cina 🌙

she/her | 2O | O4 line | kpop multi | nsfw :: BUSY :: REQUESTS OPEN ::

[cinnamon-won]

Welcome To My Neverland 🌙

Requests: open

Anon: on

︶ ︶   ּ    ★ ⌜마치 déjà vu⌟ ★   ︶ ︶

♡ᐟᐟ 𐙚 ✒️ ࿔ ﹫ Cina 𓈈 ꒰🎀 ◞ 20 ... ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

︶ ︶   ּ    ★ ⌜넌 마치 déjà vu⌟ ★   ︶ ︶

☾ .⭒˚ m.list | rules | ask ⋆.˚ ☽

❝say it, say it louder ❞

𝘣𝘺𝘦 𝘣𝘺𝘦 ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

[hoonkitti]

sugarglass ─ ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

sunghoon's little sister might not be so sugar and innocent, after all.

𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 and i just can't recall what started it all. or how to begin in the end. i ain't here to break it. just see how far it will bend. again and again, again and again. i wanna make it. i wanna make it wit' chu. If i told you that i knew about the sun and the moon, i'd be untrue. the only thing I know for sure; is what i wanna do. ─ make it wit chu, queens of the stone age ⫶ 𐔌masterlist꒱

⤷ ゛sugarglass 𝒐𝒏𝒆 here ˎˊ˗

𓆩♡𓆪 i can't believe the second part is finally done (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ this took soo long so i hope it's as equally good as the first part ‪‪❤︎‬ don't forget to comment and reblog! means more to me than you know.

word count 15.2k content advisory incest/step-cest, forbidden relationship, taboo, obsessive & possessive behaviour, manipulation & gaslighting (not by sunghoon), morally questionable behaviour, jealousy/emotional manipulation, emotional dependency & distress, reader is not a good person lol, final boss yearner park sunghoon smut advisory non-consensual voyeurism, creampie, cowgirl, clothed sex, finger-sucking, profanity, sex while someone else is sleeping (?), sneaky fucking, fingering, squirting

you are two years younger than sunghoon. 

when you were kids, that meant nothing really—he was the older brother who held your hand on trips, who took the scolding for you when you broke something precious that belonged to dad, who waited for you after school even if his’ ended an hour ago. 

you clung to him easily, and he always let you.

back then, love felt easy. safe. siblings. 

for sunghoon, 

you are also a lot shorter, softer, cuter, purer, and everything along the lines compared to him. he was more responsible in a sense, more logical, more composed. the type to finish his homework before dinner so he could rest for the night, to use a planner, to tell you off when you doodled on his textbooks.

so when you got older—somewhere around your second year of high school, when your skirts got a little shorter, and you started locking your bedroom door and being bratty to your own older brother—something in him… shifted.. 

he told himself he was just being protective. sunghoon told himself he was just losing the version of you when you were small. 

but when boys your age—or worse, older like him—started noticing you, whispering about you in the hallway, and grinning to themselves when you passed by in your pleated skirt, sunghoon noticed them. 

it became more than irritation, the sense of wanting to protect, and jealousy. 

sunghoon started thinking about things he shouldn’t. 

and by the time he realised it wasn’t just a phase—it was already too late. 

he sees you more than just his lovely baby sister. 

“hoonie, you’re not listening to me…” 

now in the quiet of his room, his bedside lamp casting soft yellow light across your face, you pout a little, nudging his knee with yours—except there’s no space between the two of you. you’re sitting on his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your legs bracket his, arms draped loosely around his neck. 

your voice pulls him back like a hook behind his ribs. 

sunghoon blinks once, like he’s being woken up from something. he feels your weight on him, your warmth, and you breath against his skin. he feels the way your fingers toy idly with the ends of his hair. it sends shivers down his spine.

he swallows hard, eyes flicking down to your lips before he can stop himself. 

“i am,” he murmurs, but it comes out weak, unbelievable.

you raise your brows, skeptical, tilting your head slightly. “really?” 

sunghoon nods, eyes low, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt you’re wearing. the one that obviously hangs loose on your, brushing the tops of your thighs, sleeves too long for your arms.

and you’re not wearing a bra either. 

you shift on his lap just slightly—subtle, but enough to rub your clothed cunt over his hard-on. his breath stutters, hands stilling where they rest against your sides. 

“then what did i just say?” you ask, voice soft barely above a whisper. your nails start dragging lightly at the nape of his neck, lazy little half–moons that make his throat bob when he swallows again.  

sunghoon’s gaze lift to meet yours. he doesn’t answer, but instead, his hand moves without thinking—tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a little too at your jaw. “okay, okay, sorry,” he smiles sheepishly, keeping his hands on your hips. “i spaced out.” 

you giggle softly—light and sweet, completely unaware of exactly what he’s thinking of. “you always do that when i’m talking about something really serious,” you tease, nose scrunching as you tap your finger against the tip of his nose. 

you’re never serious either, sunghoon wants to comment on that, but he didn’t. 

“what were you even thinking about?” 

you.

sunghoon’s gaze drops once again to your lips. he swallow, jaw tight. “doesn’t matter.” then slowly—almost as if he’s in a trance—he leans in, aiming to capture your mouth with his.

but you stop him. a hand flat against his chest, just enough pressure to halt him mid-motion. sunghoon’s breath hitches. he can definitely just force his way out, take what he wants—but you wouldn’t like that.

“no,” you murmur, brows lifting as you lean in close just enough to graze your lips against his. “tell me what you were thinking about.” he tries to glance away, but your palms stay firm, your legs still straddling him, holding him there. and fuck, he can feel the thin cotton of your panties pressed right up against his clothed cock. 

you’re warm, impossibly warm, and it’s unbearable now. he can’t move.

he doesn’t want to move.

his voice is strained when he finally says it, “yura,” 

you blink, slightly taken aback. “yura?” 

sunghoon nods, swallowing the lump in his throat, hard. “she’s been… weird,” he mutters, brows knitting. he’s not looking at you, just focused on his hands on your thighs, rubbing slow circles and inching the hem of your shirt higher with every pass. 

your smile falters, a faint crease tensioning between your brows.

yura? 

you almost let out a scoff—avoiding him?

she should be. after all, she saw you. she saw the two of you being obscene—not like sunghoon noticed but seriously? you’re sitting on his hard–on and he’s thinking about her? something not quite jealousy runs down your spine. cold and electric. 

something like… a threat.

you try not to let it be shown on your face as you lean in slightly, pressing your tits against his chest. your slightly perky nipples brush against his through the fabrics, and he stills beneath you. every nerve in his body just lit up. “why does that bother you?” 

sunghoon hesitates, his fingertips tapping idly against your bare thigh, then tracing lazy, silly shapes like he’s trying to distract himself—or you, or both. “well, we’ve been friends for a really long time… you know that too.” he tries to suppress his moanings at the friction.  

his voice is quieter now, and his hands move again—sliding a little further up. 

you scoff softly, tilting your head, feigning curiosity. “yeah, so what?” you hum, raising your eyebrows, eyes narrowing just slightly. “you like her or something?” 

that does it.

sunghoon tenses instantly. his grip on your thighs tightening for a split second before he looks at you, jaw clenched. his gaze snaps to yours—sharp, hurt, furious. “what? no,” he says quickly, shaking his head with his brows furrowed like he’s pissed—he is pissed. “don’t be ridiculous.” 

his voice is sharp and defensive, cutting too fast. it reeks of offense. of panic. because how could you—how dare he—suggest something like that?

he doesn’t like that it could fathom to you—that yura could even be a thought in your head when you’re sitting prettily here, on him, got him all wrapped around your little pinky like god didn’t write that he belongs to you in the stars. when he has always been yours—he orbited around you.

sunghoon hates that you looked at him like you doubted something. like he could be swayed when he has never thought of another woman besides you. like he could ever want anyone but you.

you don’t answer. just looking at him with your head tilted—eyes unreadable— that expression sunghoon can never quite decipher, the one that makes his heart race and his gut twist.

“you know you’re the only girl for me,” he mutters, swallowing the lump in his throat in fear that he’s made you upset. he hopes the words might soothe you—reassure you that lying to you would be the last thing he can ever do.

but then, you pull him closer. your arms loop around his neck, and your fingers start toying with the hair at his nape—light and teasing and teasing. your tits are squished flush against sunghoon’s broad chest, and when your back arches, your ass lifts slightly, shifting just enough to make his restraint scream. 

sunghoon’s fingers twitch where they rest on your thighs. he holds himself back from groping—it’s not the right time. not yet.

then you lean in, your voice a whisper in his ear—gentle, syrup–slick, but laced with venom “then don’t you ever think about her again,” 

before he can react, you crush your lips against his—teeth clashing painfully and full of possessive, irritated, claiming. the kiss feels more like a punishment than it is affection; but sunghoon’s not about to complain. whatever it is that you give, he takes it, gladly. he groans into your mouth, caught off guard but responding instantly like it’s muscle memory. like instinct. like he’s been waiting.

he kisses back just as hard, just as deep—all his frustration melting into hunger and all that defensiveness bleeding into the way he grips your hips like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely. you drag your hands into his hair and pull him harder, your fingers dig into the flesh on the back of his neck—hard, demanding—until he lets out a moan into your mouth. 

“mh,” sunghoon moans and nods against your lips, hands sliding lower—spreading across your back like he’s trying to mold you to him. his palms press firm, almost desperate, sliding beneath your shirt until his slender fingers splay across bare skin. he touches you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

his tongue brushes against yours, slick and eager and overlapping one another. the kiss turning messy—wet with need, mouths tangling and teasing as if neither of you know where one ends and the other begins. 

your thighs tighten around his hips, rolling and moving your lower body with pressure just enough to draw a low curse from his throat. you grind on his lap, positioning his clothed erection just between your pussy lips as you rub it back and forth. “fuck,” he groans, head falling forward slightly as his hips buck into you once, hard.

he’s slowly losing himself.

and you feel it.

“god,” sunghoon pants against your lips. “you drive me fucking crazy—fuck,” his breath stutters in his chest, caught somewhere between a moan and a whimper. you smile against his lips, smug and sweet, tilting your head to kiss him deeper—tongue licking into his mouth like it’s yours too. sunghoon’s sharp canines graze your bottom lip, tugging gently—not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a faint imprint. a subtle mark on you. 

he feels his cock throbbing and begging to be let out from underneath his briefs and he swears that if you get off—both of you could see the shameless wet stain from his precum staining his sweats. “yn,” he breathes out into your lips, so desperate. “i can’t—can’t hold it back anymore,” 

sunghoon’s hands reach and touch everywhere he can—gripping and digging his nails into your waist to keep you tethered, sliding under your shirt, holding you down, and pressing you tight on his hard bulge. his forehead presses to yours, eyes shut, breath stuttering. he’s so flushed and trembling, so achingly needy it radiates off him like heat. 

you can feel how badly he wants you.

your hands stay tangled in his hair, lips parted, body flush against his—but then you pull back from the kiss. 

sunghoon’s lips part like he’s chasing after you instinctively—his head leaning forward even after you’ve already pulled back—like he needs just one more taste. just one more second. his brows twitch together, confused, breathless—so painfully horny he can’t think straight. heart drops straight to the floor. 

“wh—what’s wrong?” 

you don’t answer him right away, but instead just look down at him, lashes lowered, mouth still wet from his. 

then, quiet, gentle, cruel—“i changed my mind,” you murmur softly. sunghoon freezes. “i don’t wanna do it tonight.” 

his eyes widen and his hands are quick to flex on your waist, desperate to draw you close to him again. “no, no—come on,” he whispers, chasing your mouth again, pressing up to recapture that high. “baby, please—”

but you lean away, putting your hands on his chest as a barrier—a space between the two of you. your gaze sharpens, lips curling into something that almost resembles a smile. 

sunghoon might be the academically smartest boy you know—but he’s a fucking idiot when it comes to things like this. 

“weren’t you just thinking about yura?” you hum sweetly, mock dripping down your voice like poison in every syllable. 

“what—?” his brows furrowed, panicked. “no. it’s not like that. baby—” 

“yes, you were,” your voice cuts colder this time, rolling your eyes and lightly pushing his chest away with ease. your older brother is always so weak and pliant at everything you do. it’s almost as if he has no effort to hide his eagerness. 

then as if nothing had happened, you slide off his lap—pulling down and smoothing the fabric of your shirt down with elegance he doesn’t deserve. 

“and now i’m not in the mood.” 

you watch it flicker—panic, real, and raw—in his eyes as sunghoon swallows the lump in his throat. his eyes widen and his lips part like he’s scrambling for the words—and say something, anything to get you to stay in his bedroom. “love, hear me out—” 

he lurches forward too fast, nearly tripping over his own sheets. everything about him is frantic, clumsy, losing you. it’s slipping through his fingers. his hand reaches for you, fingers brushing your wrist but you pull your arm away. just barely grazing your skin.

you sigh—cruel—feigning exasperation. you run your hand—the same arm sunghoon tries to reach for—through your hair. “you should’ve just kept your mouth shut, hoonie.” you click your tongue.

and then you leave him there—breathless, completely undone, cock hard, leaking, and painful—while you disappear down the hallway like it means complete shit to you. like he’s nothing.

sunghoon feels small as his bedroom door swings faintly—taunting in its gentleness. the desperation drags him down, stripping off all that cool, older-brother composure he used to wear so easily and proudly. 

you’ve completely ruined him.

utterly.

——

yura stands in front of your house, dumbfounded. hand clutching her phone tight like she doesn’t fucking know what she’s doing. she wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there—five minutes, maybe ten—like an idiot trying to decide whether to knock, or not.

you texted her earlier this morning—asking her if she’s free because you need some older–sister advice. the red heart emoji breaking apart next to your request feels like some kind of mocking joke. 

older–sister advice.

yura’s stomach twisted just thinking about it. you—you?—wanted her advice? after everything? after what she saw in that hallway that’s still imprinted in the back of her mind like a hot–cast iron brand? 

for goodness’ sake—yura had to avoid sunghoon since that night because everytime she looks at him, all she could imagine was him cumming in his own fucking little sister. all she could see was how taboo, and wrong, and obscene it was to have sex when you have each other’s blood flowing through your veins.

the more she thinks of it—the more she finds you, and sunghoon disgusting. you pulled her into this disgusting, spiraling secret that she never asked to carry. and now you called her over for… for older–sister advice.

yura exhales shakily, gaze flicking up to your front door again. she should leave. she should. there were a lot of moments where she decided to not leave—and look where it got her now. her legs nearly turn on impulse, back down the front steps, back to her car. 

but then—click. the door swings open.

and there you are.

in your towel—thin, terrycloth, the top barely secured as your hand presses against the knot at your chest, thumb brushing over it thoughtlessly. like any other person—her eyes fell on your cleavage poking out, as if inviting. 

your skin glows with the kind of softness and dewyness that only comes after a shower. hair dripping, collarbone slick, and that unbothered look in your eyes like you’re not guilty of being the reason yura’s been losing sleep all week.

“oh—” you blink, then smile. “you’re early.”

yura’s breath catches in her throat. not because you’re half–naked in front of her—god knows she’s seen worse, you've done worse. she’s seen you naked, seen your tits and your glistening pussy as you took sunghoon’s cock inside. this is nothing. 

she opens her mouth to say something—but her voice sticks.

say no. just say no. say something came up and you have to go. say this is fucking weird.

“come on in,” you say, stepping aside. the towel shifts a little, rides up your thigh, and she tears her gaze away fast enough to make her neck ache. against her better sense of judgement, she walks past you without a word. 

you hum, shutting the door behind her, feet padding softly across the floor. “give me five minutes, hm? you can wait in my room.”

yura doesn’t respond. she moves on muscle memory alone from the amount of times she’s been in this house since high school. climbing the stairs, passed by sunghoon’s room—like she didn’t hear the wet, indecent sounds of him fucking you echo down the hall while she stood there frozen with her nails biting into her palms. 

she sits on the edge of your bed. come to think of it, this is probably the first time yura have been in your room. it’s clean, as expected. your white vanity cluttered with glosses and hair clips and jewelries. you have shit tons of plushies on your bed and fancy clothes hanging in your wardrobe. on the chair, a dress is draped—something short, red. there’s a pair of earrings already picked out beside it.

you come in just moments later, toweling your hair dry now, wearing nothing but a cropped tank top and tiny shorts that cling to your still—damp skin. 

“so,” you grin, plopping down next to her. “can you guess what kind of advice i need?”  

yura doesn’t answer right away. she glances at you—then at the earrings catching sunlight on your desk. on the shimmer of perfume bottles lined like glass soldiers across your shelf. yura looks at the dress again—then back at you.

you wiggle your brows playfully, nudging her thigh with yours. “c’mon. i’ll give you a hint—he’s six feet, engineering major, and i think he wants to kiss me goodnight.” 

she almost, almost frowns. almost lets it show. but she bites down on it, lips pressing into a flat line as she exhales through her nose. “engineering major,” she echoes, voice natural. you nod eagerly. “smart, right? he’s sweet, so far. so attentive, so handsome,” you’re talking fast now, bubbly and casual like you’re telling her your latest favourite show. “and i love that he talks to me so softly.” 

sweet. attentive. handsome. talks softly.

aren’t those the same thing sunghoon does—to you? 

sunghoon talks about you like you put the stars in the sky. he looks at you like he’s your stupid fucking satellite. he’s a soft-spoken boy to begin with—the kind who speaks with his eyes before his mouth. and when it’s you, he softens even more. 

she’s watched it happen. watched him get up to lower the aircond just because you said you were cold.  attentive? sunghoon remembers your exam schedules before you know it yourself. to top it off, he has that face too beautiful for someone so unaware of it.

he gave all that to you, and you—

what the hell is she even doing here? 

yura’s jaw tightens before she can stop it. she forces her gaze down to her lap, fingers threading together a little too tight. if she looks at you—she might snap. and she doesn’t feel like arguing with a girl younger than her right now. you said you needed advice. you called her a sister. and now you're rinsing sunghoon off your skin to look good for another man?

she wonders how you do it—how you can sit there talking about a man whose attributes are similar to your own older brother. how you can sit there, talk about another man, while fucking another man who yura knows that you know she likes. 

she doesn’t know what’s worse—your obliviousness or your cruelty. 

a bitter taste creeps up her throat. she should’ve walked away. should’ve left the moment she arrived. 

“it’s cute,” yura finally says. “the red dress. it looks nice.” 

you hum, picking up the off–shoulder dress off the chair. “you think so?” you turn to face the full–length mirror before you, eyes catching yura’s in the reflection. “i don’t want him to think i’m like, trying to fuck him or something. like i’m easy.”

yura swallows a sharp laugh. right, she thinks bitterly. because you only save that for your brother, huh?

she presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth and nods once, just enough to pass as polite agreement. “you don’t look like that at all,” she lies smoothly through her teeth. “it’s… playful. hard for a girl like you to look bad.”

you beam, eyes twinkling like that compliment actually means something to you. you’re twirling the dress a little in your hands now, clearly pleased. and yura almost hates you for that. how are you swinging between sin and sweetness without a scratch? 

you say you don’t want to look easy, but yura’s seen you undone. 

you turn to her with that same infuriating smile. “so… i don’t look like i’m trying too hard, right? not a slut?”

“you look like someone who knows exactly what she’s doing,” she says flatly.

the words hung there between you—light in the air, but heavy in the meaning. you only smile, tilting your head slightly at the way her voice sharpens at the end. you can feel the warning woven underneath it.

ah, so that’s how it is.

you take a slow step toward her. yura stiffens where she sits on the edge of your bed, and when you stop just in front of her—standing almost between her legs—you lower your gaze to meet hers. 

“you should go on a date too,” you murmur, tone syrup–sweet. your fingers graze her chin—not quite touching, just ghosting over the skin like mere contact is enough. “you’d look good with someone on your arm.”

pause.

“someone like… my brother, maybe?”

the slight smirk you wear is damn near cruel.

yura’s breath catches in her throat. she can’t look at you—she can’t bring herself to look away. 

you take a step back before she can say anything, facing the mirror now as you hook your fingers underneath your tank top to pull it off—so you can put on your date night dress. humming softly, you toss it on the floor. 

“just a thought,” you add lightly. sugarcoating. “sunghoon’s sweet, right? attentive. handsome. talks softly…” you catch her expression in the mirror—a flicker of hurt, fury, something she’s too proud to name. yura’s not looking at you, but it’s better that way. 

she’s looked and seen enough. too much.

“you’d look good with him.”

yura probably thought she got you with ‘you look like someone who knows exactly what she’s doing’ comment.

but unfortunately, you win again.

——

the date was horrible. 

soobin isn’t as charming as you thought he is. he's cute, undeniably—tall, neat, dimpled, the kind of guy you don’t have to say that he’s better in real life. but that’s just it… he knows he’s attractive and that turns you off badly.

 he brags a lot—about his internship at a fancy firm, about the professor who called him brilliant, about his ex–girlfriend who apparently still texts him late at night. and he’s not only telling you these things—he performs them like he’s waiting for applause.

you only stir your drink, nodding politely, smiling in all the right places. when deep down—you can’t help but scoff. sunghoon never had to talk himself up. he never had to try to impress anyone with titles or names or achievements. 

he just was—thoughtful in his own way. 

you flinched at soobin’s fingertips grazing your knee under the table. sunghoon would never— he touches you reverently. 

either way, you already know there’s not going to be a second date. 

the sky is darker now—not pitch black but the streetlights start to hum to life, one by one, lighting up the roadside. the hem of your dress sticks to the back of your thighs, and your heels click sharp against the pavement. 

you don’t feel so pretty anymore.

and maybe that’s what makes your thoughts drift the way they do. 

it started almost right after high–school graduation. entering young adulthood felt like it was a new beginning for you—freedom, adulthood, identity. a season of firsts. your friends were experimenting, talking about trying things. kissing strangers, partying, sneaking out, discovering what they liked. they shed childhood like a second skin.

you wanted that too—but being the youngest, the only daughter with an older brother didn’t allow you that much of a privilege. 

to say, sunghoon was—is—too protective. the kind of older brother who wanted to pick you up from hangouts, vet your friends, know your passwords “just in case”. he hovered in doorways as he waited for you to pack up, listened in on phone calls, made your male friends uncomfortable with a glance. 

you hated it but you also loved it.

which was why you went to him first. 

you remember that night too well. too vivid. you and sunghoon were both home for the summer. parents were out having their own summer at their friends’ beachside vacation home and they left just one instruction: don’t throw a party. 

you didn’t—but you still did the one thing you weren’t supposed to. and probably the only other thing your parents had already expected the two of you not to do.

or any parents, really.

it started slow. 

“what does soju taste like?” you asked, lazily twirling the remote between your fingers. the glow of the television playing a melodrama flickered across the room, casting colours of shadows along the floor where you sat cross–legged on the couch. 

sunghoon, who was on the floor with one leg stretched out, didn't look away from the screen. “gross,” he replied flatly. “you won’t like it.” 

you huffed, bottom lip stuck out slightly at his response. “you always say that about everything i want to try.” that earned a chuckle out of sunghoon as he glanced at you briefly before looking back at his phone. “that’s because you get so annoying when you actually don’t like something.” he said, but there wasn’t any bite to it.

rolling your eyes, you grabbed a cushion next to you and swung it at his shoulder. he dodged it with ease, laughing under his breath. “whoops, missed,” he said smugly, still glued to his phone. 

you made a noise of protest, dropping the cushion onto the floor beside him. when he didn’t move, you shifted, drawing one knee up. 

come to think of it—the dynamic that you have with sunghoon is a lot different than how your friends have it with their siblings. they’re always talking about how annoying their brothers, or sisters are. loud, messy, immature. how they steal clothes and hog the bathroom for hours or pick fights just so the blame could be on the younger sibling.

but… your older brother’s not like that.

he’s always neat and he never yells at you. he listens when you talk, even when it’s dumb things like the plot of a drama you’re watching, or gossips about your friends. he drives you to school when it’s too hot, and asks jake or heeseung to pass you an umbrella when he’s not able to skip classes. 

sometimes you wonder if your friends just don’t get along with theirs the way you do with yours. or maybe—maybe they don’t talk about the parts they do like. too embarrassed to admit, you assume. 

or mayhaps… you and sunghoon really are just different.

“...you really want to know?” he asked after a beat, voice lower now. you blinked down at him, eyebrows raised. ”what?” sunghoon tilted his head back until it rested on your thigh, eyes flicking up to meet yours. his front hair lifted off his forehead and you froze at the sight. 

“what soju tastes like,” he clarified, lips quirking a little playfully. “you sure?” 

huh, this is new, you thought. sunghoon would kill you if you ever tried alcohol without his permission. 

you didn’t answer right away, fingers instinctively curled slightly into his locks. “... yeah,” you said, trying to sound unbothered and confident. “sure. i mean, why not?” sunghoon didn’t move for a second—just watched you like he’s trying to read something in your face. then, he pulled away, standing up without a word and disappearing into the kitchen.

you exhaled, not realising you’d been holding your breath. you heard the fridge open, the clink of glass. when he returned, he was holding a bottle—full and clear. 

jinro peach soju. cold from the fridge, still beading with condensation.

“don’t tell mom,” he said, settling back down onto the floor, his back against the couch again. he patted the space beside him, glancing up at you, “c’mon here,” you didn’t hesitate a second longer before sliding off the couch and sat next to him. 

sunghoon cracked the bottle open with a small click, pouring the pale liquid into a small glass—only halfway. in sunghoon’s mind, you were still his baby sister just entering middle school, albeit he knew better now. “just a sip,” he warned, passing it to you. “if you throw up, it’ll be hard for me to clean up.” 

you rolled your eyes but nodded anyway—took the cup in your hands with a sheepish smile. the glass felt cold and wet in your hands. “smells nice,” you murmured, lifting the glass to your nose. it didn’t. not really, but you said it anyway.

your older brother watched as you tipped the glass back. oh—it was sweeter than expected, you thought. almost like a syrup. it burned a little on the way down with that artificial peach sweetness—cloying and sticky at the back of your throat. you coughed slightly, nose scrunching.

sunghoon chuckled at your expression, resting his chin atop of palm on the coffee table. “i told you.” you nudged him with your shoulder, and he nudged back. somewhere in that exchange, your thigh pressed to his. he didn’t move. 

you took another sip—bigger this time. “it’s not that bad,” you hummed, smacking your lips and pressing your tongue against the roof. “i think i can have more.” 

that elicited a frown out of sunghoon as he reached over, hand curling around the bottle just as you were about to pour yourself another. “no, that’s enough,” he said quietly. not stern—just… cautious. you blinked at him, “why?”

he glanced at you, shaking his head. “you’re already warm and red in the face,” he replied. “i can tell.” he studied you, pulling the bottle away. “besides, you never drink. don’t think that’s a good idea tonight.” 

“i know,” you murmured, shifting on your seat. “that’s kind of the point.”

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. you’re sitting closer than you were just five minutes ago, and your knee’s brushing his again—except now, he noticed. and you were looking at him with that face. not the pouty one you use when you want something—but the one where your lips tight like you’re deciding if it’s really okay to ask, or not.

“i need to feel… a little loose,” you said, almost too honestly. “if i’m going to do this.”

his throat bobbed. “do what?”

you glanced at his hand on the table, his bare thighs from the shorts he wore, and his shoulders before dragging your gaze back up. “do you really want to know?” 

sunghoon stilled. you said it so softly he couldn’t even pretend you didn’t say it at all. couldn’t brush it off, couldn’t blame it on the soju or the heat. you looked at him from underneath your lashes, eyes open and certain. 

“i want to kiss you.”

his breath hitched in his throat. he didn’t move.

“i know i shouldn’t,” you added quickly, as if that would cushion the fall. “but you take care of me so nicely that i couldn’t imagine it with anyone else.” you swallowed, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. “i just want to know what it feels like.”

the air between you thickened and momentarily, sunghoon didn’t say anything. he just looked at you, mouth slightly apart like he didn’t know how to react to that. and you thought—fuck, fuck, fuck, you probably ruined everything. 

but only for a moment.

you might be young, but you’re not stupid. 

you shifted slighty—just enough so your bare knee nudged his. his body tensed and when he didn’t pull away, you tilted your head. “...say something,” you whispered. you watched as his throat bobbed.

“you can tell me no,” you sugarcoated, soft as a sigh, but cunning in your tone—because you knew he wouldn’t. not when you were this close with your gaze dropped to his lips like that. he couldn’t. “but if you don’t say anything soon, i’m going to think you want it too.” 

then finally, sunghoon drew in a shaky breath. 

“and if you say no… i might have to feel it with someone else instead.”

his fingers curled slightly against the floor and you waited—watched every twitch in his jaw, every flicker of hesitation in his eyes. the silence stretched, heavy between your bodies. you had already said what you needed to—sunghoon just had to follow. 

there was… no way, not in this life, not in the next ones—that sunghoon would ever allow another male to touch you, to even look at you the way sunghoon looked at you. fuck no. even the mere thought of you being so close to another guy irked him—made his stomach churned in jealousy.

“you don’t know what you’re asking for,” sunghoon finally murmured, but his voice was like he was trying to convince himself. and that did it—he surged forward just a breath, just a twitch closer—you didn’t meet him halfway.

you stayed where you were.

you waited—because this had to be his decision.

 even if it wasn’t. 

so that if anything, it’d be on him.

if he falls too deep, it’d be his fault.

your older brother’s mouth crashed into yours like he was trying to smother the sin in it—his lips were warm, tasting faintly of the tea he had before, and the exhale he let out the moment your mouth touched burned hot against your cheek. it was clumsy at first—more finally than finesse, all teeth and breath and the kind of lust and hunger that should never live between siblings.  

“mh,” you whimpered—or gasped—softly, as his hand cupped your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek, and you tilted your head to deepen it, letting your tongue brush against his lower lip. he swallowed the peach soju taste in your saliva. 

sunghoon groaned low in his throat, dragging you closer with his other hand on your waist until your chest was pressed to his, the sharp lines of his collarbones nudging against your shoulder as he kissed you like he’d been holding back for so long. and sunghoon probably had.

his hand slid from your waist to your lower back, fingers splayed. your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, tugging it weakly like you needed to feel him give him under your touch. your brother’s sharp teeth grazed your bottom lip, tongue chasing after yours. “yn,” he whispered into the kiss, tugging onto your lip.

stop talking, just kiss me—you wanted to say, but when you peeked, sunghoon looked wrecked. 

eyes half–lidded, lips parted, chest rising a little too quickly for someone who was supposed to be the older one here. your thighs squeezed together instinctively. “hoonie,” you said, softer this time. that got his attention. his gaze flickered to you, then down to your lips again. 

“...don’t think too much about it.” you leaned in again, letting the tip of your tongue wet your lips deliberately before it found his once more. 

this kiss wasn’t clumsy. this one was molten. your hands threaded into his hair, nails grazing lightly at his scalp until he groaned into your mouth. sunghoon kissed back as he pulled you on his lap, gripping at your hips.

his tongue slid against yours, messy at first, then hungry—like he’d been starved of sweetness, and you were the only thing left. your name slipped past his lips between kisses. breathy, needy, and it only made you kiss him harder.

from a kiss in the living room—turned to you lying on sunghoon’s bed in his bedroom. 

you couldn’t quite remember how you got here. his bedroom was darker than the rest of the house with the only light coming from the half–closed door and the moon outside his window. illuminating only the act on the bed. the door was still ajar—but neither of you cared. 

your parents were out. who was there to catch? 

“yn,” sunghoon hovered over you now, kneeling between your thighs, shirt hanging half–off his shoulders like he’d forgotten how to wear it properly. “i’m not going to stop.” he said again, voice hoarse. you reached up, cupping his jaw, running your thumb along the soft edge of his lower lip. 

“i don’t want you to.” you hummed.

he exhaled, shaky and uncertain. you sat up slightly, using your other arm as support behind you. brushing your lips against his again, so featherlight it was barely a kiss. “unless you don’t want me,” you whispered, baiting him. 

