Thatâs like a pin post. So a little more about me - Iâm a f/h, bisexual and in my 20s. Iâm a hopeless romantic and I will write fanfiction in this blog, so feel free to read and follow.
I might post something for quiestions later, but I donât know.
Naoya is rude and mean as fuck. He would definitely humiliate you and degrade you in every way possible when he would fuck you. He would probably even force you to crawl around like a dog or something.
Naoya has definitely a Slapping Kink. He wouldnât let any occasion slide to slap your pretty face. While he pounds your poor pussy or when ever you disobey him or misbehave. Slap.
Naoya loves to spit in your mouth while he kisses or fucks you. And you would love it. (I would) You earn another Slap from him if you donât swallow.
Naoya would fuck you often on the floor from behind to humiliate you even more and he is so brutal and rough in pounding your already abused cunt. After you guys fuck you are always sore and couldnât walk for days.
Naoya has an average dick size. About 16-19 cm. He is shaved perfectly clean but sometimes he would just let grow a happy trail for fun. His hair down there is blonde too. And his dick is slightly crooked but itâs still pretty. (like him) Some few veins are visible too.
Naoya is definitely always in Charge!! He would let you ride him sometimes but he would get annoyed easily so he would just flip you on your back and relentlessly pounding your poor pussy till you squirt all over his dick.
Naoya would try Aftercare just for you. Donât expect him to be all loving, he would just cuddle you for a bit and maybe helping you to clean yourself up for round two.
Naoya would love the nastiest shit in the bedroom. I think he would love to see you making a mess out of yourself while you would squirt all over him and he would cum all over you. On your face, on or in your ass, in your pussy and mouth. He loves to breed you in every hole.
Naoya is just pure sadistic. He would be definitely into Bdsm. He would chain you up and putting a gag ball into your mouth while he humiliates you dumb and stupid, even making you cry. Playing with your aching poor pussy who just waits to be fucked.
Naoya definitely likes doing anal. He doesnât care that you donât feel comfortable with it, would fuck you in your ass anyways. He would eat your ass out too and trust itâs heavenly.
Consent is clear and ongoing. Safewords are respected. Emotional safety is prioritized.
_____________________________________
She was already waiting for him when he opened the door.
Perched on the edge of the bed, back straight, knees together, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. The flickering candlelight painted soft amber shadows along the curves of her body, each one wrapped in delicate black laceâjust like heâd asked. Sanâs eyes roamed her slowly, dark and deliberate. She was tiny compared to him, practically swallowed by the oversized comforter she sat on. That contrast had always driven him wild.
âYou look beautiful,â he murmured, voice smooth like silk wrapped around steel.
Her eyes lifted. Wide. Waiting.
âThank you, Sir.â
Sanâs lips quirked in satisfaction.
âColor?â he asked, always the first thing. Always.
âGreen,â she replied, voice quiet, breathless, but steady.
He stepped closer, slow and composed, until he stood right before her, his body eclipsing the light behind him. She tilted her head back to look up at him, the size difference painfully obvious. His fingers, long and warm, tipped her chin upward, guiding her gaze to his.
âYou remember the rules?â
âYes, Sir,â she whispered. Her throat bobbed.
âAnd your safewords?â
âYellow for pause,â she said, breath catching. âRed for stop.â
His eyes darkened, pleased.
âGood girl.â
Her thighs pressed together involuntarily at the words.
San knelt before her, taking his time with each motion, his hands smoothing over her knees and spreading them apart. She gasped softly as he did, her breath hitching at the first brush of his knuckles against her inner thighs. She was wet already. He hadnât even touched her properly yet.
âI love how responsive you are,â he said, kissing a trail from her knee to the edge of her panties. âI havenât even had you yet, and youâre already shaking for me.â
She whimpered, fingers clenching in the sheets.
When he stood again, it was only to reach for the silk ropes he had prepared. He looked down at her, eyes soft and commanding all at once. âLie back,â he ordered gently. âHands above your head.â
She obeyed instantly.
He bound her wrists with slow, practiced careâtesting the knots, checking her fingers, brushing kisses across her wrists after every loop. The silk bit just enough to remind her she was his. Secure. Claimed. Completely under his control.
âStill green?â
âGreen,â she gasped.
âGood.â
San took his time. He explored her with his mouth firstâtrailing kisses across her stomach, her thighs, her collarbone. His lips were gentle. His teeth werenât. He bit, sucked, licked until her skin was painted with the blush of his attention.
His hand slid between her thighs again, parting them with ease, and the heat of his palm made her hips jerk.
âSo sensitive,â he murmured. âSo fucking sweet like this.â
Two fingers slid into her, slow and steady, while his thumb circled her clit just enough to make her hips buck. She moaned loudly, already writhing against the ropes. His other hand pinned her thigh down firmly.
