the small of your back, drawing you closer until you're fully pressed against him.

The fear that had been building melts away with each press of his lips, each gentle scrape of teeth. Your mind empties of everything but the sensation of his mouth on your skin, the solid warmth of his body against yours, the faint scent of sleep and coffee that clings to him.

When he finds a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, your knees actually weaken. Heeseung notices, his arm tightening around your waist to support you.

"Still thinking about the notification?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

You try to respond, but your brain feels deliciously fuzzy, unable to form words. Instead, you shake your head, managing only a soft "Mmm" that makes him chuckle.

"Good," he says, pulling back slightly to look at your face. His pupils are dilated, lips slightly parted, and the sight sends another wave of warmth through you. "Because the eggs are getting warm and the vegetables are only half-chopped."

It takes a moment for his words to register through the pleasant haze in your mind. When they do, you glance back at the abandoned breakfast preparations on the counter and can't help but laugh. "Oh god, I forgot all about breakfast."

Heeseung's answering smile is bright enough to chase away the last lingering shadows of your fear. "Mission accomplished then."

You reluctantly step out of his embrace, turning back to the cutting board. "Let me finish this before I get distracted again."

"Distracted? By what?" he teases, but he keeps a respectful distance as you resume chopping, though his eyes never leave you.

The rest of the morning passes in a comfortable rhythm. You finish making breakfast together, moving around each other in the kitchen with growing ease. The omelets turn out perfect, and the simple accomplishment of creating a meal feels significant somehow—a small island of normalcy in the storm of the past week.

After breakfast, you settle in to work on your design project, which your boss has been understanding enough to let you complete remotely. Heeseung works on his music in the corner of the living room, occasionally humming or playing soft melodies on his keyboard. The peaceful coexistence reminds you of how it might feel to share a space with someone by choice, not necessity.

But reality intrudes every time you check your email or glance at your phone. Each notification makes your heart stutter, each unknown number that calls either of your phones sends a spike of adrenaline through your system. The stalker hasn't contacted you today, but his absence feels more like the calm before a storm than any true reprieve.

By late afternoon, your eyes are burning from staring at your laptop screen, and the tension in your shoulders has returned despite your best efforts to focus on work. You save your design file and stretch, rolling your neck to release the stiffness.

Heeseung glances up from his keyboard, noting your discomfort. "Break time," he announces decisively. "You've been hunched over that laptop for hours."

"I need to finish this project," you protest weakly, but your body betrays you with another stretch.

"The project will still be there after a proper break," he counters, standing and moving toward the kitchen. "I'm making tea. Then we're going to do something completely unproductive for at least an hour."

You find yourself smiling at his determined tone. "Is that so? What did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking..." he pauses dramatically, filling the kettle with water, "a heated battle of Mario Kart."

The suggestion is so unexpected, so delightfully normal, that you laugh. "Mario Kart? Really?"

"Don't tell me you're scared of a little competition," he challenges, raising an eyebrow as he sets the kettle on the stove. "Unless you don't think you can beat me."

"Oh, it's on," you declare, grateful for the distraction. "I'll have you know I was the reigning champion among my college roommates."

"We'll see about that," he grins, the playful light in his eyes making him look younger, carefree—a glimpse of who he might be outside the strange circumstances that have thrown you together.

The promised hour turns into two as you both get increasingly competitive, shouting good-natured insults at each other when one pulls ahead or drops a particularly well-timed shell. You haven't laughed this much in days—maybe weeks—and the release of endorphins leaves you feeling lighter, the constant undercurrent of fear temporarily pushed to the background.

"That's it, I'm cutting you off," Heeseung declares after you beat him for the fifth time in a row. "You're too good at this. It's embarrassing for me."

You raise your controller in victory. "Told you I was the champion."

"Yeah, yeah," he concedes with a mock scowl that quickly melts into a genuine smile. "Hungry yet? I was thinking we could order in. Maybe that Thai place again?"

"Sounds perfect," you agree.

As Heeseung pulls up the restaurant's menu on his phone, you find yourself studying him—the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, the gentle slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips. The lips that were on your neck this morning, that were on your mouth last night, emptying your mind of everything but sensation. Something warm unfurls in your chest at the memory.

He looks up suddenly, catching you watching him. Instead of looking away, embarrassed, you hold his gaze. A moment of silent understanding passes between you—an acknowledgment that whatever is happening between you isn't just about distraction or safety anymore.

Heeseung breaks the moment first, clearing his throat slightly. "The usual? Or did you want to try something different?"

"The usual is fine," you say, grateful for his tact in not drawing attention to the charged moment.

After placing the order, you both gravitate back to the couch, but with a new awareness of each other. You sit closer than necessary, your thigh just barely touching his. When he reaches for the remote to turn on the TV, his arm brushes yours, and neither of you moves away from the contact.

He finds a cooking competition show that requires minimal attention, and you settle in to watch, the domestic scene surreal in its normalcy. At some point, his arm drapes over the back of the couch behind you, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel his warmth.

"This is nice," you say after a while, the words slipping out without conscious thought.

Heeseung glances at you, his expression softening. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "It is."

His fingers begin to play absently with a strand of your hair that falls over the couch. The gentle tugging sensation sends pleasant shivers down your spine, and you find yourself leaning subtly into the touch. Each brush of his fingers against your neck seems to short-circuit a different part of your brain until you're barely processing the show at all, focused instead on the points of contact between you.

The doorbell rings, startling you both. Heeseung's hand withdraws from your hair as he stands to answer it.

"That'll be the food," he says, but you notice he checks the peephole carefully before opening the door.

The reminder of the danger lurking outside your temporary sanctuary dampens your mood slightly. As you set up dinner on the coffee table, your phone buzzes with an incoming email. You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth, that familiar dread pooling in your stomach.

Heeseung notices your reaction and reaches for your phone. "Want me to check it?"

You nod, setting your food down, no longer hungry.

He scans the screen, relief washing over his features. "It's just a receipt from the Thai place." He hands the phone back to you. "We're okay."

But the moment has been tainted. The fear is back, hovering at the edges of your consciousness, threatening to overwhelm the fragile peace you've built throughout the day. You push your food around on your plate, appetite gone.

Heeseung watches you for a moment, then sets his own plate down. Without a word, he shifts closer to you on the couch, his thigh pressing firmly against yours now. When his hand comes up to tilt your chin toward him, you meet his eyes without resistance.

"He's not here," Heeseung says softly. "Right now, in this moment, it's just us. Okay?"

"Okay," you whisper, trying to believe him.

His thumb traces your lower lip gently, and your body responds instantly to the touch, a pleasant haziness beginning to cloud the edges of your fear. When he leans in, you meet him halfway, your lips finding his with growing familiarity.

This kiss is different from the others—not desperate or distracting, but slow and deliberate. His tongue slides against yours with unhurried confidence, and your mind begins to empty in that now-familiar way, thoughts evaporating like morning dew under the sun.

By the time he pulls back, you've forgotten what triggered your fear in the first place. Your food sits cooling on the coffee table, entirely unimportant compared to the warmth spreading through your body.

"Better?" he asks, his voice lower than usual.

You nod, offering a small smile. "You're getting good at that."

"At what?" There's a playful glint in his eye that makes your heart skip.

"Turning my brain off."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his expression growing more serious. "For as long as you need it," he promises.

The rest of the evening passes in comfortable closeness. You eventually return to your food, eating while leaning against each other on the couch. When you finally head to bed, the routine feels both new and familiar at once—brushing teeth side by side, Heeseung waiting in the hallway while you change, the brief moment of adjustment as you both settle into the bed.

But tonight, there's less space between you than before. He still stays on top of the covers while you slip underneath, but when you turn off the lamp, his hand finds yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining naturally.

"Good night, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep.

"Good night, Heeseung," you reply, squeezing his hand gently.

You fall asleep with his fingers still linked with yours, the weight of his hand an anchor against the night terrors that might come. Your last thought before drifting off is that you've never felt safer than in this strange limbo—trapped by circumstances beyond your control, yet somehow freer than you've been in a long time.

The morning comes too quickly, sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains and painting a stripe of gold across the bed. You wake to find yourself curled toward Heeseung, who's still asleep on his side facing you. In sleep, his face is completely relaxed, all traces of vigilance gone, making him look younger and impossibly vulnerable.

You allow yourself a moment to simply look at him, to memorize the sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the slight part of his lips, the way his hair falls across his forehead. There's a strange ache in your chest at the sight—gratitude mixed with something deeper that you're not ready to name.

As if sensing your gaze, his eyes flutter open, landing immediately on your face. A slow, sleepy smile spreads across his features, unguarded and genuine.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you whisper back, strangely reluctant to break the peaceful bubble around you.

Neither of you moves for a long moment, content to exist in this quiet space between night and day, between danger and safety, between strangers and something more. Then reality intrudes in the form of his buzzing phone on the nightstand.

Heeseung rolls over with a groan, reaching for the device. As he checks the screen, his body goes rigid, sleep vanishing in an instant.

"What is it?" you ask, dread already pooling in your stomach.

He sits up, running a hand through his hair as he reads whatever message has appeared. When he turns back to you, his expression is carefully controlled, but you can see the tension around his eyes.

"It's from the detective," he says carefully. "Minhyuk was spotted near my building yesterday."

The fragile peace of the morning shatters completely. Fear rushes back in with a vengeance, your heart rate spiking so quickly you feel light-headed.

"He knows I'm here?" Your voice sounds distant to your own ears, panic rising like a tide.

Heeseung's hand finds yours, squeezing tightly. "We don't know that for sure. But the detective thinks we should consider relocating, just to be safe."

"Where would we even go?" The thought of leaving this apartment—the only place you've felt secure in days—sends another wave of anxiety through you.