“you can stop.”

his hands grabbed your waist and pulled you down before you could even blink.

“don’t say things like that.” 

then sunghoon’s mouth was on yours again—hot and almost furious. he’d been waiting for this and you didn’t even know it. his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt like it had a mind and need of its own. “you don’t know how long i’ve yearned for this,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours. 

“how long i’ve wanted you.”

slowly, you felt sunghoon’s hand went down beneath your shorts, slipping past the waistband—

and the rest? was history.

your older brother devoured you whole—like he’d been starving. he was gentle—at first. careful like you were something sacred. after all, you were a virgin, and sunghoon would kill himself if he ever hurt you in any way. but as time passed that night, need and pure lust clawed at the edges of his restraint, and when you breathed out his name—all soft and needy, calling out his name—something inside him cracked.

thrusts and rammings turned frantic. he mouthed at your neck, down your chest, tugging at your perky nipples until they were red and twitching, licking your belly button and the inside of it, munching and salivating on your tight cunt like he could die happy ravishing you. 

sunghoon took your for a ride throughout the whole, fucking night. from one position to another—one second you were on your back on his bed, then he turned you around like a doll so that you were on your all fours, and the sound he made when you arched into his was a downright animal. 

sunghoon fucked you on all furnitures—on the dresser, on the floor, against the door, the wall, the window—lifted you up in his arms, carried you—you named it. sunghoon went feral that night.

slow when he wanted to hear you beg, fast when he couldn’t take it anymore. 

you didn’t know what was it that made sunghoon so confident that the neighbours wouldn’t hear the bed creaking and the walls slamming and the moanings and screamings but neither of you fucking cared. 

too busy claiming with every thrust of sunghoon’s cock against your cervix, every breath against your lips, every graze of his canines on your skin like a reminder—this happened. 

“just one more,” he rasped, hands tightened around your ankles as he lifted them. you lost count of how many times he made you cum—he came—you squirted that night. how many times he kept saying it’s wrong, but his tempo only picked up. how many times he said, “mine,” until it became the only word you could remember. 

even now—you were on top of sunghoon, breathless, hips shaking in his lap with his hot cum still spurting inside you; contracting your walls. it was probably his youth—that’s why sunghoon had so much to give, and so much energy to lose, you thought. he panted heavily as he filled you up with his load again, almost whining as he felt his own seed leaked. 

sunghoon held both of your wrists behind your back like a leash, one hand gripping your right, the other your left—pinning them there as you squirmed on his cock, bare thighs caging his hips. the position forced your chest to arch forward, pretty nipples perking, lips parting with a gasp as every little shift made you sink down harder on him. with each thrust, his love milk leaked out, along with the previous ones.

“fuck,” he muttered, eyes as hungry as ever. sunghoon’s cock twitched at the sight of your fucked expression—hair sticking onto your glistening sweaty skin, full of his love bites scattered across your body like canvas. your wanton expression only ignited him with renewed vigor. 

he didn’t let you move—you tried to roll your hips once, but his grip on your wrists tightened. 

“one more, love,” he promised for the nth time that night. “you can give me just one more, right?” 

the two of you fucked like rabbits in heat, over and over until dawn bled into the corners of the sky.

and just like that, the sacred line drawn by blood and family—siblings—between you and sunghoon smudged—warped—until it didn’t exist at all.

looking back at it, you wondered if that night was when everything truly changed. it was for you, at least. but for sunghoon? you can only imagine how long he’d been hiding that fucked up, sick thoughts of his. 

maybe it wasn’t the start for him at all. maybe it was the culmination. 

you wonder if he likes it—the relationship that he now has with you.

or maybe he regrets it. wishes to have back that innocent, spoiled baby sister. you bet he wishes he could go back before everything shifted—before you became someone he could never look at the same again.

you rubbed your thigh together on the way home. 

——

sunghoon is a mess. 

worse than the assignments piling up on his desk. worse than the way his jaw aches from grinding his teeth through another night of tossing. he went back to his and jake’s apartment shortly after the incident—afraid that you might only get annoyed looking at his face every morning in the kitchen. 

yura’s been ignoring him like a plague since his 23rd birthday party, she didn’t show up to class the morning after, and didn't hang out with him anymore. didn’t even send a text explaining what’s wrong or anything. she’s seen his messages, though—but left him on read.

and the cherry on top—you haven’t been replying to his personal texts—not even a single one. not the one he sent apologising. not the one three days ago asking if you were free for dinner. not even the one he sent at 2 a.m. just saying your name.

but he sees you.

so damn active in the family group chat, sending update selfies—went bouldering! tennis sunday! pup in a box :(—sunghoon doesn’t give a fuck about pups or tennis balls. he’s so frustrated it’s driving him up the fucking wall.

the clock almost hits 3 a.m. and sunghoon can’t sleep again. his bedsheets are crumpled, his shirt damp with cold sweat from the way his mind’s been running wild all night. his phone lights up for the third time this hour—heeseung with his fucking reels. 

god it made his chest hurt so bad. 

sunghoon throws his phone face down and drags a hand down his face, jaw aching from the tension. he hasn’t been eating properly. sleeping’s been hell—and he can’t even bring himself to jerk off because it makes him feel like shit. 

he sits up, elbows on his knees as he stares into the dark like it might magically open up a portal and you’d be there.

what are we even doing?

you’re not a little girl anymore. you have a future laid ahead of you—you know what you want. sunghoon kept telling himself that. repeats it like gospel that this is fine. siblings by blood, that’s all. but every night he ends up like this: sick with himself, hollowed out and bitter.

and if this is love as he claims it to be, why does it feel so fucking ugly?

he loves you so much it makes him… sick. everything that revolves in your life makes him burn. not in that cute, jealous way but the kind that eats him. churns in his stomach like acid. 

sunghoon’s actually… not proud of it. of what he’s become.

a sister fucker.

he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, hard, like he wants to gouge out the shame out of it. then, he hits the top of his head repeatedly with his palm as if it can un-remember all the things he’s done in the name of love. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck, park sunghoon, you fucking—” he murmurs, gripping his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. his knuckles tremble where they clutch, pale from pressure. he hates himself so much. 

he hates this version of him. who obsesses.

what the fuck is wrong with him?

shame crawls under his skin like mites, guilt knotted in his gut. sunghoon thinks he might be going insane if this goes on. no more—he tells himself. no more brushing his fingertips over your toothbrush. no more holding onto the scent of you on his hoodie or pillowcase. no more ruining you—as much as he has ruined himself. this is wrong. this is wrong. 

this is wrong. siblings shouldn’t… siblings shouldn’t be doing this. it’s wrong, as much as sunghoon hates to admit it. moreover, just how far can a taboo relationship like theirs withstand? 

it’s not morally right, it’s not socially accepted, not sustainable. 

sunghoon drags his palm down his face, nails scraping against his skin like they could peel the shame off with his skin. his heart pounds ugly and loud, full of all rotten, disgusting secrets. “it’s wrong,” he whispers into the dark, as if saying it out loud might make it real this time.  

it’s not too late to stop, sunghoon thinks. 

you probably would prefer that too. it’s not too late to salvage you from this. still good, still pure. 

yeah. he’ll come and drop by for dinner this weekend.

he can fix this.

——

yura doesn’t excpet to see sunghoon on a saturday evening. 

“did i mess up?” he had said, a plastic bag hanging limply from one hand like a peace offering. his eyes were kind of puffy from deprivation of sleep and running thoughts and he looked almost wrecked. exhausted.

yura leans against the doorway, her arms crossed. she almost feel pity for him. she knows what she did wasn’t justified because technically—it wasn’t entirely sunghoon’s fault. why is she even ignoring him in the first place? 

“haven’t you been sleeping?” she asked, still not letting him in fully. she feels childish… but also good. it’s nice seeing sunghoon going out of his way to apologise something he didn’t know he did wrong. 

“no, not really. it didn’t feel right just hanging out with jake without you too.”  

that is so sunghoon—dropping something honest and disarming like casual. yura rolls her eyes but can’t contain the smile forming on her face. yeah. maybe it os time to make up anyway. she doesn’t know how long she can put up not talking to her two friends. “i miss you too.” she steps aside, and sunghoon takes that as permission to enter. 

“i bought your overpriced scam fruits,” he mumble, setting the plastic bag on the counter as he takes off his bag. “and lemon soju.”

yura scoffs as she pulls out a container of sliced mango from the fridge and reaches into the cabinet for shot glasses. “you’re so dramatic,” she mutters, holding the two cups and container under her armpit. 

“yeah, but it’s what you like.” he says with a shrug, slumping into the stool like all the weight on his spine has finally caught up to him, he tosses his head back against the backrest. 

wow, park sunghoon is so fucking oblivious, huh. how could he say things like that—so easily, so casually—like they meant nothing at all? they probably don’t to him but did he even think before he spoke?

yura has to bite down the bottom of her lip and remind herself that sunghoon fucked his own little sister. 

park sunghoon doesn’t have self-awareness in that sense, and he probably doesn’t even realise that handing her her favourite, expensive fruit and soju combo in her apartment could easily pass as flirting. or that every tiny gesture he did—remembering her preferences, offhanded concern, and protecting her from perverts—are exactly the kind of shit girls wrote essays about in their notes. 

slowly, he opens his eyes to see her setting the cups down on her coffee table. “we’re drinking now? wait—” he straightens his back, sobering up from the daze and one lifts the burden off his shoulders. “i actually came here to ask if you’d wanna come over for dinner at my parents’ place.”

yura raises a brown, kneeling on the floor. “what, like… tonight?”

he nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah. i—i haven’t been back in a while so i thought i’d drop by. you know how my mom is—she’s been asking about you and jake, but jake’s got a blind date tonight.” yura almost scoffs—”jake? this is like… his third blind date this month.”

sunghoon smiles, rolling his eyes playfully. “let’s just pray he bags this one,” he hums. “so… are you okay with that?” yura stares at him for a moment longer. dinner over at his parents’ house meant… you would be there too. 

and the last time yura saw you, she couldn’t say it ended… good. in fact, it ended with her zipping up the back of your dress, and couldn't even bring herself to laugh when you asked if your body looked okay in it. she’d swatted your hands away from the mirror and adjusted your straps herself—told you you looked pretty, but wasn’t entirely sure if she’d meant it genuinely.

“yura?”

she blinks back to the present. “... sure,” she says finally with a soft chuckle. “why not? it’s been a while since i had a nice home–cooked dinner.” sunghoon visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping a little. “great. mom’s making japchae and dad’s making his soybean stew,” he smiles, getting up. “let’s go at six.”

——

it’s sunghoon’s—and your—mother who opens the front door, the familiar scent of grilled meat, sesame oil, and sandalwood candle scent wafting into the humid evening air. the porch light flickers slightly above, casting a soft gold onto the tiled entryway. 

“sunghoon,” his mother sighs, drawing him into a firm hug before she even registers who’s beside him. “i missed you!” she exclaims, voice muffled against his sweater. sunghoon chuckles and hugs her back. “i just came home like three weeks ago.”

his eyes flick past her and into the house, seeing his father in the kitchen—already searching for you. it’s then that she notices yura, standing a step behind him. “oh! yura, dear! you’re here!” she beams, her smile a touch lighter now. “it’s been a while.”

yura offers a small bow, clutching the dessert box she brought. “thank you for having me, auntie.” his mother rubs yura’s forearm affectionately, the way she always did to both sunghoon’s and your friends. “aish, you’re always so busy to come by. your mom said you’ve been busy with exams?”

yura nods, murmuring something polite—and that she’s ending the semester soon anyway. but sunghoon cuts in. “where’s yn?” he asks, slipping off his sneakers and placing them on the rack. yura says nothing, but her eyes slide over to sunghoon. he doesn’t notice it. 

his mother tilts her head slightly, she jerks her thumb toward the stairs, wiping her hands on her apron. “she went upstairs when she heard you were coming back,” she says almost offhandedly. “did something happen between you two? did you guys fight?”

sunghoon stiffens. “uh… no,” he says, a beat too fast. “nothing like that.” 

his mother hums, unconvinced but doesn’t press. “mm, okay then,” she turns around and starts making her way back to the kitchen. “go wash your hands and settle in. i’ll call when everything’s ready.” 

sunghoon sighs as yura shifts beside and slips past him inside, fingers tightening slightly on the dessert box. “should i… put this in the fridge?” she offers quietly, as if trying not to disturb whatever was settling heavily between him and the stairs. “yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

the two of them go to the kitchen and sunghoon greets his father in the wet kitchen. his dad is at the counter, wiping down the plates. “oh—sunghoon, you’re early.” his father hums, smiling. 

sunghoon just shrugs and goes to stack the plates to bring to the table later. “nothing to do today. thought i just came earlier. b’sides, i miss you guys.” he replies, unintentionally letting out a sigh. 

his father cocks an eyebrow before returning his attention back to the plates. “really? yn said the same thing too nowadays. she just stays at home, yet she keeps on coming to your mom and i saying how much she appreciates us,” the older man shakes his head and chuckles softly. 

“makes me think that something’s wrong with my two kids.”

sunghoon’s breath hitches—

there is something wrong with your kids, and you’ll kill yourself if you know that, sunghoon thinks, swallowing the lump in his throat. if his father knew… if he knew that his only son and daughter—if he knew that the family tree won’t grow branches anymore, only roots twisting into each other..

sunghoon’s fingers tighten. 

“... what are you saying, dad…” sunghoon lets out a dry chuckle. “we always love and appreciate you guys.” he smiles, hoping it’s enough for his father to take the bait. he does—accepting it the way he accepts everything easily. 

“anyway,” the older man glances over, eyebrows raised just enough. “yn’s been a little off, lately. we thought she’s stressed out about the upcoming university’s result, but that wasn’t it. when your mom mentioned you’ll be coming home, she hasn’t come down ever since.”

sunghoon forces a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “she’s just in one of her moods… you know how she gets.”

his father hums, clearly unconvinced, but doesn’t push. “whatever it is, make sure you fix it, alright? she’s your little sister. once your mom and i are no longer here, she’ll be under your responsibility.”

the words land like stones in sunghoon’s stomach. 

“i’ll go talk to her,” sunghoon mutters, adam’s apple bobbing. 

his father nods. “alright. tell her to come down for dinner too.”

sunghoon shouldn’t feel this nervous walking up the stairs of his own house, but his palms are sweating. every step feels like it creaks too loud—a reminder of the last time he was here. the hallway feels narrower than it ever has—your door is ajar, exactly two fingers wide.

he stops outside it, palms slick as he wipes them down on his jeans and hates how loud the friction sounds.

slowly, sunghoon pushes the door open. 

the door creaks open, and there you are. perched on the foot of your bed, back straight, ankles crossed, phone face–down on your thigh. you look… normal. hair loosely tied, wearing a soft cotton top, shorts—unchanged in all the ways that drive sunghoon mad.

“oh,” you say simply when you see him. “you didn’t knock?”

your older brother’s slightly taken aback, swallowing the lump in his throat. “sorry,” he murmurs, voice embarrassingly tight. “uh—dinner’s ready. dad wants us all downstairs.”

you nod, eyes back on your phone. “okay. i’ll come later.”

silence spreads like smoke. he should probably leave—you seem… fine—but he’s not. sunghoon lingers there by your doorway, fingers curl against his thigh. 

you don’t move either. 

finally, sunghoon exhales shakily. “i—i’m sorry.”

your brows lift a little. “hm? for what?” 

he swallows, throat clicking. his eyes drop to your carpeted floor, shame curling around his ankles like a shadow. “for everything, yn. i’m—” his voice fractures and he clicks his head sideways. “i’m not a good brother. i haven’t been for a long time. and i know you hate me right now, and you should. so i’ll stop. i shouldn’t have—”

“sunghoon.”

you cut him off cleanly.

you’ve never called him that. you never call him by his name.

your expression doesn’t soften, but it doesn’t harden either. it’s neutral. too neutral—like it’s nothing for you yet it’s everything for him. you’re detached in a way that makes his stomach twist. 

do you not care anymore?

have you stopped caring?

“this isn’t the time,” you say gently, getting up from the bed. “let’s talk about it later.”

he opens his mouth to protest, to beg you not to leave him hanging like this again—to give him a chance to tell you what he’s been feeling while you were ignoring him these past few weeks—but you’re already stepping out, brushing past him with nothing else to say.

and you walk downstairs first while he stays frozen a moment longer, fingers trembling at his sides, heart hammering in his throat.

—

if you knew that yura would be here, you would’ve left the house since morning. stayed out. had dinner somewhere else, anywhere else.

anywhere that didn’t have her sitting at your family’s table like she belonged there.

you don’t say it, but you glance at sunghoon who sits across your mother—slowly exhaling. what the fuck… was he thinking? did he invite yura as petty revenge?

is this his way of punishing you for the weeks you went cold on him—for the texts you ignored, the nights he waited, the attention you handed to everyone except him?

the thought needles under your skin, sharp and irritating. sunghoon isn’t stupid. he knows what he’s doing. he knows exactly how tangled things are between the two of you with the root cause being yura. 

after suddenly apologising and telling you he’ll stop—he pulls this shit up?

your gaze flickers to yura in front of you, hands folded neatly on her lap, pretending she’s not hyperaware of your presence. pretending she’s comfortable. pretending she’s not buzzing in excitement inside getting to sit beside sunghoon.

your jaw clenches, eyebrows twitch in annoyance. 

god, she’s so transparent it’s embarrassing. 

you don’t look at your older brother, but you feel him glancing again—quick, sharp, nervous. and you turn your face away, letting the message register: don’t. 

the table is quiet for a while. your mother talks about some new activity she wants to try; your father mentions traffic in seoul; sunghoon poking at his rice absentmindedly; yura talking about her parents in the hometown.

trying so hard to act like she belongs.

then—

“so…” yura starts, far too casually as she reaches for her drink. “how did your date go, yn?”

you freeze.

a single, silent beat. 

what the fuck.

what possessed her to bring that up here? at your family’s dinner table? in front of your parents? in front of sunghoon? 

your eyes lift slowly. she smiles at you like she’s being friendly. like she isn’t playing a game. like she’s not poking a bruise she knows exists. yeah sure—yura doesn’t know that the date didn’t end up well, but still? 

sunghoon’s spoon hits his plate a little too hard—the clinking noise startled your mother. 

sunghoon swear his body goes rigid, his heart drops so violently you can almost hear it hit the floor. date? what date? when? who? why didn’t he know? his breath stutters. he tries to hide it.

you inhale, steady, trying to look unbothered on the inside. besides you, your mother’s listening excitedly. “it was fine,” you reply lightly, shrugging. you run your fingers through your hair, doing just about anything not to crash out. “we just had dinner together. it’s lovely. he’s lovely.” 

yura brightens, leaning forward just a little too eagerly. “dinner? where did he take you?” her tone is innocent, sweet even—but you know better. there’s that glint in her eye, the one she gets when she wants to see what breaks first. 

you force a smile. “nothing too much… just a nice place near the river.” 

your mother claps her hands softly, delighter. “that sounds romantic! are you going to bring him home anytime soon?”

you frown—but quickly recovers, straightening your back as you look at your mother. “wh—what? mom… it’s still so early…” 

you want to sink into the floor.

“was he your age? older? you’ve always said you wanted someone more mature.” yura hums thoughtfully, propping her elbow on the table, and her chin on the heel of her palm. manners, bitch, you want to spit. 

and oh my god—shut the fuck up.

she’s doing it on purpose now—slow, precise pokes in all the places that bruise easily. next to her, sunghoon’s grip tightens around his spoon until his knuckles threaten to go bone–white.

someone more mature—? is he mature enough? he’s mature, isn’t he? sunghoon is. he tries. he’s smart, independent, responsible. he pays his own bills, fees, wakes up early, works hard, goes to the gym, does everything he’s supposed to. 

he takes care of you—he listens, he remembers, he—

but the doubt creeps in like rot.

is he mature enough?

sunghoon thinks about the way he reacts to you—how quick he is to break and fall on his knees, how easily he falls apart, how desperate he gets when you pull away. the way he clings to you like you’re the sun, and he’s the moon—orbitting. one cold look from you could shatter him.

sunghoon’s weak when it comes to you—pathetically so—but that’s just because he loves you. god, he loves you so much it twists him inside out. makes him say stupid things, do stupid things, want you in ways that make him feel small and needy and nothing—nothing like the calm and collected man he swears he is—the type you want.

more mature.

was that what you wanted?

someone who wasn’t him? 

his stomach sinks like a stone dropped into water.

“he’s older,” you reply, keeping your tone breezy. “just a little.”

your father sighs and shakes his head. “you’re still so young… don’t go wandering around where your older brother and i can’t see you…”

your eyes widen, heat creeps up to your cheeks just as fast. “dad! i—it’s not like that! stop—” you pause, eyes glancing at yura who’s stifling her laugh behind her palm. 

“—embarassing me.” your mutter, voice shrinking at the end.

your mother laughs softly, your father continues with his advice and how he’s losing his daughter—sunghoon’s throat works as he swallows hard, eyes fixed on his plate like he might break. 

if he sees his father smiling at you like that, talking about giving you away to another man, something in him might actually snap.

then that bitch—she doesn’t stop, tilting her head, voice dropping with false curiosity. her lashes flutter with fake innocence, voice dripping syrupy–sweet lilt that fools absolutely no one. 

“ahh, yn. make sure it’s someone your father would approve of~” 

your fingers curl around your spoon harder than necessary, nails biting into your own skin. instead of lashing out and knocking the shit out her—you take in a slow breath. the last thing you need is to cause a scene in front of your family.

you force a smile, “hah… don’t worry too much about me,” you say lightly, tilting your head just a bit. “i’m still young. i’ve got time to figure things out.” 

you glance at her—brief, harmless to anyone else, but sharp enough to make her stiffen. 

“you on the other hand…” you let the sentence trail off, smile never faltering. “well. i guess timing works differently for everyone, right?”

the look on her face is priceless—and for a moment, the table feels like yours again.

beside yura, sunghoon presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, steadying the tremble in his jaw. he won’t look at you—can’t—because if he does, he knows the entire room will see it: the way pride and jealousy and longing for his little sister all crash into him at once.

under the table, his knee bounces. 

his father tells him to stop.

——

“hoonie…” 

sunghoon groans softly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. the house has gone quiet—parents are asleep, lights dimmed, and the only sound coming is from the air conditioning. 

sunghoon lays on the couch, lying stiff on his back, one arm folded to support his head and the other over his chest. his eyes are half–open, unfocused, exhausted.

“yn—hey… what are you doing awake? you should—”

“we need to talk,” you whisper, sinking to your knees beside the couch before he can finish. your older brother instantly scrambles upright, reaching down. “h–hey—what are you—don’t sit on the floor, yn. it’s dirty.” 

his fingers wrap around your arm and he pulls—gentle—until you’re sitting beside him on the already narrow couch. your thigh presses against his; the contact makes him swallow hard.

this is the closest he’s been to you in weeks.

“you can’t just kneel like that,” he mumbles, voice tight with worry. “you’re gonna hurt your knees.” he shifts to make space for you—though there isn’t any—but he tries anyway. shoulders tense and ears pink.

you let him fuss and pull you closer—because this makes him feel responsible. it makes him pliable. 

sunghoon swallows, glancing once at you to make sure you’re okay. “... you wanna talk now? yn, earlier—what i said—i meant it… we should stop, we need to.” 

you hum, not agreeing, not disagreeing. just circling slowly. you let the silence sit heavy between you, the kind that makes him nervous. then you sigh—soft, wounded—eyes fixed on your fingers like you’re trying not to cry.

“i just…” your voice breaks. “i didn’t know you hated me that much.”

sunghoon’s eyes widen, his entire body jerks. “what? yn—no. no, i don’t—”

“mmhm, it’s okay,” you cut in, voice quiet, trembling in all the right places. “you… you made it pretty clear that you don’t want… anything to do with me anymore. that you regret… everything.”

your older brother looks at you like you punched him. “yn, stop—please, i never said that.”

“you didn’t have to.” you lift your eyes slowly—hurt, watery, accusing. “you said you wanted to stop. that what we did was wrong. we were wrong—i was wrong.”

his breath shatters, and he’s quick to hold your trembling hands in his. “i didn’t mean it like that—god, yn—of course you’re not wrong. you can never be wrong.”

“then what are you saying?” you sniff silently. “i want to understand why you suddenly changed your mind about… us.” 

sunghoon’s jaw tenses; you can see the self–hatred crawling through him. he bites down the real answer—that he hasn’t changed his mind at all. that he’s been thinking about you every waking minute, craving, going insane. 

but that’s also the very same reason why this has to stop. it’s taking a toll on him—sunghoon fears the day he might die because of you.

“you know… you know what we’re doing isn’t right, right?” he murmurs, guilt clenching at his heart. “i’m supposed to protect you,” he whispers, head hanging low. “not drag you into something awful. not ruin you.”

you look at him with a tiny, wounded smile—one that only twists the knife deeper. 

“ruin me?” you repeat softly. “hoonie… you’re the only thing in my life that doesn’t ruin me.” 

his brows pull together, confusion and heartbreak tightening every line in his face. 

“you know what does ruin me?” you whisper, “waking up every morning knowing i’m still not in uni while everyone else my age is almost graduating. watching my friends move on with their lives while i… i’m stuck, left behind.”

your nails dig into sunghoon’s palms.

“i’m not like you. i’m not as… as smart, brilliant, outgoing like you. everything comes so easy for you, hoonie.”

sunghoon flinches, he hates that you think this, hates how familiar the self–loathing in your voice sounds on you. but you keep going, soft and trembling, perfectly, devastatingly fragile. 

you exhale, slowly letting your body lean into him—forehead resting upon his shoulder. sunghoon squeezes your hands once, twice. 

“...but if you want to stop,” you murmur, “fine. just say it clearly. say you don’t want me.”

you feel him choke on a breath, but you keep going. “you’re the one who said you wanted to stop,” you whisper, lashes brushing against his skin. “you didn’t even ask how i felt.” 

you fingers tighten around his. “didn’t ask if i wanted to stop.”

sunghoon blinks, his fingers aching to hold you. “...do you?”

letting the silent stretch—long enough to guilt him even more, short enough to keep him on the hook. you let out a soft sigh, soft and disappointed, gently pushing him away. “never mind,” you murmur, wiping the tears on your damp cheeks. “you clearly made your choice.”

you turn to get up—but his hand quickly shoots out, grabbing your wrist with desperate restraint. “wait,” his voice is barely a breath. “please… don’t walk away.” 

you frown, sniffing. “why?” your eyes doe–y and glassy from the tears brimming in your eyes. “so you can tell me again that you don’t want me?”

sunghoon’s throat works, guilt twisting his features—shame cracking over him like ice breaking. “no,” he whispers, gently tugging you back, closer to him. “that’s not what i meant. that’s never what i meant.”

his hand trembles around your wrist, eyes flickering over your face. his thumb brushes over the back of your wrist where he holds you. “i don’t want to not want you,” he says, voice cracking on the contradiction. “i’m just—scared. i don’t want to say this but… you know that no matter what we do, we’ll still be forbidden, right?”

sunghoon swallows, jaw flexing. the same blood that pulses beneath his thumb is the same blood that pulses beneath yours. identical, damning. it carries the same memories of his mother’s lullabies, your father’s ego, the same childhood fevers and scrapped knees and matching vaccination scars on your upper arms. 

it loops through both your heart—and his—in perfect, poisonous tandem, a closed circuit no amount of longing can reroute.

there is no version of the world where this is allowed. not when every part of the house is filled with family and childhood portraits, not when sunghoon stares too long at his mother and he sees little bits of you in her (or the other way around), not in the eyes of god.

he feels the guilt settle in his marrow, wanting you is not just desire—it’s treason against nature itself. the same chromosomes that gave him eyes like yours, the same mouth. they duplicate and divide and it whispers to sunghoon—

that’s your little sister.

“yn, we’re rotten from the root.” 

your eyes widen, glassy and childlike, the way they always do when you want someone to believe you. “what—?” tension forms between your brows. “don’t say that,” you whisper, holding both of his hands. “don’t say we’re rotten…”

you scoot closer, knees brushing against his. “you know you’re more than just my older brother, right?” you breathe, looking up at him through your wet lashes, lips parted in something that could be devastation or worship. “you’re… you’re my whole world. you’ve always been my whole world.”

your thumb strokes the back of his hand, pulling them on your lap. “if we’re rotten,” you whisper, voice trembling. “then it’s only because i love you too much. i don’t know how to stop—so when—when you suddenly said you wanted to stop…”

tilting your head, you slowly bring your hand up to his cheek—where you wipe a tear that trails down his cheek—

you lean in.

just the softest press of your lips to the corner of his mouth, tasting the salt and guilt and him. a tiny, testing thing, innocent as a secret shared under blankets when you were kids. then you angle your head, part your lips—and take.

the kiss is much like a poison. you sigh into it like you’re finally breathing after years underwater, fingers sliding from his cheek to the nape of his neck, nails grazing just enough to remind him who taught you exactly how he likes to be held. 

you swallow the broken sound he makes, lick it off his tongue and give him your own little whimper in return.

sunghoon’s breath hitches, a sharp, wounded sound that vibrates against your lips, and then he’s gone—swallowed by the way he suddenly kisses you back.

his hands fly to your waist, fingers digging in as if he wants to anchor you down on the couch. slowly, he pulls you flush against his chest, hard enough that your socks skid on the flood, tilting you off balance so you have to cling to his shoulders or fall.

“hmh—” you whimper, his mouth slants over yours in desperation and miss. teeth scrape your bottom lip; his tongue slides against yours, hot and messy. every time you try to breathe, he steals the air straight from your lungs and gives it back laced with the taste of him.

when you pull back barely an inch to catch a breather, you rest your forehead against his’, lips still brushing his, wet and swollen. “see?” you breathe against his mouth, voice feather–soft and vicious. “nothing rotten here…”

sunghoon doesn’t let you utter a single word afterwards, leaning in to kiss you deeper. 

it’s those starvation breaking open at once. a low, raw noise tears out of his throat when your nails scratch lightly at the hairs at his nape, his hips jerk involuntarily, pressing you back until your spine meets the backrest. 

the wetness of his tongue curls around yours, shuddering when you suck gently on his lower lip, when you run your teeth along his perfect rows of teeth. “yn,” he rasps, voice completely broken. you run your fingers along his hair, tugging at the short hairs on his nape. 

“mmh—?” you hum sweetly.

sunghoon tilts his head to deepen the kiss, lips molding and melting with yours—his hands hiking up your top to meet your bare skin. “can’t, can’t,” he pants into your mouth but doesn’t pull away. not a refusal, just a plea.

you swing a leg over his lap in a motion, settling astride him like you belong there—you do. the couch creaks once under your combined weight; sunghoon freezes but doesn’t push you away, his thumb brushes the skin.

you sink down slowly, rolling your hips just enough to feel how hard sunghoon is beneath his sweats—that hard evidence of exactly how much he doesn’t want to stop. a broken little groan catches his throat. 

your hands cup his jaw, thumbs stroking the line of his cheekbones, and you kiss him again—softer this time, coaxing, cruel. 

“then don’t make a sound, hoonie,” you whisper against his lips, barely audible, saccharine and lethal. “wouldn’t wanna wake her up.”

just ten feet away—yura is curled on the far couch, blanket pulled to her chin, chest rising and falling in the soft, even rhythm of sleep.

just ten feet away.

but close enough that one louder breath could ruin everything.

you rock your hips again, slow, deliberate, and watch as his head falls back against the couch, mouth open on a silent cry, every muscle locked in perfect, tortured surrender. “f—fuck,” he hisses, fingers digging bruises into your waist, holding you down on his aching cock.