âAhâSanââ
âSir,â he corrected smoothly, not pausing his motions.
âSir,â she corrected quickly, breath shuddering. âPleaseâŠâ
âPlease what, baby?â he asked, watching her fall apart. âWhat do you want?â
âI⊠I want to come.â
He smiledâdark, wolfishâand slowed his pace, fingers moving just enough to keep her hovering.
âNot yet.â
She whined. Her entire body trembled. âPlease, IâIâm so closeâŠâ
âYouâll come when I let you,â San said, dragging his mouth down her stomach. âNot a second sooner. Do you understand me?â
âYes, Sir,â she cried, arching.
Her orgasm backed off, cresting and receding, leaving her high-strung and panting. And thenâanother spanking.
His palm came down hard on her inner thigh. Not enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of arousal straight through her. Her eyes flew wide open, lips parted in a moan.
âColor?â he asked immediately.
âGreen. Oh my godâgreen.â
He grinned.
âLook at you,â he murmured. âSo small. So helpless. Tied up and begging me to wreck you.â
She whimpered, thighs trembling again as he leaned over her, bracketing her body with his larger frame. One hand held her bound wrists. The other reached down, freeing himself.
When he pushed inside her, it was slow, carefulâstretching her wide, letting her feel every inch of how big he was compared to her. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling.
âSo tight,â he groaned against her neck. âYou feel like heaven.â
She was full. So full. Her hips squirmed but there was nowhere to runânot with the ropes holding her still. Not with his weight over her. And that helplessness? That controlled surrender? It made her melt.
San started to move, slow and deliberate, every thrust pulling a helpless sound from her lips. Her hands twisted in their bindings, her head thrown back, sweat beading along her skin. Every stroke pushed her higher, until she was sobbing from the need.
âSirâpleaseâplease, I needââ
âNow,â he growled. âCome now.â
She shattered.
Pleasure exploded through her like lightning, making her cry out as she came, body shaking, twitching, gasping for air. He held her through it, still moving inside her, coaxing her down slowly before his own climax took him. His grip on her wrists tightened as he buried himself with a growl, spilling deep inside her.
Silence fell in the wake of it.
Her body trembled under his, skin flushed and slick with sweat. He kissed her gently, reverently, before carefully untangling her wrists. The moment the ropes fell away, he wrapped her in his arms.
âShh,â he murmured. âIâve got you. You did so well for me.â
She curled against his chest, boneless, spent, entirely safe.
âColor?â he asked again, brushing hair from her damp forehead.
âGreen,â she whispered, smiling sleepily. âPerfect.â
San kissed the top of her head and pulled the blanket over them.
đșSummary: Hyunjin and Y/N were once deeply in love - married, happy, and raising their baby boy, Jongmin. But over time, Hyunjin began to drift away, leaving her alone in the hardest parts of parenthood. As he grew distant, their friend Jisung quietly stepped in to help. What follows is a slow, painful unraveling of a love that couldn't survive neglect, and the quiet beginning of one that could.
đșTW: emotional neglect, verbal abuse, postpartum body-shaming, alcohol abuse, domestic conflict, heartbreak, abandonment, parental burnout. let me know if im missing something.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the hallway swallowed Hyunjin whole.
He didnât move for a long time. Just stood there, staring at the space where she used to let him in. The space he used to call home.
And now, it wasnât even hers anymore.
It was Jisungâs door.
Jisungâs hallway.
Jisungâs warmth spilling through the windows.
He had no one to blame but himself.
He went home.
To the apartment that still smelled faintly like her â like jasmine and laundry detergent and the ghost of something soft.
Jongminâs crib sat in the corner, empty. The baby monitor still on. The last bottle she ever made him stood forgotten in the fridge, sour and untouched.
He sat on the edge of their bed and stared at his hands.
They used to hold her.
Used to trace the curve of her back.
Used to rock Jongmin to sleep.
Now they just⊠trembled.
He hadnât been sober since the night she left. Not really. Even now, the vodka burned in his throat, chased by the bitter taste of his own guilt. His studio â once a space of creation â was full of cigarette ash and drafts of lyrics he couldnât finish.
Songs about her.
Songs about Jongmin.
Songs that would never be heard.
He picked up his phone.
[1 new message]
From: Jisung.
Donât show up unannounced again.
Hyunjin didnât reply. Just stared at the screen, heart twisting.
The worst part wasnât that Jisung was there.
It was that Y/N had let him be.
Meanwhile, Y/N was learning to breathe again.
Not all at once. Some days, the air still got caught in her throat. But other days â better days â she could laugh without guilt.