"I might have an idea," Heeseung says, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. "But first, breakfast. And coffee. Lots of coffee."

You nod, clinging to his steady presence as your mind races with terrifying possibilities. The tiny window of normalcy you'd carved out for yourselves is closing, and the world with all its dangers is forcing its way back in.

But as Heeseung helps you to your feet, his hand never leaving yours, you realize something important: whatever comes next, you're no longer facing it alone. And for now, that will have to be enough.

-

The detective's news about Minhyuk being spotted near Heeseung's building leaves you both on edge. Despite Heeseung's attempts at normalcy—breakfast, coffee, casual conversation—there's a new tension in the air, a heightened vigilance in the way he frequently checks his phone and glances at the door.

You try to work on your design project, but concentration is impossible. Your mind keeps conjuring images of Minhyuk watching the building, waiting, planning. By mid-afternoon, you've accomplished almost nothing, your anxiety a living thing crawling beneath your skin.

That's when your phone chimes with a new email notification.

You freeze, looking up to find Heeseung already watching you from across the room, his expression tense. Without a word, he crosses to where you sit, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder as you open the message.

The subject line is blank. The sender's address is unfamiliar—a string of random numbers and letters.

Your trembling finger taps the message open.

There's no text, just an image: a photograph of you and Heeseung standing in his kitchen from earlier that morning, clearly taken through the window of his apartment. The angle suggests it was shot from the building across the street. Below the photo is a single line of text:

"Glass won't protect you forever."

A strangled sound escapes your throat as the phone slips from your fingers, clattering to the floor. Heeseung snatches it up, his face darkening as he views the message.

"That's not possible," he mutters, moving quickly to the windows. "We're twelve floors up."

But as he pulls back the curtain to scan the building opposite, you feel it start—the tightening in your chest, the sudden inability to pull in enough air, the roaring in your ears. The room seems to tilt and spin around you.

"He can see us," you gasp, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. "He's watching us right now. He can see us right now."

Heeseung is at your side instantly, closing the curtains and guiding you away from the windows. "Y/N, breathe. You need to breathe."

But you can't. Your lungs refuse to cooperate, each shallow gasp more painful than the last. Dark spots dance at the edges of your vision, and your hands have gone numb, fingers tingling.

"He's going to—he's going to—" You can't even finish the thought, terror consuming every rational part of your mind.

"Y/N, look at me," Heeseung says firmly, his hands framing your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Focus on me. Just me."

He tries all the techniques that have worked before—deep breathing instructions, gentle reassurances, even pressing his lips to yours in that way that usually empties your mind. But the panic is too overwhelming, the fear too visceral. Even his kiss, which normally blanks your thoughts completely, barely makes a dent in the terror.

When he pulls back, your breathing is still erratic, tears streaming down your face. "It's not working," you choke out. "I can't—I can't turn it off. My mind won't stop."

The helplessness in Heeseung's eyes is devastating. "Tell me what you need. Anything."

"Make it stop," you beg, clutching at his shirt. "Please, I don't care what you have to do. Make me go dumb. Turn my brain off. I can't take it anymore."

His eyes darken at your words, understanding dawning in his expression. "Y/N..."

"Please," you whisper, desperation making your voice crack. "Fuck me until I can't think anymore. Until I can't remember my own name. I need to not be in my head right now. I need everything to just stop."

Heeseung's breath catches, his pupils dilating until there's just a thin ring of brown around the black. You watch the struggle play out on his face—desire warring with concern, restraint battling with the need to help you.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice lower than you've ever heard it. "Because if we do this... I want to help you, Y/N, more than anything. But I don't know if I'll be able to hold back once we start."

A sob escapes you, your hands fisting in his shirt. "I don't want you to hold back. I want you to make me forget everything but you." You're openly crying now, beyond shame or hesitation. "Please, Heeseung. Please make it all go away."

Something snaps in his expression. His hand slides into your hair, gripping firmly as he searches your eyes one last time. Whatever he sees there must convince him, because in the next moment, his mouth crashes against yours with none of the gentleness from before.

This kiss is different—hungry, almost desperate. His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, demanding rather than asking. One arm locks around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he walks you backward until your back hits the wall.

When his teeth sink into your lower lip, pain mingling with pleasure, your thoughts begin to splinter. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs, and your mind fragments further.

"Tell me to stop and I will," he says against your mouth, his breathing ragged. "At any point."

"Don't stop," you gasp. "Don't you dare stop."

His eyes meet yours, something primal and protective darkening his gaze. "I'm going to help you forget everything," he promises, his voice a rough whisper. "Everything but this."

Heeseung's eyes lock onto yours, dark with a raw intensity that makes your heart pound violently in your chest. His fingers twist harshly into your hair, pulling your head back sharply, fully exposing your vulnerable throat. His lips crash against your skin roughly, teeth biting deeply, marking you as his own with bruising kisses that send sparks of pain and pleasure shooting through your veins.

Your breathing is ragged, erratic, your entire body trembling beneath him. His other hand moves urgently down your body, gripping your waist tightly, fingertips pressing deep enough into your flesh to leave bruises, marking you unmistakably as his. You arch your body against his, desperate for more contact, craving the harsh intensity that only he can provide.

"Harder," you plead breathlessly, voice quivering with desperation. "Heeseung, please—use me, ruin me. Make me forget everything else."

A dark, feral growl tears from his throat, his eyes blazing dangerously as he claims your mouth roughly, tongue pushing aggressively past your lips. You moan helplessly into the kiss, surrendering completely to his dominating embrace, your nails scratching feverishly down his back, urging him to take you harder, deeper, to erase every lingering thought from your mind.

Heeseung breaks away, his breath hot and ragged as he trails searing kisses down your trembling body, biting roughly at your collarbone, chest, and stomach, each sharp nip igniting fiery jolts of pain and pleasure that tear gasps from your lips. You writhe helplessly beneath him, mind unraveling with each aggressive touch.

"Please," you beg desperately, voice nearly incoherent, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Heeseung, I’ll do anything. Anything you want, just—just make me forget."

A fierce, primal growl resonates from deep in his chest. "Anything?" he rasps darkly, his eyes blazing with barely controlled hunger. "You're going to regret saying that, sweetheart."

He pushes your thighs apart roughly, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze. His mouth descends aggressively, tongue plunging deep and fast, consuming you without mercy. You scream out sharply, hips bucking uncontrollably against him, your hands clutching desperately at his hair, pulling him even closer. Every intense, relentless movement of his tongue drives you closer to a devastating climax.

But before you reach that peak, he stops abruptly, leaving you sobbing in frustration. Your eyes plead desperately for release as you gasp, "Please—don't stop."

Heeseung positions himself swiftly over you, gripping your hips with bruising intensity, plunging deep and brutally into your aching core without warning, tearing a raw scream from your throat. He sets an unforgiving pace, each powerful thrust ruthlessly tearing apart your remaining thoughts, overwhelming you completely.

"Feel that?" he snarls roughly, hips pounding mercilessly against yours. "That's me claiming you. I'm going to fuck every last thought out of your head until you're nothing but mine."

His filthy, possessive words make your entire body shake uncontrollably, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cry out shamelessly for more. His grip tightens painfully on your wrists, pinning them roughly above your head as his hips drive harder, deeper, faster, each brutal thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

"You're mine," he growls harshly into your ear, teeth scraping your sensitive skin. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you choke out weakly, mind fracturing under the relentless assault of sensation.

"Louder," he demands fiercely, slamming even harder into you, movements ruthless and unyielding.

"I'm yours!" you scream, voice cracking from the intensity.

"Good girl," he snarls, rewarding you with deeper, fiercer thrusts, pushing your body to its absolute limits. His hand wraps around your throat firmly, just enough to make your vision blur, enhancing every overwhelming sensation tenfold.

Your body writhes violently beneath him, unable to form coherent words anymore, reduced to sobbing gasps and broken pleas. Heeseung continues relentlessly, his body driving into yours mercilessly until you're utterly consumed, your mind blanking entirely, eyes glazing over, unable to do anything but feel him, hear him, lose yourself completely to him.

"Cum for me," he commands roughly, his voice low and dangerously seductive. "Show me exactly how completely you belong to me."

Your body reacts instantly, violently, shattering beneath him into waves of devastating pleasure that tear through you, obliterating any remaining thought. You collapse, trembling uncontrollably, completely and utterly surrendered to him, mind blissfully empty, lost entirely in the overwhelming force of his claim.

Then his hands and mouth begin their relentless campaign to empty your mind completely, and thinking becomes impossible.

-

Hours later, you lie boneless and spent in Heeseung's arms, your mind blissfully, wonderfully blank. No fear, no anxiety, no thoughts of Minhyuk or danger or what comes next. Just the pleasant hum of your body and the steady rhythm of Heeseung's heartbeat beneath your ear.

He's been silent for a while, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare shoulder. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft with something that might be concern.

"Are you okay?"

You have to concentrate to form words, your brain still deliciously fuzzy around the edges. "Mmm. Better than okay."

His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. "I didn't hurt you?"

You shake your head against his chest. "You did exactly what I needed."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel his lips press against the top of your head. "Your mind quiet now?"

"Completely empty," you murmur, surprised to find yourself smiling. "Mission accomplished."

You feel rather than see his answering smile, his whole body relaxing beneath yours. For several long moments, you both drift in comfortable silence, the world beyond this bed temporarily forgotten.

Until Heeseung's phone buzzes on the nightstand.

The tension returns to his body immediately, but he doesn't move to check it, unwilling to disturb the peace you've found. The phone buzzes again, more insistent this time.

"You should get that," you say softly. "It might be important."

Reluctantly, he reaches for the phone, keeping you tucked against him with his other arm. You watch his face as he reads the message, preparing yourself for bad news.