“do you trust me?” 

your brother swallows the lump in his throat, but manages to nod. “always,” he murmurs, breathing hot and inviting as he grunts lowly. your wetness is seeping through the thin material of your shorts and staining his grey sweats. 

you slide your palms up the hard of his chest, pushing the soft cotton of his shirt higher as you go. the second your fingertips meet bare skin, he jolts, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth. he’s fever warm under your hands, heartbeat hammering so violently you can feel it against your palms.

you spread your fingers wide, tracing the ridges of muscle. sunghoon’s head is still tipped back against the couch, throat exposed, eyes squeezed shut. his hands now flex on your hips, slowly dragging and guiding your body back and forth on his cock. 

you lean in, brushing your lips over the column of his throat. 

his answering groan is silent, just a rush of hot air against the top of your head, but his hips roll up helplessly. one of your hands reach down to brush his abdomen, slowly slipping your hand beneath the waistband before taking his hardened cock in your hand, giving it a few strokes and squeezes.

sunghoon grunts, shuddering. you continue leaving faint marks and wet bites along his neck, hand jerking up and down on his cock, oozing precum from the slit—it eases the glide of your fingers as you explore until you find the spot that makes him curse under his breath. 

“yn, baby, please,” he pleads, pinching on the fat on your hips. “i need to be inside you.”

smirking, you suppose it’s time to stop tormenting your older brother. you lift your hips just enough to pull down your shorts until they hang on one ankle, shivering when the cold air of the living room hits your bare, wet cunt. 

this is it—his precious girl’s pussy that he’s been dreaming of for weeks long. how he missed this—missed you so much. 

sunghoon’s hand slides down between your thighs where he cups your pussy in his palm. “h—hngh,” you breathe out, back already arching in pleasure at the mere touch of his hand. he kneads the flesh with his fingers, more slick leaking out of your cunt under his stroke. 

both you and him inhale sharply as your wetness coats his digits. his middle fingers trace between your labia, flicking over the little pea. you buck your hips into his palm, fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“m—more, more,” you whine, burying your face into the crook of his neck. he hums and nods, gliding in your entrance with little effort. you perch forward as he slowly sinks his two fingers knuckle deep. gasping, your teeth clamp down on the slope of his neck where it meets the shoulder—suppressing your cries.

“you’re so tight, baby,” he murmurs, your pussy sucking him in. his fingers pump into your cunt, curling every few thrusts to find that spongy, sensitive spot he knows so well. the wet squelching is almost embarrassingly loud, sunghoon wishes it won’t wake his friend up.

“hngh—there, there, hoonie,” you whimper, toes curling. he’s pressing his fingerpad against your g–spot, rolling and teasing the flesh. “here? hm? here, baby?” he teases, pressing his lips to the side of your head, increasing the pressure on the spot. 

you nod eagerly, leaving butterfly kisses over the same spot on his neck. you feel the beginnings of your orgasm building up in your tummy as you start to fuck his palm. “‘m close, hoonie, ‘m close,” you moan softly, riding on your brother’s fingers.

he nods, thrusting his fingers faster and deeper, curling and dragging along your velvet walls. he clicks his tongue, shifting as his knuckles press against his own bulge. you can’t hold it in anymore, it feels like you’re going to squirt on his fingers. 

“cumming, baby? you’re gonna cum on my fingers, hm?” he murmurs, using his free hand to guide your face towards him, brushing the strands that stick on your face. you nod, eyes fluttering in pleasure. 

so adorable. sunghoon smiles, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek, steadying you. “kiss me, baby. i want you to kiss me when you make a mess.” his cock twitches, begging to be let out—reek of envy and excitement of how the fingers are making you feel. 

without wasting a single second, you capture his lips with yours. pressing your tits against his chest as you mold your lips against his. sunghoon hums, surprised with how eager you are—it’s always the other way around.

it’s always him that’s so sickeningly craving, aching for you. 

he presses his thumb against your clit, wiggling his fingers in your hole. everything’s so overstimulating and sensitive and hot—finally being able to fuck your older brother after so long—after he said he wants to stop—doing it in front of the girl that likes him like a sweet revenge. 

it’s all so good.

like a deflating balloon, you let out your orgasm around his fingers, squirting, moans muffled into the kiss—sunghoon swallowing each whimper that falls past your lips. 

“mmh—!” you cry out, digging your fingers into his shoulders. your walls pulsated around his fingers, whimpering as he moves in slow rhythm—your squirt leaking out with every thrust. slowly, he pulls out, fingers glossy.

unsurprisingly, he brings his digits up to his mouth between the two of you, slipping his middle finger inside. you look at him with glassy eyes, hips jerking and twitching in pleasure. his eyes stay locked on yours while he wets the finger thoroughly, tongue curling around it with a drag that makes your breath catch. 

simultaneously, your breath slides over his ring finger where you take it to the knuckle in one glide, stealing your lips tight and swirling your tongue around the cool silver ring and the warm skin beneath it. 

you stare at each other, sharing breath across the scant inch that separates your mouth. the wet sounds are soft like you're mirroring each other in real time. you taste so sweet—sweet girl and her sweet pussy.

your hips twitch forward on his clothed cock, every drag of his tongue making your thighs clench harder—every drag of your tongue making his cock needier. 

when you finally pull off his ring finger with a quiet, wet pop, a thin string of saliva connects your bottom lip to his skin. he draws his middle finger free at the exact same moment, slick and gleaming. 

“i love you, okay, yn?” he suddenly confesses, shifting to a more comfortable sitting position where he rolls down his sweats, horny, hard, aching cock springs out freely—slapping your wet cunt.

whimpering and nodding, you look at him with your puppy eyes, lashes fluttering and brushing against your cheek. “i love you too, hoonie.” you murmur, already lining him up with your entrance. fuck, you just can’t take it anymore…

with agonising slowness, you begin to sink down onto his cock, inch by inch, till you’re finally seated in his lap. the burning stretch alone has you breathless already—the mix of pleasure and pressure as his cock fills you up entirely.

you both moan in unison—sunghoon’s head tips back briefly on the couch. “shit, baby,” he grunts, bucking his hips up once to allow you to adjust to his size. “i love you so much.” 

it’s been so long since the two of your had sex—you imagine it won’t take you long either for your second orgasm—and sure enough for sunghoon, knowing he’ll never fuck any other girl aside his little sister.

you begin to move, slowly, testing the rhythm—hips rolling as you let his cock slip deeper into your slick hole. sunghoon uses his grip on your hips to drag you back and forth on his cock, his cock stretching your walls. “hah—hoonie,” with a whimper, your hips came to rest against his’. 

picking up his pace, sunghoon lifts you off his lap before letting you slam back down on his cock, the head nestles against your cervix with each pounding thrust. “you feel so good, m’love, fuck, i looooove you,” he drawls pathetically, guiding your movements with deliberate rhythm, 

hah—he’s close to breaking apart, you think. feel it in the way sunghoon holds you as he coaxes you to move the way he wants. feels it in the way every shift of your body draws another choked moan from him, raw and guttural.

his friend—the girl who likes him—is just a few feet away, sleeping, not aware that the boy she has a crush on is fucked in the head, having sex with his little sister next to her. 

poor yura. out of all men in this world, you just had to like park sunghoon.

“hngh, you’re s’big, hoonie,” you whimper, leaning in to rest your hand on his chest as you press your mouth to his. your brother kisses your back almost instantly, hands anchoring you down. you almost forgot how much of a sucker sunghoon is when it comes to kissing—his cock twitches and gets bigger when you slip your tongue past his lips.

his cock drags against the sensitive tissue of your entrance, pulling your walls down where it clamps around his shaft. he increases his pace, the head of his cock hitting the deepest parts of you. your brother pushes your hips down, cock balls deep inside your tight cunt as he keeps you there—burying his cock against your spot.

“oh my—nhgh—god,” you muffle, tears brimming in your eyes. the sound of skin slapping fills the living room, he jerk his hips, lifting his pelvis in sync with yours. your body begins to tremble from the strain, heat coiling in your tummy.

sunghoon’s head tips back, throat bare, broken groans tearing from his chest as his hands dig into your waist as he chases his high. “baby—fuck, ‘m close, ‘m cumming,” his words break apart, the rhythm of hips his frantic and desperate. 

you nod, kissing and biting gently at his cheek like a kitten. the contracting walls of your tight cunt are sending sunghoon over the edge as his hands move to cup your asscheeks, fondling and spreading them apart. 

“wanna cum with you, hoonie,” you whimper, licking a long stride against his cheek. “i wanna be one with you, wanna be your girl,” you continue, pulling him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. 

folded—sunghoon nods. there’s nothing he wants more in this world than to be your man, and there’s no other woman he wants other than you. 

“m—me too, me too,” he cries out, nails digging into the flesh of your ass. “‘m gonna fill you up so well, fill you up with my love.” 

with one final, powerful lurch—your muscles clenching and clamping tightly around his throbbing cock—sunghoon shoots out ropes of warm, thick cum up your womb. pumping and coaxing every last drop of his thick semen inside. 

you too—hips stuttering as you spasm, orgasm rips through you as you cream on his cock, coating it white. your toes curl inwards as sunghoon keeps thrusting his cock inside, ensuring all his load is well received by your cunt.

he keeps his hips inside, flush against yours—cum washing over you, filling your inside full and arm. his cock twitches as your walls contact and milk him dry. 

“hngh, hoonie…” you mumble, body limping against his chest. sunghoon wraps his arms around your waist, keeping you flushed and close against him. he lets his cock warm inside you, nuzzling his face into the side of your head. 

he’s way too deep into whatever the two of you have now. forbidden or not—socially accepted or not—he’s past the point of return and he knows it, feels it in the way a drowning man finally stops kicking and just lets the water take him.

none of it matters anymore. the word brother still sits in his mouth like a shard of glass, but it doesn’t cut the same way; it reminds him how perfectly you fit against him. 

if sunghoon bites the shard fast enough, maybe he can grind the word down to dust. 

he doesn’t… care that the same blood sings in both your veins. 

all sunghoon knows is that he is in love with you the way meteors fall, burning everything in their path, and he no longer wants to be saved from the crash. 

slowly, he cups your cheek just enough to plant a chaste kiss on your lips, slow and filthy and worshipful, and lets the last of his resistance sink to the bottom of whatever’s left of his soul.

“yn,” he murmurs against your lips, breath shaky. he pulls back just enough to look at you—really look at you. “that overseas scholarship you got… does it still stand?” 

his fingers slide down to your jaw, a shudder running through him. 

“it could be good. for… everything.”

——

the wind is still a little cold—early–spring cold, the kind that turns your breath into little ghosts. the park is quiet, petals clinging stubbornly to branches overhead, the sky washed pale. 

next to you, sunghoon sits with you on a wooden bench, legs brushing yours, a paper bag of warm milk bread tore open between you. 

he tears off a soft piece, brings it to your lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world now. you let him feed you, teeth grazing the tip of his fingers, eyes on him the whole time.

he smiles, the kind he never wore back home, and brushes the crumbs from your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“yummy?” he asks softly, tilting his head.

you hum and nod in approval, “mmhm.” every few seconds, he tears off a soft piece and holds it to your lips. 

the simple act of feeding you warms him more than the sun ever could.

you’re leaning into him, shoulder against his, your hair brushing his jaw when an older woman with a little boy strolls up the path, holding hands with him, her smile kind and curious. 

“oh! i haven’t seen you two around here before,” she says warmly. “new to the neighbourhood?” she asks in careful english, smiling at the way your heads are bent close together. 

sunghoon’s hand pauses halfway to your lips. you swallow your bite and nod, smile polite. he answers before you can. “yes,” he says quietly, steady. “just moved in last month.” 

the woman’s eyes flick to your hands—his fingers laced through yours where he keeps them warm and her smile widens, warm with assumption. 

“together?”

you open your mouth, but sunghoon beats you again.

“engaged,” he says calmly, almost too fast—like he’s been waiting his whole life to say it out loud. “just… got engaged." 

he turns his head to look at you while he speaks, and the look almost knocks the air out of your lungs: proud, possessive, utterly unafraid. your cheeks flushed both from the cold and his answer, eyes bright but soft, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the back of your hand. 

the woman brightens. “oh, that’s wonderful! congratulations!” 

you smile, sweet and innocent. “thank you. it’s nice to meet you.” your fingers tighten around his. after she walks off, your brother leans closer, lips brushing your temple, breath warm. 

“you have no idea how much i love you.”

© ⌞dollyhoon⌝ ⁞ all rights reservedㅤ please don't share, copy, or translate my work.

[heejamas]

I DON’T WANNA BE JUST FRIENDS ; sjy

» summary: jake was stuck. sex had gotten boring, always the same routine, nothing exciting enough to stick in his head. he wasn’t exactly searching for something new, but when a stupid bdsm test came up in conversation with you, he found himself way too curious. suddenly, he’s researching kinks at 3am, making reddit posts like an idiot, and realizing that maybe he doesn’t just want answers, he wants to try them with you. and maybe all he wants right now is ask: i don’t wanna be just friends, don’t wanna be away from you, can i be a pet?

✰ pairing: jake x fem!reader // ✰ genre: smut (mdni!!), friends to lovers, college au, slowburn-ish #nowplaying » cat & dog - tomorrow x together | mutt - leon thomas | wet dreamz - j. cole | doo wop (that thing) - lauryn hill | mrs. officer - lil wayne | so fresh, so clean - outkast | word count: 28k

!! warnings: smut (mdni), smut, unprotected sex (do not do it!!), petplay, brat!reader x brat tamer!jake, power dynamics, bdsm dynamics, alcohol and weed consumption, anal play, oral sex (m and f receiving), size kink, fingering, squirting, degradation and praising kink, dirty talk, rough sex, bitch the whole thing they are freaky lmao

JAKE SIM HAD THIS REPUTATION AROUND CAMPUS, AND HE KNEW IT. he wasn’t the type to deny it either, he kind of leaned into it. he had the face, he had the charm, the easy smile that worked on almost anyone, and he was well aware that people liked talking about him. he wasn’t shy about the fact that he hooked up with a lot of girls, not in a bragging way, more like he genuinely didn’t see the point of pretending otherwise. if he wanted something, he went for it, and most of the time he got it.

the funny part was that it never really felt like enough. people would assume he was satisfied, like he had it all figured out, but the truth was, after a while, it all started blending together. same kind of nights, same routines, same conversations that ended in the same place. he liked it in the moment, of course, he wasn’t going to lie about that, but he always went home with this weird feeling, like something was missing, and it wasn’t the whole “looking for love” thing either. it was more that he wanted something different, something he couldn’t even name yet.

he wasn’t the type to sit around and analyze himself too much, but he noticed the pattern. no matter how many people he fucked, he’d end up lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking, is that really it?

he didn’t talk about it with anyone, because what was he supposed to say? “yeah i’m sleeping with half the campus but i’m still kind of bored”? that would sound ridiculous. and you knew him enough to know the image he carried, everyone did, but what people didn’t really see was that restless part of him, the part that kept looking for something he couldn’t find. and he hated admitting it, but lately he started realizing that maybe the problem wasn’t the girls or the sex itself, maybe the problem was that he wanted to try things he didn’t even know how to explain without sounding insane.

“you ever feel like… sex is just the same shit over and over?” jake asked, not even looking directly at sunghoon while the fifa match rolled on his tv.

sunghoon paused the game immediately, which already said a lot, because sunghoon never paused fifa for anything. he turned to look at jake dead in the eye. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“i’m serious,” jake said, sighing. “like, yeah, it’s good, but sometimes i’m just… i don’t know, bored.”

sunghoon started laughing so hard he almost dropped the controller. “you? bored? mr. i-had-sex-in-the-theater-bathroom last week? nah. shut the fuck up.”

“that’s exactly what i mean!” jake argued, leaning forward. “it’s always the same shit. hook up, make out, fuck, pass out. repeat. i’m telling you, i feel like there’s supposed to be more, but i don’t know what the hell that is.”

“okay,” sunghoon said, nodding like he was being thoughtful, but his grin gave him away. “so what you’re saying is… your dick’s tired.”

“that’s not what i said.”

“sounds like what you said.”

before jake could fire back, the door creaked open and heeseung walked in with a bag of chips and a joint between his fingers, looking like he hadn’t slept in two days. he glanced at the tv, took a drag, then looked at them. “you guys talking about gooning?”

“kinda,” sunghoon answered instantly, pointing at jake. “apparently mr. campus heartthrob is bored of pussy.”

heeseung raised an eyebrow, ripped open the chips, and sat down on the armrest. “wow. should we throw you a funeral?”

jake groaned and buried his face in his hands. “you guys are fucking useless.”

“nah, bro, i’m serious,” sunghoon said, nudging him with his foot. “maybe you just need some freaky shit. like, tie someone up, put on a costume, bark a little. switch it up.”

“the fuck are you even saying?” jake shot back, but the way his ears went red didn’t go unnoticed.

heeseung caught it instantly, grinning like a devil. “wait. wait. oh my god. jake wants to bark.”

“shut the fuck up,” jake muttered, ending the conversation.

but the thing is, jake thought sometimes about barking. i mean, not literally standing in someone’s room on all fours going woof, but the thought of something that wasn’t just the usual sex crossed his mind more than once. like, there had to be people out there doing shit that wasn’t just missionary or whatever. he wasn’t about to admit it out loud to sunghoon or heeseung because he knew they’d never let it go, but after that night, the whole “maybe you need to bark” thing kept replaying in his head. and he didn’t immediately shut it down. he laughed in front of them, told them they were idiots, but later that week, lying in bed at two a.m., he actually caught himself googling “unconventional sex stuff.”

that’s how he ended up on reddit. it wasn’t even intentional, he just clicked link after link until suddenly he was in some forum full of people talking about kinks like they were trading recipes. half the stuff freaked him out, the other half made him curious in a way he didn’t know how to process. he didn’t think he was a freak, but then again, maybe he was, because none of this was coming up in regular conversations, and he clearly couldn’t bring it up to his friends without being clowned for the rest of his life.

so one night, after reading through threads for way too long, he gave in and made a throwaway account.

r/TooAfraidToAsk

u/australianlebron127 | 12m

i feel like i’m bored of sex but don’t know what i’m looking for, is that normal?

i’m a 23 year old male and i’ve been pretty active since like freshman year of college. i’ve hooked up with a lot of people, and i guess on the outside it sounds cool, but honestly it all feels the same and i keep thinking i’m missing something. my friends make jokes about “freaky stuff” and once someone even said i probably just need to bark or whatever, which was stupid, but now i can’t stop thinking maybe i actually do need something like that.

i don’t even know what i’m into, i just know regular sex feels kind of… repetitive. i’m not in a relationship and i’m not looking for love advice or anything like that, i’m just wondering if it’s normal to feel like this or if i should be trying to figure out what i like more. and if i should… how do you even start? like i can’t just ask someone “hey wanna let me experiment with you” right? idk.

after he posted it, jake shut his laptop like he just confessed a crime. he honestly thought no one would even read it, but the next morning when he checked again, there were already a bunch of replies. some of them were just people trolling him, like one guy wrote “bro just buy a dildo and stop crying,” which didn’t help at all, but there were also some longer comments from people who actually sounded like they knew what they were talking about.

one person wrote something like, “you don’t have to know your kink right away, just pay attention to what sticks in your head. if something makes you curious, that’s worth exploring.” another person said, “try to communicate with partners, you’d be surprised how many people are also bored of ‘regular’ sex and want to experiment too.” and then there was one comment that just said, “maybe you’re into power dynamics. look into dom/sub stuff, that’s usually a good starting point.”

jake read through all of them with his face buried in his pillow, feeling like if anyone walked in and saw what he was doing, he’d have to transfer schools immediately. but at the same time, it made him feel a little less crazy. apparently, other people were going through the same thing, or at least close enough. he wasn’t the only one who felt like sex got repetitive after a while. still, he didn’t know what to do with that information. he wasn’t about to sit sunghoon down and say, “hey bro, what do you think my kink is?” and he sure as hell wasn’t going to test this out with some random hookup from a party. if he was going to try anything new, he wanted it to be with someone who actually knew him, someone he trusted not to laugh in his face. 

and that’s when he remembered you.

he met you through jungwon and sunoo. you were always around, more like part of the background of the friend group. jake thought you were cool, funny without trying too hard, and yeah, obviously really hot, but he never made a move because you weren’t like the other girls he usually talked to at parties. you didn’t even go to half the parties. when he did see you, you were usually laughing with your friends, completely unbothered by whatever was going on around. you never hooked up, never even flirted, but there was this one time that stuck with him. 

he was walking past in the middle of a random conversation between you and sunoo, and he caught enough of it to never forget. you were holding your phone, laughing so hard, and you went, “who the fuck gets a hundred percent vanilla on the bdsm test? you have to try to be that boring.”

sunoo immediately grabbed the phone from you, yelling, “shut up! you literally got ninety-six percent petplay, you freak! what are you even talking about?”

jake didn’t even know what to do with that information at the time, but he remembered the way you just laughed and shrugged, like it was nothing. he laughed too, mostly because sunoo looked like he was about to pass out from embarrassment, but the conversation burned into his brain. now, weeks later, lying in bed after scrolling through way too many reddit threads about kinks, that memory hit him again, like his brain suddenly pulled out a file he didn’t realize he kept. and you sounded so comfortable with it, like talking about sex wasn’t this big taboo topic.

jake thought about it more than once after that, and now, with all this restless energy in his head, it started to feel like a sign. maybe you weren’t close, maybe you weren’t the person he texted at two in the morning, but you were the only person he could think of who might not laugh in his face if he admitted he was… curious. so he picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts until he found your name, and stared at it for a solid minute like the letters might rearrange themselves into “don’t do this.” then, because he was jake, he typed something dumb and hit send before he could overthink it.

jake: yo do u know if the cafeteria is still selling those massive cookies or did they stop

you didn’t answer right away, which made him instantly regret his entire life, but then the screen lit up.

you: why are you texting me about cookies at 11pm

you: and yes they still sell them lol

he grinned, already feeling lighter.

jake: good to know

jake: important info

there was a pause, and then you sent back:

you: you’re so weird sometimes

he laughed out loud at that. it was stupid, but it gave him enough courage to type what he really wanted.

jake: hey random question tho

jake: u remember that bdsm test thing u joked about w sunoo once

jake: do u still have the link perchance

he stared at the message after sending it, suddenly way too aware of how insane it looked. but it was too late, it was out there. his brain was screaming at him that this was either the best idea he ever had or the dumbest one, and he wouldn’t know which until you answered, but your reply came quicker than he expected.

you: LMAO jake why are u asking me this

you: are u abt to send me ur result rn bc i wanna see

you: don’t lie i KNOW ur not 100% vanilla

you dropped the link right after, and jake felt his stomach twist because now he had no excuse. he clicked it. the layout looked ancient, like a quiz someone coded in 2005, but it was apparently the same test everyone online swore by.

he started reading the questions, and it was instantly ridiculous. stuff like “would you enjoy being tied up?” or “would you enjoy tying someone else up?” and the scale went from “absolutely not” to “hell yes.” jake sat there, thinking way harder than he expected. some of them were easy to answer—no, he didn’t want to be whipped until he couldn’t walk—but others made him hesitate, like maybe he’d try it, maybe it didn’t sound that bad.

when the petplay questions showed up, he froze for a second. he could practically hear sunghoon in his head going “bro, bark,” and it made him want to close the tab, but at the same time… he didn’t click “absolutely not.” he thought about it, sighed, and picked “maybe.”

twenty minutes later, the results loaded on his screen in neat little percentages, like it was about to diagnose him with something.

100% switch; 98% dominant; 97% brat tamer; 94% pet; 80% experimentalist

jake stared at the screen. part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to throw his phone out the window, and another part of him just thought: yeah, that actually makes sense. he sat there, debating whether sending it to you would make him look confident or like the biggest clown alive. but you had asked to see it, and he kind of did want to know what you’d say. so he did send you the screenshots, three images of his percentages sitting in your chat, and you answered almost instantly.

you: LMAOOO

you: okay i expected switch 100% bc u give off that vibe

you: but 94% pet?? never in my life would i have guessed that

jake felt his ears burn. he didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean, but the way you typed it made him smile anyway.

jake: bro don’t act like u weren’t the one clowning sunoo abt this shit

you: yeah but i didn’t expect u to be secretly into meowing

jake: i didn’t say i’m into that

you: mhmmm the math says otherwise jakey

he groaned and threw his phone onto his pillow, but then picked it right back up. he wanted to defend himself, but at the same time, it felt good that you weren’t making it weird. you were teasing him, yeah, but it was soft, like the way you’d tease a friend. even though jake didn’t know if friend was the right word.

jake: alright then, where’s urs

you: oh i’m not sending mine

jake: tf why not

you: bc it’s funnier to let u wonder

jake: wtf does that mean

you: it means one day maybe i’ll show u in person idk

jake stared at that message for a solid minute. in person? what do you mean “in person”? he had no idea if you were flirting, being sarcastic, or just messing with him for fun. either way, the thought lodged itself in his brain immediately and refused to leave. he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that, but his brain decided to run off with it anyway. like maybe, hypothetically, if one day you actually did drop to your knees in front of him and said “meow,” he wouldn’t hate it. actually, he might really, really not hate it.

so that week jake couldn’t stop thinking about it. so naturally, at three in the morning when any normal person would be asleep, he was hunched over his laptop, typing “what is petplay kink” into google like some dad learning how to use tiktok.

the first page of results didn’t help much. there were a bunch of articles that tried to sound educational but were really just people overexplaining, and then there were forums with way too many details he wasn’t ready for. he clicked through anyway, and five minutes later he was learning that apparently some people actually bought collars for this stuff, and leashes, and there was a whole thing about drinking water from bowls. he sat back in his chair, “no way,” he muttered to himself. “there’s no way i’m buying a dog bowl.” but then another part of him was like… okay, maybe not the bowl, but the collar thing? that didn’t sound as insane.

he kept scrolling. one post talked about how petplay wasn’t always about barking or crawling around, sometimes it was just about roles, like playfulness, obedience, teasing. that part made more sense to him. then he fell into another rabbit hole, this time about “brat taming.” apparently it meant dealing with someone who liked to push back, tease, talk back until you had to put them in their place. jake read three different threads about it and had to close the tab because, yeah, he was definitely into that.

he shut his laptop after an hour of scrolling, face buried in his hands, because what the hell was he even doing? one week ago he was just another guy with too much free time, and now he was sitting there seriously wondering if buying a collar off amazon would be insane or just a solid investment. and the kicker was, every time he thought about it, your face showed up in his head.

so when he saw you for the first time after that, he felt something weird going on around his pants. and jake wasn’t a fucking teen anymore, he wasn’t gonna get hard just by looking at a girl, but somehow he was… semi hard. it had been a long time since that happened out of nowhere and he thought it was kind of strange, like his body was reminding him of things he hadn’t thought about in months.

you looked up from your laptop, saw him, and smiled. that smile — bright, easy — made him immediately forget that anything felt weird. you waved, and jake had to remind himself to actually walk toward you instead of standing there like a moron.

“hey!” you called, motioning him over. “come sit.” you were sitting at a table with jungwon and sunoo, laptop open in front of you. jungwon was typing something, sunoo was scrolling on his phone, “so… did you get the giant cookie from the cafeteria or what?” you asked, a playful grin on your face.

jake internally thanked you, harder than he wanted to admit, for not bringing up the test. one, because he would have died of embarrassment with jungwon and sunoo there, and two, because honestly, thinking about it again might have made him get hard all over again in the middle of the library cafe. “uh… no, not yet,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and not make it sound like his entire body was having a meeting about you.

“oh, okay,” you said, opening your laptop wider. “we can grab some after i finish this thing.”

he slid into the chair next to you, careful not to get too close, careful not to breathe like he was dying, and just tried to act like a normal human. which, for jake, was hard work when you were smiling at him like that.

after a while, you both got up and headed to the cafeteria. he was quieter, more reserved, but trying to respond, trying to interact without sounding like he was hyperventilating. by the time you got to the display with all the cookies, it was just the two of you. jake tried to act casual while his brain reminded him that he was, somehow, still semi hard and that his body was apparently having its own agenda today. he felt like a complete freak but the thought made him laugh at himself.

“so… chocolate cookie?” you asked, eyes sparkling, and then paused dramatically. “or are you gonna switch to vanilla?” you emphasized the word switch, looking at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.

jake couldn’t help it. he laughed out loud. “oh, okay, i see what you’re doing,” he said, shaking his head. it was ridiculous, and he felt ridiculous, but in a way that made him feel… funny.

“what? i’m just trying to make cookie decisions fun,” you said, smirking, clearly loving that you got a reaction out of him.

“yeah yeah, sure,” he replied, and then couldn’t resist pushing a little. “sooo… you said you were gonna show me your result personally, remember?”

you tilted your head, mock-serious. “wow, curious, aren’t you?”

he felt his face heat up, part embarrassment, part horniness, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how casual you were about all this. am i really getting turned on by a conversation about cookies and some quiz? he thought, mentally cursing himself, and then laughed a little because, yeah, apparently he was. “i mean… i’m not curious,” he said, though he was. “i just… maybe want to see it. for science.”

“mhmm, for science,” you repeated, grinning, clearly reading right through him. you sat down at a table after paying for the cookies, you opened your laptop casually, and started scrolling through your results. “alright, so… brace yourself,” you said, smiling at him, “here.” jake leaned a little closer, trying not to stare too obviously at your face and also trying not to think about other… possibilities. 

switch: 99%, submissive: 95%, brat: 92%, pet: 90%.

jake blinked a few times, and his brain immediately went to the oh shit this is hot mode. he felt his stomach tighten and had to consciously remind himself to breathe. he tried not to picture too much, trying not to lose it right there in front of you. after a beat, he swallowed and forced his voice casual. “yeah… i mean… i kinda imagined your result being something like this.”

you raised an eyebrow, grinning like you knew exactly what he was thinking. “ahh, so you were thinking about my results, huh?”

jake felt his face heat up instantly, but he couldn’t help laughing a little. “shut up…” he said after you teased, clearly enjoying the fact that he was squirming just a bit.

“never thought you’d be into petplay,” you said casually, glancing at him.

“me neither,” he admitted, a little embarrassed. “i’ve never actually done it.”

“oh really?” you teased. “but it’s on your test.”