Jongmin was thriving. He cried less, smiled more. He had started calling Jisung âSunggieâ â a mangled baby nickname, but full of affection.
Jisung only smiled when he heard it. Never corrected him. Never claimed more than what he was given.
Y/N noticed, though.
She noticed the way he watched Jongmin with soft eyes. The way he reached out instinctively to help her before she even asked. The way he looked at her sometimes â and immediately looked away, like he wasnât supposed to feel anything at all.
But he did.
And she was beginning to feel it too.
Not love.
Not yet.
But safety. Comfort. Presence.
The things she hadnât felt in years.
One night, she found Jisung asleep on the couch, Jongmin curled against his chest. She stood there in the doorway for a long time, watching them.
A single thought rooted itself quietly in her chest:
This is what it should have felt like.
But with that thought came guilt.
Because she still missed Hyunjin â or rather, the version of him that died before their son was born.
She still remembered how he cried during her pregnancy.
How he used to kiss her swollen stomach and whisper dreams into it.
And she hated herself for not being able to hate him.
A few days later, she found the box.
Jongmin had knocked over a pile of papers, and when she bent to clean it up, she found the small box Hyunjin had left behind.
Inside were old notes.
Sticky notes. Torn pages. Scribbled napkins.
âYouâre the reason I stopped running.â
âIf itâs you and me, weâll be fine.â
âForever, even when weâre tired.â
They were pieces of a man who meant it â once.
She sat on the floor with them in her lap and cried for the first time in weeks.
Hyunjin tried to write her a letter.
Then another. And another.
He didnât send any of them.
How do you apologize for losing someone when they needed you most?
How do you fix the words you canât unsay?
âYouâre just Jongminâs mom now.â
âA used-up, stretched-out mess.â
âTell me â what the hell would anyone want from you?â
He heard them every night. Echoing off the walls.
He tried recording a song.
Got halfway through the first verse before smashing the mic in frustration.
Everything he touched turned to dust now.
One afternoon, weeks later, Y/N stood outside his apartment.
She didnât knock.
Just stood there, Jongmin asleep in the stroller beside her, heart hammering in her chest.
She didnât owe him this. But something in her â some soft, cracked part â wanted to face him. Not for him. For herself.
She knocked.
He answered a minute later. Disheveled. Tired. His eyes widened at the sight of her.
âY/NâŠâ
âIâm not here to come back,â she said quickly. âIâm not even sure Iâm here for you.â
He nodded, throat working.
She looked past him â into the home they once built together. It was a mess. Laundry everywhere. Curtains drawn. Gloom clinging to the air like smoke.
He followed her gaze, then looked down, ashamed.
âJongminâs asleep,â she said. âBut I wanted to ask if you wanted to see him. Just for a little while.â
His eyes filled instantly.
He didnât say thank you. Couldnât.
He just stepped outside, knelt in front of the stroller, and touched his sonâs hand like it was the first time heâd ever been allowed.
Jongmin stirred but didnât wake.
âIâm sorry,â Hyunjin whispered. âFor all of it.â
She didnât say it was okay.
She didnât lie.
But she did nod. And that was something.
Later, as she walked back to Jisungâs apartment, she felt lighter. Not healed. Not whole. But lighter.
She opened the door and found Jisung at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables.
He looked up, startled.
âHey. Everything okay?â
She nodded. âYeah.â
Then, after a pause:
âCan I ask you something?â
âOf course.â
She stepped closer.
âWhy havenât you ever⊠tried anything? Said anything?â
His eyes searched hers for a long, quiet moment.
âBecause I didnât want to be the reason you broke,â he said finally. âI just wanted to be here when you started to put yourself back together.â
Tears stung her eyes â not from pain this time, but something gentler. Something kinder.
She walked to him, slowly.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself lean into someone.
Not out of desperation.
But because it finally felt okay to want something new.
đșSummary: Hyunjin and Y/N were once deeply in love - married, happy, and raising their baby boy, Jongmin. But over time, Hyunjin began to drift away, leaving her alone in the hardest parts of parenthood. As he grew distant, their friend Jisung quietly stepped in to help. What follows is a slow, painful unraveling of a love that couldn't survive neglect, and the quiet beginning of one that could.
đșTrigger warnings: emotional neglect, verbal abuse, postpartum body-shaming, alcohol abuse, domestic conflict, heartbreak, abandonment, parental burnout. let me know if im missing something.
The night air was sharp against her skin as she stepped outside, Jongmin cradled to her chest. His weight â so small, yet so heavy in that moment â felt like both anchor and salvation. He whimpered once in his sleep, but didnât wake. His tiny fingers curled into her sweater, clinging like he knew something had changed.