"It's the detective," he says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "She thinks we should consider temporary relocation—somewhere Minhyuk wouldn't think to look."

The fear starts to creep back in at the edges of your consciousness, but you fight it, focusing on the warmth of Heeseung's body against yours, the lingering pleasant numbness in your limbs.

"She says they can arrange a safe house, but it would take a few days." He scrolls through more of the message. "Or... we could go somewhere on our own. Somewhere only we know about."

You push yourself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "Like where?"

A thoughtful expression crosses his face. "My family has a cabin in the mountains. It's remote, secure. Only a handful of people even know it exists."

"How far?"

"About three hours' drive. Completely isolated." His eyes search yours. "We'd be alone out there."

The thought should be terrifying after everything that's happened, but instead it brings an unexpected sense of relief. Somewhere Minhyuk can't find you. Somewhere you could breathe again.

"When can we leave?" you ask.

Heeseung studies your face, perhaps looking for signs of fear or hesitation. "Tomorrow morning, first light. We'll need to be careful, make sure we're not followed."

You nod, settling back against his chest. "Tomorrow then."

His arm wraps around you again, protective and warm. "Get some rest," he murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead. "I'll be right here."

As sleep begins to claim you, one last coherent thought floats through your mind: whatever happens next, whatever Minhyuk tries, you're not alone. You have Heeseung—your protector, your sanctuary.

Your mind emptier.

-

You wake before dawn, the sky outside still ink-dark. For a moment, you forget why you're rising so early—then memories of yesterday's message flood back. Minhyuk knows where you are. You're no longer safe here.

Heeseung is already up, moving quietly around the apartment, packing essentials into a duffel bag. He pauses when he notices you watching him, a small smile crossing his face despite the tension in his shoulders.

"Morning," he says softly. "I was trying not to wake you."

"I don't think I was really sleeping," you admit, sitting up. "Too much on my mind."

He crosses to sit beside you on the bed, his hand finding yours. "We'll be okay," he promises. "The cabin is safe. My family's owned it for generations, and it's not listed under my name. There's no way he could trace it."

You nod, drawing strength from his certainty. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just pack whatever you need for a week or so. Clothes, toiletries. I've got everything else covered—food, first aid supplies." He squeezes your hand. "And we should get moving soon. I want to be on the road before the city wakes up."

Thirty minutes later, you're both ready. The apartment is locked down—lights on timers to simulate occupancy, mail delivery paused. Heeseung has even arranged for a neighbor to occasionally move his car in the garage to maintain the illusion that you're both still here.

The detective has been notified of your plans, though not your specific destination. "Just tell her we're heading north," Heeseung had instructed during your call. "The fewer people who know exactly where we are, the better."

Dawn is just breaking as you slip into Heeseung's car in the underground parking garage. He drives cautiously, taking a circuitous route through the awakening city, frequently checking the rearview mirror for any signs of being followed.

"You really think he could track us?" you ask, watching Heeseung's vigilant eyes scanning the traffic behind you.

"I'm not taking any chances," he says simply. "Not with your safety."

The city gradually gives way to suburbs, then to open countryside. With each mile that passes, you feel the vise-grip of fear around your chest loosening slightly. By the time you're an hour into the journey, the weight of constant vigilance has lightened enough that you notice your surroundings—the spectacular autumn colors painting the landscape, the mountains rising in the distance, shrouded in morning mist.

Heeseung must notice your gaze, because he reaches across the console to take your hand. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

You nod, surprised to find yourself capable of appreciating beauty after days of seeing only danger. "I didn't realize how much I needed to get out of the city."

His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand. "We both did."

The drive continues, winding steadily upward into the mountains. Cell service becomes increasingly spotty, then disappears altogether. The isolation that would have terrified you days ago now feels like a blessing—a barrier between you and the danger you've left behind.

"Almost there," Heeseung says as he turns onto a narrow dirt road that seems to disappear into the forest. "It's a bit hidden."

'A bit hidden' proves to be an understatement. The road—little more than a trail—winds through dense trees for nearly a mile before suddenly opening into a small clearing. And there, nestled against a backdrop of pines with a breathtaking view of the valley below, stands the cabin.

It's not what you expected—not the rustic, primitive structure the word "cabin" had conjured in your mind. This is a beautifully crafted home of stone and timber, with large windows facing the valley and a wide porch wrapping around two sides.

"Heeseung," you breathe, taking in the scene. "This is..."

"Home," he says simply, a soft smile playing at his lips as he watches your reaction. "At least, it always has been for me."

He parks beside the cabin and comes around to open your door, offering his hand to help you out. The mountain air hits you immediately—crisp, pine-scented, revitalizing. You take a deep breath, feeling something tight in your chest unfurl.

"Come on," Heeseung says, retrieving your bags from the trunk. "Let's get inside before it gets cold."

The interior of the cabin is even more beautiful than the exterior—an open-concept living area with soaring ceilings, the far wall dominated by a stone fireplace. The furnishings are simple but high-quality, clearly chosen to complement the natural surroundings. Large windows frame the valley view like living paintings.

"This is incredible," you say, turning slowly to take it all in. "Your family built this?"

"My grandfather," Heeseung confirms, setting the bags down. "He wanted a place where the family could escape, reconnect with nature. I spent every summer here as a kid." A wistful smile crosses his face. "Haven't been back in a couple of years though. Work always seemed more important somehow."

You move to the windows, gazing out at the panoramic view. The valley stretches below you, a patchwork of golds and reds and deep greens in the autumn sunlight. In the distance, more mountains rise, their peaks ghostly in the afternoon haze.

"I've never seen anything like this," you admit, momentarily forgetting why you're here—not a vacation, but an escape from danger.

Heeseung comes to stand behind you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. "Good," he says softly. "I wanted you to see something beautiful after everything you've been through."

The simple statement, so earnest and thoughtful, brings unexpected tears to your eyes. You turn to face him, finding his gaze already on you, warm and steady.

"Thank you," you whisper. "For all of this. For keeping me safe."

His expression softens further. "You don't have to thank me."

"I do," you insist. "Most people wouldn't have done half of what you have for someone they barely know."

Something shifts in his eyes at that. "I think we're well past 'barely know,' don't you?"

Heat rises to your cheeks as memories of yesterday flood back—his hands on your skin, his mouth on yours, the way he'd made you forget everything but him. "Yes," you agree quietly. "I guess we are."

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken things. Then Heeseung clears his throat, stepping back slightly. "I should get the generator going and check the water. Make yourself at home."

As he busies himself with the practical aspects of opening the cabin, you explore the space that will be your sanctuary for the foreseeable future. Besides the main living area, there's a well-equipped kitchen, a bathroom with a surprisingly modern shower, and two bedrooms—one large, one small. You peek into the larger one, noting the king-sized bed with its blue-and-white quilt, the bedside tables with reading lamps, the large window offering the same spectacular view as the living room.

Your exploration is interrupted by Heeseung's return. "Everything's working," he announces. "Water's running, generator's humming along. We're all set." He glances at his watch. "I should try to call the detective while we still have daylight. The satellite phone works better outside."

You nod, suddenly remembering the reason for this idyllic retreat. "I'll unpack some of the food supplies."

While Heeseung steps onto the porch with the satellite phone, you busy yourself in the kitchen, organizing the groceries you picked up on the drive. The domesticity of the task is soothing—arranging canned goods in cupboards, filling the refrigerator with fresh produce, setting out cooking utensils. For a few minutes, it's possible to pretend this is just a vacation, a romantic getaway rather than a desperate flight from danger.

When Heeseung returns, his expression is more relaxed than before. "Good news," he says, setting the satellite phone on the counter. "They've got leads on Minhyuk. Apparently he's been spotted in the city, which means he doesn't know we've left."

Relief floods through you. "So we're safe here?"

"For now, at least," he confirms. "The detective says to stay put. They'll contact us as soon as they have him in custody."

You lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted as the tension of the day catches up with you. "So what do we do now?"

Heeseung steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with gentle fingers. "Now," he says softly, "we rest. We breathe. We let ourselves feel safe for a while."

"I'm not sure I remember what that feels like," you admit.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. "Then I'll help you remember," he promises.

The first evening in the cabin passes in a peaceful haze. Heeseung builds a fire in the massive stone hearth while you prepare a simple dinner from the supplies you brought. The routine feels surprisingly natural—him pausing to taste the sauce you're making, you passing him logs for the fire, both of you moving around each other with an ease that belies how new this closeness really is.

After dinner, you settle on the comfortable sofa facing the fireplace, a blanket draped over both of you. Outside, night has fallen completely, the darkness absolute in a way it never is in the city. Inside, the fire casts dancing shadows on the walls, bathing everything in warm golden light.

"What are you thinking?" Heeseung asks, noticing your contemplative expression.

You consider the question, surprised by your answer. "That I can't remember the last time I felt this calm."

His arm around your shoulders tightens slightly. "Good. That's what I wanted for you here."

You turn to look at him, studying his face in the firelight—the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the warmth in his eyes as he returns your gaze. Something swells in your chest, a feeling too new and fragile to name.

"What about you?" you ask. "What were you thinking?"

A small smile plays at his lips. "That I've never brought anyone here before. Not like this."

The admission sends a pleasant warmth spreading through you. "Not even your...?"

"No," he says simply. "No one. This place has always been just for family." He pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. "But having you here feels right somehow."

The words hang in the air between you, weighted with meaning. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you both lean in, lips meeting in a kiss that's different from any you've shared before—not desperate or distracting, but slow and deliberate, a question and an answer all at once.

When you break apart, something has shifted between you yet again. The pretense that this is merely about safety, about distraction from fear, has fallen away completely. What remains is something new and uncharted, fragile but intensely real.