“yeah… i’m just… assuming i’d like it,” he said, shrugging. “never explored my kinks before. that’s why i did the test.”

you smiled at him, eyes soft. “honestly, i get it. it’s fine. makes sense.”

for some reason, hearing you say that made him feel comfortable, thinking how nice it was to have someone he could actually talk to about it. you kept talking about the results, scrolling through different percentages, laughing at some of the weirder ones, shaking your heads at others, like “who the hell is this person” kind of stuff. jake felt like he could actually breathe a little easier, like maybe exploring this shit didn’t have to be some big awkward thing. 

and then he caught himself thinking about it — again, for the hundredth time — that maybe having you actually… participate in some of it wouldn’t be that bad. like, actually being there while you did the petplay stuff or teased him, whatever. and the thought hit him in a weird way that made him grin like a complete idiot, because yeah, it was exciting, and yeah, he could feel that familiar tightness in his pants again.

so after that, jake found himself doing more research about things you might like. he didn’t even know why he was looking this stuff up. he told himself it was curiosity, like he was just trying to understand a phenomenon or something, but deep down he knew it was more than that.

he was intrigued by the kinks, by the way you’d come across as so… private. he’d never seen you with anyone, never heard stories about your experiences, and somehow that made him hornier and more curious at the same time. the weirdest part was that he felt like he knew a lot about you because of that damn bdsm test, but also realized he didn’t know shit—whereas you probably knew tons of stories about him and his past hookups.

eventually he went back to reddit. of course he did. he found a server for kinks and typed out a post, hesitating over every word, trying not to make himself sound like a total weirdo.

r/kink_advice

u/australianlebron127 | 3m

how do i talk to a friend about mutual kinks?

hi, i’m a 23m and i have this friend (24f), she’s cool, funny, super private, and i think maybe we like the same kinks. we’ve talked a little about bdsm stuff and she shared her results on this bdsm test once, which were very similar to mine. i’m curious and want to maybe explore things with her, but i have no idea how to even bring it up without making it weird. any advice?

the replies came fast. some were generic, like “just be honest and communicate,” or “don’t push anything she’s not into.” but then one comment made him stop scrolling for a second.

comment: if she’s into petplay or praising kink, just call her a good girl out of nowhere and see how she reacts, or tell her to behave.

jake stared at that comment for longer than he should have. he couldn’t believe that the solution was potentially so simple, and also so terrifying. he wasn’t sure if it was genius or completely insane.

so he thought about putting the plan into practice that weekend, at the frat party. he already knew you’d be there because you’d mentioned jungwon and chaewon had been bugging you to go, and for jake, that sounded like the perfect opportunity. when he got to the house, sunghoon shoved a drink into his hand before he could even say hi, and riki was already trying to drag him outside to smoke a joint. jake brushed both of them off with a laugh, sipping the drink just to keep sunghoon from nagging, and then he saw you.

you were across the room, leaning against the counter with chaewon, laughing about something. you weren’t dressed overly flashy, nothing insane, just jeans and a cropped tank top that showed a sliver of skin when you moved, and your hair pulled back like you didn’t even try that hard. but for some reason, to jake, it looked better than half the girls in glitter dresses floating around the place.

he felt his stomach tighten in that same way it had the other day, and he had to stop himself from grinning too obviously. you had this golden retriever kind of energy, the kind of person who always smiled when someone waved, always asked how people were doing, and jake had that too, except his version usually came with flirting and ending up in someone’s bed.

he could feel the stares of other girls in the room, some who he’d already hooked up with, some who he knew wanted to. he caught one or two smiling at him, making the kind of eye contact that usually meant come over here later, and he knew he could. he could pick almost anyone in the room if he wanted. but for once, he wasn’t interested. the whole point tonight was you.

jake took another sip of his drink and pushed through the crowd, his eyes flicking back to you every other second. he was hyping himself up in his head, thinking about that stupid reddit comment and whether he was actually crazy enough to try it out. every step closer to you, the thought kept repeating in his head: good girl. just say it once. see what happens.

so he walked up to you, slid into that little circle, and went, “hey,” giving you and chaewon a nod. you both greeted him back, chaewon with her usual dry smile and you with that bright one that always made him feel like you were actually happy to see him, even if it was just a quick hello at a loud party.

the conversation was easy, just small talk but not awkward. eventually chaewon excused herself to get a drink, and right then minjeong walked past. she gave jake a quick once over and stopped long enough to rest her hand on his shoulder, leaning in with a smile that was way too obvious. “jake, later come find me, okay?” she said in that flirty tone that didn’t leave much room for interpretation. he just gave a small nod, polite enough but already knowing he wasn’t going to.

when she walked off, you tilted your head and started laughing under your breath. “wow,” you said, dragging the word out, “how many girls here have you hooked up with?”

jake immediately shook his head, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to laugh. “not that many,” he said, though even he knew it sounded weak.

you raised your brows, clearly amused. “and none of them made you wanna… what was it again? meow?” you asked, grinning at him like you were way too proud of yourself for remembering.

he froze for a second, caught completely off guard, before he tried to play it cool. “you’re not letting that go, huh?” he leaned in a little, lowering his voice like it might soften the blow of how flustered he actually was. “but, i mean, maybe it’s because none of them knew how to behave like you, i think.”

he said it half teasing, half testing, and his smile was trying to cover the way his heart was picking up. you squinted at him, amused but confused, and went, “what do you mean behave like me?”

jake didn’t even hesitate. “uh, it was in your test. brat, sub, pet, you know what i’m talking about.”

you let out this little laugh, shaking your head. “ok, that’s in my test, but you don’t know if i’m actually like that in real life. you literally said you’ve never done petplay, and you’re just assuming you’d like it.”

he shrugged, leaning back slightly, but his eyes stayed on you. “yeah, but have you done it?” his tone was way too direct for the middle of a crowded party.

you laughed again, but this time it was softer, like you were a little embarrassed. “uh… yeah.”

jake grinned, instantly smug. “then there you go. point proven. you do behave.” you didn’t say anything right away, and that threw him off, because you were almost never quiet around him. you just looked at him for a second, like you were deciding something in your head. so he tilted his head and asked, “what?”

“nothing,” you said quickly, then paused. “just thinking if you’ve ever even talked about this with anyone else before.”

he scratched the back of his neck, a little awkward now. “not really. i mean, sunghoon once told me i should bark at someone to see if i’d like it, but i didn’t take him seriously.”

you cracked up at that, covering your mouth for a second. “maybe minjeong would like that. i don’t know. you could always try it on her.”

and that was the moment it hit him, clear as day. he didn’t want to try anything with minjeong. he didn’t want to test it out with some random girl who was already halfway throwing herself at him. he wanted you.

before he could say anything though, you excused yourself, saying you were gonna grab some water or check on chaewon or something, and then you slipped into the crowd. jake stood there for a second, realizing that if he actually wanted this to go anywhere with you, he was gonna have to be more direct about it. no more hiding behind jokes or waiting for you to bring it up.

after a while, jake found you by the drinks table, leaning against it with a plastic cup in your hand. you were turned, and when you noticed him coming over, you gave him this small smile, the kind you always did that looked automatic. “can you fill mine up too?” he asked, holding out his cup.

“sure,” you said, reaching for the tap and tilting his cup under it.

the words came out of him before he even thought about them. “good girl.”

you froze for a second. like, literally stopped mid-pour. then you turned your head slowly to look at him. “what’d you say?”

he didn’t flinch. “i called you a good girl.”

he had no idea where the confidence was coming from. maybe from the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, maybe from the way you’d been laughing at his teasing earlier, maybe from too much beer, maybe from all of that. but he didn’t look away. you held his gaze for a moment, then nodded once, finished filling his cup, and handed it back to him.

he grinned. “what? did you get flustered at that?”

“shut up, jake,” you said, but you were smiling, trying to hide it, and then you turned and walked off before he could say anything else.

he’d said it once, and you didn’t blow him off, didn’t get weird, didn’t shut it down. if anything, you’d reacted. ok, he thought, taking a sip, i need to be even more direct.

later that night, jake found himself outside, because jake was jake and he couldn’t say no to a blunt rotation with his friends. he was leaning back against the side of the house with heeseung and beomgyu, all of them passing around a joint. heeseung was halfway into some rant about how he thinks all stanley cups are potentially weapons when you came bouncing out the door.

“wow,” you said immediately, spotting them. “look at you guys, stoner squad.” you laughed, light and teasing, but not mean.

jake felt that stupid twitch in his pants he’d been fighting all night right away and he hated himself for it. you weren’t even doing anything. you were just smiling like always, tail wagging friendly, and somehow that was enough to get him semi hard again. 

​​he held the joint out to you. “want some?”

you tilted your head, eyes narrowing like you were weighing it. “hm. it’s been a while. i don’t know how i’ll react.” but you took it anyway. your fingers brushed his as you grabbed it, then you brought it to your lips, inhaling slow. jake couldn’t stop watching the way your chest rose and the way you let the smoke slip out through your lips. then you looked up at him, big doe eyes, blinking like a puppy, and it wasn’t just the weed. that was a look, and he knew that look. he saw it tons of times before from other girls he knew that wanted him to fuck them.

“you did good,” he said quietly, the words almost slipping out of his mouth on their own. his voice was low, soft but steady. praising.

you blinked, eyes widening a little, and then, of course, you smiled. not your usual grin, but this smaller one, just for him. you passed the joint back to him, and didn’t say anything. jake smirked, turned, and shoved the joint back at heeseung and beomgyu. then he leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only they could hear. “you two get the fuck outta here.”

heeseung frowned like he was about to argue, but beomgyu caught on quick, grabbed his arm, and dragged him off with the joint still in his hand. jake barely noticed, his eyes were already back on you. he could feel that edge of nervous energy sitting in his chest.

“you know,” he started, voice little lower than usual, “i’ve been thinking a lot about that test we took.” 

you tilted your head, sipping the last of your drink. “oh yeah?”

he let out a quick laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “yeah. like, i’ve always wanted to try some of that stuff with someone, but i never really had anyone to test it out with.”

you snorted, but it wasn’t mean, it was playful. “come on, jake. you’re telling me you’ve had no one to test kinks with? that’s new. that’s not the jake i know.”

he laughed too, shaking his head, stepping just a little closer. “come on, you know that’s not what i mean.”

“how’s it not what you mean?” you asked, raising your brows like you were calling him out. “jake, there are at least ten girls in this house right now that i’ve personally heard say they’d do literally anything you asked. you’ve gotta be more confident.”

“the problem,” he said, this time leaning in slightly, his eyes flicking down to your mouth before back up, “is that i don’t want just anyone.”

you paused, holding his gaze, and your lips tugged into this little smirk. “then be confident and ask the person you actually want.”

you said it so obviously, like you were spelling it out for him, and jake knew you’d already figured it out. you weren’t running from it either, which only made his pulse faster. he forced himself to stay calm, not too flirty, just enough to keep it casual, smug in the only way he knew how to handle this. “look,” he said, “i know this might sound a little out of nowhere, but when i say i’ve been thinking about it, i mean i’ve actually been thinking about it.” you didn’t interrupt, you just watched him, waiting. “and i don’t want it to come off like i’m some fuck boy with weird kinks trying to test them on anyone who’s remotely into the same stuff. that’s not it. but…” he hesitated for just a second, then pushed through, “if you wanted to… if you were down… you could maybe show me the things you’re into sometime. so i can see if i’m into them too.”

he said it steady, without laughing, without looking away, even though inside his stomach was doing flips. you smirked at him, leaning in just enough to make him think that you were about to say something he wanted to hear. “yeah,” you said, dragging it out, “i could try that sometime.”

jake froze for a second, because hearing you actually say that out loud hit him harder than he expected. it had been a long time since he’d felt this type of nervous to hook up with a girl, he wasn’t just anxious but he was also excited, and his brain was already five steps ahead picturing what it would be like. and now you were looking at him with those wide puppy eyes, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t been this gone over someone in a while.

so he leaned in, not even thinking too much about it, just following the way your words had practically given him permission, but right before he got there, you stepped back, smirk still on your face. “sometime”, you corrected, “i didn’t say tonight.”

and then you turned, casually walking off, and jake just stood there, blinking at the back of your head as you went back to the house. he didn’t even know what to do with himself. he could only think one thing: when exactly had he gotten himself this fucked?

after that night, jake couldn’t think about anything else at all. every morning he woke up, the first thought in his brain was basically: when is sometime? it was killing him. his dick was practically on a constant timer, ready to embarrass him at any random moment. he’d see you on campus, just doing normal-ass things, like tying your shoe, talking to someone, sipping your coffee, and then you’d look up, smile at him like you didn’t casually say you might let him try out some kinky shit with you, and instantly his pants got tight. it was torture.

he tried to play it cool, but the truth was his brain was fried. he couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways it could go. you acting like a brat and him finally having an excuse to put you in your place? yeah, he wanted that. you in a collar? he was picturing it. you on all fours, maybe purring at him? his dick didn’t see a problem with it.

the only issue was, he knew there were steps to get there, like he couldn’t just skip straight to “here’s your leash.” but still, he wanted it, and every day it was getting more unbearable. and jake kept replaying it in his head, wondering if you’d been kinkshaming him that night. but no, you didn’t look disgusted. you looked like you enjoyed making him squirm. 

so after days of overthinking, he finally just thought, fuck it, i’m texting her.

he stared at his phone for a second, then finally muttered to himself, “fuck it.” jeans went down, dick out, and he just leaned back against the headboard, taking a deep breath. this was the first time he was sexting someone like this, like really trying to push boundaries, and he never imagined he’d get this fucking horny reading messages.

the thought of you was too much. he didn’t even really see your words at first. his eyes were half lidded, mind spinning, imagining you there, acting like you were challenging him to keep control while he was already losing it. your texts were just triggers at that point—he didn’t need them to imagine every little sound, every whine, every little movement you’d make when he told you to behave. his hand moved on its own, faster and harder, and then he felt finally letting go, spilling all over himself, and it hit him how long it had been since he’d actually come like that just from his own hand and a fantasy. it wasn’t some casual fap to random porn. it was you. the idea of you teasing him, bratting him, letting him call you a good girl, and him slowly building you up in his mind.

finally he wiped his hand, leaned back, and looked at his phone again. the last message from you was there:

you: youre jerking off arent you?

you: hope u have fun thinking about me

you: good night jakey 😊

he just froze for a second, grinning like a complete idiot, and then read it again. and again. and again. every time he did, he couldn’t help himself— his hand went back to his dick, and he was off, imagining your voice, your little smirks, the way you’d act bratty and subby and soft all at once. he spent the rest of the night like that, phone beside him, mind completely tangled up in fantasies about you, and every time he looked at those messages he had to jerk off again, like a fucking teenager. 

and it kinda turned into a routine before he even realized it. every night, somewhere between brushing his teeth and pretending he was gonna go to bed early, jake ended up texting you. it started light, memes, random shit from his day, but without fail it slid into something else. not always full on sexting, sometimes it was just you pushing him with one-liners that had him hard in minutes. like that one time you just sent:

you: good pets beg nicely, don’t they?

and he actually sat there, cock throbbing in his sweats, typing and deleting five different responses before finally sending something he never thought he’d put in writing.

and yeah, he was screwed. because he did like it, he liked you bratty, needy, whiny. he liked calling you his pet. but the thing that really fucked him up was realizing he’d always end up giving in to you anyway. no matter how much he talked big, if you told him to try something, he’d try it. if you wanted him to push a boundary, he’d push it. he was supposed to be the dom, but half the time he felt like a dog wagging his tail waiting for scraps from you. and yeah, the results saying “switch” were not a surprise at this point.

he even got nerdy about it. he continued reading reddit threads, doing kink tests, scrolling through subs at 3am like he was studying for a final exam (he should be studying for a few, actually). the only problem? he still hadn’t seen you in person. and that was driving him insane. 

he could type all the filth in the world, imagine you in a collar, call you his pet until his dick hurt, but at the end of the day you were still just words on a screen. and jake wanted more, he wanted your voice in his ear, your body under his hands, not just a fucking notification making him hard. and the longer it went, the worse it got. he’d go to bed thinking about you, wake up still hard, spend the day waiting for your messages just so he could crash again in that same loop. at some point he realized he was way past curious. 

and jake wasn’t even subtle about it. he’d been walking past your dorm for like the third time that week, pretending to be interested in the vending machine in the lobby. he’d already bought a snickers earlier but here he was again, suspiciously pressing buttons like he couldn’t decide between m&ms or kitkat, when the truth was he didn’t give a shit about chocolate. he just wanted to “accidentally” run into you.

and then it happened. you came through the door, head down, digging through your bag for your keys. he froze with a kitkat half dangling from the machine slot, suddenly feeling like he’d been caught doing something illegal. you finally looked up and your face lit up with that same smile you always gave him, like he wasn’t the guy who called you pet and jerked off every night to your bratty texts. he felt that familiar kick in his chest, the one that made him insane because it wasn’t just sexual. sure, you drove him crazy with how much he wanted to fuck you, but there was more. he liked you, like actually liked you, and that was worse somehow. mutt-level disaster, horny as hell but also weirdly in awe every time you looked at him like that.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, eyebrow raised, smile playing like you already knew the answer.

“uh, just grabbing something from the vending machine,” he said, holding up the kitkat like it was evidence. smooth.

you gave a small smirk, clearly not buying it, but you didn’t call him out. instead, you shifted your bag on your shoulder and said, “come on, i need to grab something from my dorm. sunoo is waiting for me at the library”

he followed, trying to act casual even though his brain was on fire. his heart was racing, not just because maybe something could happen, but because he had no idea how to handle actually being around you in real life. so when you opened the door to your dorm, he stepped inside and it was like stepping straight into your head. everything screamed you.

“you want coffee?” you asked, already moving toward your tiny coffee setup.

“i’m good,” he said, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“well, i’m making some anyway. i can’t function without coffee after lunch.”

he leaned against the wall, watching you move around, trying not to think too hard about how bad he wanted something to happen. like, yeah, he could just sit here and drink coffee with you and that’d be fine, but at the same time, every cell in his body was screaming that he wanted more. he was running through a dozen different scenarios in his head, every single one ending with him in your bed.

you sat down on the couch with your coffee, legs crossed, and jake stayed planted against the wall, staring at you. you looked up at him, those doe eyes soft and ridiculous, and asked, “what’s up? you not gonna sit?”

he swallowed, felt his chest flip, and thought, oh my god i’m about to do something dumb, but then he just did it. he dropped to his knees right in front of you, which made you blink, because nobody ever kneeled in front of you unless they were messing around. now you were exactly eye level with him, and that felt like a weird, intense pause. you raised one brow. “what are you doing?”

he gave that stupid smirk he always used when he wanted to sound like he knew what he was doing. “roleplaying,” he said, like it was the most normal explanation in the world.

you laughed, set your mug down on the side table, and then came back to him, serious for a second. “jake… are you sure you want this?”

he blinked, because of course he was sure. “are you kidding? i think i made it pretty obvious.”

you watched him for a beat, like you were checking him out, “i want you to be comfortable testing something you’ve never done before,” you said.

“i’m comfortable,” he answered, eyes locked on yours. “you comfortable?”

you let out a small, low laugh and relaxed against the back of the couch and spread your legs a little so he had room, shifted so your knees were wider, like you trusted him to handle whatever came next. “very,” you said, voice steady, challenge hiding under the calm.

he smiled, the kind that was more confident than he’d felt in weeks, and slid his hand up to rest on your knee, fingers pressing the inside of your thigh as he edged closer. he kept his touch soft at first, like he was checking the water temperature, then moved a little higher, deliberate but not rough, watching you for every little reaction. “you got me down bad for you,” he murmured, a bit proud, but pissed off at how much he wanted you.

you rolled your eyes, amused and dangerous. “then why are you taking so long to take what’s yours?” you teased, voice quiet and sharp.

so the moment he caught your eyes flicking down to his mouth, he decided he wasn’t gonna make this easy for you. in one quick motion he slid his hands behind your thighs, gripped hard, and just picked you up like you weighed nothing. before you could even gasp he’d flipped the whole situation — he was on the couch now, you on his lap, straddling him. you let out this sharp little yelp, more surprise than anything, and the second you realized the position, you went quiet. his hands were holding your thighs tight, his bulge pressed right under you.

“i’ve been dreaming about you sitting on my lap like this,” he said.

“yeah?” you breathed out, lowering your face closer to his, testing him. you shifted your hips just enough to grind against him through the layers of clothes, and that made his fingers dig in, holding you down so you couldn’t keep moving.

“behave, won’t you?” he muttered, his voice flat but loaded.

that made you smirk. “what, jakey? i thought you wanted this,” you whined, tilting your voice into that bratty little tease you knew would get him worked up. and then you were grinding on him again, slower this time, just to push.

his grip on your thighs went rough, firm enough you’d probably see the marks later, and you leaned forward like you weren’t fazed at all. he was smiling now, biting his lip, annoyed and turned on beyond reason. “give me a kiss before i put you in your place,” he said, like it was some casual request, but you both knew it wasn’t.

you were still smirking when you leaned in, noses almost brushing, clearly waiting to see how far you could stretch him before he snapped. jake thought, yeah, this girl is gonna ruin me, but he wasn’t about to let you see that written on his face. he just held you tighter and kept that cocky little grin, watching you lean in with the most torturous pace ever.

and when you did, you kissed him slow, dragging it out like you wanted to prove a point, and he kissed you back like he’d been training for this exact moment, tongue slipping into your mouth like it belonged there. he’d imagined this a hundred times, maybe more, but in reality it was so much better. when you started grinding down on him again, all drawn out and teasing, he caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugged, then went right back in. he didn’t stop until he had to pull away just to breathe, drunk on you, trailing down your jaw with his mouth, nipping and kissing until he got to your neck.

the second he heard that tiny whimper spill out of you, he fucking lost it. his hand came up, not soft, cupping your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. you smirked at him, and it made him growl out, “you’re so fucking hot.” before you could toss some bratty reply back, he cut you off. “kneel for me.”

you hesitated just a beat, smirking, like you were about to be clever. but then you surprised him, you actually obeyed, slipping off his lap and sinking to the floor in front of him. his chest felt tight watching you like that, hair a little messy, looking up at him from the floor. he leaned forward, spread his legs a little wider, and let out this low laugh. “good girl,” he said, steady. then he added, “hands on your knees. look up at me.” you did it, but with that smirk like you were humoring him, not surrendering. he arched a brow. “what’s with that look?”

“what look?” you asked, voice all fake innocence, eyes wide.

“the one that’s begging me to make you behave,” he shot back. his hand went to your hair, not pulling hard, just testing. you didn’t flinch, you leaned into it. “say please,” he said next.

you tilted your head, lips parting. “please what?”

“don’t play with me,” he warned, squeezing the back of your neck lightly.

you laughed, bratty and breathless. “you don’t even know what you want me to say please for, jakey.”

he groaned, like you were already driving him insane. “jesus christ, you’re a handful.”

you beamed, proud of yourself. “am i not your favorite little handful though?”

he gave a dry laugh, leaning forward, eyes locked on you. “yeah, you are. and you’re gonna regret milking that.” his thumb brushed your lower lip, pressing down just enough to make your mouth part. “open up,” he said. you stuck out your tongue in response, rolling your eyes like you were daring him to do something. “god, you’re such a brat,” he muttered, shaking his head but clearly loving every second. “don’t worry. i’ll train you right.”

jake already knew he was too deep in this to stop now, so when his thumb pressed harder into your lip and you opened wider, he spit right into your mouth without thinking twice. you blinked at him, a little shocked. “swallow it all,” he’d said, and you did, no hesitation. he could see it hit you too, the way your shoulders shifted, that look in your eyes flipping. that was the first time any guy had done that to you, and jake clocked the moment you gave in a little, the brat suddenly turning pliant. 

he smirked, dragged his thumb out of your mouth and replaced it with his index finger, pushing against your tongue. “suck.” you did, lips wrapping around it, tongue working slow like you wanted to torture him. he groaned, letting you do it, and then switched it up, making you take his thumb. “good girl. now tell me what you want, pet.”

your eyes flicked up, all teasing again, and you mumbled around his thumb, “it’s hurting, jakey.”

his brain stalled for a second. wow, she’s actually kinky as hell, he thought. he softened, brushing his free hand across your cheek. “what’s hurting, baby?”

you pulled his thumb out just enough to pout at him, voice dripping brat, “i need you so much it hurts.”

that one hit him straight in the gut. he was in awe, just staring at you. “aw, princess,” he said, almost laughing in disbelief. “do you need me to take care of you?” you nodded fast, lips pushing out in a little whine. “but,” he leaned down, pressing his forehead close to yours, “you gotta deserve to be rewarded, you know that, right? will you behave for me?”

your nod was eager this time, quick. “i will, i promise.”

“yeah?” he said, standing up slow, eyes locked on you the whole time while his fingers went to his belt. he tugged it loose, the leather sliding through the loops while he bit his lip. your eyes tracked every movement, wide and hungry, those stupid puppy eyes making him feel feral. but the second you started to lift your hands from your thighs like you wanted to reach for him, he snapped. “uh-uh.” he pointed right at you. “what’d i tell you? hands on your thighs, pet.”

you huffed, clearly annoyed, but put them back exactly where he wanted. “good girl,” he said again, dragging his zipper down nice and slow, making sure you stayed right there, waiting. he tugged his jeans and briefs down in one go, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, and the second your eyes widened he almost lost it. you actually drooled a little, lips parted, and he laughed low, cocky as ever. “yeah, like what you see, huh? big, but you can take it, right baby?” 

his hand landed on your head, gentle but firm, fingers threading through your hair. you pouted up at him, whining softly, “i don’t know, jakey.”

he grinned like you’d just said the funniest shit in the world, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “don’t know? c’mon, you’re my good girl. you can take it. i know you can. don’t make me remind you.” and you nodded so fast, eager, like his words flipped some switch inside you. “see? there she is. good girl. now… go slow, pretty. just lick it. like a kitty.” you leaned in, tongue shy at first, just dragging along the tip, and he hissed, hand tightening in your hair. “fuck, yeah… just like that. lap it up for me.”

you licked your way down his shaft, soft little flicks of your tongue, and he was going crazy, eyes screwed shut for a second, trying to hold back. “jesus fuck, look at you. you’re actually licking me like a fucking kitten. do you even know how cute you look right now?” 

you hummed against him, pulling back with a wet mouth and whispering, “maybe i just wanna play with you.”

he laughed again, smug but wrecked already, giving your cheek a few pats like he was rewarding you. “play all you want, sweetheart. just remember who owns you now. okay?” your eyes went wide at that, pupils blown, and you nodded, lips pressing back against the base of his cock, licking slow all the way up. he groaned, the sound broken. “fuck, that’s it. my pretty pet, my good little kitty. keep showing me how bad you need it. you’re making your owner so proud.”

jake never pictured himself like this, or saying those things, not with anyone. he’d had his fun before, sure, but the fact that he was seconds away from spilling down your throat from those innocent little eyes alone? yeah, that was new. he was way more down bad than he ever admitted.

so when your tongue started moving faster, when you got bolder, sloppier, sucking him off with that bratty determination like you wanted to prove something, he groaned, hand snapping down to your hair. a sharp tug, a wet pop leaving your lips as his cock slipped free. you looked up at him, eyes wide, bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

“aw, you want more, baby?” he teased, voice ragged, trying to keep control when he was already losing it. you nodded instantly, needy, and his smile widened. “you’re getting it, don’t worry. but for now…” he leaned back on the couch, cock heavy against his stomach, and patted his thigh. “come on, hop on.”

you did exactly that, crawling up into his lap like the little cat he kept calling you, hands pressing into the cushion as you moved, hips hovering just enough that your clothed core brushed his bare cock. the second you started to grind down, though, he didn’t let you have it, he flipped you fast, pressing you down so your cheek met the couch cushion, ass up high for him. “that’s better,” he muttered, sitting under you. the sight alone nearly ruined him, your ass arched perfectly, skirt riding up.

his fingers slid along your thighs before catching on the fabric, tugging at your skirt. “let’s take this off, mhm?” he peeled it down slow, tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties. he let his palm rest over one cheek, rubbing soft, soothing circles, like he was calming his pet after riling her up too much. “look at you,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost in awe. “all laid out for me. such a good girl.” his hand smoothed over your ass again before giving it a light squeeze. “stay just like this, pet. don’t move unless i tell you to.”

you whined into the cushion, wiggling your hips like you were trying to bait him, and he laughed low, shaking his head. “bratty already? we talked about this, remember? ass up, face down. behave for me, or you’ll wait longer.” his tone was playful, not cruel, but it still made you still, biting down your whines. he leaned in, letting his cock brush lightly against your thigh, teasing. “good. that’s better. see? my sweet pet can listen. and when you listen, you get rewarded.”

his hand drifted down, slow, lazy, like he had all night to play with you. two fingers pressed against the thin fabric of your panties, dragging along the damp spot he already knew he’d find. the second he felt it, he chuckled, low and pleased, rubbing small circles just to hear you react. “aw, you’re soaked right through, baby. that’s so hot.” his tone was teasing.

you whined, pressing your face harder into the couch, your voice muffled but still clear. “only for you.”

that made his cock twitch, he leaned forward, chest almost brushing your back, lips close to your ear. “oh yeah? only for me?” he pressed his fingers harder against the fabric, not slipping inside, just making you squirm. “then tell me, pet. tell me what you want me to do.”

you let out a frustrated sound, trying to grind back against his hand, but he had you pinned with his thigh under your stomach, keeping you in place. “i want your fingers,” you whispered, needy.

“my fingers, huh?” he dragged them along your slit, slow enough to make it torture. “you want me to make you feel good with these?” he brought one up to your lips, letting you see the damp shine of your own arousal. you nodded quickly, pout forming again, and he laughed, patting your ass lightly like he was warning you. “needy little thing. so spoiled. but since you asked so nicely…”

his fingers dipped under the waistband of your panties at last, the fabric dragging down just enough for him to slip inside and find your folds. you moaned loudly and whiny, and he swore under his breath at how wet you were, coating his fingers instantly. “fuck,” he muttered, curling one finger inside you while his other hand smoothed over your hip, keeping you steady. “there we go. my good girl, taking me so easy. stay still for me, pet. let me play with you just like this.”

his fingers started moving faster, curling and dragging in a way that made your whole body jolt against his thigh. you yelped, louder this time, the sound bouncing in the quiet room. jake immediately leaned down, his breath brushing your ear. “quiet, pet. don’t want anyone hearing, do we?” you bit your lip, tried to hold it back, but the next time his fingers pushed deeper, a sharp whimper slipped out anyway. his voice dropped. “i said quiet.”

you tried again, muffling yourself against the couch cushion, but your body betrayed you, another sound ripping through your throat when his pace picked up. and then, suddenly, he pulled his hand away completely. the emptiness made you groan, frustrated, your hips wiggling back in protest. “ill have to punish you now, you know that right?” he said it calm, almost like he was explaining something obvious, but the way his hand smoothed over your ass right after made you shiver.

you tilted your head just enough to glance back at him, pouty and bratty. “maybe i wanted you to stop.”

he raised his brows, amused, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “oh yeah? is that what you’re telling yourself?”

you wiggled again, pushing your hips back against him like you were testing his patience. “maybe i like it better when you’re mad.”

he laughed under his breath, shaking his head, but there was heat in his eyes. “careful, pet. you’re about to get exactly what you’re asking for.” 

and then his hand came down. not too hard, but enough to make your body jolt, the sound echoing sharp in the room. you gasped, and then laughed breathlessly, almost taunting. “that all you got, jakey?”

his jaw flexed, and his hand landed again, harder this time, the smack making your skin sting. “you really wanna test me right now?” he let out a low groan, dragging both hands over your ass before landing another quick series of spanks, steady and controlled. each one made your body jerk, and each time you made some sound that only pushed him further. “fuck,” he muttered, “you like this too much.”

his hand smoothed over the warmth he’d left behind, fingers soothing, but then he landed one more sharp smack that made you yelp louder than before. he immediately grabbed your hair, tugging your head back just enough so you couldn’t bury your face anymore. “i wanna hear you beg properly,” he said, his tone firm now, “say you’ll be good for me, and maybe i’ll give you back my fingers. if not…” he squeezed your ass hard, “we’re staying right here until you learn.”

the moment you opened your mouth, ready to fire back with something bratty or maybe even give in and beg, the bell rang. both of you froze, staring at each other wide-eyed.

jake blinked, still holding your hair, then muttered, “i think you were too loud?” but the way he said it wasn’t teasing, wasn’t even part of the game, it was just matter of fact, like he really thought your whines had carried down the hall.

you stared back at him, cheeks flushed, and scoffed. “no, i don’t think so.” and then the bell rang again, even longer this time, and you panicked, scrambling, yelling “i’m coming!” towards the door.

jake almost choked, because his brain short-circuited for a second and he thought, god, i wish she’d say that in a whole other context.

everything after that moved way too fast. one second you were half naked, bent over, bratting about his punishment, the next you were yanking your skirt back up and pulling your shirt down, your hair all messy and your lips swollen from kissing. you grabbed his pants and his wrist and dragged him towards your bedroom. he was stumbling after you, his dick still hard, bouncing against his stomach because he wasn’t even wearing pants anymore, which just made the whole thing ten times more ridiculous.