Jisung followed behind, quietly, with her bag over his shoulder. He didnât say anything. Just walked beside her to the car, opened the passenger door, and made sure Jongmin was buckled in. Then he got in, started the engine, and drove.
No one spoke for a while.
The city passed in a blur â neon lights and shadowed alleys. Y/N stared out the window, her reflection flickering against the glass. She didnât recognize herself. Not the woman with red-rimmed eyes and clenched fists, or the silence buried deep in her chest like a stone.
She wasnât angry. Not yet.
She was just⊠empty.
They ended up at Jisungâs apartment. Small, clean, warm.
He brought out extra blankets, laid out a futon on the floor, and dimmed the lights. Jongmin was still asleep, his little body soft and curled against her chest.
âYou can stay here,â Jisung said gently, rubbing the back of his neck. âAs long as you need. No pressure. No explanations. Just⊠whatever you need, okay?â
Y/N nodded, but the words wouldnât come.
She sat on the floor, holding Jongmin, until Jisung finally whispered, âYou should rest. Let me take him.â
She hesitated â but her arms were trembling. She hadnât even realized how tightly she was holding her son. Slowly, she let Jisung take him. He carried Jongmin like he was made of glass, laying him gently on the futon and tucking him in.
Then he sat beside her.
And she broke.
It wasnât loud. No dramatic sobs. Just a quiet collapse. Shoulders trembling. Head in her hands. Silent tears soaking her palms. She couldnât speak. Couldnât scream. All she could do was weep â for the love she lost, the cruelty she didnât deserve, and the man who used to hold her like she was his world.
And sometimes, presence was the only thing keeping someone from falling completely apart.
Days passed.
She called in to work. Told them she needed time. No one asked questions.
Hyunjin didnât call.
At first, she stared at her phone, waiting. Hoping. Thinking maybe heâd wake up the next morning full of regret. That maybe sheâd get a message, a voicemail, a plea to come home.
Nothing.
Three days. Four. A week.
The silence hurt more than the words.
Jisung tiptoed around her, careful not to overstep. He helped with Jongmin, made meals without asking, and left soft music playing in the background like he was trying to rebuild what sheâd lost without saying a word.
She wanted to be angry. At Hyunjin. At herself. But all she felt was numb.
Until the tenth day.
She was folding laundry while Jongmin played with a toy truck on the floor. The radio was on â static between songs â and her hands were on autopilot. Fold. Stack. Repeat.
Then her phone buzzed.
[Hyunjin]
I want to see my son.
No apology. No remorse. Just a demand.
She stared at the message, her hands still holding Jongminâs tiny onesie. Her vision blurred.
Another message followed.
[Hyunjin]
Donât be dramatic. You left. Thatâs on you.
And suddenly, the numbness cracked.
She walked into the bathroom, locked the door, and screamed into a towel.
Meanwhile, Hyunjin was unraveling.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
He came home the morning after the fight still drunk, expecting the silence to be filled with Jongminâs soft coos, the clinking of dishes, maybe even her voice â soft and cold, sure, but still there.
But the crib was empty.
Her side of the bed, cold.
No baby blanket on the couch.
No formula left on the counter.
She was gone.
And the silence swallowed him whole.
He didnât call. His pride held him back. Pride and shame. He didnât remember everything heâd said â just fragments. The look in her eyes. Jisungâs face. His own rage, pouring out like poison.
At first, he told himself sheâd come back. That she was just trying to scare him.
She always forgave.
She always stayed.
But she didnât.
And every day she didnât, the silence screamed louder.
She saw a therapist. Jisung had gently suggested it â just once â and she agreed. Because she couldnât keep feeling like a ghost inside her own skin.
She told the therapist everything. About the man Hyunjin used to be. About the man he became. About how she still loved the version of him that died somewhere along the way.
And how, no matter how cruel heâd been, part of her still missed him.
That was the part that hurt the most.
Jisung stayed.
Never too close. Never invasive. Just present. Helping with Jongmin, making dinner when she was too tired to stand, offering a shoulder when the weight of her heartbreak got too heavy.
He never asked her for anything.
But one night, she caught him looking at her â like he wanted to say something but swallowed it instead.
âIâm sorry,â she whispered.
âFor what?â he asked.
âFor dragging you into this. For needing you so much.â
His eyes softened. âYou didnât drag me. I came because I wanted to.â
And she believed him.
Hyunjin showed up two weeks later.
Unannounced. Bags under his eyes, unshaven, wearing the same hoodie he wore the night she left.
He stood in front of Jisungâs apartment door for ten full minutes before knocking.
When she opened it, Jongmin on her hip, her expression didnât falter.
âYou look like hell,â she said softly.
He smiled bitterly. âYeah. Well.â
She didnât invite him in.