"It's getting late," Heeseung murmurs, though he makes no move to pull away. "We should probably get some sleep."

The practical concern brings a sudden awkwardness. There are two bedrooms in the cabin, but after everything that's happened between you, the thought of sleeping apart feels strange, almost wrong.

As if reading your thoughts, Heeseung adds hesitantly, "I can take the small room if you want space, or..."

"No," you say quickly—too quickly perhaps. "I mean, I'd rather not be alone. If that's okay."

The smile that spreads across his face is like sunrise. "More than okay," he assures you.

The nighttime routine you establish feels like an extension of the easy domesticity you've been building—brushing teeth side by side at the single bathroom sink, taking turns changing in the bedroom, pulling back the covers together. When you finally settle into bed, Heeseung's arm wraps around your waist, drawing you against his chest as naturally as if you've been falling asleep this way for years.

"Good night, Y/N," he murmurs, lips brushing the nape of your neck.

"Good night, Heeseung," you whisper back, marveling at how quickly terror has given way to tranquility.

As you drift toward sleep, one last coherent thought forms in your mind: here, miles from civilization, cut off from the world, entirely alone with a man who was a stranger just days ago, you've never felt safer in your life.

-

Heeseung's eyes soften, his gaze lingering warmly on yours as sunlight filters through the window, bathing your tangled bodies in golden warmth. His thumb brushes gently over your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine.

Over the next few days, your intimacy deepens, boundaries dissolving entirely as your desire grows increasingly insatiable. Mornings find you waking to his warm body pressed firmly against yours, his hands already exploring your skin, teasing sensitive spots until you're fully awake, panting and desperate for him.

Afternoons turn into hours spent in relentless pursuit of pleasure—Heeseung pressing you against cabin walls, your bodies colliding roughly, passionately. His hands gripping your hips tightly, thrusting deep and mercilessly, leaving you screaming his name, your thoughts scattering as he repeatedly takes you over the edge. His mouth is everywhere, biting, sucking, and marking you until your body feels entirely claimed.

Late nights, he has you bent over the couch, his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you firmly in place as he drives into you with powerful, possessive strokes, whispering filthy praise into your ear. He loves seeing how quickly he can make your eyes glaze over, leaving you utterly mindless and completely his, each climax more intense, more consuming than the last.

One rainy afternoon, your bodies slam together against the window overlooking the forest, your cries blending with the sound of raindrops hitting the glass. Heeseung lifts you effortlessly, pinning you hard against the cold surface, entering you sharply and deeply, pushing you to the edge with a brutal, relentless rhythm. You cling desperately to him, sobbing from pleasure, your vision blurring as you lose yourself entirely to the sensations he's inflicting upon your body.

In quieter moments, he lays you out on the bed, spreading your legs wide, taking his time teasing you mercilessly with slow, torturous strokes of his tongue and fingers, pushing you to the brink repeatedly until you're begging him shamelessly for release. He enjoys reducing you to pleading incoherence, knowing that only he can unravel you so completely.

One evening, under the flickering glow of candlelight, you ride him slowly at first, then harder, more desperately as your need overtakes you. His fingers dig painfully into your hips, urging you on, thrusting up into you roughly until your body shatters, leaving you trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks from sheer overwhelming pleasure.

"How did we ever survive without this?" you whisper afterward, your voice soft, your body warm and languid against his.

Heeseung smiles darkly, pressing a possessive kiss to your temple. "I don't know," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "But I plan to make sure you never forget exactly who makes you feel this good."

This time, there's no fear driving you together, no desperate need to escape your thoughts. There's only want—pure and simple and mutual. Every touch is deliberate, every kiss intentional. And when you come together, it's with a sweetness that brings tears to your eyes, your mind emptying not from desperate distraction but from sheer overwhelming pleasure.

"That was..." you begin afterward, struggling to find words as you lie tangled together in the sunlit bed.

"I know," Heeseung says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "For me too."

The admission brings a smile to your lips. "How is this real?" you wonder aloud. "two weeks ago, you were a stranger."

He traces patterns on your bare shoulder, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe sometimes life compresses. A week feels like months because we've experienced so much together."

You consider this, watching sunlight play across his features. "I like that explanation."

His fingers continue their gentle exploration of your skin. "Or maybe," he adds more softly, "this was always going to happen, somehow. Maybe we were meant to find each other, even if the circumstances were..."

"Completely terrifying?" you supply with a small laugh.

He smiles, but his eyes remain serious. "I would never wish what you've been through on anyone," he says. "But I can't regret that it brought you into my life."

The simple honesty of his words makes your chest tighten with emotion. You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey without words what you're not yet ready to say aloud.

The satellite phone rings that afternoon—the detective with an update. They've narrowed down Minhyuk's location but haven't apprehended him yet. The news casts a brief shadow over your idyllic retreat, a reminder that the danger hasn't passed. But somehow, it doesn't hold the same power to terrify you anymore.

"We're safe here," Heeseung reassures you after the call. "And they're getting closer to finding him."

You nod, surprised to realize you truly believe him. The panic that has been your constant companion for days has receded to a dull concern, manageable rather than overwhelming.

That evening, a storm moves in, bringing wind and rain that lash at the windows. You build the fire higher, creating a cocoon of warmth against the elements. The electricity flickers once, twice, then goes out completely, leaving you in firelight and shadows.

"Generator must have cut out," Heeseung says, already reaching for a flashlight. "I'll go check it."

"Be careful," you call as he heads for the door, suddenly anxious about him leaving, even briefly.

He pauses, returning to press a quick kiss to your lips. "Always am," he promises. "Keep the fire going—I'll be back in ten minutes."

While he's gone, you add logs to the fire, then gather candles from the kitchen cupboards, placing them strategically around the living area. The storm seems to intensify, rain drumming against the roof, wind howling through the trees outside. For the first time since arriving at the cabin, you feel a prickle of unease, attuned to every sound.

When the door finally opens, admitting a rain-soaked Heeseung, relief rushes through you so strongly that you cross the room in seconds, throwing your arms around him despite his wet clothes.

"Hey," he says, clearly surprised by the reaction. "It's okay. Just a blown fuse—I fixed it, but the power company's out anyway. We'll have to wait out the storm."

"I don't care about the power," you murmur against his chest. "I just... I didn't like you being out there alone."

He pulls back slightly to look at you, rainwater dripping from his hair onto his face. "I'm right here," he says softly. "Not going anywhere."

You help him out of his wet jacket, insisting he change into dry clothes while you make hot chocolate on the gas stove. By the time he returns, you've created a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace, the closest source of warmth.

"What's all this?" he asks, a smile playing at his lips.

"Camping," you declare with mock seriousness. "Indoor version."

He laughs, the sound warming you more than the fire. "I like the way you think."

You settle into your makeshift camp, sipping hot chocolate, listening to the storm rage outside while remaining perfectly safe and warm within. The contrast isn't lost on you—how something that would have terrified you a week ago now feels almost romantic.

"Thank you," you say suddenly, looking up at Heeseung.

"For what?" he asks, brow furrowing slightly.

"For this," you gesture around you. "For keeping me safe. For... everything."

His expression softens. "You don't have to thank me."

"I know," you admit. "But I want to. Not just for the practical things—the protection, the cabin. But for making me feel..." You search for the right word. "Normal again. Like myself, not just someone who's afraid all the time."

Heeseung sets down his mug, turning to face you fully. "You're extraordinary," he says, his voice low and sincere. "The way you've handled everything that's happened—most people would have broken down completely. But you're still here, still fighting."

The earnestness in his eyes makes your breath catch. "Only because of you."

He shakes his head. "No. I may have helped, but the strength was yours all along." He takes your hand, threading his fingers through yours. "Do you know what I thought when you first grabbed me that night on the subway?"

You shake your head, curious.

"I thought, 'This person is brave.' Not just because you asked a stranger for help, but because I could see in your eyes that you were scared but refusing to be paralyzed by it." His thumb traces circles on your palm. "I still think that. Every day."

Emotion swells in your chest, too big to contain. You lean forward, closing the distance between you, your lips finding his in a kiss that tries to convey everything you're feeling—gratitude, yes, but also something deeper, something that's been growing quietly in the shadow of fear.

The kiss deepens, hands beginning to wander, the storm outside forgotten entirely as you create your own tempest within the circle of firelight. Heeseung's lips trace a path down your neck, finding the spot that makes your mind go blissfully blank, and you surrender to the sensation, to him, to the unexpected gift of feeling safe in a world that had become nothing but danger.

The warmth of the fire bathes the room in soft golden light, shadows dancing gently across your intertwined bodies. Heeseung's fingers glide slowly over your skin, tracing sensual, languid patterns that ignite a slow-burning fire within you. His eyes meet yours, heavy-lidded and filled with desire, making your heart race with anticipation.

He gently guides you to move above him, hands firmly gripping your hips, positioning you carefully until you're comfortably settled with your thighs on either side of his face. A thrill of excitement courses through your body, and you tremble slightly at the intimate vulnerability of the position. Heeseung's gaze reassures you entirely, filled with warmth, adoration, and undeniable lust.

"Take your time," he whispers huskily, warm breath teasing your sensitive skin. "I want to savor you."

His hands slowly stroke your thighs, fingertips pressing lightly into your skin as he draws you closer. Your breath hitches when his lips press softly, sensually along your inner thighs, lingering kisses growing hotter, more intense, making your muscles relax as desire pools deep within your core.

You release a soft, breathless moan as his tongue finally makes contact, moving slowly and deliberately, dragging in slow, teasing strokes, sending waves of languid pleasure cascading through you. Your fingers thread into his hair, guiding his movements gently, hips beginning to rock instinctively, chasing the irresistible sensations he creates.