“stay there, quickly, i’ll be right back,” you hissed at him, shoving him into your room and throwing his pants at him while he caught them in the air.

jake stood there, half dazed, half turned on, thinking this was the most chaotic blue balls situation of his life. his cock was throbbing, his shirt was wrinkled, and he was hiding in a girl’s bedroom like a teenager.

he sat there on the edge of your bed, pantsless, staring at the door and he could hear everything clear as day. suddenly he could hear sunoo’s voice carried through the dorm, cheerful and way too loud for jake’s current situation. “y/n! i was calling you, you didn’t answer. i was waiting for you at the library. i got worried!”

you sounded way too casual for someone who’d just been spread out over the couch whining under jake’s fingers. “oh, sorry, i dozed off. i was so tired.”

there was a pause, then sunoo’s suspicious tone: “why are you red? and your hair looks… what happened?”

you snapped back instantly, “i was sleeping, i told you.”

jake, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands. jesus fucking christ. this was ridiculous. that was his cue, he quickly pulled his boxers back up, then wriggled into his jeans. because as much as his dick hated it, it was way too humiliating to sit there listening in with his bare ass on your sheets.

while he was buttoning up, his eyes wandered. your room was… very you. he noticed sanrio plushies stacked in the corner, a little snoopy mug on the desk with pens sticking out of it, and an actual pink and white gamer setup with a keyboard that lit up like cotton candy. he blinked at that one, he didn’t even know you gamed, but apparently you did, and you did it in the most annoyingly cute way possible. it was distracting, like the whole place was a scrapbook of your personality, and he was sitting there in the middle of it half hard, listening to your best friend interrogate you in the next room.

then he heard you again, your voice a little rushed. “let me just go to my room and fix myself up, i’ll be quick.”

sunoo didn’t sound convinced. “i’ll come with you—”

“no, wait in the living room. were you born glued to me or something?”

“what the—are you crazy?” sunoo shot back, baffled.

“sunoo, let me change alone,” you said, sharper now, but still playful enough to throw him off.

jake had to bite back a laugh, shaking his head. you were juggling this so smoothly, meanwhile he looked like an idiot sitting on your bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, pretending this was normal.

and then the door cracked open and you slipped back in, closing it quickly behind you, leaving sunoo muttering to himself outside. jake was sitting there, finally dressed, looking suspicious. you let out this little laugh, low, like you couldn’t believe how cute he looked sitting there stiff on your bed surrounded by your plushies. he stood up, kind of sheepish, and you just smiled at him like nothing was out of the ordinary, whispering, “im so sorry, i have to go,” with a pout that made you look more like a kid ditching class than someone who just had her ass smacked red ten minutes ago. 

he thought you were adorable like that, so he shook his head and said, “it’s okay, i liked distracting you.”

then you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. not hot, not horny, not dripping with tension, just a casual kiss. and that’s what fucked him up a bit, because he never did casual kisses like that with anyone. 

“i’ll change, leave, and you can stay here, okay? i’ll leave the door open so you can head out whenever. you can even get comfy if you want to, i don’t mind,” you said like you were inviting him to borrow a hoodie or something. easygoing, no stress. he stood there thinking, wow, you really weren’t trying to make him feel embarrassed, even though you could’ve. you could’ve outed him to sunoo in two seconds flat, but you didn’t.

so you turned around, grabbed clothes, changed right there like it was nothing, and then you were gone, chatting back at sunoo.

and jake just sat there on your bed, hands on his knees, staring at the kuromi plush in the corner like it had answers. his dick was still half hard in his jeans, but his brain was louder than his body this time. he thought, holy shit, i just had the kinkiest, freakiest time of my life and somehow my dick never even got inside her once. 

after that day, things between you and jake definitely got steamier. he was still jake, pretending he just “happened” to run into you on campus, but really he was timing shit out. he knew your class schedule better than his own. sometimes he’d wait outside one of your lectures and play it off like, “oh hey, didn’t know you had class here,” and then two minutes later he had you pressed against a wall making out. subtle wasn’t his thing anymore.

he started hanging around your friends more too. jungwon, who he already kind of knew, turned into his partner-in-crime somehow. jake was showing up to sit at your table like he belonged there. sunoo kept giving him these looks, like he was three seconds away from calling him out, and jake swore the guy had to know something even though you promised you hadn’t told him a word. it was just the way sunoo looked at him– suspicious as hell.

and the thing was, jake couldn’t really keep his hands off you. you’d be standing in line at the vending machine and he’d pull you aside to kiss you like he hadn’t seen you in a year. in between classes he’d tug you down some hallway and you’d laugh, telling him to chill, but you’d still kiss him back. the parking lot was another story. he kissed you once against your car, his hand already halfway down the back of your jeans, when someone walked by and you had to shove him off, both of you laughing.

the thing is, none of it ever went further than hot kisses and some wandering hands. it wasn’t full-on sex, not yet. and that was what was killing jake slowly. he was losing his mind because you’d give him just enough: enough roleplay, enough teasing, enough touching to keep him hooked, but never the whole thing. every time you whispered something bratty in his ear or let him grab your waist in the middle of campus, he wanted you more. and the more he got, the less satisfied he felt, because it only made him hungrier.

so he came up with this plan. he wanted to make it special, and he couldn’t quite figure out why he cared so much. the timing lined up with jungwon’s birthday, just a small gathering at his place with close friends. jake was invited, obviously, him and jungwon were basically glued at the hip now. so he offered to pick you up.

when you got into his car that night, jake didn’t even wait a beat. you barely closed the door before he leaned over, caught your chin, and kissed you. it wasn’t rushed though, he kissed you slow, deep, like he’d been starving all week. you kissed him back, let him taste you for a second, before pulling away with a laugh. “jake, we’re gonna be late,” you said.

he smirked and said “worth it.” then, just to make your stomach flip, he grabbed your other hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles before starting the engine. jake kept sneaking looks at you, thumb brushing your hand where it rested in his. when you arrived at jungwon’s, jake slipped his hand to your lower back as you both walked inside, guiding you.

the whole night, jake barely left your side. if you went to the kitchen, he was there leaning against the counter, sipping from his cup, making stupid commentary. if you sat down, he took the spot next to you, knee brushing yours. it wasn’t possessive, not even official, but he hovered like a guy on a date, even though neither of you had ever said that word out loud. and the thing was, you let him.

sometimes your friends would tease – sunoo gave you this knowing look across the room at one point – but you brushed it off. the real issue wasn’t what people thought. it was that every time jake leaned in close to whisper something dumb in your ear, every time his fingers brushed against yours under the table, you wanted him so bad it made you dizzy. and judging by the way he kept staring at your mouth all night, he was having the same problem.

when the party ended, he offered you a ride back to your place, and at the elevator going down in jungwon’s building, he already couldn’t hold it. the doors closed, the silence hit, and he cornered you right there, pressing you against the wall before you could even blink. his mouth was on yours, hot and messy, your little whine breaking between the kisses making his head spin. you tugged at his shirt, and he groaned into your mouth like he’d been waiting for this all damn night.

he pulled back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours, and whispered, “come to my place, please.” he didn’t even think before saying it. it just spilled out.

you didn’t even hesitate. you just nodded, whispered “okay,” and kissed him again like you couldn’t wait either.

the car ride was a whole other mess. his hand was glued to your thigh, fingers sliding higher  and you weren’t doing anything to stop him. he kept smirking at you, leaning close enough to murmur shit like, “you’re so needy, aren’t you?” or “you’ve been teasing me for weeks, baby. you think i’m letting you off easy tonight?” and every time, you’d bite your lip and nod, your bratty side slipping but not disappearing entirely.

by the time he pulled into the driveway, you were both buzzing. he didn’t even bother with slow steps once you got inside. the moment the door shut, he pressed you against it hard, kissing you. one hand held your waist, the other grabbed your wrist and guided it straight to his bulge through his jeans. “see?” he panted against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. “this is what you do to me.”

and you felt it hard and heavy under your palm, and the way you looked up at him, wide eyed and needy, just about made him lose his mind right there.

he didn’t even give you a second to think. he was now scooping you up, you gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he carried you down the hall like he’d done it a hundred times before. except he hadn’t, and he was going crazy about the fact that it was you in his arms. he kissed you the whole way, sloppy, greedy kisses that landed half on your lips and half on your jaw because he refused to stop even while moving.

by the time he made it to his room, he basically tossed you onto the bed. he climbed on after you, settling between your legs like he was claiming his spot. ​​“open up for me,” he said, and you did, spreading your thighs wide, and the way he looked at you like that nearly made you combust. he grabbed your leg, lifted it, and started kissing up from your ankle, slow and deliberate, leaving wet trails on your skin until he was nipping at your inner thigh. 

“i’ve been dying to have you like this,” he murmured against your skin, and then looked up at you, eyes dark, “you’re mine, aren’t you?” you were too far gone to answer, your head falling back, a whimper spilling out instead. that wasn’t enough for him. “answer me, pet,” he demanded, giving your thigh a squeeze.

you nodded desperately, voice breaking as you whispered, “i can’t take it anymore, jakey. i need you.”

he smirked, brushing his lips right where you were the most sensitive but not giving you what you wanted yet. “i got you something,” he said, and just like that, he pulled back.

you blinked up at him, confused and needy, while he turned to his nightstand. he pulled the drawer open and, without much hesitation, pulled out a pair of shiny handcuffs. “oooh,” you laughed, your cheeks heating, but there was excitement in your voice.

the thing was, jake had been planning this longer than he cared to admit. last week, he had walked into the little sex shop near campus and walked out with a small bag of things he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually use. he told himself it was “just in case,” even though deep down he was already picturing you.

the shop itself had been an experience. he walked in like he belonged there, but the second he saw all the shelves stacked with vibrators, butt plugs, leather collars, and some shit he didn’t even know the name of, he nearly turned around. he swore the old lady behind the counter was judging him, even though it was literally her job. jake had grabbed the handcuffs, lingered a little too long in front of the section with leashes and collars, and even picked up a blindfold before chickening out and putting it back.

he paid fast as hell, shoved the bag in his backpack, and prayed no one he knew would walk past the store. and now here he was, finally pulling the cuffs out. 

he looked back at you on his bed, all spread out and waiting, and thought, holy shit, i actually bought this for her. i’m really about to do this. “do you want that?” he asked, voice low, holding the cuffs up so they caught the light.

your stomach flipped. you couldn’t stop the bratty little grin curling at your lips, couldn’t stop the way your thighs shifted like you already knew what was coming. “yes,” you whispered, your voice just breathless enough to make his smirk turn sharp.

“fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head like you were too much, “you’re so dirty, aren’t you?”

before you could even think of something smart to throw back at him, he was already climbing over you, grabbing your wrists and snapping the cuffs around them, locking them together above your head. the metal was cool, firm, and you shivered when you felt it click. ​​he spread your thighs wider with a slow push, his hand on your knee like he owned every inch of you. 

“stay still, or i’ll punish you,” he said, and it was low, commanding, no room for play in it. you whined, hips already twitching up toward him without your permission. “behave,” he warned, shooting you a look that made you clamp your lips shut, “already told you.”

he reached down, tugged your skirt off, tossing it aside so you were bare under his gaze. he kissed along your inner thigh, slow and messy, lips dragging up your skin, making you squirm even though you tried so hard to stay still like he told you to. when his mouth got close enough to your panties, he pressed his face against the heat of you, inhaling, and you heard him groan low in his throat. “my bunny smells so fucking good,” he muttered, almost like he was drunk on it already.

“your bunny?” you whispered, testing the word, voice shaky.

he smirked against you, looking up through his lashes. “yeah, mine. my pet. my bunny.” something in you melted, and you couldn’t stop yourself from nodding, tugging uselessly at the cuffs. “what does my pet want?” he teased, his voice dropping lower, his lips brushing the fabric of your panties as he spoke. “want me to eat you out, hm?”

you nodded desperately, the words tumbling out of you, “please—jake, please.”

he tilted his head, pretending to think about it, then tapped your thigh. “aw, you deserve it, don’t you? you’ve been so obedient.”

you whimpered, nodding, whispering, “yes, yes, i deserve it, please—”

and then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanked them down in one quick move, tossing them to the floor. “fuck, look at you,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss just above your heat, deliberately avoiding your clit while you squirmed beneath him. “drooling for me already. my perfect little bunny.” you tugged at the cuffs, frustrated, whining his name. he chuckled against your thigh, the sound vibrating through your skin. “patience, baby. i’ll give you what you want when i’m ready.”

and then, finally, he licked a slow stripe up your folds, and your whole body jolted. you moaned, loud and messy, your back arching as his tongue pressed deeper, as he lapped you up like he’d been starving for it. he groaned into you, “that’s it,” he mumbled against you, licking you again and again, “make those pretty noises for me. let everyone know who you belong to.”

his tongue was everywhere, sliding, circling, pressing against your clit just right before pulling away, dragging down to lick into you, greedy and messy. his hands were firm on your thighs, holding them open wide, keeping you spread for him like you had no choice but to take it. you were whimpering, tugging at the cuffs, your chest rising and falling fast. “please, jake—”

he groaned into your pussy, the sound vibrating against you, making your hips jerk. he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, lips and chin wet. “say it properly, pet. you wanna cum? beg for it.”

your face burned, but the desperation in your voice gave you away. “please let me cum, i need it, i need you, please, please, i’ll be good—”

he laughed low, then pressed his tongue flat against your clit, making your head fall back. “you’re gonna cum when i say, okay, bunny?”

you nodded frantically, whining, “okay, okay, i’ll wait, i’ll wait—”

but your body betrayed you. the way he sucked on your clit, the way he lapped you up like he wanted to drink you dry, it was too much. your thighs shook, your whole body tensed, and then you broke apart, cumming hard into his mouth before he even gave the word. you cried out his name, the cuffs rattling above your head as you tried to ground yourself, and he didn’t stop. he kept licking, messier now, tongue fucking you while you were still trembling, overstimulated, every nerve raw. you tried to squirm away, but his grip was too strong, holding your thighs wide open, his mouth still working you like you were his.

when he finally pulled back, his lips shiny, his breathing heavy, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawled up over you. his hand caught your chin, firm and unyielding, forcing your face up to look at him. “did you just cum without my permission?” he asked, his voice dark, his eyes locked on yours.

you bit your lip, trying not to smile, bratty even with your chest heaving. “yeah, what you gonna do?”

his grip on your chin tightened just a little, his smirk sharp, dangerous. “you’re about to fucking find out, bitch.”

the word made your eyes widen, a flash of surprise mixed with the way your stomach twisted with heat. he saw it, of course he did, and it only made his grin curl wider. without saying anything else, he freed you from the cuffs, and then he reached over to his drawer again, sliding it open, and soon after you felt him turn you over, pressing you chest down into the mattress. his hand slid along the back of your neck as he fastened something firm around your throat. a collar.

“if you wanna act like my bitch,” he muttered close to your ear, tugging on it once to test the fit, “maybe i’ll just put a leash on you.” your body shivered at the sound of it, and you let out a whine muffled against the sheets. he gave you a second to breathe before pushing off the bed, standing tall. “get off the bed,” he ordered, his voice steady but sharp. “kneel on the floor. hands on your thighs. like i taught you.”

you moved quickly, scrambling off the mattress, and the second your knees hit the floor, you dropped into position, head slightly bowed, palms flat against your thighs. you felt the weight of the collar with every breath, heavy, real. jake sat back on the edge of the bed, legs spread just enough, elbows resting loosely on his knees. he looked down at you for a long moment, letting the silence sit, letting you squirm under his gaze. then his hand came out, patting the top of your head like he was rewarding a pet.

“you look so fucking pretty in a collar,” he said, his tone low, rough. “acting so obedient now. not so bratty anymore, huh?” your lips parted, but you stayed quiet, because you knew better now. he leaned back a little, watching you stay perfectly still on your knees in front of him. the collar sat snug on your neck, and he let his fingers trace over it like he was reminding you who put it there.

“good girl,” he said slowly, almost teasing. “but let’s see if you actually learned something.” his hand came down, tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his eyes. “you want me to let you touch me?”

“yes, please,” you whispered immediately, your voice shaky but eager.

he smirked, clearly satisfied with that, but still not giving in. instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your face. “tell me what you are.”

your eyes flickered, nervous but turned on. “i’m your pet.”

his grin stretched wide. “and what does my pet want right now?”

your body squirmed as you shifted on your knees, thighs pressing together, heat pooling low. “i want to please you.”

“hm,” he hummed, tilting his head. “you want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”

“mhm, yes, so bad.” you said whiny.

he raised a brow, clearly enjoying dragging it out. “why should i let you?”

you whined, the sound spilling out without you meaning to, and he chuckled low. “please, jake… i’ll be good, i promise.”

he leaned forward again, his lips brushing against your ear. “beg properly, pet.”

your hands clenched against your thighs, nails digging into your skin as you whispered quickly, desperate, “please let me suck your cock, i need it, i’ll be good, i’ll do it how you like, just please.”

he smirked like he’d been waiting for that exact moment, thumb dragging over your bottom lip again before pulling his hand away completely. “open my pants.” ​​your hands shot forward instantly, fumbling just a little with the button and zipper, pulling them down slowly, careful, like you knew he was watching your every move. he shifted his hips up to help, letting you slide the fabric down enough, and when his cock sprang free, thick and already hard, he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you to look at it.

“there it is,” he muttered, his tone sharp. “the thing you’ve been begging for.” you licked your lips, eyes wide, but you stayed frozen until he gave the word. he smirked again, tugging your hair gently. “go on, pet. show me how good you can be.”

you started slow, almost too slow, your lips brushing against the tip first, tongue flicking against the slit while your hand wrapped around the base. jake groaned right away, his head tipping back as his fingers tightened in your hair. “fuck… you’re really gonna tease me now?” his voice was low, almost strained, but you didn’t speed up. you flattened your tongue along the underside and dragged it down, taking your time, making him twitch against your lips.

you slowly pushed him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, but still holding back, pulling off every few seconds just to lick around his head again. drool was already starting to wet your chin, and the sight made him groan even louder. “shit… look at you. on your knees, drooling for me.” he tugged harder on your hair, guiding you back down, and you let him.

he held you there, watching you take him slow, your throat stretching around him as you gagged softly, eyes watering a little. that sound made him grit his teeth. “fuck, you like this, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice harsh now. “mhm? you like choking on my cock like a good little bitch?”

you moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver through his body. he pulled you off suddenly, saliva dripping from your lips, and forced you to look at him. “answer me,” he demanded, his grip unrelenting.

you gasped, your voice weak but clear. “yes, yes! i like it.”

he smirked, his thumb smearing your spit over your lips. “damn… you like the whole thing, don’t you? degradation too?”

before you could answer, he pushed you back down, this time not letting you go at your own pace. he thrusted up into your mouth, using your head like a handle, fucking your throat without mercy. your gagging filled the room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gasped for breath between strokes. “that’s it, baby,” he groaned, his hips snapping up harder, faster. “take it. take it all like the dumb little slut you are.”

you clawed at his thighs, not to push him away but to hold on, and he laughed breathlessly. “jesus christ, you’re sick for this. my obedient pet one second, my dirty slut the next. fuck, i’m never letting you go.” he shoved himself deeper, until your nose pressed against his skin, and held you there, watching your throat work around him. you gagged, choked, saliva spilling everywhere, but you didn’t fight it, you let him use you, collar tight against your neck, and it drove him fucking insane.

he drove himself until he lost it, groaning your name as he came, and the warm, filthy flood hit the back of your throat. you gagged around him, eyes wide, stomach tightening as his hips convulsed, and when he finally slowed and stilled you swallowed reflexively, shaking, tasting him on your tongue.

he watched you the whole time, chest heaving, and then he pulled out. you were breathing hard, cheeks flushed. he scooped you up with this sudden tenderness that almost felt comical after the roughness, picked you up like you were light as a feather and carried you back to the bed. 

you lay there as he settled down beside you, and his hands were all soft now. he kissed your face like he was making up for everything, trailing from your mouth down to your collarbone, lingering, then along your arm to your hand where he actually sucked on your fingers for a beat, ridiculous and sweet and wildly out of sync with what he’d been doing minutes before.

“my baby did so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice full of something that wasn’t only lust. “you treated me so well.”

you were breathless and whining, voice small and needy. he smiled into your neck, tasting you again, and you felt both stupid and right to be lost in the softness after the dirty stuff. his praise kept coming, until, in a quick motion that made your heart jump, he shifted behind you so your back pressed into his chest. he folded you into him, one arm wrapping under your ribs, the other finding your legs and holding them open wide.

“i’m gonna reward you now, okay?” he said into your hair, voice steady. “i feel bad for being mean to my bunny.” there was a teasing edge but also actual warmth. you could feel him hard against the small of your back, steady.

he cupped your thighs, fingers warm, and brushed a palm over your slick where he’d made you come earlier, slow, deliberate. you squirmed, he kissed the back of your ear, then whispered, “do you want my fingers again? or do you want me inside you?”

you looked back over your shoulder, eyes bright, tiny smirk slipping through the haze. “i want you,” you breathed.

he hummed, pleased, and his hand slid between your legs, fingers parting you easily. he started with one finger, slow, pressing in and curling gently, testing, then adding a second as you moaned into his shirt. his thumb found your clit, rubbing in easy circles while his fingers worked inside you, a steady, confident rhythm that built you back up from the edges. “that’s it,” he praised, low and rough. “such a good girl. take it for me.”

you were trembling, the combination of his fingers and the proximity of his cock against your back making everything too much. you whined, hips rocking, chasing more, and he laughed softly, biting at your shoulder. “you make the dumbest little noises when i touch you. it’s almost embarrassing how much you need me.”

his thumb pressed harder, fingers curling deep, and your whole body shook, forehead falling against his shoulders. he kissed the back of your neck, lips dragging over the collar around your throat, his breath hot against your skin. then his voice dropped darker, meaner, right in your ear. “do you want my cock inside you, hm?” you whined and nodded, and his fingers slowed, teasing, holding you on edge. “ask me nicely, pet.”

you squirmed, chest heaving, and finally whispered, “please, jake, i want it. i want your cock, please–”

he groaned low, his grip tightening on your waist. “that’s my girl. begging so sweet.” he lifted you up just a little, enough to line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. he didn’t push in right away. instead, he held you there, rubbing himself through your folds, letting you feel how hard he was. “feel that? all yours if you behave.” you whined and tried to sink down, but his hands stopped you. he breathed against your ear again. “slow. i’m gonna make you take it slow.”

inch by inch, he guided you down onto him, your body stretching around him, every second dragging out. he held your hips steady, forcing you to feel every bit of him sliding in. your moans filled the room, shaky and raw, and he kissed the side of your neck, whispering, “good girl. you’re doing so good for me.”

he bottomed out finally, keeping you still, cock buried deep inside you while his arm locked you in place. his lips pressed to your collar, then your ear. “stay right here. don’t move. let me feel you.” 

you could feel the way his chest rose sharp against your back, the way he was fighting to breathe steady. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, and for a moment he didn’t move at all, just holding you there, stuffed full, his heavy cock twitching inside you. “fuck,” he groaned, low and broken, like he’d been waiting forever for this. his hand dragged down your thigh, squeezing tight. “you don’t know how long i wanted this. how bad.” his hips shifted just a little, not even pulling out, just grinding deeper into you, chasing more of your heat.

when he finally started to move, it was slow, dragging himself out a few inches and sliding back in just as carefully. the stretch made both of you gasp. he kissed your shoulder, your neck, muttering, “fuck, you feel perfect. so tight.” his thighs shifted under you, his body adjusting. he pressed his feet into the mattress, grounding himself, and the new leverage let him sink back in harder. the bed creaked with the movement, his grip on your waist tightening.

his thrusts picked up, still controlled but deeper, faster, each one hitting with more force. the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, his breath rough in your ear. his rhythm built steady, more sure with every thrust, the need he’d been holding back finally breaking through as he fucked into you from below, hips snapping up against you.

“that’s it,” he growled against your ear, voice ragged. “take it. take my cock, pet. bounce on it.” his free hand slid down your front, fingers finding your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make you jolt. you whined, back arching into his chest, and he laughed low, mean but so turned on. “look at you– you love when i rub your clit while i fuck you stupid, don’t you?”

your answer came out broken, just a mess of yes and please, and he rewarded you by pressing harder, rubbing tight circles while still driving his cock into you rough and deep. “good girl,” he panted, his lips brushing the side of your neck, wet from his kisses. “you’re mine. my sweet bunny, taking me so well.”

he slowed just enough to shift you, his hands sliding down your sides as he pulled out of you. you were still shaking when he turned you around, moving you onto his lap so you were straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. his cock brushed against you, wet and hot, as he guided you down onto him again, inch by inch, until you were seated fully, face to face.

his eyes locked with yours, dark and heavy. “that’s better,” he murmured, breathless. “i want to see you while you ride me.” he grabbed your hips, steadying you, then started rolling them forward, showing you the rhythm he wanted. “move, puppy,” he said quietly, voice rough. “show me how you ride.”

you began to move, slow at first, your hands pressed to his chest. his palms slid up your sides, then cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. he squeezed, played, tugged gently, making you moan. “look at my pretty pet,” he said, fingers teasing your nipples while his hips pushed up into you. “bouncing on my cock so good. does it feel good, pup?”

you whined in answer, head tipping back, and he reached up and caught the collar at your throat, fingers curling in the strap to pull you back down until your faces were inches apart. “closer,” he ordered. “right here. eyes on me, baby.”

his grip on the collar held you steady as you rode him, your breasts moving in his hands. he pinched your nipples again, rolling them between his fingers while he thrust up into you, forcing another whimper from your throat. your nails dug into his shoulders as you tried to move on him, the stretch making your breath come out in shaky little sounds. your forehead dropped to his, eyes squeezed shut.

“jake–-” you whispered, voice breaking. “it’s too much. you’re too big…”

his smirk flickered, a small groan in his chest as he pulled a little on your collar to make you look at him. “aww,” he said, low. “but you can take it, can’t you? slow down, baby. don’t run from it. let it in.”

you nodded, trembling, and started to roll your hips slower, dragging yourself up and down his length inch by inch. the shift made it even deeper, and you gasped, biting your lip. jake leaned back, eyes fixed on you, and put both hands behind his head, elbows out, like he was watching a show. his cock twitched inside you as you tried to keep the rhythm, struggling a little at how full you felt.

he let out a quiet, cruel laugh. “can’t even take all of it without whining. you love it, though. you love how big i am.” you whimpered, hips moving slower, trying to adjust, and he tilted his head, smirk growing wider. “that’s right. ride it nice and slow. so tight around me. so small. look at you struggling on my cock like that, fuck, so hot—”

you slowed down on purpose, hips rolling even slower than before, your hands pressing against his chest like you were testing him. your eyes caught his as you bit your lip, that bratty look on your face making him groan. he tugged at the collar just enough to make you jolt. “don’t play with me, pup.” his voice was low, sharp. “you think i won’t punish you?”

you tilted your head and moved even slower, your nails dragging down his stomach. “maybe i want you to.” your voice was soft, teasing, a little whine under it.

his jaw flexed. “oh, you want to act up?” he sat up, one hand gripping your hip tight. “you’re just begging for it, aren’t you.” he pulled the collar again, making you lean closer to his face. “say it. say you want me to punish you.”

you let out a small sound and whispered, “i want it.”

he smirked. “good.” with a quick motion he flipped you off his lap and onto the bed, stomach down. his palm pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down while he shifted behind you. “hands and knees. now.” you scrambled to obey, getting on all fours, the collar still around your neck, your hair falling into your face. his hand slid down your back and squeezed your ass. “stay like that. don’t move until i tell you.”

you were already whining softly, arching a little. “look at you,” he said, voice darker now. “do you want me to punish you for real?” you nodded, still on your hands and knees. “say it.”

“i want you to punish me.”

his palm landed on your ass in a sharp smack, not too hard but enough to make you gasp. “that’s what i thought.” his other hand slid between your thighs, fingers teasing just close enough to where you wanted him but not touching. “my little bunny likes acting up so she can get punished, huh?”

“yes—” you whispered, squirming under him.

“then stay still.” he pressed himself against you, his cock sliding along your folds but not pushing in yet, just rubbing enough to make you moan. “this is what happens when you’re bratty, pup. you get teased until you’re dripping. you want it now? want me to fuck you like this?”

“please,” you whined, pushing back a little.

he grabbed your hips hard. “ask properly.”

“please fuck me, please punish me,” you said, voice breaking.

he chuckled, low and rough. “good girl. now you’re talking.” he gave another slow thrust against you, still not entering, his fingers circling your clit. “tell me what you are.”

“i’m your pet,” you gasped.

“louder.”

“i’m your pet!”

he groaned at the sound, leaning down to speak right into your ear. “fuck yeah you are” his hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against you but still waiting, making you squirm even more. his smirk was audible in his voice. “now i’m gonna show you what happens when you’re bratty, pet.”

he slid forward suddenly, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to make you gasp. before you could whine another word he pushed your face down into the mattress, palm on the back of your head, making you arch with your ass up and your cheek pressed to the sheets. “this is where you belong when you’re acting like a brat,” he growled. “face down, ass up.” his other hand came down on your ass again, sharper this time, making you let out a choked moan.

you tried to lift your head but his palm kept you there. “stay down. don’t look at me. pets don’t look at their owner unless they’re told to.”

“fuckk—” you whimpered, voice muffled by the sheets.

he slammed the rest of the way in with one rough thrust, making you cry out against the mattress. “that’s it. take it. you’re just a little bunny for me to fuck, aren’t you?”

“yes—”

he started moving, rough thrusts, his hips slamming into you while his fingers dug into your skin. “fuck, listen to you,” he snarled between breaths. “whining like a toy. you like when i use you like this? you like being my bitch?” he gave another sharp slap to your ass, then slid his hand up to grab your hair, yanking your head back just enough to hear you gasp. “say it.”

“i like being your bitch—”

he groaned and slammed into you harder, his cock hitting deep, his hand still tangled in your hair, and his thrusts picked up pace, rough and unrelenting, his free hand sliding between your legs to circle your clit while he fucked you from behind. “you’re gonna cum when i tell you. until then you’re just a hole for me to use, you understand?” you whimpered something incoherent and he smirked, fingers still working your clit. “what? can’t even talk now? my little pet’s gone all dumb on my cock?”

“yes—” you managed to gasp, hips trembling.

he chuckled darkly and slid his other over until his thumb pressed against your asshole. he didn’t push, just rubbed in slow circles while still thrusting into you. the sound you made was almost a squeak. your hips jerked and he felt it immediately. he pushed a little harder with his thumb, still circling, testing. “ohhh,” he said low, voice heavy with amusement, “you like that too, huh?”

you buried your face in the sheets and nodded. “fucking dirty little puppy,” he growled, pressing his thumb a little deeper, then pulling back to circle again. “getting wet while i play with your ass. you’re so fucking filthy. is that what you want? you want me to fuck your ass too?”

“yes, fuck, jake—” you said again, voice high and shaking.

he leaned down, lips brushing your ear, thumb pressing just a bit harder. “fuck, you’re unreal. begging for more when you’re already full.” you whimpered again, hips pushing back against him without thinking. “tell me how bad you want it,” he ordered, his cock sliding slow inside you while his thumb teased your ass. “tell me you’re my dirty bunny and you want me to take you wherever i want.”

you gasped, “i want you to take me—please—”

“not enough,” he said, thrusting a little harder, his thumb pressing a little deeper. “say exactly what you want.”

“please use me, please fuck me—”

he smirked against your ear. “use you where?”

“fuck my pussy—please—”

“and?” he pressed.

“play with my ass—please—”

his laugh was low and sharp. “you’re fucking unreal.” his thrusts got faster, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room. his thumb slipped just inside your ass now, shallow, teasing, while his cock filled you completely.

“oh fuck—” you cried out, your voice cracking.

he pulled your head up by your hair, forcing you to arch your back. “look at you,” he muttered, “fucking begging to be filled from both sides. you’re my dirty little bunny, aren’t you?”

“yes,” you whined, “i’m your bunny, please—”

“what do you want now?”

“i want to cum,” you begged, voice shaking. “please, i need to—”

he slowed down, almost stopped, his thumb still moving at your ass. “you’re gonna cum when i say, pet. got it?”