âI want to see him,â he said, voice low.
She looked down at Jongmin â who stared at his father without recognition.
âHeâs scared of loud voices now,â she said. âDo you remember why?â
He winced.
âI didnât mean any of it.â
She nodded slowly. âBut you said it. And I believed you.â
Silence.
âI miss him,â Hyunjin said finally. âAnd I miss you.â
Y/N blinked â once. Her lips trembled. But she didnât cry.
âYou donât miss me. You miss the version of me that never asked you to grow up. The one who did everything so you could keep pretending you were still twenty-three and carefree.â
He opened his mouth â but she kept going.
âI needed a partner. A father for our son. And you became a ghost who only haunted me when he wasnât crying.â
She stepped back and began to close the door.
âWaitâplease.â
She hesitated.
âI know I broke it. I just⊠I need to fix something. Anything.â
She looked at him â really looked â and for the first time in weeks, she felt nothing.
âIâm not ready to forgive you,â she whispered. âMaybe I never will.â
Hyunjin and Y/N were once deeply in love â married, happy, and raising their baby boy, Jongmin. But over time, Hyunjin began to drift away, leaving her alone in the hardest parts of parenthood. As he grew distant, their friend Jisung quietly stepped in to help. What follows is a slow, painful unraveling of a love that couldnât survive neglect, and the quiet beginning of one that could.
đșTW: emotional neglect, verbal abuse, postpartum body-shaming, alcohol abuse, domestic conflict, heartbreak, abandonment, parental burnout. let me know if im missing something.
Hyunjin used to look at her like she was the only light in the world.
Even after the curtain fell on his last concert, when the roar of the crowd faded into memory and the headlines stopped printing his name, he still looked at her like that. Like she was the reason he stepped away from it all. The reason he chose something softer. Something real.
He used to wake her up with kisses on her shoulder, lazy and sweet, whispering about pancakes and coffee and forever. Heâd paint her name into the morning air with his fingers. Heâd pull her into his arms and hum unfinished songs against her skin, saying he didnât need the stage anymore â he had everything he ever wanted, right here.
They were happy.
Truly, stupidly, overwhelmingly happy.
When she found out she was pregnant, he cried. He sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, face pressed against her stomach like he could already hear Jongminâs heartbeat. He painted the nursery himself, made playlists of lullabies, and read parenting books like he was studying for the most important test of his life.
They used to fall asleep with Jongmin nestled between them, Hyunjinâs hand resting protectively over the babyâs chest. He called him âmy little masterpiece.â They took family photos in matching sweaters, they danced barefoot in the kitchen with Jongmin laughing in his high chair, and they made promises â whispered promises in the quiet of night â that this was forever.
But forever is a cruel word. It makes no room for erosion.
It started slowly. Most heartbreaks do.
Hyunjin became⊠tired.
He began sleeping through Jongminâs cries, pretending not to hear. âYouâve got it, babe,â heâd murmur, flipping over in bed while she stumbled through the dark with aching limbs and heavy eyes. He stopped joining doctor visits. Then stopped asking about them altogether.
Heâd stare at Jongmin for long, blank moments and then sigh like the weight of fatherhood was suffocating him.
âI didnât think it would be this⊠constant,â he said once. âThereâs never a break.â
She laughed it off at the time. Told him it was just a phase. But part of her chest tightened.
One day he came home with a new shirt, a new scent on his collar. âJust went for drinks,â he said. It became a habit. Nights out. Late returns. The smell of perfume she didnât wear. Cigarettes he promised heâd quit.
âI need space sometimes,â he muttered when she questioned him. âI need to feel like myself again.â
So she gave it to him. Space.
And in that space, he drifted. Away from her. Away from Jongmin.
He stopped noticing when Jongmin said new words. He rolled his eyes at tantrums. He looked bored during bedtime stories. She watched the man who used to cry over lullabies grow cold to the sound of his sonâs laughter.
She was drowning in the silence he left behind.
The nights felt colder.
She cried sometimes â into pillows, into Jongminâs tiny clothes, into the echo of the life they used to have. But she never let Jongmin see her break. He deserved better than that.
Jisung began coming over.
Always kind. Always respectful. Always gentle with Jongmin â and with her.
âCall me if you need help,â heâd say. And she did.
He brought food when she was too tired to cook. Cleaned up the toys. Read Jongmin bedtime stories with different voices that made him giggle. Sometimes, he didnât say much. Just sat there beside her while she exhaled the day.
He never asked about Hyunjin. Didnât need to.
That night was a quiet one.
Jongmin was finally asleep after hours of teething-induced screams. Jisung was rinsing dishes, his sleeves rolled up. She was curled on the couch, nursing a cup of tea with trembling hands, exhaustion clinging to her skin like frost.