"Heeseung," you sigh, voice thick with desire, body melting under the slow, sinful movements of his tongue. He hums appreciatively against you, the vibrations rippling pleasure deeper into your body, making you gasp softly.

His touch remains unhurried, deliberately teasing, each slow, tantalizing swipe of his tongue pulling you further into a blissful haze of sensation. He explores every inch of you thoroughly, lips and tongue moving expertly, alternating between slow, gentle strokes and firm, demanding pressure, making you whimper and moan his name repeatedly.

"You taste so good," he murmurs, voice deep and rough, eyes blazing with passion as he briefly pulls away to gaze up at you. "I could do this all night."

Your hips move more insistently now, grinding slowly against his mouth, savoring the deep, languid rhythm you've fallen into. Pleasure coils tighter within you, slow-building yet powerful, as he continues to worship you expertly, driving you steadily toward the edge.

Your breathing becomes ragged, body trembling with need, fingers tightening in his hair as the exquisite sensations push you gently yet inexorably toward release. Heeseung senses your closeness, intensifying his efforts, tongue moving deeply, urgently, drawing you over the edge into a languid, shuddering climax that leaves you breathless and softly trembling above him.

When you finally sink back beside him, his arms wrap around you possessively, pulling you flush against his chest, your bodies tangled intimately as he presses slow, sensual kisses along your skin. The firelight flickers warmly around you, creating a perfect cocoon of warmth, sensuality, and unspoken promises.

Heeseung's fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare skin, his breathing slow and even against your hair.

"What happens when this is over?" you ask softly, the question that's been lingering in the back of your mind finally finding voice. "When they catch him and we go back to the city?"

Heeseung is quiet for a long moment, his hand stilling against your shoulder. Then he props himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression so serious it makes your heart stutter.

"Whatever you want to happen," he says simply. "But I hope... I hope we don't go back to being strangers."

The vulnerability in his voice melts something inside you. "I don't think we could if we tried," you confess. "Not after everything."

Relief softens his features. "Good," he says. "Because I've gotten used to this. To you."

"Me too," you admit, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "I can't imagine waking up and you not being there."

His smile is so tender it makes your chest ache. "Then don't," he says, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. "Don't imagine it."

As you drift toward sleep in his arms, the rain pattering gently against the roof, you realize something profound: in running from danger, in seeking refuge, you've somehow found something you weren't even looking for—a connection that transcends the circumstances of your meeting, a sanctuary not just in this remote cabin but in each other.

Whatever comes next—whether Minhyuk is caught tomorrow or weeks from now—that connection remains. And for the first time since this nightmare began, you find yourself looking toward the future with something like hope.

-

The storm rages through the night, wind howling around the cabin and rain lashing against the windows. Despite the exhaustion weighing on your limbs, sleep comes in fitful bursts, each crack of thunder or creak of the cabin jolting you awake. Beside you, Heeseung maintains his vigil, dozing occasionally but never fully surrendering to sleep. The baseball bat remains within reach, a grim reminder of the danger lurking beyond the walls.

Just before dawn, the storm begins to subside, rain softening to a gentle patter against the roof. Through a small gap in the blanket covering the bedroom window, you can see the sky lightening from black to deep blue, the first hint of morning approaching.

"We should start packing," Heeseung says, his voice low and tense. "I want to be ready to leave as soon as it's fully light."

You nod, slipping from the warmth of the bed into the chill morning air. The satellite phone still shows no signal—the storm's aftermath continuing to block transmission. You move through the cabin with careful efficiency, gathering only the essentials, keeping away from windows despite the coverings.

"Do you think he's still out there?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper despite the unlikelihood of being overheard.

Heeseung pauses in his methodical packing, his expression grave. "I don't know. But I'm not taking any chances. We leave in twenty minutes, head straight for the car, and don't stop for anything."

The gravity of his words settles heavily between you. For all your planning, there's still the most dangerous moment to navigate—the brief exposure between cabin and car, when you'll be completely vulnerable.

As the minutes tick by, tension builds in your chest, a familiar tightness that signals the approach of panic. You focus on your breathing, on the practical tasks at hand, on Heeseung's steady presence beside you. When everything is packed and ready, you stand together in the kitchen, the duffle bags at your feet, steeling yourselves for departure.

"Ready?" Heeseung asks, the baseball bat in one hand, car keys in the other.

You nod, swallowing hard against the fear. "Ready."

He moves to the door, checking through the peephole before unlocking the deadbolt with deliberate quietness. The metallic click of the lock releasing seems unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn stillness. Heeseung turns the knob slowly, easing the door open just enough to scan the porch and clearing beyond.

"Clear," he whispers, opening the door wider. "Let's go."

You step onto the porch, the wooden boards still slick with rain, the air cool and misty after the storm. The clearing surrounding the cabin is eerily still, trees dripping quietly, no wildlife sounds yet greeting the dawn. Everything appears peaceful, normal—and that, somehow, makes your nerves stretch tighter.

Heeseung goes first, bags slung over his shoulder, bat held ready. You follow closely, your footsteps seeming thunderous despite your attempts at stealth. The car is only thirty feet away, but the distance feels vast, exposed, each step taking too long.

You're halfway to the car when you see it—movement at the forest edge, a dark shape detaching from the deeper shadows beneath the trees. Heeseung notices in the same moment, his body tensing, placing himself between you and the approaching figure.

"Get in the car," he says, voice low and urgent. "Now."

You fumble with the bag, trying to move faster, but your limbs feel heavy with dread. The figure steps fully into the clearing, and even in the dim pre-dawn light, there's no mistaking who it is. Minhyuk—his face gaunt, clothes dirty and wet from the storm, eyes fixed on you with a terrible intensity.

"Go," Heeseung urges again, pressing the car keys into your hand. "Get inside and lock the doors."

But before you can reach the car, Minhyuk calls out, his voice carrying clearly across the clearing. "Don't bother. I cut the fuel line."

Heeseung freezes, a curse escaping under his breath. You can see his mind racing, calculating options, weighing the truth of Minhyuk's claim against the risk of finding out too late.

"What do you want?" Heeseung calls back, his voice steady despite the tension evident in every line of his body.

Minhyuk takes another step forward, and now you can see what he's holding—the metallic glint of a knife catching the growing light. "I just want to talk to Y/N. To explain things." His voice is eerily calm, almost reasonable, which somehow makes it more terrifying. "You've turned her against me. I just need a chance to make her understand."

"She understands perfectly," Heeseung responds, his grip tightening on the bat. "You need to leave. Now."

A strange smile crosses Minhyuk's face. "Always the hero, aren't you? Playing the protector." His eyes shift to you, somehow both pleading and menacing. "He's not really your boyfriend, Y/N. We both know that. This is all an act."

Fear roots you to the spot, but anger rises alongside it—anger at this man who has terrorized you, forced you from your home, hunted you across counties. "It doesn't matter," you find yourself saying, your voice stronger than expected. "I don't know you. I don't want to know you. Leave us alone."

Something shifts in Minhyuk's expression—the calm facade cracking to reveal something darker, more volatile. "You don't mean that," he says, his voice hardening. "He's manipulating you. Making you say these things."

"No one's manipulating anyone," Heeseung says, taking a half-step forward. "Y/N has made herself clear. You need to go."

Minhyuk's gaze snaps back to Heeseung, hatred twisting his features. "This is between me and her. You're the intruder here."

"Heeseung," you whisper, terror clawing at your throat as you watch Minhyuk's grip tighten on the knife. "Please."

The tension stretches between the three of you, the clearing silent except for the dripping trees and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Then Minhyuk moves—a sudden lunge forward that sends panic surging through your veins.

Heeseung reacts instantly, pushing you toward the cabin. "Run!" he shouts, raising the bat as Minhyuk charges.

Time seems to slow and accelerate simultaneously—Minhyuk closing the distance with terrifying speed, Heeseung bracing to meet him, the sound of your own ragged breathing as you stumble backward. You want to run as instructed, but can't bear to leave Heeseung alone, your feet refusing to carry you to safety while he faces danger.

The two men collide with violent force. Heeseung swings the bat, forcing Minhyuk to dodge, buying precious seconds. But Minhyuk is fueled by obsession, by a deranged determination that makes him reckless and unpredictable. He feints left, then strikes right, the knife slashing through the air.

Heeseung avoids the worst of it, but the blade catches his arm, tearing through his jacket. He doesn't cry out, doesn't falter, swinging the bat again with controlled precision. This time it connects, striking Minhyuk's shoulder with a sickening thud.

Minhyuk staggers back, but doesn't fall. The injury seems to fuel his rage rather than slow him down. "You think you can protect her?" he snarls. "You think you deserve her?"

"This isn't about deserving," Heeseung responds, voice steady despite the blood now visible on his sleeve. "This is about her choice. And she didn't choose you."

The words seem to strike Minhyuk more powerfully than the physical blow. His face contorts with fury, and he charges again, knife held high.

You're still rooted to the spot, terror paralyzing your limbs. But as Minhyuk rushes toward Heeseung again, survival instinct finally kicks in. Not for yourself—for Heeseung. Without conscious thought, you grab the nearest object—a large rock dislodged during the storm—and throw it with all your strength.

It strikes Minhyuk's back, not hard enough to injure seriously, but enough to distract him, to disrupt his attack. He whirls toward you, eyes wild with betrayal and rage.

"You," he hisses, changing direction, now advancing on you. "After everything I've done to find you..."

Heeseung doesn't hesitate. He lunges forward, tackling Minhyuk from behind before he can reach you. Both men go down hard, grappling in the mud and wet grass. The knife glints in the growing light as they struggle for control, a deadly variable in the chaotic fight.

You search desperately for another weapon, anything to help, when a new sound cuts through the terrible sounds of combat—sirens, distant but approaching. Relief floods through you, followed immediately by renewed fear. Will help arrive in time?