“please,” you cried, hips trembling, “please let me—”

he leaned down to your ear, still holding your hair tight. “ask me right. say you want your owner to let you cum.”

you gasped, “please let me cum, please, please—”

his cock slammed into you again, hard enough to make you cry out. “again.”

“please let me cum,” you sobbed, “please let me cum—”

he finally lost it, his thumb pressing deeper, his cock pounding into you rough. “fuck, you’re so fucking perfect—cum. now. do it.”

you broke with a loud moan, your whole body shaking as you came around him, clenching so hard he had to grip your hips to hold you steady. he didn’t slow down, his thrusts got even rougher while you were still coming. his voice dropped low, almost a growl. “you like this, bunny? you want me to fill you too? want me to pump you full?”

you whimpered a weak “yes—” still trembling.

“say it right,” he said, still thrusting. “say you want me to breed you.”

“i want you to breed me,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “please fill me—”

he bit your shoulder lightly, his thumb still at your ass, his cock slamming into you harder and faster. “fuck—” he groaned, “keep saying it.”

“please breed me, please fill me up, i’m your puppy, please—”

he lost whatever control he had left. his hips snapped hard, one final thrust burying him deep inside you, his breath coming out as a rough moan. “fuck—” he hissed, his cock pulsing as he spilled into you, still grinding against you to push it deeper. he stayed there, pressed against your back, his hand still on your hair, his thumb still teasing your ass while he twitched inside you, panting against your ear. “good fucking girl,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

you were still shaking, whimpering quietly, your body soft under him. he kissed your shoulder once, still holding you there, still buried inside you. “you’re mine now,” he said, low. “so fuckingperfect.”

he stayed there for a while, and kissed the back of your neck, gently, slightly sliding off after a moment. he took off your collar while he still kissed your neck, and both of you went quiet, just breathing. it wasn’t heavy or awkward, it just felt like everything around had slowed down, just quiet in a way that felt right. jake moved first, reaching down to grab the sheet that had ended up at the foot of the bed at some point. he pulled it over you and ran his hand down your arm once, probably making sure you were okay without actually asking out loud yet.

you didn't say anything, just turned your head a little with your eyes half closed. he sat up and reached for his water bottle on the nightstand, the one he always kept there, and handed it to you without a word. you took a few sips and smiled at him, the kind of small tired smile that doesn't need explanation.

he was still catching his breath a little, looking at you like he was trying to process the last hour. it was one of those moments where he seemed caught between wanting to laugh at himself or just stare at the ceiling and think about his life choices. he let out a breath and said, "you good?" you nodded, and for a second neither of you moved or said anything. then he laughed, quiet and almost to himself. "i can't believe i get to do this with you."

you looked at him, a bit confused at first, then smiled. "what, the freaky stuff?"

"no," he said, shaking his head but still smiling. "i mean yeah, that too obviously. but i'm talking about all of it. i never thought i'd actually find someone who'd let me figure shit out without making it this whole weird thing, you know?"

you laughed and turned on your side to face him properly. "jake, we already did enough weird shit to last you the entire semester. i think you've figured plenty out."

"yeah i know," he said, laughing too. "but i'm being serious right now. you make it easy. i didn't know that was even possible with this stuff."

you grinned, half teasing him because that's just how you two worked. "you're getting all emotional on me now."

he grabbed a pillow and threw it at you playfully, and you caught it against your chest while laughing. "shut up," he said. "i'm trying to have a moment here."

"you're doing great," you said, your voice still light but a little softer.

he smiled for real then, the kind of smile that takes over his whole face even when he's trying to play it cool. he leaned over and kissed your forehead, staying there for a second with his hand resting on your side. "just tell me if anything ever gets too much, alright? like anything at all. i don't want to fuck this up."

you nodded, and there was a pause before you said, "you won't. i'd tell you if something was wrong."

that seemed to settle something in him. he laid back down, one arm behind his head and the other still draped over you. the room was quiet except for the sound of the sheets whenever either of you shifted around. you laughed out of nowhere, and he turned his head to look at you with his eyebrows drawn together like he was trying to figure out what was funny. "what?"

"nothing," you said, still smiling. "you just look like you're overthinking again."

he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, then looked back at you. "yeah, i was just thinking about something. i don't ever want to be too rough with you or whatever."

you blinked, a little surprised he was bringing that up now, then smiled. "jake, it's fine. i like it. you know i like it."

“yeah, i know,” he said quickly, his thumb brushing your arm while he talked. “but i don’t want you to think that’s all this is. that i just want that.”

you turned your head toward him, eyes narrowing slightly. “it’s not?”

he frowned, confused that you even had to ask. “no, of course not.” 

you stared at him for a second, quiet, and it was the kind of silence where you both realized you might not have been on the same page about this whole thing. he kept tracing these light patterns on your shoulder with his fingers and said, "i mean yeah, i wanted to try stuff and experiment or whatever. but i don't want you thinking i'm just using you for it. that's not what's happening here." you looked down for a second, feeling a little embarrassed but also not really knowing what to say to that. he reached up and tilted your chin with his hand so you'd look at him again. "you know i could hook up with literally anyone else if it was just about trying shit out, right?"

you rolled your eyes and laughed. "okay yeah, i get it. you're very popular and desired."

he smiled but shook his head. "that's not what i'm trying to say."

you laughed again, softer this time and less defensive. "i know."

he watched your face for a moment and said quietly, "do you want to talk about it?"

"only if you want to talk about it," you said, your voice smaller but honest.

and then neither of you said anything for a full minute. it was funny in that awkward sort of normal way, like both of you knew this was one of those conversations that could get too serious too fast, and you were just tiptoeing around it. he started messing with the edge of the sheet and you started tracing random shapes on his arm with your finger, both of you obviously thinking about the exact same thing but pretending to be casual about it.

here's the thing though: jake had started catching feelings for you at some point, it just happened. it wasn't just about the sex anymore, and honestly it maybe never was from the start. he liked that you didn't treat him like he was this thing people whispered about at parties or like he was someone's weird project. you just looked at him like he was a regular person trying to figure himself out, not like he was some reputation that walked around campus. you made him feel like it was okay to be curious and mess up and not have everything figured out right away.

he looked at you again and said, "you okay?" and you nodded, smiling just a little, like you both understood that things were different now but neither of you wanted to ruin the moment by saying too much too soon. he leaned in and kissed your forehead again, even softer this time, and you laughed under your breath.

so you ended up staying there the whole next day. it wasn't really planned or discussed, you both just didn't mention leaving and it made sense to stay. he tossed you one of his shirts when you went to take a shower, this soft worn out one he always slept in, and he grinned like an idiot when you came out wearing it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

you ordered food later because neither of you felt like cooking anything, and he made this whole big production out of picking a place even though he always ended up choosing the same korean spot every time. he let you take the last dumpling and then spent ten minutes complaining about it just to keep the joke going. by the time it got dark outside, there was still some movie playing in the background that neither of you were really watching, and you'd ended up half asleep on his chest while he scrolled through his phone with one hand and rubbed these slow circles on your arm with the other.

it was all very normal and kind of domestic, which was weird because this was jake, the guy who never really stuck around with anyone for more than a night or two. but there he was, asking if you wanted water every twenty minutes and telling you to stop thanking him so much for every little thing.

heeseung and sunghoon had gone out that night, which honestly made everything easier. jake mentioned they'd probably get back late, and they did. you heard the front door open at some point but by then you were already half asleep in his bed with his arm around you, both of you pretending not to hear them trying and failing to whisper in the hallway.

the next morning though, that's when it got funny. you woke up first and stole one of jake's hoodies because the place was freezing, then went to make coffee in the kitchen. sunghoon walked in first with his hair going everywhere and his eyes barely open, and he just stood there for a second staring at you like his brain was buffering.

"morning," you said, trying to act completely normal while pouring coffee into a mug.

he blinked a few times, pointed at the hoodie you were wearing, and said, "is that jake's?"

before you could even answer, jake walked in behind him, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. "yeah, what about it?"

sunghoon just started laughing, but it was that disbelieving kind of laugh. "nothing man, just wow. didn't think i'd ever see this day actually happen."

later that day you headed back to your place, jake drove you back. he kissed you before you got out of his car, one of those slow ones that made you both smile after, and then when you got inside your dorm, he stood there in the parking lot like an idiot, watching you get in.

the thing was, after that morning, jake couldn't get you out of his head. and not just in the way he'd been thinking about you before, when it was mostly about wanting to try things or wondering what you'd be like. now it was different, now it was everything.

he'd be sitting in class, supposedly paying attention to some lecture about marketing strategies or whatever, and instead he'd be thinking about the way you'd smiled at him that morning when you handed him his coffee. or he'd be at the gym with sunghoon, mid set, and suddenly he'd remember the way you laughed when he made some dumb joke, and he'd lose count of his reps. he'd remember your moans, then he had to immediately shut that thought away because he didn't want to get hard in front of his gym bro.

"dude, you good?" sunghoon asked him one afternoon, watching jake stare at his phone for the third time in ten minutes.

"yeah, why?"

"you've been weird all week," sunghoon said, setting down his weights. "you keep smiling at your phone like a psycho."

jake shoved his phone in his pocket. "i'm not smiling."

"you literally were just smiling."

"shut up."

but sunghoon wasn't wrong. jake was down bad, and he knew it. the problem was he didn't know what to do about it. you two hadn't really talked about what you were doing, if this was just experimenting or if it was more than that. and jake, who usually never cared about labels or definitions, suddenly found himself wanting to know.

he thought about texting you constantly. not even anything important, just random shit like "what are you doing" or "did you eat today" but he didn't want to seem clingy. except he kind of was being clingy, because every time his phone buzzed he hoped it was you, and when it wasn't, he felt weirdly disappointed.

it got worse at night. he'd lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and his brain would just replay everything. the way you looked in his hoodie, the way you fit perfectly under his arm, the way you'd kissed him goodbye. and yeah, of course he thought about the freaky sex too, but it wasn't just that anymore. he wanted to wake up next to you again, wanted to make you coffee, wanted to hear you laugh at his stupid jokes.

"i think i'm fucked," he said out loud to his empty room one night, and then laughed at himself because yeah, he definitely was.

by thursday, he'd seen you twice on campus. once you were walking with chaewon and you'd waved at him, that bright smile that made his chest feel tight, and he'd waved back trying to act normal. the second time you were sitting in the library and he'd sat down next to you without asking, and you'd just looked up, smiled, and went back to your laptop like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"you're distracting me," you'd said after a while, not looking up.

"i'm not doing anything."

"you're breathing loud."

he'd laughed, quiet so he wouldn't get shushed by the librarian. "sorry, i'll stop breathing."

you'd looked at him then, that little smirk on your face. "don't be dramatic." and he'd stayed there for an hour, pretending to study but really just sitting next to you, and when you finally packed up your stuff, he'd walked you to your next class even though his was in the opposite direction.

friday night, the guys wanted to go to some party, but jake wasn't really feeling it. he was lying on his bed, scrolling through unhinged instagram reels, when heeseung knocked on his door. "you coming or what?"

"nah, i'm tired."

heeseung raised an eyebrow. "you? tired of a party? since when?"

"since now."

"does this have anything to do with y/n?"

jake looked up at him. "what about her?"

heeseung grinned. "nothing. just seems like you've been in your head a lot lately." he paused, then added, "she's cool, by the way. i like her."

"yeah," jake said, looking back at his phone. "me too."

"then maybe stop being weird about it and just tell her that."

after heeseung left, jake stared at his phone for a solid five minutes before finally opening your messages.

[jake]: you doing anything tonight

you answered almost immediately.

[you]: was gonna watch a movie probably why

[jake]: can i come over

[you]: sure :))

so the thing is, jake wasn’t planning anything when he texted you. like, actually nothing. he just wanted to see you, sit around, maybe talk, maybe not. that was it. except, obviously, his brain didn’t get the memo. because the second you said “sure :)” he was already pacing around his room like an idiot, thinking about what shirt to wear, and then laughing at himself because why the hell did it matter what shirt he wore if this wasn’t a date.

he kept telling himself it wasn’t like that – that he wasn’t going over to hook up or whatever. so there he was, caught somewhere between i just wanna hang out and oh god what if i end up wrapping a collar on her neck again, and honestly, it was ridiculous.

the problem was, jake had never really done this before. not the whole “liking someone” thing, at least not in a way that made him feel this normal, it was messing him up. his chest hurt sometimes, but in a good way, and it annoyed him how much he liked it. he wasn’t used to missing people. usually, when things ended, they ended. easy. but with you, it was different. he was basically down bad and self aware enough to hate it.

he couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. gone to see someone just to be around them. it had been years, maybe never. he wanted to be near you, which felt ridiculous for someone who used to brag about never catching feelings.

somewhere between grabbing his keys and pulling on his hoodie, he had this thought that made him stop and laugh. maybe this was his actual kink. not any of the stuff he'd spent hours googling at three in the morning or reading about on reddit. his real kink was apparently just wanting to spend time with you. no expectations, no plan, just you existing in the same room as him. which was possibly the lamest thing he'd ever admitted to himself, but also kind of true.

and for jake, that was kind of terrifying. because yeah, he’d done a lot of freaky things, but this? catching feelings? this was new level freaky. he had no idea what the next step was. he didn’t know how to play it cool, didn’t know what it meant if he just wanted to hang out, didn’t even know if you felt the same. all he knew was that when you said sure :) he felt something warm in his chest that no amount of hookups ever gave him.

so he got in his car, sat there for a second with his hands on the steering wheel, and said, “this is so stupid,” before driving anyway. because no matter how dumb he felt, he knew he’d rather feel dumb next to you than cool anywhere else.

when jake showed up at your dorm, he didn’t really know what he was expecting. maybe he thought you’d tease him for getting there so fast, or that you’d joke about him being obsessed, which, honestly, wouldn’t have been wrong. but when you opened the door, hair a little messy, wearing some oversized hoodie and cute kuromi socks, he just smiled. it was automatic, the kind of smile that happened before he could even think about it.

you went back to the couch and sat down, pulling your legs under you, while he hovered for a second like he didn’t know where to sit. then he just dropped next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “so,” you said, turning toward him. “did you come here for a reason?”

he looked at you for a second before answering. “i just wanted to see you.”

you raised your eyebrows, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “that’s it?”

“yeah,” he said, and that was the truth. he shrugged a little, but his hand found your thigh without even thinking, resting there gently like it belonged. “that’s it.”

you didn’t say anything right away, but your smile softened. you leaned back into the couch, and he followed your movement like gravity. it wasn’t even about anything physical; he just couldn’t help it. his arm went around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. it was clingy, yeah, but he wasn’t trying to hide it.

you picked up the remote, flipped through netflix for a while, and he watched you instead of the screen. it was stupid, but he couldn’t help paying attention to the small things, like the way you curled your toes under the blanket, how you made tiny comments about every movie title you didn’t like, how you’d glance at him now and then with that small knowing look like you could tell he wasn’t really watching. “you’re not paying attention,” you said, side eyeing him.

“i am,” he said, though he definitely wasn’t.

“what’s the movie about, then?”

he paused. “uh… friendship?”

you laughed, shaking your head. “it’s twilight, dumbass.”

he grinned, leaning in until his chin was resting against your head. “yeah, but maybe there’s still friendship in there somewhere.”

you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t push him away. he stayed there, arm heavy around you, tracing lazy lines with his fingers on your arm. it wasn’t like him to be this still, this soft, but he didn’t really care. after a while, you said quietly, “you’re weirdly touchy today.”

“you don’t like it?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you.

you thought about it, lips pressed together like you were pretending to consider it. “i didn’t say that.”

“so you do like it,” he said, smirking.

“maybe,” you said, eyes still on the screen. he chuckled and leaned in closer, his nose brushing the top of your head, smelling you. you didn’t move away, just sighed in that way that said you were pretending to be annoyed. his hand stayed resting on your leg, thumb brushing back and forth like a small habit. you glanced at him again and said, “you know you don’t have to act all sweet just to hang out, right?”

he smiled, soft but sure. “i’m not acting.”

you gave him that look, the one that was amused but skeptical, but you didn’t push it. instead, you leaned into him more, your head finding its way to his chest. he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. everything felt slower here, quieter. he liked it more than he’d admit out loud.

later, when you started talking about random things, the class you hated, how the dining hall food was getting worse, how sunoo accidentally set off the dorm alarm again, jake listened like every word mattered. he didn’t even try to hide the smile that kept showing up on his face. and if anyone asked him what that night was, he wouldn’t have known how to describe it. it wasn’t a date, it wasn’t anything official. it was just him and you, a blanket, twilight rants (jake laughed his ass off), and a weird sense that something about all this felt new.

after a while the movie was still on but neither of you were really watching anymore. you were warm under the blanket, leaning against him, and he felt your breathing slow down a little. his own eyes were heavy but he didn’t want to move, not when you felt that close. eventually though you stretched, yawned, and mumbled that your neck was starting to hurt from sitting like that. he nodded and followed you when you got up, both of you kind of quiet but in that easy, comfortable way.

your bed was small, definitely not made for two people, but you didn’t even have to ask him to join you. he slipped in right behind you, pulling you close without hesitation. it was a little awkward with all the shifting around, but once you were both settled under your blanket, it just felt natural.

he tucked his chin against your shoulder, one arm wrapped tight around your waist. you stayed like that for a while, just listening to each other breathe, the silence stretching out in a way that didn’t feel heavy. then he said, voice low like he wasn’t sure if he should break the quiet, “i wanted to see you tonight. that’s all.”

you turned your head slightly, trying to look at him. “i know,” you said softly. “i can tell.”

he let out a small laugh, kind of embarrassed. “good. because i didn’t… like, i wasn’t coming here expecting anything. i just wanted to hang out. i like being around you.”

you felt your chest warm at that, even if you tried not to show it too much. “you’re being really sweet right now.”

“yeah, don’t get used to it,” he teased, then got quiet again. his fingers started tracing light patterns on your stomach, like he couldn’t sit still. “can i be honest about something?”

“always,” you said.

he hesitated, then said, “you know how we’ve been messing around… i really like it, what we're exploring, i don't know.” he laughed at the way he said it, but kept going. “more than i thought i would.”

you blinked, but you didn’t pull away. “okay,” you said, keeping your tone even. “you can just say that. it’s not weird.”

“i know,” he said quickly. “i just don’t want it to sound like that’s the only reason i’m here, because it’s not. i figured it’s better to say this out loud instead of keeping it in my head.”

you nodded slowly. “that makes sense. so what about it do you like?”

he smiled a little, though you couldn’t see it. “the control. the way you look at me when i push you like that. it’s… i don’t know. i didn’t think i’d be into it this much, but i am. and i think i want to explore more of it, but only if you’re into it too.”

you thought about it for a second, then said, “i am. i like it too. and i like that you’re saying this, actually. it makes it easier for me to tell you what i like.”

he squeezed your waist gently. “yeah? tell me, then.”

you turned a little so you could face him better, your noses almost brushing in the dark. “i like when you call me names, but not just mean ones. like, the pet stuff feels… i don’t know, kind of comforting? even when you’re rough. it makes me feel close to you.”

his eyes softened. “that’s good. i want you to feel that way. i don’t want it to ever cross a line where it feels bad.”

“it doesn’t,” you said quickly. “and if it ever did, i’d tell you. but i like that you’re not afraid to be rough and that you pay attention when i push back. it feels balanced, you know?”

he nodded, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “that’s what i want. i don’t want it to just be me getting what i want. i want it to be both of us, figuring it out together.”

“that’s what this is,” you said. “we’re figuring it out.”

he smiled at that, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your temple. “you make it sound easy.”

“it is easy,” you said, settling back against him.

he wrapped you up tighter, holding you close enough that you could feel his heartbeat against your back. “okay, then here’s me being honest again,” he said after a pause. “i’ve never really done this before. not just the kink part, but… like, the after part. i’ve hooked up, i’ve tried stuff, but actually wanting to stay after, wanting to come over just to watch movies? that’s new. and -- it scares me a little.”

you reached back and laced your fingers with his. “i think that’s fine. it doesn’t have to be figured out all at once.”

he exhaled like that was what he needed to hear. “thanks. i… i really like this, i mean.”

you smiled into the dark. “i like this too, jakey.”

for a while neither of you said anything else. his hand stayed tangled with yours, his body warm against yours. you shifted a little, not because you were uncomfortable but because you wanted to see him. when you turned in his arms, he loosened his hold just enough to let you face him, your noses close in the dark. he blinked at you like he hadn’t expected you to move, and for a moment the only thing either of you did was look at each other.

you reached up and brushed your fingers along his jaw, soft and slow. he leaned into your touch without thinking, like it was natural. then you kissed him, and it wasn’t rushed or hungry, not the way you’d kissed before when things were heated and messy. this one was tentative at first, a press of lips that lingered, both of you testing the space.

he kissed you back just as carefully, almost shy in the way he moved his mouth against yours. his hand came up to the side of your face, his thumb rubbing small circles near your temple. it stayed like that for a while, slow and steady, until you tilted your head and opened to him a little more. the change was small but he noticed right away, kissing you deeper, still unhurried but with more intent.

he pulled back just a fraction, enough to whisper, “you feel so good,” before kissing you again.

the warmth built gradually. every time you moved your lips against his, every little sound you made, it drew him in further. he shifted closer until his chest pressed to yours, until there was no real space left between you. you hooked your hand into the collar of his hoodie, pulling him down when he tried to lift his head. when he finally rolled forward, easing his weight over you, it was careful. he braced one arm beside your head so he wouldn’t crush you, letting you feel the solid press of him without it being too much. your legs brushed his, your hands sliding up into his hair, and the kiss turned heavier but not rushed.

he pulled back again, just slightly, breathing against your lips. “you’re perfect,” he said quietly, and it didn’t sound like a line. it sounded like he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

you kissed him again, harder this time, and he let out a low sound, moving with you, his body lowering a little more until his hips were pressed to yours. still, his pace stayed gentle. every movement was patient, every kiss followed by another, his mouth moving from your lips to your cheek, down to your jaw, then back up like he couldn’t get enough but didn’t want to rush.

“you’re so good to me,” he murmured against your skin, kissing the corner of your mouth again. “i don’t even know if you realize how much.”

your chest tightened at that, and you held him closer, wrapping your arms around him fully now. he pressed his forehead to yours, smiling a little. “i think i could get used to this,” you said, giggling.

“yeah?” he asked, voice low.

“yeah…” you said again, softer this time.

next thing you knew, it was the next morning. sunlight sneaking through your blinds, the both of you tangled up under your blanket, very obviously naked. the night before hadn’t been about roleplay or collars or anything wild. just you and him, a lot of kissing, a lot of laughing in between, and, well, some very unconventional sex. unconventional in the sense that it felt so unplanned and sweet, but also somehow clumsy in a way that made jake whisper “fuck, this might be the best sex i’ve ever had” against your shoulder while you both tried not to laugh.

you both had class that day, but when your alarms went off, you just looked at each other, groaned at the thought of moving, and made a joint decision to skip. you didn’t even say it out loud, jake just reached over, turned off your phone, and pulled you closer.

the day turned into this weird mix of domestic and ridiculous. you made instant noodles together in your dorm kitchen, him insisting he was the “chef” even though he literally almost forgot to put water in the pot. you ended up watching some more twilight movies on your laptop while lying in bed, and he kept pausing it every ten minutes to ask, “wait, so who’s this guy again?” even though you’d explained three times already.

somewhere in the middle of all this, jake got curious and started testing out “soft” versions of kinks he hadn’t gotten around to yet. nothing serious, more like experiments. at one point he asked if he could blindfold you, then immediately ruined it by laughing because he tied it too tight and you complained you couldn’t breathe. another time, he asked if you’d let him feed you chocolate with his hands while calling you “princess,” and you went along with it until you both started laughing so hard the chocolate melted everywhere. he even half joked about barking for you, even though he was actually being very serious.

the point was: it was fun. it wasn’t serious or heavy. just you two being idiots together, seeing what worked, what didn’t, and realizing that sometimes the kinkiest thing was just how easy it felt to try with each other.

when night rolled around, he finally had to leave, which turned into a whole production. you walked him to the door, and he kept stalling like he forgot something: first his phone, then his hoodie, then his keys, even though they were all in his hand. every time you leaned in to give him a goodbye kiss, he found an excuse to kiss you again, until it was basically ten minutes of nonstop kisses.

“okay, i really have to go now,” he said at least four times, and yet he was still standing there, thumb brushing your jaw.

“you’ve said that already,” you pointed out, laughing.

“yeah, but i mean it this time,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again. when he finally pulled back, his voice dropped a little softer. “i had a really good time, you know. like… today. all of it.”

you smiled, brushing his messy hair out of his face. “me too.”

jake kissed your forehead, then your lips one last time, and finally walked out the door. and of course, thirty seconds later, you got a text from him: miss you already.

so obviously you told sunoo about it. what was going on between you and jake. and of course he freaked out, because that’s sunoo. he gasped so loud you had to shush him before someone else heard, then he grabbed your pillow and started smacking you with it, yelling things like i knew it! i knew he liked you! until you had to bribe him with snacks to calm down.

and the thing was, you didn’t even know what you wanted to call it. you’d always kind of liked jake, but in that he’s hot but he’s also kind of an idiot and will probably break my heart kind of way. he’d always been the friend who didn’t take things seriously, the one you swore you’d never catch feelings for because, well, you didn’t want to get hurt. so you built this wall around yourself, kept reminding yourself this was casual, just fun. and you decided you weren’t going to put any labels on it unless jake said he wanted to.

meanwhile, across town, jake had just gotten back to his place. he kicked off his sneakers, flopped down on his bed, stared at the ceiling for a solid five minutes, then pulled out his phone. and, naturally, he opened reddit.

he's typing out a draft for r/Relationship_Advice. the title says friends with benefits situationship except i don't wanna be just friends and i wanna be her pet instead. he’s mid sentence writing about how you wear stupid kuromi socks that distract him way too much, when he decides to scroll the subreddit first.

and then he sees a post. a post that sounds… exactly like you.

r/RelationshipAdvice

u/KeroppiNumber1Lover | 2h

am i overthinking this or is my fwb secretly my boyfriend?

okay so i (24f) have been friends with this guy (23m) for a long time. we were just friends until maybe a month or two ago when he came to me asking for advice about kinks. he remembered i once did that bdsm test thing for fun and thought i’d know more than him, and he wanted to “try some stuff out” and i said fine, why not?? we trust each other, no big deal. so we started hooking up and trying some of those things together.

except now it doesn’t feel like we’re just testing things anymore, it’s different. he still jokes around a lot but when we hang out, it’s not always about sex. sometimes he comes over and we just sit there watching dumb movies. last time we spent hours making fun of twilight together and it was TOO fun. he also keeps doing these little things like he brought me coffee one morning just because???? and then played it off like it wasn’t anything and when i told him i was stressed he hugged me for so long i thought my back would crackkkk sirrrrr that is not fwb behavior omg 

the problem is he is kind of known for hooking up with a lot of people in college?? not in a bad way just he never seemed serious with anyone. he’s always been the type i wouldn’t trust to water my plants because he’d probably forget after one day so i’m scared i’ll be stupid if i start to catch feelings for him. but i think i already am?? i do like him, i just don’t know if he feels the same or if this is just me overthinking it. should i say something, or keep my guard up until he says something first?

jake is lying there in bed with his phone basically falling onto his face. he blinks at the screen, rereads it once, then again. “nah… no way. it can’t be… can it??”

then he hits the part about the bdsm test. his brain short circuits. because he did ask that. he literally asked that. he scrolls faster, sees the twilight part, the coffee, the hug. every line feels like a receipt against him. it’s not even subtle. he groans into his pillow. “oh my god. this is literally about me.” then he makes the mistake of reading the comments.

comment 1: “girl if he used to be a fuckboy, protect your heart.”

jake, out loud, also typed: “I WASN’T EVEN THAT BAD. jesus. can y’all move on??”

comment 2: “sounds like you’re already dating, just without the title. either lock it down or walk away.”

jake: “ok see?? finally someone with a brain. pin this comment.”

comment 3: “guys like that just want comfort without commitment. don’t fall for it.”

jake, furious: “i literally brought her coffee at 8am and watched twilight for her. TWILIGHT. what more commitment do you want??”

comment 4: “if he’s treating you like a gf, he probably thinks of you as one already.”

→ jake: “YES. thank you random internet genius. i love you.”

comment 5: “say something before it drags on. if he’s serious, he’ll say yes. if not, at least you’ll know.”

he sighs. “okay. yeah. fine. i get it. i’ll say something. god.”

he ends up throwing his phone down on the bed and just staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe is laughing at him. like, of all places, reddit?? that’s where he finds out you’re basically calling him your “maybe-boyfriend”?

but deep down, even while he’s cringing at strangers dissecting his love life, he can’t help smiling. because at least now he knows he’s not the only one catching feelings.

so after doomscrolling reddit for like an hour and basically convincing himself he was the main character in your post, jake sat there and thought, ok i can’t just do nothing. he wanted to make a move, but not the usual dumb moves he always made. he started running through everything he knew you liked. movies. you had a letterboxd longer than a textbook, always roasting his “basic” taste but still making him watch stuff with you. sanrio. you had those socks on, like, every time he came over. your little chococat keychain was hanging off your bag right now. the oversized hoodies you lived in. your pc setup that he still couldn’t get over because he never struck you as a gamer, but then he walked into your dorm that one time and saw a glowing pastel keyboard with little frog stickers on it.

he kept trying to figure out: how do i surprise her? he thought about showing up in a full hello kitty hoodie (terrible idea), maybe making you watch every twilight movie in one sitting (he’d die), or even buying you some dumb sanrio plush and pretending he didn’t spend hours looking for it. none of it felt right.

a few days later he was sitting on the floor while heeseung was baked out of his mind, button mashing fifa with sunghoon. jake was half talking to himself when he muttered, “i just… i don’t know how to ask her without making it weird.”

heeseung, not looking up from the screen, said, “why don’t you just ask her out like a normal person.” jake stared at him. “yeah, like, words. say them. ‘do you wanna go out.’ boom.”

sunghoon snorted. “crazy concept.”

jake groaned, but in the end he thought, maybe they’re right. maybe you’d actually take it well.

so the next day, he pulled the dumbest move possible. he memorized your class schedule. you were sitting in one of your electives, sunoo on one side of you, when jake just strolled in and sat down on the other side. no notebook, no laptop, not even pretending. he just leaned back in the chair like he belonged there.

you blinked at him, whispering, “what are you doing here? you don’t even take this class.”

sunoo leaned forward across you, eyes narrowed. “yeah, what are you doing here?”

jake ignored him completely and looked at you, his voice low. “are you free tonight?”

you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “yeah… why? wanna come over?” you asked, teasing him before he could answer.

but jake shook his head, smiling a little. “actually, i’ve been thinking about taking you out.”

sunoo raised his brows, looking back and forth between you two like he was watching a live drama unfold. you just bit back another laugh, a little caught off guard but also clearly not against it. “okay,” you said softly. “where?”

he hadn’t actually planned that far, but he quickly blurted, “there’s this restaurant off campus. i heard it’s good.” it wasn’t fancy, but it was nice enough that it felt like a real step up from eating cup noodles in your dorm.

you tilted your head, still smiling. “so… a date?”

jake nodded, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. “yeah. a date.”

you tilted your head a little, smiling. “yeah, that sounds nice.”

and in his brain, jake basically blacked out. oh my god she said yes we’re going on a date holy shit this is happening. he wanted to fist pump the air like an idiot but instead he just sat there nodding like it was no big deal. he mumbled something about texting you later, then immediately packed up and left the classroom before sunoo could say a word.

the second he stepped out, he pulled out his phone and typed “she said yes” into his notes app like he needed proof it actually happened. then he drove home and told himself to stay calm. he was not calm. he tore through his closet, tried on three different shirts, showered twice, searched “best first date outfits men” on pinterest. eventually he gave up and picked the cleanest shirt he had, some jeans, and sneakers that didn’t look like they’d been through war.

when he went to pick you up, you opened the door and jake’s brain short circuited again. you weren’t overdressed, you just looked nice. too nice for him, he thought. your hair, your perfume, the way you smiled at him, it all hit him at once. he immediately leaned in for a quick peck, lingering a little too long, his hand sliding down to your waist like he couldn’t help himself. “you look really good,” he blurted.

you smirked. “you too.”

the restaurant was this little italian place just off campus. dim lighting, small tables with candles, the kind of spot people actually go to for dates. he held the door for you, pulled your chair out, doing all the things he never thought he’d actually do. the conversation was easy. you both ordered pasta, and while waiting for the food you ended up talking about random stuff, laughing over the couple next to you who were obviously on a bad date, debating which twilight movie was the worst one.