The door swung open.
Hyunjin.
Drunk.
Not tipsy. Not buzzed. Drunk.
He staggered inside, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frames on the wall. The room stilled. Jisung froze. Y/N stood up slowly.
Hyunjinâs eyes locked on her â then on Jisung.
He laughed, a bitter, slurred laugh. âWow. Wow, okay. So this is what I come home to?â
âHyunjin,â she started, softly, âplease keep your voice down. Jongmin just fell asleep.â
But he wasnât listening.
His gaze shifted between them, wild and venomous. âOf course itâs Jisung,â he muttered, voice laced with disgust. âMy best friend. My fucking best friend.â
Jisung straightened. âYouâre drunk. Sit down before you say something you regret.â
âRegret?â Hyunjin snarled. âNo, no. I regret walking through that door. I regret thinking maybe Iâd still find a wife in this house and not some tired bitch playing house with someone else.â
The words sliced like razors.
âStop it,â she whispered, voice cracking.
âNo,â he said, stumbling closer, eyes blazing. âIâm not gonna shut up anymore. You think I donât see it? The way you light up when he walks in? You think Iâm stupid?â
Jisung stepped between them. âYouâre out of line.â
Hyunjin shoved him. Hard. âGet out of my fucking house.â
âNo,â Y/N said suddenly, loudly, stepping forward. âJisung stays. You get out if you canât act like a human being.â
Hyunjin turned on her.
âOh, thatâs cute. Standing up for your little boyfriend. What happened, huh? Did I not fuck you enough? Is that why youâre spreading your legs for someone else now?â
Her world stopped.
âDonât talk to her like that,â Jisung growled, fists clenched.
But Hyunjin wasnât done. His voice turned crueler, his words sharper, fueled by something dark and resentful.
âYou think youâre still attractive?â he sneered, eyes scanning her body with disgust. âYouâve let yourself go. Youâre not the girl I married. Youâre tired, boring, flabby â always wearing those ugly sweatpants and walking around like a ghost.â
She flinched, swallowing the sob rising in her throat.
âI look at you,â he said, softer now, almost venomously calm, âand I feel nothing. You used to be beautiful. Now? Youâre just Jongminâs tired-ass mom. A used-up, stretched-out mess. Tell me â what the hell would anyone want from you?â
The silence was crushing.
Even Jisung was stunned into stillness.
Y/N blinked. Once. Twice. Her chest rose with shallow breaths.
Then she turned.
She walked down the hallway, quietly.
In the bedroom, the walls still held the photos â of their honeymoon, Jongminâs first birthday, the maternity shoot. She stared at them for a moment. Then began packing. Slowly. Methodically.
She didnât rush.
Clothes. Jongminâs favorite toy. His blanket. Diapers. A photo of him laughing.
In the living room, Hyunjin was still yelling.
âYouâre not gonna take my son. You think youâre walking out of here and playing victim? After what you did to this marriage?â
She walked past him like he wasnât even there.
Jisung had Jongmin in his arms already, gently wrapped in a jacket. His gaze met hers. There was so much sadness in his eyes, but no questions.
âY/N,â Hyunjin shouted after her. âDonât you dare walk away from me.â
She paused at the door.
Turned to him.
And said, voice low and trembling:
âYou already walked away first.â
Then she stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her.
Dom/sub dynamics: Kuroo is confident and has a playful, teasing side, making him a good candidate for a dominant role in a kink-based scenario.
Teasing & Edgeplay: He likes to push peopleâs buttons and flirt, so scenarios involving controlled teasing could be fitting.
Hinata Shoyo
Pet play: Hinataâs energetic and sometimes naĂŻve personality could make him a cute sub or pet, especially in a scenario where heâs being playfully âtrained.â
Bondage: Hinataâs enthusiastic nature could make him someone whoâd enjoy being tied up and restrained, especially as a way of challenging his endurance.
Kageyama Tobio
Praise kink: Kageyamaâs usually reserved, but he craves recognition for his hard work. Praise during intimate moments would align with his personality.
Submissive role: Given how Kageyama is often dominant in volleyball, a submissive role could be a good contrast for him, allowing him to relinquish control.
Kenma Kozume
Praise kink: Kenmaâs shy, introverted nature makes him likely to enjoy praise and validation when he does something well.
Sensory play: Kenma is often quiet and observant, so he might enjoy exploring different sensory experiences, such as blindfolds, massage, or soft restraints.
Oikawa Toru
Voyeurism: Oikawa has a charismatic, attention-seeking personality, so he might enjoy scenarios where he is either watched or watching others.
Exhibitionism: He enjoys being admired and in the spotlight, making exhibitionism a fitting kink for him.