The sound reaches the fighting men as well. Minhyuk freezes for just an instant, his head turning toward the road—and in that moment of distraction, Heeseung strikes. His fist connects with Minhyuk's jaw, a powerful blow that sends the stalker sprawling backward. The knife falls from his grip, landing on the wet ground between them.

Both men lunge for it simultaneously. Your heart seems to stop as they grapple again, the knife now the focal point of the struggle. Then Heeseung shouts in pain, and you see a flash of red—blood, his blood—and terror unlike anything you've ever known seizes your heart.

But Heeseung doesn't falter. Despite the wound, he manages to knock the knife away, sending it skittering across the clearing. Then, with a final surge of strength, he pins Minhyuk to the ground, his knee on the stalker's chest, one hand gripping his throat.

"It's over," Heeseung says, his voice ragged with exertion and pain. "Do you hear those sirens? It's over."

Minhyuk struggles for a few more seconds, then goes still, the fight seeming to drain from him as the sound of approaching vehicles grows louder. Heeseung maintains his grip, not trusting the sudden compliance.

The sirens grow louder, then headlights appear through the trees, illuminating the clearing with harsh white light. Police cars—three of them—bumping down the rough access road, followed by what looks like an ambulance.

"Here!" you shout, waving frantically. "Over here!"

Everything moves quickly after that. Officers pour from the vehicles, guns drawn, shouting commands. Heeseung carefully backs away from Minhyuk, hands raised to show he's not a threat. Minhyuk is immediately handcuffed, his expression eerily vacant now, the manic energy gone.

You rush to Heeseung, heart pounding violently in your chest as you see the blood staining his sleeve, another patch rapidly spreading across his side. His jacket is torn open, revealing a deep gash that makes your stomach lurch.

"You're hurt," you cry out, your voice breaking as tears immediately flood your eyes. Your hands hover over his wounds, afraid to touch and cause more pain but desperate to help. "Oh my god, you're hurt. You're bleeding so much."

"I'm okay," he assures you, though his face is alarmingly pale, his breathing shallow with pain. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Don't say that!" Your voice rises with panic, tears now streaming freely down your face. "Look at you! This is all my fault. You're hurt because of me."

Your hands tremble as they finally settle on his face, cradling his cheeks as if he might shatter. "You're my baby and you're hurt," you whisper, the words tumbling out without thought, raw with emotion. "Please, you need help right now."

His eyes widen slightly at your words, a softness passing through them despite his pain. He tries to lift his hand to wipe your tears but winces with the movement.

"Don't move," you plead, becoming more frantic as you notice how the blood continues to seep through his clothes. You turn toward the approaching paramedics, desperation in your voice. "Please hurry! He's losing too much blood!"

You turn back to Heeseung, pressing your forehead gently against his, uncaring about the mud and blood. "Stay with me," you whisper fiercely. "I can't lose you. Not now. Not after everything."

Paramedics approach, guiding Heeseung to sit on the steps of the cabin while they examine his wounds. You hover anxiously nearby, unable to tear your eyes from him even as a female officer gently questions you about what happened.

Across the clearing, Minhyuk is being loaded into a police car, his vacant expression finally shifting as his eyes find yours one last time. There's something in his gaze—not remorse, not exactly, but perhaps the first glimmer of understanding that his obsession has led him to ruin.

"He'll be going away for a long time," the detective says, appearing at your side. She looks tired but satisfied. "Attempted murder, stalking, violation of restraining orders—the list goes on. He won't hurt anyone else."

Relief makes your knees weak. You look to where Heeseung sits, enduring the ministrations of the paramedics with stoic patience. When he catches your eye, he manages a small, reassuring smile despite everything.

"You should go to him," the detective says, following your gaze. "We can finish the statements later."

You don't need to be told twice. You cross to Heeseung, carefully sitting beside him on the cabin steps. The paramedics have cut away his sleeve to reveal a long gash on his forearm, already partially bandaged. Another wound at his side has been dressed, though blood still seeps through the white gauze.

"How bad is it?" you ask one of the paramedics.

"He'll need stitches," she replies. "But no major arteries were hit. He was lucky."

Lucky isn't the word you'd use. Brave. Selfless. Incredible. Those come closer.

"We need to transport him to the hospital," the paramedic continues. "Would you like to ride along?"

"Yes," you say immediately, your hand finding Heeseung's uninjured one. "I'm not leaving him."

Heeseung's fingers tighten around yours. "It's over," he says softly, just for you. "Really over."

As they help him onto a stretcher, you remain by his side, your hand never leaving his. Behind you, the cabin stands silent in the growing daylight, its brief role as both sanctuary and battleground now complete. Around you, police officers document the scene, take photographs, collect evidence. Minhyuk is driven away, the police car disappearing down the access road toward a future of concrete and steel bars.

In the ambulance, as paramedics hook Heeseung to monitoring equipment and start an IV for pain medication, he keeps his eyes on you, as if afraid you might disappear if he looks away.

"You saved me," he says, his voice slightly slurred as the pain medication begins to take effect. "With that rock. You saved me."

Tears fill your eyes as you shake your head. "No. You saved me. From the very beginning, you saved me."

His lips curve into a tired smile. "Maybe we saved each other."

As the ambulance begins its journey down the mountain, you hold tight to his hand, to that simple truth. Whatever comes next—hospital rooms, police statements, the eventual return to normal life—you'll face it together. The nightmare is over. Minhyuk can no longer reach you, no longer control your life with fear.

For the first time since that night on the subway platform, you feel truly, completely free. And despite the trauma of the morning, despite Heeseung's injuries and the lingering shock, there's something else growing beneath the relief—hope. Hope for what comes after fear. Hope for a future neither of you expected to find in the midst of danger.

A future together.

-

Three months later

The afternoon sunlight filters through the café window, painting golden patterns across the table between you. Heeseung sits across from you, absently tracing the faint scar on his forearm—a permanent reminder of that morning in the mountains. You reach across the table, your fingers covering his, interrupting the unconscious movement.

"You're doing it again," you say softly.

He smiles, turning his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. "Sorry. Habit."

It's been exactly twelve weeks since Minhyuk was arrested. Twelve weeks of healing—both physical and emotional. Twelve weeks of rebuilding what had been so violently disrupted. Twelve weeks of discovering who you are together when fear isn't the foundation of your connection.

The legal proceedings had moved swiftly. Minhyuk pleaded guilty to all charges, perhaps finally recognizing the gravity of his actions. His psychiatric evaluation revealed a disturbing pattern of obsessive behavior dating back years before he ever saw you on the subway. The judge had been uncompromising in his sentencing: fifteen years with mandatory psychiatric treatment. You'd attended the sentencing hearing, Heeseung's hand tight around yours as you faced your stalker one final time.

"Whatever made him fixate on you wasn't your fault," the detective had told you afterward. "Some people just break in ways we can't understand."

Those words had helped, as had the therapy sessions you began shortly after returning to the city. But what helped most was Heeseung—his unwavering presence, his patience as you worked through lingering fears, his understanding on the nights when you still woke gasping from nightmares.

"What time is your appointment?" Heeseung asks now, bringing you back to the present.

"Four o'clock," you reply, glancing at your watch. "Dr. Kim says this might be our last weekly session. She thinks we can move to bi-weekly."

Pride flickers across Heeseung's face. "That's great. You've come so far."

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I have a good support system."

His thumb traces circles on your palm, his eyes warm with an emotion neither of you has put into words yet, though you both feel it. "Are you still okay with dinner at my parents' place tonight? We can reschedule if you're tired after therapy."

"I want to go," you assure him. Meeting his family had been a major step—acknowledging that what began in crisis had evolved into something lasting. His parents had welcomed you with genuine warmth, never asking too many questions about how you met, somehow understanding that those details weren't what mattered.

"They like you, you know," Heeseung says, as if reading your thoughts. "My mother keeps asking when you're coming back."

You laugh, the sound still feeling like a small victory each time. "She just wants someone to appreciate her cooking more than you do."

"True," he concedes with a grin.

The waiter arrives with your check, and Heeseung reaches for it automatically. You let him, having learned to pick your battles. Some protective instincts run too deep to challenge—and if you're honest, his devotion is something you've come to cherish rather than resist.

Outside the café, the early autumn air carries just a hint of the coming cold. Heeseung's arm slips around your waist, a gesture that has become as natural as breathing. You lean into him briefly, savoring the solid warmth of him.

"I'll walk you to Dr. Kim's office," he says. "Then I need to stop by the studio for an hour before dinner."

Your paths have settled into a comfortable rhythm over the past months. You returned to your design firm, picking up old projects and beginning new ones. Heeseung resumed his work at the music studio, though he now keeps more regular hours, prioritizing evenings with you. You still have separate apartments, but most nights are spent together, switching between your spaces with easy familiarity.

The walk to your therapist's office takes you past the subway station where it all began—a route you initially avoided but now traverse without the surge of anxiety it once triggered. Progress, Dr. Kim calls it. Reclaiming your city, your life.

"I'll see you at my place around seven?" Heeseung confirms as you reach the office building.

"I'll be there," you promise. "Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself." He pauses, then adds, "And maybe pack an overnight bag. My parents usually insist we stay late, and I don't want you taking the subway alone after dark."

Once, you might have chafed at the protectiveness in those words. Now, you recognize it as care rather than control. "Already packed," you admit. "It's in my work bag."

He smiles, leaning down to kiss you briefly. "That's my girl."

As he turns to go, you catch his hand, pulling him back for a moment. "Hey," you say softly. "I've been thinking."

"Dangerous," he teases gently. "About what?"

You hesitate, then take the plunge. "My lease is up next month."

His expression shifts, a cautious hope lighting his eyes. "Is it?"