“new moon,” you said confidently.

“nah, eclipse,” jake argued, shaking his head. “that one fight scene was garbage.”

“you laughed the entire time.”

“exactly. it was trash.”

the food came and you both dug in, joking about how unromantic it was to slurp spaghetti. at one point you teased him about how “un-jake” it was for him to plan something like this, and he shrugged with a small grin, admitting, “yeah well… i wanted to do it right.”

after dinner, he drove you back, and when he parked outside your dorm, the air in the car felt a little heavier, charged but not exactly awkward. he glanced at you, smiling. “you know, i had so much fun today.”

“me too,” you said, meeting his eyes.

jake leaned in and kissed you, slow and sweet, his hand finding your cheek. when he pulled back, he looked at you for a second, then smirked. “even though you’re calling me your maybe-boyfriend on reddit.”

you froze. “what— oh my god. you read that??”

he laughed, nodding. “yeah. it popped up. i knew it was you.”

you covered your face with your hands, groaning. “i’m gonna actually die.”

he gently pulled your hands down, kissing your palm, still grinning. “no, don’t worry, i liked it. i even went through the comments. i might’ve called a girl an idiot for saying you should protect yourself from fuckboys.”

“you argued with strangers about it?”

“yep. full on fighting in the replies. i was on your side, by the way.”

you shook your head, laughing. “you were on your side!”

he kissed your cheek, still laughing, softer this time. “maybe. but i like being your maybe-boyfriend.”

you kind of froze when he said it, like it took your brain a second to actually process. your face went a little hot and you looked down, suddenly shy. he noticed right away and leaned in a little closer, still holding your hand. “hey, don’t freak out. i like you. i’m not trying to rush anything, i swear.” you blinked, trying to figure out what to say, and he kept going before you could answer. “like, i know this was supposed to be a friends with benefits thing, right? but every time i’m with you i feel like… i don’t know. like i’m the one chasing you. and i keep calling you my pet in bed, but it kinda feels like i’m your dog instead.”

that made you laugh, like actually laugh out loud, and he smiled because you finally looked at him again. “you’re ridiculous,” you said, still laughing.

“yeah, but i’m serious. i don’t wanna be just friends.” he squeezed your hand and added, a little softer, “i want more than that.”

you let out a small sigh, still smiling but definitely nervous too. “i like being with you. i like you, jake. i just… didn’t know if you felt the same.”

“well, i do.”

your face lit up immediately. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

you smiled tenderly and that was all he needed. he leaned across the console, kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand cupping your cheek while you kissed him back. it was sweet and warm and a little desperate, the kind of kiss that made it pretty clear neither of you were just “friends” anymore.

so the whole week after that, jake was basically living in boyfriend mode without even saying he was, but oh boy, he was. like, he was picking you up from class just because he “happened to be around,” but then he’d have your favorite snack waiting in the car. you two started having this dumb little routine of going grocery shopping together, and he’d put random stuff in the cart just to see you roll your eyes and then sneak it back when you weren’t looking.

at night, he’d call you even if you’d already spent the whole day together. sometimes he’d just be lying in his bed, rambling about whatever, and then suddenly go quiet like he realized how much he liked hearing you breathe on the other end. he’d come over to yours a lot too, and half the time sunoo would be there making fun of him for being “clingy as hell.” jake didn’t even deny it anymore, he was too busy following you around your own place like a golden retriever.

but there was one night where he was acting especially wild. like, from the second he saw you, he couldn’t stop touching you. his hand on your back, his arm around your waist, kissing your shoulder while you were just trying to make popcorn. he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were actually there with him, which, to be fair, was how he felt most of the time.

you noticed, of course. you kept laughing at how clingy he was being, but he just smirked like he didn’t even care if he was obvious. he leaned in close while you were sitting on the couch, his voice lower than usual. “you know,” he said, fingers brushing over your knee, “i kinda wanna try something different with you.” you tilted your head at him, curious, and he grinned, eyes way too mischievous. “don’t freak out, i’ll explain. but i promise you’re gonna like it.” 

later that night, you were in his bedroom, and the whole house was quiet. jake was in one of his moods, where he couldn’t keep his mouth off you. he kissed along your neck, your shoulders, down your chest like he was trying to memorize every bit of you. his hands were slow but firm, holding you in place like you were something he wanted to worship. every time you made the slightest sound, he murmured praise into your skin, all soft but teasing. you looked at him, a little out of breath, and asked, “what is it you wanted to try?” your voice was curious, and that made him grin even wider, like he’d been waiting for you to ask.

he sat back on his knees, eyes glued to you, and said, “i got you something. a little toy.” the way he said it was too casual, like he wasn’t basically throwing gasoline on the fire. “thought it’d suit my puppy.”

the second he called you that, you slipped into it without even thinking. you tilted your head at him, playful, already slipping into that pet energy he loved so much. your hands curled against the sheets like paws, and you looked at him with wide, eager eyes. jake chuckled low, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “see? there she is. my good girl.” he leaned down and kissed you again, slower this time, almost smug at how naturally you fell into the role. “you’re gonna let me try it on you, right?”

the way you nodded instantly made him laugh against your mouth. “of course you will. my puppy always listens.” he kept praising you in between kisses, dragging his hands down your sides, his voice soft but dripping with control. 

he reached over to his nightstand, opening the drawer like he was trying to be casual about it, but you could see the way his hands hesitated for a second. jake pulled something out, set it on the bed next to you, and for a moment he almost looked shy. it was a buttplug with a soft little tail attached, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure if he’d just ruined the mood.

“i, uh… got this for you,” he admitted, glancing at your face quickly, testing your reaction. “it might be a little… freaky. i wasn’t sure if you’d even wanna try it.”

but you didn’t flinch. instead, you smiled at him in that way that always made him feel like his chest was on fire. “i want to try whatever you want to, jakey.”the second you said that, something in his head clicked, the nerves melted into pure want. his whole body reacted before his brain caught up.

he let out a low laugh, shaking his head, but you could see how much hotter he suddenly looked at you. “you’re… insane, you know that? i bring this out and instead of running you’re saying yes. fuck. my perfect puppy.”

he kissed you hard then, deeper than before, one hand cradling your jaw like you were something fragile even while his words were all possession. he left the tail sitting on the pillow beside you, within sight, like a promise for later. “you’re already so good for me,” he kept murmuring against your skin as he started peeling your clothes off piece by piece. every time a new inch of you was bare, he touched it, kissed it, praised it. “beautiful… all mine… such a good girl for me.”

his hands roamed like he couldn’t decide where to stay, gripping your hips, sliding up your ribs, tracing along your thighs. his voice stayed low but steady, every praise making you sink further into the role he loved. “you’re my puppy,” he whispered against your stomach as he kissed lower. “you listen, you let me take care of you, and you make me want you more than anything.”

he stayed there for a second, breathing against your skin. jake looked up at you, and there was that look again, the one he’d had when he showed up in your class, when he asked you out, when he kissed you in the car after dinner.

“you know,” he said, voice softer now but still a little teasing, “when i first started this… all i wanted was to mess around. try things. have fun. i didn’t think it’d turn into… this.” he gestured between the two of you, a small huff of laughter escaping. “you’ve got me completely gone.”

you reached out, brushing his hair back, laughing, “i like being yours. i wanna be yours”. and he exhaled like he’d been holding it in for weeks.

he kissed you then, slow, warm, but still a little desperate. when he stopped, he smiled so wide it almost broke his face, and whispered, “good. because i don’t wanna be just friends. i wanna be yours too.”

the toy stayed on the pillow, forgotten for now. just the two of you, finally admitting what everyone probably already knew.

!! ronnie's notes: i can’t believe i finally finished this fic 😭 i actually started writing it back in june and for some reason it took me forever to get it done lmaoo mostly bc i really wanted to take my time with it and make it feel right. i’ve been planning to post it for kinktober since literally junee, so the fact that i’m managing to post it before october ends feels kinda unreal 😭 this is actually my third kinktober fic this year, i also posted one for jake (which was technically for a sabrina carpenter album collab but it counts 😭) and one for soobin that i wrote like a million years ago. but this one was the fic i’d been planning for kinktober since the beginning, so she’s special to me!!! anyway, i really hope you guys like it. thank you for reading and for sticking around <3

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[swiftjay23]

𝓜𝒓. 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝓜𝓻𝓼. 𝓢𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱

Your marriage to Jay was already hanging by a thread, cold silences, dead love, secrets thick enough to choke on. But everything shatters the night you discover the truth: you’re assassins on opposite sides, and your entire relationship was engineered to end with one of you dead. When a mission goes sideways and Jay collapses bleeding in your arms, the two of you are forced into a feral, desperate partnership to outrun the kill orders now targeting you both. What follows is pure chaos: rooftop fights, a mini-heist gone wrong, explosions, marriage counseling sessions that definitely weren’t meant for combat couples, and the kind of chemistry that only hits when hatred and love coexist in the same breath. Trust breaks. Trust rebuilds. Guns misfire. Hearts don’t.

𝓖enre: action-thriller, marriage-on-the-rocks, morally gray romance, espionage drama, slow-burn rebuilding trust, hurt/comfort, dark comedy in chaos.

𝓟airing: assassin spy husband!Jay x assassin spy wife!reader

𝓦arnings: morally gray MCs, marriage built on lies, toxic-but-entertaining dynamics, secret identities, spy/assassin themes, high-stakes missions, violence, guns, blades, bombs, explosions, gore/blood, injury detail, near-death scenes, betrayal, psychological manipulation, chasing, interrogations, emotional whiplash, mutual attempted murder (married-core), and overall thriller chaos, power imbalance, flirting, cheesy lines.

𝓦arnings (SMUT!): explicit sexual content, rough/angry sex, bruising intimacy, dominance/power struggle, breathy pinning/grappling, semi-public tension, clothes half-on type scenes, fingering/oral implications, marking (handprints/bruises), messy desperate pacing, and emotionally charged sex between two very hot, very unhinged assassins.

𝓒ameos: Lee Heeseung/Evan from Enhypen (the bait/enemy), Yang Jungwon from Enhypen (Jay's best friend/ handler)

𝓘nspired 𝓑y: Mr and Mrs. Smith

𝓦ord 𝓒ount: 35K

Sam: Please they get so unserious :D One of my fav fav fav movies ever!

[Better Than The Movies] [Masterlist]

THE MARRIAGE COUNSELOR.

You stared at it for a long moment, the brass letters catching the light like they were mocking you. The metal nameplate read like a joke, The Marriage Counselor, as if couples didn’t already know what they were signing up for when they crossed that sterile white threshold.

The plaque glinted under the soft fluorescent light, its polished edges reflecting back a room that was far too clean for the kind of damage that usually entered it. You could’ve been anywhere else, preferably doing something productive, like chasing down a target who owed you blood and money, but instead you were here, legs crossed, back straight, wasting two hours in a room that smelled like lavender and futility. As if this expensive, ineffective junk would magically bring back a ship that had already sunk.

Across from you, Jay tapped his watch. Again. The sound was rhythmic, deliberate, like he wanted you to notice it. You didn’t look up from your nails, filing them into sharp, immaculate ovals that gleamed under the dull lighting. You could feel his eyes flick toward you anyway, just a brief, silent assessment, habitual, detached.

The therapist’s office looked like it had been curated for calm. Light beige walls, two steel-framed chairs facing each other, a small table between them stacked with tissues and mint candies. A diffuser hummed softly in the corner, puffing out a lazy curl of scented air. The smell was supposed to be soothing. It wasn’t.

You shifted your leg slightly, the heel of your boot clicking against the floor. Jay’s gaze followed the movement for a second before he went back to adjusting the cuff of his shirt, his fingers running down the smooth white fabric until it was perfectly aligned with his wristwatch. He did everything that way, precise, practiced, exacting.

He looked good, as always. That was part of the problem. Hair slicked back in that calculatedly careless way, sleeves rolled to his forearms, veins visible, posture so relaxed it bordered on arrogant. He didn’t have to speak for you to know he’d rather be anywhere else, preferably in a room where there were more weapons than words.

The counselor, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and too much perfume, shifted in her seat, her pen hovering over the open notebook in her lap. She was waiting for something. For anything.

You could hear the clock ticking behind her. Every second dragged.

When she finally spoke, her voice was warm, measured, professional. “So,” she began, glancing between the two of you like she was approaching a pair of unpredictable animals. “Why are you here today?”

You didn’t answer. Neither did he.

Her pen hovered. The silence settled, heavy and stale, stretching thin like glass that refused to shatter.

Jay exhaled through his nose, low and impatient. The sound wasn’t loud, but it carried enough weight to fill the room. His eyes flicked toward the clock, then the window, then you. You caught the glance from your peripheral vision, but you didn’t bother to meet it. You simply continued filing your nails, slow, deliberate strokes, tiny sparks of metal scraping against the emery board.

The counselor cleared her throat. The sound was tentative, like she didn’t want to startle either of you. “It’s okay,” she tried again, forcing a small, placid smile. “There’s no wrong way to start. Most couples feel uncomfortable at first.”

Still, neither of you said a word. If silence could kill, this room would have been a crime scene already. The counselor shifted again, that nervous little smile faltering when neither of you took the bait. Her pen made a soft click as she pressed the end compulsively, as if the noise might fill the silence neither of you seemed willing to break.

“Why don’t we start simple?” she tried, voice lilting, hopeful in the way of someone trying not to drown. “Who’d like to share first?”

Still nothing. You sat with your ankle crossed neatly over your knee, back straight, every inch of your posture polished and controlled. The kind of stillness that took years to learn. Inside, though, inside you were ticking like a bomb. You could feel Jay’s attention like static at the edge of your awareness, brushing against your skin even as he looked away, pretending to check the time on that damned expensive watch. He didn’t need to look at you to make you feel watched.

It had always been like that with him. A quiet, constant pressure. A touch that wasn’t a touch. Finally, you sighed, a deliberate, theatrical exhale, and muttered, “He left the door open again.”

Jay’s head tilted slightly, the smallest shift, but you caught it. “Excuse me?” “The door,” you repeated, voice flat, still not meeting his eyes. “Front door. Wide open. Again.” He blinked slowly, as if replaying the memory frame by frame. A faint tick pulsed in his jaw. “It was locked.” “It was open.”

A pause, long enough to taste. Then, smoothly, “You sure you weren’t too distracted rearranging the kitchen to notice?” That made you look at him. Finally. The counselor blinked, pen frozen midair. “Rearranging?” You smiled, small, sharp, surgical. “He hates the new layout.”

Jay returned it, equally thin. “Because it doesn’t make sense. The knives are nowhere near the cutting board.” “They’re decorative knives, Jay.” He leaned back slightly, voice deceptively soft. “Knives are never decorative.” “Depends,” you murmured, “on what you use them for.” The air thickened like smoke. The counselor let out a shaky, misplaced laugh, mistaking the sharpness for humor. “Well, it’s good that you can joke—” “We’re not joking,” you both said, almost in unison.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was pressurized. A held breath waiting for something to explode. The counselor swallowed, adjusting her glasses, her pen trembling just slightly as she tried to look at one of you without staring too long at either. Her voice came out thinner this time. “Alright, um… let’s try to keep things constructive. Maybe talk about what’s working?”

You ignored her. Jay did too. Instead, you tilted your head toward him, almost lazy. “He replaced my coffee beans,” you said, like it was an accusation. Jay’s brows lifted. “Because yours taste like burnt rubber.” “They’re imported,” you shot back, just a little too fast. “You wouldn’t know the difference.” “I’d know poison if I tasted it.”

That earned you a low hum from him, barely audible, but his gaze was locked on yours now, steady, calm, dangerous. There was nothing romantic about it. It was the stillness before the pull of a trigger, the charged quiet of two professionals who’d memorized each other’s tells: the flick of a wrist, the dilation of a pupil, the heartbeat quickening just slightly when the line was crossed.

The counselor scribbled something down, uncommunicative, defensive, mutual hostility, as if any of those words came close to describing this. Jay leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the side of his chair, the picture of lazy indifference, but you caught the twitch in his fingers, the way his thumb brushed absently over his ring, like a tic. You wondered if he realized he was doing it. You wondered if he’d kill you before or after he stopped pretending to love you. 

You noticed because you always noticed. Every tic, every micro-expression. It was a habit you couldn’t unlearn, observing him was survival. And maybe, somewhere deep down, compulsion. He noticed your glance. He didn’t stop. “So,” the counselor tried again, her smile stretching thin as paper. “You two have been together… how long?”

“Seven years,” you said. “Eight,” Jay corrected. You turned to him, brows arching. “Eight?” He met your look evenly. “You always forget the first year.” You let out a faint, humorless breath. “That’s because we were pretending to be other people the whole time.”

Jay’s lips twitched, but his eyes didn’t. “You make it sound like it stopped.” The counselor laughed again, high, nervous, sharp around the edges. “Ah! So you’re both very… um… playful.” “Sure,” you said lightly, crossing your arms. “Let’s call it that.”

Jay’s tone was even smoother now, honey over glass. “She’s always been creative with her definitions.” You tilted your head toward him, eyes narrowed just enough to pass as teasing. “You’d know.” He smiled back, slow and deliberate, that same charming smile he used in interrogation rooms right before the subject broke. The one that never reached his eyes. “I do.”

The counselor’s pen stuttered against her notepad, a faint tap-tap-tap. Her gaze darted between you again, searching for a foothold, some way to steer this shipwreck of a session back to shore. “Why,” she asked carefully, “do you think you’re here today?” The question hung in the air, too light for how heavy the room had become.

You looked at Jay. Jay looked at you. And neither of you answered. Outside, a car door slammed somewhere down the street. Inside, the hum of the diffuser filled the silence like a heartbeat. The counselor waited, blinking, as if time itself might coax the truth out of you. Jay’s thumb tapped once more against his ring before he finally spoke, voice low enough that it barely reached the other side of the room. “Because someone thinks one of us might snap.”

You didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “They’re wrong.” He looked at you again, longer this time, slower, and something unreadable passed through his expression. A flash of recognition. A memory, maybe. Or the ghost of the night he’d wiped blood from his hands and kissed you before the body had even cooled.

Flash: White walls. Fluorescent lights. A man tied to a chair, shaking. You stood over him, one gloved hand wrapped around his jaw, the other holding a blade so sharp it glimmered even under the cheap light.

“Who paid you?” you asked softly. He whimpered something useless. The knife pressed closer, the point grazing his pulse. His eyes darted, terrified. You smiled faintly. Professional. Detached. “You’ve got one more chance.” The man spoke. You didn’t even need to hear the words, you could tell from the tremor in his voice that he was lying. By the time you left the room, the floor was a Rorschach painting of red.

Flash: Different lighting. Different silence.

A lab, sterile, humming, too bright. The air reeked of ozone and burnt circuitry. Jay stood in front of a dismantled computer tower, hands gloved, wiping blood from the barrel of a silencer with an efficiency that was almost tender. The man slumped over the desk beside him had stopped breathing five minutes ago. Jay didn’t look at him. Didn’t need to.

He wiped his hands, slipped his phone out of his pocket, and typed a brief message. Target acquired. Cleanup in process. Then, like nothing had happened, he removed his gloves, adjusted his cuffs, and walked out.

Now. The therapist’s office. The scent of lavender diffusing through stale air. Your pulse in your throat. The counselor cleared her throat again, too loud this time. “Okay, let’s try something different. I’d like each of you to share one thing you admire about the other.” Jay leaned back, that half-smile ghosting across his lips again. “She’s good at lying.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “He’s good at pretending it bothers him.” The counselor’s pen stilled. The silence returned, heavier than before. And beneath it all, the quiet hum of mutual recognition, the tension between love and annihilation, the unspoken truth that neither of you would ever walk away first.

Because in your world, leaving was just another way of dying. The counselor blinks at the two of you like she’s trying to decode a foreign language. Her pen stills halfway through an unhelpful note, the faint scratching noise fading into the hum of the too-cold air conditioner. You and Jay sit in the same metallic chairs, same careful distance apart, enough space for a ghost to sit between you, maybe two.

She clears her throat again, voice pitched in the way people do when they’re trying too hard to be gentle. “You two seem… distant.” You don’t even look at him when you answer. “We work on communication.” Jay leans back, arms crossing, it’s almost lazy, but you know that posture is defensive, practiced. His jaw flexes just enough to betray irritation. “Not effectively,” he says.

The counselor blinks again. “Right. And what does that mean to you?” You shrug, the corner of your mouth lifting into something almost resembling a smile. “It means we’re talking, aren’t we?” Jay scoffs softly, it’s not cruel, but it’s edged. “If you call this talking.” “Better than silence,” you shoot back. She looks between you, a human metronome of confusion, before scribbling something again, probably deflection or passive hostility. You’d bet a bullet on it.

The silence that follows is weighted, brittle. You stare at the wall clock ticking away the seconds of your so-called therapy, while Jay stares at you. You can feel it, that sharp, assessing gaze that’s less husband and more… analyst. The air between you feels like it’s been split by a blade neither of you has drawn.

He shifts slightly. “So. How long do we have to do this?” The counselor blinks. “It’s a fifty-minute session.” “Feels longer,” you murmur. Jay smirks, and it’s infuriating, that same smirk that used to melt you, now just fans the irritation in your chest.

The counselor forces a smile, her voice catching somewhere between concern and exhaustion. “Maybe we can start small. What’s something you both… appreciate about each other?” A pause. You open your mouth, then close it. Jay’s hand twitches like he’s about to speak but doesn’t. You can see her hope crumble a little more with every second that passes.

Finally, you say, “He’s punctual.” Jay turns to look at you, a glint of amusement cutting through the cold. “She’s efficient.” You both smile, but it’s nothing close to warmth. It’s choreography, neat, sharp, and deadly in its precision. The counselor sighs. “Right. Okay. I think that’s… progress.”

You almost laugh. Jay does, quietly, under his breath. The counselor mistakes it for relief. When the session ends, you both stand at the same time. No words exchanged, just the scrape of metal chairs against tiled floor. The door clicks shut behind you, and the silence is louder than anything said in that room.

You drive home with the radio off. Streetlights flash through the windshield, slicing your reflection into fragments. In the corner of your eye, Jay’s hands stay perfectly steady on the steering wheel, controlled, precise. He always drives like that, like he’s calculating escape routes rather than directions. Neither of you speaks. You haven’t, not since the door closed behind the counselor’s polite wave. The hum of the tires on asphalt fills the space between you. You glance out the window, rain threatens in the distance, smudging the city skyline into streaks of gray and gold.

At a red light, your phone buzzes against your thigh. You glance down, thumb flicking open the hidden compartment under the console. The burner glows faintly, one message. Target confirmed. 0300 hours.

You lock it before Jay can see. Not that he’s looking. He’s too busy checking the reflection in the rearview mirror, not for traffic, but for tails. He exhales, almost a sigh, and you can tell he’s somewhere far from the present. Maybe a lab, maybe a mission. You wouldn’t know. Eight years, and you’ve never told him what you do when you “work late.” You’ve never mentioned the sound a man makes when a blade touches his throat, or how steady your hands stay during interrogation.

Little do you know, he’s never told you what he does in those “overnight meetings,” or why there’s always a faint scent of gun oil on his collar. You turn your head toward the window, eyes following the blur of passing lights. Jay’s profile is calm, unreadable, and for a moment, the silence feels like confession. Eight years of marriage. Zero truths. And yet somehow, both of you think you’re winning.

The traffic light flicks green. He doesn’t move right away. Just watches the intersection ahead like he’s waiting for someone to step out of the shadows. When he finally drives, it’s slower, deliberate. “Are you cold?” he asks suddenly, voice quiet enough that it almost startles you. You glance over. His tone is neutral, too neutral. “I’m fine.”

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes still fixed on the road. “You were shaking.” “I wasn’t.” (You were.) His hand tightens on the steering wheel. “You don’t have to lie.”

You smile faintly, the reflection of streetlights catching in your eyes. “That’s rich, coming from you.” He looks at you now, just for a second, long enough for tension to spark across the console like static. The air feels thinner somehow. You can almost hear the beat of his pulse under the hum of the engine.

“Why do you always assume the worst?” he asks softly. “Because I’ve met you,” you say, matching his tone. “And I’ve seen the worst.”

A pause. The car’s interior feels suddenly too small. The smell of leather, the low vibration of the engine, it’s all too intimate for two people so armed. He laughs once, quietly. “Fair.” You don’t say anything. Neither does he. The silence stretches again, elastic and dangerous. You reach the apartment building at the edge of the city. He parks neatly, kills the engine, and unbuckles his seatbelt, but doesn’t get out. Just sits there, fingers drumming once against the steering wheel. You wait. He finally says, “You told her I left the door open.”

You tilt your head. “You did.” “I didn’t.” “Then someone else did.” His eyes narrow, just a fraction. “Who would that be?” You smile, small and sharp. “You tell me. You’re the paranoid one.” “Cautious,” he corrects. “Same thing.”

You both sit in the dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp flickering outside. You can feel his gaze again, heavy, deliberate. Not cruel, but dissecting. “Do you ever wonder,” he says after a moment, “what she’d write down if she knew who we really were?”

A beat, what was that supposed to mean?  You let the question hang, then murmur, “She wouldn’t have time to write.” He looked at you more carefully, studying the way your cold eyes were fixed ahead, the bridge of your nose, the curve of your lips— he chuckles, low, dangerous, and it makes your skin prickle. “That’s what I thought.”

You open the door first, stepping into the cool night air. He follows a moment later, his footsteps matching yours out of habit, synchronized, as always. The elevator ride up is silent, the kind of silence that hums. You both stare straight ahead, watching the floor numbers blink past. At the 14th floor, the doors slide open, and he gestures for you to go first. Always the gentleman. Always the predator. Inside the apartment, everything is too neat. Too sterile. The faint scent of jasmine from the diffuser tries, and fails, to soften the tension. You take off your coat. He doesn’t.

You turn to him. “You hungry?” He shakes his head. “Already ate.” You hum. “Where?” He meets your eyes. “Work.” You nod once. “Long day?” “Always.” You stand there, an arm’s length apart. Married. Civil. Strangers. And under it all, that same question neither of you has ever asked aloud: Who will pull the trigger first?

The morning begins the way it always does, too quiet, too clean, too precise.

The sun filters weakly through the curtains, painting the kitchen in thin bars of gold. It’s the kind of light that should make everything look warm, but somehow, here, it only sharpens the edges.

Jay is already at the table, the newspaper folded into perfect thirds. He doesn’t eat. He never does in the mornings, just sits there, sleeves rolled up, reading headlines that don’t really interest him, coffee cooling untouched by his elbow. The faint sound of the clock fills the silence between you, measured and mechanical. You move around him soundlessly. The choreography is familiar: kettle, mug, filter, grind. Your movements are exact, like a dance you’ve performed too many times to ever forget the steps. You don’t look at him when you pass by. You don’t need to. You can feel him. The shift of air when he turns a page, the subtle creak of the chair when he crosses one leg over the other. Every sound in this apartment is catalogued, memorized, understood.

The smell of roasted beans fills the air, a comfort to anyone else, but not to you. To you, it’s strategy. Distraction. Something to do with your hands. Jay’s voice breaks the quiet, smooth but cool. “You’re up late.” You don’t glance at him. “You’re up early.” He hums, a neutral, noncommittal sound, and returns to the paper. The kettle clicks off, a neat punctuation mark.

You pour the water slowly, deliberately, watching the dark bloom of coffee spread through the filter. The faint hiss of the pour-over fills the silence again. You used to talk, once. There used to be laughter here. The sound of him humming along to some old record while you burned toast and pretended not to care. Now it’s just this, ritual without warmth.

When you finally speak again, it’s because you have to. “You used all the sugar.” Jay doesn’t look up. “I measured it.” “You measured it wrong.” A flicker of a smirk ghosts across his face, there and gone. “I don’t measure wrong.” You place your mug down with a quiet, deliberate clink. “You do when you’re distracted.” That earns you a glance, brief and razor-sharp. “I don’t get distracted.” “Of course not.”

You take a sip, too hot, and let the burn sit on your tongue longer than necessary. You wonder if he’s watching. He is. Always. Jay folds the newspaper with surgical precision, every line crisp, every edge aligned. “You have plans today?” “Work,” you say simply.

He nods, pretending to read again. “Late?” “Probably.” He hums again, and the silence stretches out between you like a tripwire. You used to ask him the same thing. You used to care. Now you both just trade questions like moves on a chessboard, predictable, sterile, practiced.

Your cover story is pristine. You’re the Director of The Firm, a high-end “corporate solutions” company that handles sensitive acquisitions and “problem resolution.” In reality, it’s a global assassination network disguised as a consultancy firm for CEOs with blood on their ledgers. You sit behind smoked glass, dressed in sharp suits, managing death as if it’s logistics. Your business cards say: Precision. Discretion. Permanence.

Jay, for his part, is an IT recruiter for a cybersecurity firm, or so the neighborhood believes. In truth, he runs his own cover operation, a shell company that builds defensive systems for covert agencies and offensive ones for whoever pays more. His world is lines of code and encrypted servers, networks so deep you can drown in them.

Between the two of you, you’ve destabilized governments, erased identities, and orchestrated coups. But here, in this quiet suburb, your greatest operation is keeping the façade of marriage intact. A faint breeze stirs the curtains. Outside, the city is waking up, car horns, dogs, a neighbor’s radio bleeding faintly through the walls. Normal sounds. Civilian sounds. They don’t fit here.

You glance at him over the rim of your mug. His tie is straight. His shirt immaculate. He looks like the picture of control. But you know that stillness, have seen it before, in interrogation rooms, on rooftops, in the moments before someone decides to pull a trigger.

“You’re thinking too loud,” you say, mostly to fill the air. He lowers the newspaper. “And you’re listening too hard.” You smile faintly. “Occupational hazard.” That earns you another silence, but it’s different this time, denser. His eyes linger a second too long, and you can almost feel the air change, heavier, charged. For a heartbeat, the kitchen feels smaller. Then he blinks, the spell breaks, and he stands.

His chair scrapes back quietly, too controlled to be careless. He sets the paper down in its exact place and walks past you, close enough for his sleeve to brush your arm. The touch is brief but electric, leaving a shiver that you hide behind another sip of coffee. “Don’t wait up,” he says, reaching for his jacket. “I wasn’t planning to.” He pauses at the door. You don’t look at him, but you can feel the weight of his gaze. There’s something like amusement in it, cold, knowing. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time.” His hand lingers on the doorknob. For a second, you think he might say something else. But he just exhales softly, the kind of breath that carries too many unsaid things, and leaves. The door clicks shut behind him. The sound echoes through the apartment like a gunshot.

The silence after he’s gone feels heavier than his presence ever does. You set the mug down, stare at the faint ring it leaves on the counter. A perfect circle. Unbroken. You rinse the cup, wipe the counter, straighten the chair he moved, because that’s what you do. Maintain order. Keep things clean. Keep the edges sharp and the routine tighter than the lies holding it all together. Your reflection stares back at you from the dark window. Same face. Same calm. Same invisible hairline crack beneath the surface.

You check your watch. 08:03. Plenty of time. You reach under the sink, hand brushing past cleaning supplies until your fingers find the cool metal of the lockbox. A code. A click. The lid opens with a soft hiss. Inside: a gun, two flash drives, a sealed envelope marked in red. You touch none of it. Just look. Inventory. Confirm. Close.