Iwaizumi Hajime
Bondage: Iwaizumiâs no-nonsense, serious side would pair well with a more dominant, controlling role.
Impact play: His strong-willed personality and protective nature make him a good candidate for a more rough kink like spanking or light impact play.
Ushijima Wakatoshi
Power dynamics: Ushijimaâs serious and commanding presence would make him naturally dominant in a kink scenario where power and control are central.
Praise kink: Given his direct and self-assured nature, he might also appreciate a partner who acknowledges his strength and prowess.
Miya Twins (Atsumu & Osamu)
Twin dynamic/Roleplay: The Miya twins are often shown to have a teasing, competitive nature. Roleplay involving the idea of switching or a dynamic where one is âtaught a lessonâ could be fun.
Pet play (Atsumu): Atsumuâs energetic and playful personality might make him suited to a sub role in pet play.
Dom/sub (Osamu): Osamuâs more laid-back, cool-headed nature could make him more likely to enjoy being dominant.
Tsukishima Kei
Verbal humiliation: Tsukishima has a sarcastic and snarky personality, so verbal humiliation could work for him as part of a consensual power play.
Bondage: Tsukishima might enjoy being restrained, as it plays into his more cynical and stoic nature, allowing him to let go of control.
Akaashi Keiji
Submissive role: Akaashiâs calm, composed personality would make him a good candidate for being a more restrained and submissive partner, especially in a controlled, slow-paced scenario.
Sensory deprivation: His often cool and collected nature might make him appreciate being deprived of certain senses, allowing him to focus more intensely on his partnerâs touch or voice.
Bokuto Koutaro
Praise kink: Bokutoâs enthusiastic and emotional personality means that he craves validation and encouragement. Praise during intimate moments could make him feel even more connected to his partner.
Exhibitionism: He enjoys attention and is always at the center of things, so a kink centered around showing off could work well for him.
Same way he always isâlate at night, after a long practice, smelling faintly of sweat and the bitter shampoo he uses at the gym. He doesnât knock anymore. Doesnât ask.
You always let him in.
Thatâs your first mistake.
He never kisses you when he arrives. He never really looks at you eitherânot like you wish he would. Just slips off his shoes, mutters something about being tired, and crawls under your blankets like they belong to him.
And, God, maybe they do.
Because you let him have all of it.
The warmth. The comfort. The pieces of your heart youâre too afraid to ask for back.
Oikawa TĆru owns them now. And he doesnât even know it.
Tonight, heâs especially quiet.
You can tell somethingâs wrong before he even speaks. His bodyâs too tense, his fingers tapping anxiously against the curve of your pillow.
âBad practice?â you whisper, daring to reach over and brush your thumb against his wrist.
He doesnât answer right away. Just stares up at your ceiling like itâs holding all the answers heâs never had.
âI wasnât good enough today,â he says at last, voice so low you almost miss it. âThey were faster. Taller. Cleaner. We practiced for hours and I stillâfuck, I still couldnât beat them.â
Your chest tightens.
Because hereâs the part where you remind him who he is. Where you say all the things he wonât believe about himself.
âYouâre doing your best,â you say softly. âYou always do.â
He closes his eyes. Turns his head into your pillow.
âYou donât get it,â he mutters.
And maybe heâs right. Maybe you donât. But you wish heâd let you try.
This is what most nights are like: him unraveling, and you gathering the threads.
No one sees this part of Oikawa.
Not the fans who scream his name.
Not the teammates who lean on him.
Not even Iwaizumi, who knows him better than anyone else.
Only you see the version of him who feels like heâs never enough.
And still, he never sees you.
You wish it didnât hurt every time he left in the morning.
Wish you didnât count the hours between his visits.
Wish your heart didnât beat so fast when he brushed against you like it meant something.
But it does.
To you.
The moment breaks when he sighs and rolls onto his side, face inches from yours in the dark.
âYouâre always here,â he murmurs.
Your heart stutters. âOf course I am.â
His eyes search yours, too intense. Too unreadable.
âWhy?â
You blink. âWhat?â
Heâs quiet a long time. Then, almost bitterly:
âI give you so little. And you still stay.â
The questionâs always been there, hasnât it?
But tonight, you donât dodge it.
Instead, you say:
âBecause I love you, TĆru.â
His breath catches.
And then, the silence falls like snow.
Soft. Cold. Unforgiving.
He doesnât move. Doesnât blink. Doesnât say a word.
You wait.
He says nothing.
So you try again. More broken this time.
âAm I enough for you?â
His mouth opens slightly.
Closes.
And thatâs all you need to know.
Your throat burns. Your fingers ache from holding onto hope too tightly for too long.