"I was thinking maybe I shouldn't renew it."

The implication hangs between you, clear but unspoken. Heeseung's hand tightens around yours, his voice dropping to match your quieter tone. "Any particular alternative in mind?"

You hold his gaze, your heart beating faster but not with fear—with anticipation, with certainty. "Your place is bigger. And you have that spare room you're using as storage that would make a perfect home office for me."

A smile slowly spreads across his face, transforming his features with such joy that it takes your breath away. "I think that could be arranged."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely." He pulls you closer, public setting forgotten as he kisses you properly this time, his hands cradling your face with the same tender care he's shown since that very first night.

When he pulls back, you're both slightly breathless. "Go talk to Dr. Kim," he says, reluctantly releasing you. "I'll see you tonight."

You watch him walk away, struck by how far you've come from that terrified person who grabbed a stranger on a subway platform. The journey hasn't been easy—there are still moments when fear creeps in, still days when you check over your shoulder more often than necessary. But those moments are becoming rarer, overshadowed by new memories, better ones.

As you turn to enter the building, your phone buzzes with a text. Heeseung, already missing you:

"Just realized we never used the small bedroom at the cabin. Maybe we should go back someday. Make some better memories there."

You smile, typing your reply:

"I'd like that. As long as you're with me."

His response comes instantly:

"Always."

A promise that began in crisis, tested by danger, and now—finally—has the chance to unfold in peace. You pocket your phone and head into your appointment, ready to talk about the future rather than the past.

A future with Heeseung. A future without fear.

A future that began with two strangers on a subway platform, and against all odds, became home.

fin.

-

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo

dry your tears

pairings (separately!)- diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, childe/tartaglia, scaramouche x gender neutral reader

word count - 3954

genre - angst, hurt/comfort

format- drabbles

warnings - crying, arguments, yelling, cursing in scara's, hints at abandonment issues, petnames (my love, dove, angel, sweetheart)

summary - after a heated argument, you storm off to get some air only to return hours later and find him with tears streaming down his face

a/n - i've seen a lot of those "genshin guys make you cry" hcs (and MMM are they deliciously angsty) but then i thought: what if the roles were reversed? and here we are :')

disclaimer - fights are gonna happen in any sort of relationship, but what matters is how you communicate about the problem :)

you hadn't expected things to go this way, the heat in the air was unthinkably hot and menacing as was the thick tension that wrapped around your throat so coarse and wiry, you felt your breathing halt.

faces warm and throats sore, how long had it been since you first brought up the topic? time itself seemed to still when the man you loved with all your heart stared back at you with boiling rage engraved in his usually loving eyes and an unsettling sneer on his soft lips.

words poured out of his mouth yet your ears remained numb as your battered heart filled the void and rammed against your eardrums. it was as if for miles all you could hear were his shouts and disgruntled comments, even the sharp jab or two where you were most vulnerable. what stabbed the most, however, was your reciprocation.

you were sure at least one of your comments had hit a nerve, but you saw red, red, red. and all courtesies began to fly out the window.

was it so selfish to wish that he'd set aside your differences and hold you so lovingly as he usually did? perhaps, yet your mind wandered to the realm of forgiveness and the dried tear paths on your cheeks ached for your mouth to split open and spew apologies.

but as angry as you were, you loved him. you loved him so much, the mere thought of his anger overshadowing his love for you had your knees buckling and breaths escaping the confines of your lungs.

"look, i'm going to cool off and then we can talk about it later." there was a defeated hum to your voice, one you'd find in a cornered animal who'd been slashed through their bellies and had nothing but adrenaline running through the thin crevices of their veins.

he expected you to storm off with stomped steps and an angry pout, but when you stepped forwards with shaking arms that wrapped around his torso so tightly, and pressed your lips to his clothed, thundering heart, his anger seemed to dissolve entirely.

the final icing on the cake was the whimpered "i love you," whispered against his heart from your lips.

and suddenly, your warmth disappeared from his chest and the click of your shoes began to fade away until all he was left with were echoes of your touch, and a throbbing heart that yearned for your presence.

content + scenarios utc!

windrise had such lovely breezes, and soon you found that your anger had seemingly fluttered away with the calming winds. your walk had allowed you time to think, of both the words diluc spoke and your own behavior. neither of you were very polite or mature about your handling of the matter, much to your chagrin.

after some thought collecting at the large tree near windrise, you legs found themselves dragging towards dawn winery where you had only been hours earlier engaged in the fight of your life, with the love of your life. what was it about? you hardly remembered anymore, but what you craved most was not vengeance or the ability to be right, but diluc's arms wrapped firm around your waist and his intoxicating scent of fresh grapes and aged wine. you longed to run your hands through his thick locks instead of pulling out your own, or feel his palm, gloved or bare, in your own instead of anxiously digging crescent shaped holes into the flesh of your palms.

the doors to the winery felt as heavy as led when you placed your hands and pushed with all your might.

the usual dim candles that illuminated the winery were nowhere to be seen; the entirety of the property seemed void of light and deprived of the usual staff scurrying about. the pit in your throat began to jostle your insides but you swallowed it down with firm resolution and set off in search of diluc.

his usual spot, tableside by the fireplace, was devoid of warmth or any semblance of his being save for the reading glasses he often wore while tending to the winery's paperwork. you clutched the pair of spectacles in your hand and prodded around each room with bated breath, hoping to see the familiar mop of red hair.

just as you ascended the stairs and began to approach his office, your heart stilled as did your breath: the faintest of whimpers met your ears in a sorrowful kiss and the creeping hesitance that had been brewing in the deepest confines of your stomach had begun to resurface.

as gently as you could, you approached his office and peered inside.

the mighty diluc, so strong and so brave, looked much more akin to a lost child as he sat slumped in his chair, elbows placed limply on his desk while his hands took it upon themselves to hold his head over countless stray pieces of paperwork. his red locks had fallen out of its usual composed ponytail and poured out in waterfalls over his skin and desk. even from this strained angle, you could see the small splatters of teardrops that fell onto the documents below his face. and sweet barbatos, with every one of his muffled cries and sobs, you felt your heart break and scatter into pieces, a sharp bite coming to tingle at the ends of your eyes when your name passed his lips in a hoarse and whispered voice.

diluc seemed not to notice you as you approached with cautious steps and gently set his reading glasses down in front of him on his lacquered, wooden desk. the gentle stroke of your hand on his head was what tore him from the wallowing fields of his hands.

his eyes scanned over your body, his own hand hesitantly reaching up to overlap the hand you placed on his head. upon feeling the smoothness of your skin and the bumps of your knuckles, diluc bolted from his chair and wrapped his arms so, so tight around your body. the usual solid cadence of his voice felt wobbly and unstable as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck and shook with sobs. you squeezed back with equal force and ran a soothing hand through his mangled locks.

"i thought...i thought you left me," he managed to sputter out in between lulls of choked cries and sharp inhales.

a single tear slipped down your cheek, "shh i'm here now, i wouldn't leave you just like that." and how true it was that you never would.

you pulled his face from your neck and swiped away at the moisture that coated his face. the rims of his scarlet eyes pooled with a never-ending stream of tears. his skin felt hot to the touch as your nimble fingers worked to rub away his sorrow. diluc's hand found its way up to cup your cheek and brushed away at the stray tears that trickled down from the reservoir hidden behind your eyes.

"i'm so sorry, my love. i meant none of what i said, i truly do love you with all my heart. if i had been more mature about it-"

"no, diluc," you gently placed the soft of your palm against his lips to silence him, "don't blame yourself like that. i'm at fault as well, and i'm sorry." the tip of your nose brushed against his before aiming to slot your lips against his for a tender, chaste kiss.

"we can talk about it after you've calmed down, okay?" you asked once pulling away. he nodded in reply and returned his face to your shoulder, allowing his tears to be absorbed by the heat of your skin all while you cradled him in your arms and whispered words of love and reassurance into his hair.

the muffled "i love you" from your shoulder had you weak in the knees, and it was then that you knew that the both of you would be okay, especially when you replied with an "i love you too" in return.

cider lake was breathtaking at night: from the dancing glimmers of moonlight atop its rippling surface, to the gentle, cooling breeze that came in from the lake water. shoes clutched in one hand, your bare feet made soft footfalls and left behind imprints of your existence in the grainy, mushy sand.

surrounded by tranquility, you finally had a moment to breath and think back to your argument with kaeya. you no doubt felt terrible, both for losing your cool and the sharp imprints of his words that still left impact wounds on your heart. it was almost as though kaeya could target your worst insecurities and zero in on them like heat seeking missiles, and he never failed to miss.

but you knew deep within that it was both of your yelling, both of your disagreements that led to where you are now. and with the calming brush of cider lake's waters against your ankles, you knew you were calm enough to talk things out with kaeya. after all, you loved him, flaws and all.

the favonius headquarters were ominous to some at night, but you glided through the lacquered halls with ease, taking great care to empty your shoes of sand and water first. it wasn't the menacing darkness of the halls that worried you, rather the gentle trickle of candlelight from kaeya's office that urged you to turn around and discuss things in the morning. but you knew that you wanted to fix this, that you'd rather fall asleep tonight knowing you could wake up to his charming smile rather than cold sheets.

despite the glow that poured in from his office into the dark halls, only a single candle had been lit by his deskside instead of the usual four or five that he'd placed around the office. instead of facing his desk, kaeya's chair had been turned to gaze outside the large, paneled window that sat behind his desk. from his office, cider lake stretched on and glimmered under the moonlight for as far as the eye could see. with his cheek propped up by his elbow that rested on the arm of the chair, you almost thought he had been sleeping if not for the slightly ragged breaths emitted from his lips.

you cautiously knocked on the wood of his door, "kaeya? it's me."

the man in front of you hardly moved, transfixed on the gentle sloshes of crystal clear water in front of him.