âI know you want her,â you say, the words tasting like rust. âThe girl from the music club. The one with the soft laugh. You think I donât notice the way you light up around her?â
He still doesnât speak. Still doesnât deny it.
God.
You should scream.
You should throw him out.
You should hate him.
But instead, you whisper:
âYouâre enough for me.â
Thatâs what breaks you.
Because heâs silent.
Still. Silent.
Not because he doesnât hear you.
But because he canât give you the answer you deserve.
You turn away.
Press your face into the pillow he always sleeps on.
The one that smells like him.
The one youâll wash tomorrow because you have to.
âI should stop doing this to myself,â you whisper.
Oikawa still doesnât speak.
Because he doesnât want to lie.
And he doesnât want to tell the truth either.
Heâs good at running.
And youâre too easy to run to.
When you wake up, heâs gone.
Not a note. Not a text. Not even a message from the boy who once said you made the world quieter.
But your pillowâs still warm.
Like he wants to haunt you without being there.
And maybe thatâs the most Oikawa TĆru thing of allâ
He watched the world with sharp, steady eyesâtook in more than he ever let on. People underestimated him, maybe because he didnât smile wide or crack jokes as fast. But you didnât. You never did.
You always saw him.
You, who cheered for Atsumu during every match, but somehow always found Osamuâs gaze in the crowd when you clapped. You, who brought extra food to lunch because âyou probably forgot to eat again,â and somehow never looked surprised when he actually had. You, who sat beside him during long study sessions and talked more than you shouldâve, but always paused to ask, âAre you bored yet, âSamu?â
He always shook his head.
Because how could he ever get bored of you?
But Osamu never told you that.
It wasnât because he didnât want to.
It was because it never felt like the right time.
Because you were always looking just past him.
At Atsumu.
Osamu had gotten used to people choosing his brother.
That wasnât new.
Atsumu was the bright one, the loud one, the one who made people laugh and pulled the room into his orbit like gravity. He didnât do it on purpose. That was just who he was.
And maybe, just maybe, that was who you wanted.
Osamu saw it in the way your eyes lingered on Atsumu during practice. The way you laughed too hard at his dumb jokes. The way you got flustered when Atsumu ruffled your hair or leaned too close or called you âcutieâ in that teasing tone.
You always brushed it off.
âHeâs just playing around,â you said once, eyes not meeting Osamuâs.
But Osamu saw the way your hands trembled when Atsumu texted you back after hours of silence.
He noticed everything.
And he said nothing.
Because saying something would make it real.
The day he almost told you was quiet. Gray skies, midterm stress, and the scent of spring rain heavy in the air.
You were sitting under the tree behind the gym, legs curled up under you, talking about something unimportantâsome drama with your club, or a teacher whoâd assigned too much homework. Osamu was only half-listening, but the sound of your voice had a way of sinking into him like warmth after winter.
You turned to him, suddenly serious.
âDo you ever feel like youâre just⊠waiting?â you asked. âLike lifeâs moving too fast and youâre not sure what youâre supposed to be doing?â
He blinked, startled, then nodded slowly. âYeah. All the time.â
You smiled, but it didnât reach your eyes. âMe too.â
He almost said it right then. I like you. Iâve liked you for months. Maybe longer. I know you look at my brother like heâs the sun, but I would never burn you. Iâd just stay beside youâquiet, steady, real.
But before he could speak, your phone buzzed.
Your face lit up like a streetlamp flickering to life.
Atsumu.
You ran off minutes later, claiming you forgot about something important.
Osamu stayed behind.
Staring at the space where youâd been.
He never told you after that.
Not when you started hanging out with Atsumu more.
Not when Atsumu started walking you home.
Not even when Osamu found the crumpled note in your lockerâhis brotherâs handwriting, his brotherâs charm.
He watched. He waited. He stayed quiet.
And you never noticed.
Weeks later, you showed up at the Miya household. Rain-soaked, cheeks red, holding a container of your homemade cookiesâOsamuâs favorite.
He opened the door, heart stuttering.
âCan I come in?â you asked, voice small. âI⊠wanted to say thank you. For always listening. For being there.â
He stepped aside wordlessly. Let you in. Sat beside you on the couch.
You looked at him like maybeâjust maybeâhe could be the one.
His hands trembled in his lap.
Then you smiled.
âYouâre such a good friend, Osamu. Iâm really lucky to have you.â
His heart cracked.
But he smiled anyway.
âYeah,â he said, voice steady. âIâm lucky too.â
You left an hour later, none the wiser.
And Osamu sat in the empty living room, staring at the rain against the window.
He never told you.
Not because he didnât love you.
But because he did.
And because some hearts are too quiet for the world to hear in time.