"kaeya, please don't ignore me," your feet felt like on his wooden floors as you approached his chair, "i came here to tell you how sorry i am, not to fight anymore-"

the rest of your sentence fell flat in your throat as you finally came face to face with kaeya.

kaeya whose eyepatch had long since fallen to the floor and laid by his boots. whose hidden, milky eye seemed lost and confused. kaeya whose eyes gently trickled with silent tears. he hadn't noticed your presence until your thumb came to gently swipe away a tear from under his normally hidden eye. he seemed to flip a switch on as his usual seductive (though strained) grin formed on his face.

"finally come crawling back, sweetheart?" and if not for the warble of his voice or the tears cascading down this face, you'd think he was alright.

"oh kaeya," your hand gently pushed kaeya's head into the soft expanse of your body and wrapped around his broad shoulders, "i'm so sorry."

he sat motionless for a while before his arms pulled your body closer to his, and you felt the small vibrations of his hiccups through the cloth of your attire.

"m' so sorry, dove. i didn't mean what i said to you, i promise."

you gently shushed him and stroked the top of his head, "i know, i know, kaeya. i'm sorry too, we both handled it wrong."

your lips pressed themselves against his soft locks, then moved downwards to his forehead, then nose, and finally his quivering lips, sucking away the last of his breaths from deep within his lungs.

"i thought you left me, for good this time." his voice dripped with hesitance as he raised the heel of his palm to his forehead and humorlessly laughed, a strained smile on his face.

"somehow it's always the people i love the most that i hurt, it really is quite funny." despite his words, kaeya sounded so, so sad, as if he'd break under your fingertips.

the words you wanted to speak didn't seem to fit quite right, so instead you opted to squeeze tighter around his body to let him know how real you were, and let him know that you haven't left him.

"i hurt you too, kaeya. and i'm sorry, very sorry. but we can talk about it later, okay?" he didn't respond, but from the gentle, forwards tug of your arm that had you sitting with your legs slung over his lap and the tight grip of his arms around your torso, you had all the answers you needed.

"i love you, i'll always be here for you." you murmured just under a breath as your lips found solace pressing against the eyelid that held his hidden eye.

the gnawing pain in his heart began to slowly ease with every lingering touch you left upon his skin.

zhongli had once told you that the best way to relax in the famed port of liyue was to sit by the docks and count the ships as they entered in and out of the city.

you hadn't expected a use for this fact, nor for him to be right.

your legs dangled over one of the wooden piers, eyes trained on the elegant and grandiose ship that seemed to sparkle with gold in the setting rays of the sun. counting the ships and pointing our their details in accompaniment of a lovely, gentle sea breeze and the smell of salt in the air had given you time to reflect on your fight with childe.

his hair trigger temper and impulsiveness were things you never usually found yourself the victim of, not until today at least. you'd felt fear but never like this, not fear where the man you loved was at the center of it all. fear that he'd leave you, fear that he'd hate you, fear that you were the main source of his anger at that moment.

the momentum of your feet stilled as you recalled the way in which his voice would take on a tender tone in the early hours of the morning, or when his arms would sneak around your sides to startle you out of whatever task you were preoccupied with. you could never lie to yourself: you missed him dearly despite your argument.

which is how you found yourself alone in northland bank, shoes making gentle clicking sounds on the marble floors in search of childe's office. the fear that had been building up in you had manifested into sweat that trickled down your forehead and the nervous clench of your palms. his office was barren of his presence save for the closet door that looked like it had been flung wide open and the scattered mess of papers on his desk that you had helped him organized.

"are you looking for lord tartaglia?"

you turned your head around to face ekaterina, who send you a polite smile hidden beneath the fabric of her mask. you nod in response, unsure of what was to come.

"i'm afraid he just set out, his location was undisclosed." you frowned in response but thanked her nonetheless from preventing your fruitless search.

night had fallen when you emerged from the bank, eyes wide and wandering in search of the familiar head of ginger that you loved so much. your lead-heavy legs dragged you to the outskirts of the city where the hills began to climb and grass rolled heavy at your feet and tickled your ankles. you almost hadn't registered the slight thump of the footsteps behind you.

"(y/n)?"

you turned around at the sound of your name only to be met in a crushing hug by none other than childe himself. "childe?!" startled, your mind instinctively moved to wrap your arms around his waist and run up and down his back. it was only under your touch that you noticed the heave of his shoulder and the slight rasp of his voice.

his shaking hands gently pulled your body away from his to peer into the galaxies contained within your irises and it was then that you noticed the slight reddening of his eyes, the flush of his face, and the tears that cascaded down his cheeks in silent waterfalls. "i-i've been looking all over for you, angel, i-" he tried to speak but it was as if you could see the words getting caught in between coughed sobs and whimpers that pierced your heart and had you beckoning him back into your arms.

your own eyes began to water and soon slipped into a silent river of tears when his arms clutched your body with his life and his sobs heaved themselves into you.

"i'm so sorry, for losing my temper with you. i-i didn't mean it i swear! i just- i'm-"

"hey, hey, childe it's okay," like a lullaby, your soothing voice brought him back from the deep wrangling tentacles of his mind and cradled him in your warmth, "i'm sorry too, i wasn't very nice to you either. but let's talk about it when we're both not a mess, sound good?" the little laugh to the tail end of your sentence still somehow managed to send butterflies through his stomach. even with tears streaming down your face, he still found you so beautiful.

he nodded and kissed your wet lips with all that he was in a silent promise to both himself, and you.

scaramouche's sharp tongue never hurt, never pierced past the protective layer you donned when you took on the title of the balladeer's lover. but it seemed your shield had worn thin, and his venomous tongue had managed to stab holes through your heart and lathered your soul in poison.

you were thankful just this once for the shogun's principle of eternity. in the land that never changed, you found solace in letting the sea breezes of narukami's beaches lull you into a dream where scaramouche's words didn't sink their fangs into your soul, and where you didn't retaliate with arguments that made no sense and were fueled by anger.

but dreams were dreams, and you opened your eyes to the stinging reality that laid before you. bare feet clinging to remnants of sand, your shoes had been discarded on a rock in favor of strolling through the waves at ankle length, letting the water cleanse you of your anger and the breeze to soothe your battered heart.

it wasn't like scaramouche at all to lash out at you, sure his tongue was sharper than any knife he wielded, but you knew just how much he treasured you even if his words betrayed his heart. and it was that single thought that had you picking up your shoes and hurrying back to the little cottage scaramouche had managed to haggle into his hands.

your feet ached and burned from scratching against the dirt path, but you wanted nothing more than to hold him in your arms and tell him just how sorry you were, and hoped that he'd hear the prayers deep within your heart.

the doorknob felt all too heavy in your sweaty palm as you struggled to turn it. perhaps this was fate screaming at you to run far, far away, but fate has never enticed you into its grips, so you turned the doorknob.

the house hummed with silence and basked itself in the glow of the moonlight, devoid of any candles or electro spheres that scaramouche often used to illuminate the home.

"scara?" you called out tentatively in a small voice. with no reply, you heaved a sigh and set your sights on finding whichever corner of the house he'd gone off to.

you didn't need to look far, as a single glance into his home office revealed to you that he hadn't moved an inch since you left the house in a flurry of emotions earlier that day. hunched over his desk, elbows on the wood and head resting on his folded knuckles white from gripping onto thin air.

"scara?" at the gentle call of his name and upon seeing your worried look, he flinched.

"what do you want?" sharp as ever, he refused to look you in the eye and settled for huffing away and favoring a corner of the room. his sleeve came to brush across his eyes and you thought nothing of it.

"i want to talk, if you're willing." as if to test the waters, you took a cautious step forward. with the click of your shoe on the hardwood, scaramouche rose from his desk and slammed his palms face down onto the lacquered wood.

"i don't. leave." you would have respected his wishes, if not for the single glimmer of a tear that streaked down his flushed face illuminated by the moonlight.

"are you sure-"

"LEAVE! I SAID LEAVE! GO AWAY!" the sudden outburst hadn't phased you the way his rolling tears and choked sobs did. he tried to scream more profanities and "go away!"s at you, but his words were nestled between the crook of muffled cries and whimpers. instead of leaving, you found yourself coming closer and closer until your arms had found their way around his shoulders and your hand began to stroke his soft locks.

scaramouche thrashed and screamed threats and murderous words that would've had anyone else's blood boiling, but you knew from the salty tears that cascaded down his cheeks that he was just as hurt as you were.

"i'm not leaving you like this, scara." you cooed as the hand that had been stroking his hair moved to wipe away the tears from his eyes.

those words alone seemed to break the dam that had been holding back all of his tears, even if they came out in angry glares and single drops of tears rather than sobs. his hesitant arms found their way around your waist and squeezed tightly.

"why...why do you stay with me?" he asked in an out of character, soft, tentative voice that strained with emotion. "i can't watch my mouth...and you put up with all my bullshit. i don't get it."

"that's an easy question, it's because i love you, dummy." with a watery laugh and tears of your own in your eyes, you pressed a chaste kiss first to his cheek, then to his parted lips which tasted of salty tears and indulgence.

"and, i'm sorry for our fight earlier. we can talk things out later though, for now i wanna give you some cuddles." cheekily, you made grabby motions with your hands and smiled despite the evident tears on your face.

his pride would never allow him to mumble those sugary apologies you yearned to hear, but scaramouche had a way of speaking to you in which no words were needed. the slight tug of his arms around your waist and his muffed breaths accompanied by the burning touch of his skin and tears in his eyes were all you needed to know how sorry he was.

all your worries washed away as did the tears on his face fade when you reciprocated his love as best you could despite his flaws.

date published: august 25th, 2021