By the time you’re done, the kitchen looks normal again. Domestic. Safe. You take your coat, grab your keys, and step into the hallway. The air smells faintly of detergent and someone else’s perfume. For a moment, you imagine what it might be like to live an ordinary life, to argue about bills, about laundry, about love. Then you lock the door behind you, and the thought dissolves.

Jay takes the elevator down alone. He doesn’t press the ground floor, he presses the basement. The ride hums softly, the mechanical buzz like white noise over the sound of his own heartbeat. When the doors open, the fluorescent light flickers once, twice. He walks through rows of cars, past the one he drives to work, to another parked deeper in the shadows. The trunk opens with a coded click.

Inside: a weapon case, neatly organized. Two suppressors. A map. A folder labeled Asset 42. He doesn’t look at the map long, just enough to memorize. Then he closes it again, adjusts his tie, and checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. Calm. Composed. Civilian. He glances at his watch. 08:11. He’s got two hours before the briefing. Four before the first target moves.

He drives. Back upstairs, the sun has shifted. The kitchen is filled with light now, bright, almost cheerful. The scent of coffee still lingers. The newspaper headline stares up from the table where he left it. Diplomat’s Car Bomb Kills Three – Suspects Unknown.

Your mug sits beside it, lipstick mark smudged at the rim.

Two halves of the same scene. A life that looks ordinary from the outside. And a marriage built on the art of pretending.

— — —

“Morning, Jay! Morning, sweetheart!” You look up from clipping the hedge to see Linda from next door, a hurricane of floral perfume and gossip, waving like you’re her favorite soap opera couple. Her husband mows the lawn behind her, humming to himself, the picture of cheerful obedience.

“Morning, Linda,” Jay says smoothly, lowering his sunglasses. His smile is crisp, calculated, perfect. You can almost hear the click of it being deployed. “Oh, you two are just adorable!” she gushes, leaning over the fence like she’s confiding in an old friend. “Always so composed! I tell Gary all the time, you could teach us a thing or two about marriage.”

You meet Jay’s gaze over the hedge, and the irony almost makes you laugh. Almost. “Well,” you say, voice sweet enough to rot. “Discipline helps.” Linda laughs, oblivious. “Oh, absolutely! By the way, don’t forget the HOA meeting this evening. We’re discussing mailbox uniformity, again!”

Your fingers tighten slightly on the hedge clippers. “Wouldn’t miss it.” When she finally retreats into her pastel house, you exhale, setting the clippers down with surgical precision. Jay’s smirk is small, sharp. “Mailbox uniformity,” he murmurs. “How will we ever survive the chaos?”

“Maybe I’ll volunteer to lead the discussion,” you reply. “You know how I am with problem-solving.” He glances at you, a flicker of amusement, and something darker, passing through his eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

You smile, stepping past him to collect the mail. The sunlight glints off your wedding ring, sterile, reflective, a weapon in its own right. Inside, the house hummed with the practiced life of perfect suburbia: the faint scent of vanilla candles, the distant whir of the washing machine, the immaculate surfaces that hid everything they were meant to hide. On the refrigerator door a grocery list in your handwriting read like an accusation: Milk. Eggs. Lemons. Lies.

Jay’s voice called from the living room, easy, casual. “You’ll be home for dinner?” You paused, sorting the mail, bills, glossy coupons, a charity leaflet, and one unmarked envelope that didn’t belong with the polite clutter of everyday life. It lay there like a promise wrapped in neutral paper. “Depends,” you said, slipping the envelope between your fingers. “Work might run late.”

He made that soft, ambiguous hum again, the sound that meant nothing and everything. “Of course.” Neither of you specified what “work” meant. In this house the word was elastic, an execution in a foreign warehouse, a midnight breach into a fortified server room, a phone call that made people stop breathing. Saying any of it aloud would be dangerous in more ways than one, so you let the sentence remain small and tidy like a lie folded into a napkin. The air in the hallway felt thick with polite deceit, as if the wallpaper itself had learned to keep secrets. You slid the unmarked envelope into your blazer pocket, no ceremony, no examining the edges, and walked up the stairs. Jay watched you go, eyes unreadable above the rim of his coffee mug, the quiet of his stare cataloguing you in ways words never could.

Outside, the street looked exactly as it should: children shrieking in a cluster of summer laughter, sprinklers hissing in tidy arcs, hedges clipped to friendly angles. The neighborhood was a tableau of smiling façades and hollow certainties. You and Jay were its crown jewel, polished, enviable, quietly rotting behind the same clean windows everyone admired.

The meeting takes place in Linda’s living room, beige, symmetrical, aggressively normal. Everything smells faintly of lemon cleaner and desperation. You and Jay arrive exactly on time. Not early enough to seem overeager, not late enough to be rude. The performance begins at the door, his hand on the small of your back, your polite laugh at something you didn’t hear.

The neighborhood royalty is all here: Linda and Gary from next door, Karen and Tom from across the street, a handful of retirees who seem to feed on complaint. A tray of deviled eggs sits untouched in the center of the coffee table, next to a bowl of hummus that’s trying very hard to look artisanal. “Jay! Y/N!” Linda beams, ushering you in. “So glad you could make it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you say, smiling like it doesn’t hurt. Jay takes the seat beside you on the couch, close enough that your knees brush, a reminder, maybe, of the part you’re both playing. His cologne lingers, sharp and clean. You can feel the eyes of every neighbor on you two: the perfect pair, the aspirational marriage. Linda claps her hands. “Alright, everyone! Let’s get started. First item on the agenda: mailbox uniformity!”

Jay’s fingers twitch against his knee. You almost smirk. Karen, who runs the neighborhood Facebook group like a dictatorship, raises a manicured hand. “I personally think everyone should have the same model, black, metal, with a lock. It looks more professional.” Tom, her husband, nods obediently. “We don’t want inconsistency. It lowers property value.”

Gary chuckles. “Tell that to the Johnsons and their flamingo mailbox.” The group murmurs, scandalized. You exchange a glance with Jay, your lips parting in a whisper only he can hear. “Riveting, isn’t it?” He doesn’t look at you, but you can see the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “Almost as exciting as your last board meeting, I bet.”

You tilt your head slightly, voice soft and dangerous. “The last board meeting ended with someone bleeding out in the restroom. This one’s just… louder.” He covers a smile with his knuckles, and the sight of it, the faint curve of his mouth, the warmth that flickers and dies too fast, makes your stomach twist, traitorous.

Linda’s voice cuts through. “Y/N, you’ve got such a good eye for aesthetics, what do you think?” The room turns to you. Every gaze expectant. You rest your chin on your hand, feigning thoughtfulness. “Uniformity can be… stifling. But structure’s good for discipline.” Jay glances sideways, the ghost of a smirk betraying him. “She’s always been a fan of discipline.”

A few polite chuckles ripple through the group. You turn to him, smiling sweetly, the kind of smile that hides a knife. “And he’s always been a fan of control.” Something electric shifts in the air. Just for a second. Linda, blissfully unaware, scribbles something on her notepad. “Wonderful points! Alright, moving on! The community watch program…”

You tune out the next fifteen minutes, conversations about porch lights, unfamiliar cars, and a mysterious “teenager in a hoodie” sighting. The irony isn’t lost on you. If they knew what kind of surveillance systems you both ran from your basement, the HOA would probably dissolve itself out of existential dread. Jay leans closer, whispering under the hum of small talk. “You could run this whole thing if you wanted.” You hum, still staring at Linda’s notes. “Maybe I already do.” He laughs under his breath, low, quiet, genuine. It almost sounds like affection.

When the meeting finally ends, there’s a flurry of thank-yous and casserole invitations. You and Jay play your roles to perfection: smiling, nodding, engaging in small talk about the weather and recycling schedules. Linda hugs you both at the door, her perfume clinging like static. “You’re such a lovely couple,” she coos. “You remind me that marriage can be so stable when both people work at it.”

Jay’s smile is polite, sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh, we work at it.” The door closes behind you. The night air tastes clean, finally. You walk down the driveway in silence, the sound of your heels echoing on the pavement. Jay unlocks the car, but you don’t get in right away. You look up at the rows of glowing windows, every family inside pretending just as hard as you are.

“Stable,” you repeat, under your breath. Jay glances at you, that faint, assessing squint returning. “What?” You turn toward him, voice smooth. “She called us stable.” He chuckles softly. “We are. Statistically.” You cross your arms. “Statistically, most marriages fail.”

He meets your gaze then, something unspoken tightening between you. “So let’s make sure ours doesn’t.” The words sound like a promise. Or a threat.

Later, back home, the lights are dim. You hang your coat, he loosens his tie. The performance lingers even now, two actors unwilling to break character. On the kitchen counter, your phone buzzes once. A single message flashes across the screen. CLIENT CONFIRMED. NEW TARGET: Evan. Your breath stills. The initials hit like a pulse of static.

You glance toward the living room, Jay, unbuttoning his cuffs, unaware. Or maybe not. He looks up, meets your eyes. His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a weight to it now, like he’s reading more than your face. “Everything alright?” he asks. You smile, sliding the phone face down. “Perfect.” He studies you a second longer, then nods. The hum of the refrigerator fills the silence. You pour yourself a glass of water, watching your reflection ripple in it. Jay passes behind you, brushing close enough that his sleeve grazes your arm. It’s nothing. And it’s everything. Domestic bliss. Just another mission, perfectly executed.

The day unravels in silence. By noon, the house has settled into its perfect performance, sterile, still, and utterly convincing. The kind of silence that feels deliberate. You work at the desk in the upstairs office, light slanting in through blinds like prison bars. Files are open on your screen, innocent spreadsheets, dummy emails, HR reports. All camouflage. Beneath the desktop, another monitor hums quietly, encrypted. A hidden window blinks to life every forty seconds, asking for authorization. You don’t answer it yet.

Jay’s absence fills the house like a ghost. You can feel him even when he’s gone, his watch ticking on the dresser, his jacket hanging too neatly, the faint trace of his cologne in the air. Everything he leaves behind is a placeholder for the things he doesn’t say.

You tell yourself the marriage is fine. That silence is safer than honesty. But lately, something in the quiet feels off. Like a wire pulled too tight. You open the window, let in the city hum. And under the sound of traffic, you think, Something’s missing. Not affection. Not even trust. Something else, something you can’t name. A piece of the game you can’t see. Down in the basement of a downtown office tower, Jay sits at his desk, surrounded by monitors that cast his face in pale light. His reflection flickers in the glass, a man who could be anyone. Who is anyone.

He scrolls through lines of code that no civilian should ever have access to, eyes scanning, calculating. The pattern of movement is almost graceful, like a pianist playing a dangerous song only he understands. He should be focused. He should be calm. But a thought keeps needling at him, looping back no matter how many firewalls he builds around it.

Something’s missing. He doesn’t know if it’s her, or him, or whatever used to fill the air between them before it all went quiet. Maybe it’s the sound of truth, and he’s forgotten what that even feels like. The phone rings. Not his personal one. The other one, the matte-black satellite phone buried beneath a stack of meaningless reports.

He stares at it for half a second before answering. “Smith.” A pause. Then a voice, smooth and precise. “You’re being reassigned.” Jay leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “Reassigned?”

“Temporary directive. DIA asset transfer. Codename: Evan. Prisoner extraction. You’ll receive coordinates within the hour.” He’s silent for a beat too long. The voice doesn’t wait for a reply. “High value, high discretion. You know the drill.”

The line clicks dead. Jay exhales slowly, jaw tightening. The name Evan sticks in his head like a shard of glass. He’s heard it before, once, months ago, buried in chatter that never made sense. A rumor about a prisoner too valuable to kill and too dangerous to keep.

He pulls up the encrypted database. The same blinking authorization window appears, the one he’s been ignoring. This time, he types in his code. The screen floods with classified data. Coordinates. Transfer schedules. Escort routes. He scrolls once, twice, and freezes.

Because in the logistics roster, beside the operation ID, there’s a familiar name listed under “Field Operative – Alternate Contractor.”

Yours.

–––

You’re in the kitchen when your phone vibrates against the counter. Not your phone, the other one. The one that doesn’t have a ringtone, only a low, steady pulse. You dry your hands, glance once toward the living room. The clock ticks steadily, the kind of rhythm that hides secrets. Then you swipe to answer. “Report,” a voice says, low, modulated, genderless. Your handler. You stand still, eyes on the window. “Listening.”

“Priority job. DIA prisoner transfer. Codename: Evan. Extraction on transport route Alpha-Nine. Two-day window. You’ll receive the drop point at 0600.” You nod once, even though no one can see you. “Parameters?” “Alive,” the voice says. “For now. Full debrief later.” The call ends with a soft tone, no goodbye, no confirmation. You stand there a moment, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence.

Evan. You’ve heard the name too. Whispered across encrypted lines, pinned on bulletin boards that only exist in the dark. You set the phone down, but your hand lingers on it longer than it should. Upstairs, the faint creak of the bedroom floor makes you look up. Empty. But the air feels wrong, as if the house is holding its breath. You close your eyes and inhale slowly, the way you do before every mission. Focus. Compartmentalize. The lies keep you alive. Still, beneath the precision of your thoughts, the same phantom pulse thrums like an aftershock. Something’s missing.

–––

By evening, Jay and you will sit across from each other again, pretending at normalcy. The distance between you will hum like a live wire, and neither of you will say a word about the missions, the phones, the target. But somewhere between your silence and his restraint, both of you will know, whatever’s missing is about to find you first. And its name is Evan.

— — —

By the time Jay gets home, the light has turned the color of smoke. The street outside hums with the soft sounds of suburbia, sprinklers, car doors, someone’s dog barking like a metronome. Inside, the house smells faintly of lemon soap and silence. You hear the lock turn before you hear his footsteps. It’s always the same rhythm: two steps, pause, another three. He doesn’t call out. Neither do you. The door shuts, the shoes come off, the keys land with a soft clink in the ceramic bowl by the stairs. Precision. Control. Predictability, the same way you both survive.

“Long day?” you ask, voice smooth, neutral. It’s not a question so much as a ritual line in a well-rehearsed play. “Same as usual,” Jay says. His tie’s gone, the collar of his shirt undone just enough to look human. He moves through the kitchen like a man walking through his own dream, touching nothing, seeing everything. “You?”

You hum. “Paperwork. Endless.” He glances at your laptop on the counter. The screen shows only an open spreadsheet, columns of meaningless data. He doesn’t look close enough to notice the faint flicker of the hidden window beneath it. You know, because he never does. He trusts your surface. And you’ve made an art of keeping it polished.

Jay opens the fridge. “We’re out of milk.” You shrug. “I’ll add it to the list.” He leans against the counter, watching you. You can feel the weight of it, not affection, not suspicion, but something quieter. The way a soldier studies the field before a fight. You break eye contact first, reaching for a glass. The water runs clear and cold. He watches the stream hit the rim, the condensation bead and slide down your fingers. “Dinner?” he asks.

“I ordered in,” you say. “Thai.” He nods. It’s the same answer every Thursday, Thai, then silence, then bed. The rhythm holds the illusion together. Predictable marriages don’t draw attention. Predictable marriages don’t raise flags.

You plate the food in silence. The radio hums low in the background, soft jazz, warm and domestic. Jay sits across from you at the dining table, sleeves rolled, wristwatch glinting faintly in the lamplight. The watch you bought him two years ago. He still wears it every day, though you doubt it’s sentiment. More likely habit. Or guilt. You push a grain of rice around your plate. “They called me in for another presentation next week,” you lie.

Jay looks up. “Another one?” “Mhm. New client. Potential merger.” “Anyone I’d know?” You smile. “Doubt it.” He nods, accepting it. You feel something almost cruel twist in your chest. Because you could say it, you could tell him what The Firm really does, how the mergers you lead end in body bags. But you don’t. You won’t. And the worst part is, a small, self-protective part of you wonders if he’d even be surprised.

Jay cuts into his food, slow, deliberate. “Linda mentioned the HOA might raise the community fees again.” “Of course she did,” you murmur, reaching for your glass. “It’s her love language.” That earns a quiet snort from him, an almost laugh. It’s the first sound that feels remotely alive all evening. You both linger in that pause longer than you should. Then the clock ticks again, loud and sharp, and whatever flicker of warmth was there dissolves like sugar in water.

Later, in the living room, you sit beside him on the couch. The TV glows faintly, some nature documentary, muted. On the screen, a lion stalks a herd of gazelles through long grass. The irony isn’t lost on you. Jay scrolls through his phone. You pretend to read a book. Both of you are elsewhere, running coordinates, decoding patterns, mapping exits in your heads. Every quiet second feels like reconnaissance.

At some point, he reaches out, resting a hand lightly on your thigh. Not possessive. Not tender. Just contact, the kind of touch that says, we’re still here. It almost undoes you. You look at him. His profile in the low light, sharp, immaculate, distant. You wonder if he’d still look at you like that if he knew how much blood your hands have seen. “Jay,” you say before you can stop yourself. The sound of his name feels strange, heavy on your tongue.

He turns, eyes softening a fraction. “Yeah?” You open your mouth. Close it. Smile. “Never mind.” He studies you for a moment, then nods, like he knows not to press. You both go back to your respective silences. On screen, the lion strikes. Midnight comes like a held breath. The house is dark. The air conditioner hums, the clock ticks, the world pretends to sleep.

Downstairs, in the quiet glow of the kitchen, your phone vibrates once, the secure one, the one hidden in the breadbox behind the false panel. You move like smoke, bare feet soundless on tile. You lift the lid, thumb brushing the cold glass. TRANSFER ROUTE CONFIRMED. ALPHA-NINE. 0600 HOURS.

Across town, Jay sits in his own office, the blue light of his monitors painting his face in fractured shadows. His satellite phone lies open on the desk beside a map. ASSET EVAN. LOCATION LOCKED. EXTRACT, NOT ELIMINATE. HIGH PRIORITY.

Two different rooms. Two different missions. One collision course. Jay rubs a hand over his jaw, exhaustion setting in behind his eyes. He doesn’t notice the photo frame at the edge of his desk, the two of you on your wedding day, smiling under white light. You look happy. He looks human. Both illusions, perfectly preserved.

In bed, the space between you feels colder than the sheets. He sleeps on his side, one arm beneath the pillow. You lie awake, watching the shadows slide across the ceiling. Every breath you take feels counted. You know how this will go. Two days from now, somewhere along Route Alpha-Nine, your paths will cross. He won’t know it’s you behind the trigger. You won’t know he’s the extraction agent keeping your target alive.The lie has always been your safety net. Now it’s the knife pressed between your ribs.  And as you finally close your eyes, you think: if love is just another form of loyalty, what happens when you’re assigned to betray it?

— — —

Eight years ago.

Florence glows like a dream set on fire. The Palazzo Vecchio blazes with chandeliers, laughter, and the low hum of moneyed indulgence. Gilded masks glint beneath candlelight; the air hums with strings, perfume, and the faintest edge of danger. Gold dust clings to the night like a secret that refuses to fade. You move through it all like smoke, silver gown, dark mask, smile sharpened to perfection. You’ve been here before, though never under this name. Never with this mark. Tonight’s target: a black-market art broker selling information under the guise of a charity auction. Tonight’s mission: simple. Blend, charm, retrieve. And never, ever get caught.

A waiter offers you wine. You take it, the stem cool between your fingers, the glass catching slivers of light as though even it can’t stay still. The ballroom is a maze of mirrors and murmurs. A watch chain flashes. A coded gesture passes between two men by the fountain. Somewhere near the orchestra pit, you hear the unmistakable click of a gun’s safety being released and reset. Every sound, every glint, every careless whisper, you catalogue them all.

And then you see him. At first, it’s nothing, a shimmer in your peripheral. A man leaning against a marble column, mask of black and gold, tuxedo cut sharp enough to wound. He looks impossibly calm, as though the chaos around him is a play he’s already read the ending to. But his gaze moves with purpose, slow and assessing, never idle. You recognize that look. Not from memory, but instinct. Predator. Still, when his eyes find yours, when that slight, knowing smile curves his mouth, you don’t look away. You never do.

He notices you before the orchestra reaches its second crescendo. Red wine, silver silk, the faintest edge of steel beneath your grace. You linger too long on the exits, your attention flicking over the crowd like a scanner. Not a debutante. Not a diplomat’s bored wife. He doesn’t know your name, but he knows the type, careful, calculated, deliberate. The kind who never comes anywhere unarmed, even if the only weapon is a smile. He should leave you alone. He knows better. But curiosity, that old, dangerous thing, has always been his favorite sin.

The auction begins. A Van Gogh replica is unveiled to reverent sighs and polite applause. You raise your glass, play your part, your earpiece crackling softly, a voice confirming your target’s position near the north balcony. Focus, you remind yourself. But his gaze is still on you. You can feel it, that invisible thread pulling tight between your spine and his. The air shifts, charged. A song changes, and something in you does too. You take a step left. So does he. You reach for another glass of champagne, and he’s already there, hand brushing yours as he offers one.

“Looks like we’ve got the same taste,” he says, voice smooth enough to make the room feel smaller. You turn, meeting his eyes through the mask’s dark edge. “In wine or in trouble?” He grins, slow, devastating, the kind of grin that feels like a confession. “Depends which one you’re offering.”

Your heart shouldn’t skip. But it does.  Florence has that effect; it makes even ruin look romantic. You study him for a beat too long. His mask hides half his face, but not the way his eyes soften when he looks at you. Not the flicker of curiosity there, like he’s wondering what kind of storm you’d be if he let you close enough. He tilts his glass toward yours. A quiet toast. No words. Just the soft clink of crystal beneath candlelight, and something unspoken in the air, something dangerous, but almost tender. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says finally. “That’s because we weren’t supposed to.”

He laughs, and you almost forget where you are. The music swells, violins sweeping through the silence between you. His presence feels magnetic, an anchor in a sea of masks and lies. For a fleeting second, you imagine meeting him in another life. One without missions, or aliases, or marks on your wrist. One where Florence isn’t a cover, but a promise.

But then the earpiece hums again, a reminder, sharp and cold. The spell breaks. You smile, polite, distant, perfect. “Enjoy the auction, Mr...?” “Jay,” he offers, after the smallest hesitation. “Jay,” you echo, letting the name linger on your tongue like the last sip of wine. “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

He leans closer, voice low enough to melt into the music. “I was about to tell you the same thing.” And just like that, two strangers in a city made of light and lies, caught in the flicker of something that shouldn’t exist at all, you walk away first. But you can feel his eyes following you, long after the song ends.

— — —

The orchestra shifted into a darker, slower rhythm, a waltz meant for people who liked to play with fire. The kind of melody that made secrets lean closer.

He crossed the marble floor toward you, each step unhurried, deliberate, the kind of confidence that didn’t need to be announced. You could feel him before he reached you, that quiet gravity that some men carried like a weapon. “Would you dance with me?” His voice was low, smooth, perfectly even, too even to be real.

You tilted your head, feigning a kind of lazy curiosity. “That depends. Are you a good dancer?” He smiled, slow, restrained, the kind that didn’t bother showing teeth because it didn’t need to. “I don’t make a habit of disappointing.”

And perhaps that should’ve been your warning. You took his hand. The moment his palm met yours, the air changed. The sound dulled, the light thickened, as though Florence itself had paused to watch. His touch was warm, steady. Too steady. You recognized that composure, the kind of calm people build when they’ve seen blood before and learned how to wash it off.

He led you onto the floor, and the crowd swallowed you both. Masks turned, diamonds gleamed, and violins sighed like confession. You moved together like you’d done it before, step, turn, glide. His hand on your back, your palm against his shoulder, every motion measured and exact. But beneath the elegance was tension, the friction of two people reading each other like code, testing limits without ever breaking character.

His fingers brushed the small of your back, light as breath. The briefest contact, yet it burned. You wondered if he could feel the knife strapped to your thigh, if he knew what kind of woman he was holding. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” he said, tone casual, but his eyes far too observant. “That’s the point of a masquerade,” you replied, voice soft but edged. “Some people come to be seen.”

“And some people come to disappear.” His laugh was quiet, a single note that didn’t reach his eyes. “Which are you?” “Tonight?” you said, spinning under his arm, letting your dress flare like liquid silver before you fell neatly back against him. “Still deciding.” He twirled you again, slower this time, his gaze never breaking from yours. When he caught you, his mouth was dangerously close to your ear.

“Be careful,” he murmured. “Florence has a habit of burning people who don’t pay attention.” You exhaled, pulse thrumming against his palm. “Good thing I like fire.” He studied you like he was committing the line to memory. “You shouldn’t.” The music swelled, lush, decadent, almost too slow for propriety. But you didn’t care. Neither did he. The space between you was too charged, too deliberate. It wasn’t romance, not really. It was recognition. The kind of understanding that only predators share when they see themselves reflected in someone else’s eyes.

“You’re not here for the art auction,” you said softly. He smirked, every inch of arrogance perfectly measured. “And you are?” “Maybe I like pretty things.” His hand flexed against your waist, a silent pressure that said he didn’t believe you. “Then you’re in the wrong room.” You laughedm quiet, bright, disarming. A sound meant to draw attention just long enough to deflect it. “And what do you think I’m here for, then?”

He leaned in, the scent of him sharp and clean, cedar, smoke, and something darker beneath. “The same thing I am.” For a heartbeat, the world narrowed, to the press of his hand, the rhythm of the waltz, and the pull of something reckless inside your chest. You didn’t know who he was, but you knew what he was. You could feel it, that coiled stillness, the awareness of exits, the constant calculation behind his eyes.

“Interesting guess,” you murmured, smile ghosting your lips as your mask brushed his. “But you shouldn’t assume.” “Neither should you.” The song ended in a slow, aching note. Applause broke out, brittle, hollow, meaningless. Couples separated. Champagne glasses chimed. The room exhaled. But not you. Not him. You both stood still, still caught in the invisible pull between you, pretending you hadn’t just recognized something fatal in each other.

He was the first to move, offering his hand again, not as an invitation, but as a dare. “Balcony?” You should’ve declined. You didn’t. You took it. Outside, Florence was quieter, the air cooled by the river, the night spilling over the city in strokes of gold and ink. The Duomo glowed against the horizon, its dome like a candle cupped in the hands of heaven. From below, you could hear laughter drifting up from the streets, muffled by distance, softened by time.

For a moment, it almost looked peaceful. Almost. He leaned against the railing, loosening his tie, half removing his mask. Candlelight from the ballroom pooled over his jaw, catching the sharpness of his cheekbone, the curve of his mouth. “You don’t seem like the type who gets nervous,” he said, voice low and easy. You set your glass down on the stone ledge. “That’s because I don’t.”

“Everyone gets nervous,” he said lightly. “It’s just a matter of what they’re hiding.” You stepped closer, skirts whispering against the marble. “And what are you hiding?” He looked at you then, really looked. And something in his expression changed. The arrogance softened, replaced by something quieter, more dangerous. “If I told you,” he murmured, “you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.” For a second, he almost did. You saw the hesitation, the flicker of truth just behind his eyes, but then it was gone, replaced by that immaculate calm, the kind built from years of lies and necessity. “You’re dangerous,” he said finally, like it was a compliment. Like he already knew what you could do with a single look. You smiled. “You have no idea.”

The wind stirred, carrying the faint scent of jasmine, the distant hum of the orchestra, the echo of a world that didn’t belong to either of you. Somewhere below, a bell tolled, and for just that instant, Florence felt suspended, breathless, waiting. He moved first, closing the last few inches between you. Not touching, not yet, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him through the silk, could hear the quiet control in his breathing.

“Do you always walk into danger this willingly?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. “Only when it’s worth the risk.” His lips curved, softer now. “And am I?” You met his gaze, heart hammering. “I haven’t decided yet.” The air between you felt alive, vibrating with the weight of things unsaid. The kind of pull that wasn’t attraction, not at first, something older, more instinctual. Recognition. Challenge. The dangerous thrill of someone who might understand you too well.

Inside, the orchestra began another song, brighter, faster, a reminder that the night wasn’t done. Laughter spilled out from the open doors, glittering and hollow. Neither of you moved.

And in that golden hush of the Florentine night, two assassins stood inches apart, each one a secret the other shouldn’t want to keep, each one about to become the other’s most beautiful mistake. “You shouldn’t stare,” you said, keeping your tone even. He smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m just waiting to see if you’ll run.” “Why would I?” “Because you look like someone who knows when she’s in danger.” You tilted your head, lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Maybe I like danger.” That did it, the air shifted, sharp with static. Neither of you moved, yet the space between you seemed to close on its own, drawn by something magnetic and merciless.

He took one step closer. The balcony was narrow; his shadow merged with yours against the stone wall. Candlelight flickered across his mask, gilding the edges of his jaw. You could feel his breath brush your cheek, warm against the cool night air. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?” he asked quietly. “Not usually.”

“What about now?” You laughed, soft and breathless, the sound catching on something deeper. “You’ll have to try harder.” His hand rose, unhurried, fingers grazing the edge of your mask. “May I?” You didn’t answer, not yes, not no, just held his gaze, letting him decide what kind of trouble he wanted to be.

He traced the ribbon at your temple, touch impossibly gentle. The kind of careful that wasn’t restraint but study, like he was learning the map of you with every pass of his fingers. Your breath faltered, betraying you. You caught his wrist before he could untie it, your nails pressing just enough to make his pulse stutter.

“Careful,” you whispered. “You might ruin the mystery.” He leaned closer, the corner of his mouth curving. “Maybe I want to.” And then it happened, no warning, no pause. The distance between you snapped like tensioned wire.

The first kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t the kind that asked for permission; it was collision, heat, breath, surprise. The kind that started like a mistake and felt like gravity. His mouth was warm and sure, the kind of kiss that burned too fast to stop. Your hand fisted in his shirt; his fingers slid into your hair, tilting your head until you had no choice but to fall into it. You tried to pull back. You did. Once, twice. But every time you broke the kiss, breath ragged, his thumb brushed your jaw and you found yourself leaning in again, chasing the taste you shouldn’t want.

“Stop,” you managed between breaths, though your hands were still on him, holding, pulling. “I am,” he murmured against your mouth, though he clearly wasn’t. You laughed, breathless, wrecked, and he kissed the sound right off your lips.

The railing pressed cold against your back. The city stretched below, golden and silent, the Duomo gleaming like a witness. His hand slid up your arm, over your shoulder, fingertips tracing your pulse. Every movement was deliberate, not hungry, but patient, measured, as if he was memorizing the cadence of your restraint.

“This is—” you started, meaning to say wrong. “—inevitable,” he finished, barely audible. His lips found yours again before you could argue. This one slower, deeper. He tasted like red wine and smoke, and something darker, control, maybe. The kind of man who kissed like he was used to having the upper hand and terrified when he didn’t.

Your mask tilted slightly under his touch. You almost let it fall, almost let him see, but instinct flared and you broke the kiss, chest rising, breath catching. His eyes searched yours, still close enough that you could feel the words before he said them. “You keep running from it.”

“I’m not running,” you whispered. “I’m surviving.” His smile was soft this time, almost sad. “Same thing.” He leaned in again, slower, careful, and your resolve cracked. The world blurred into motion and warmth, his mouth on yours, your heartbeat deafening in your ears. The kiss deepened until you forgot the reason you’d come out here at all.

And then, crackle. A sound cut through the night, sharp and surgical, right in your ear. “Target’s on the move. This is your chance.” The words sliced through the haze like a blade. You froze. Lips still inches from his, still wet from his. eyes wide. His expression flickered, too fast to read, too smooth to trust. For a moment, you thought he’d heard something too.

But no. Impossible. You swallowed hard, forcing your pulse to steady, forcing air back into your lungs. You took a step back, fingers trembling as you reached for your glass. Anything to mask the sudden shift.

“I should—” your voice faltered, the taste of him still on your lips. “—get back inside.”

He didn’t stop you, but his gaze followed every move, tracking, assessing, remembering. The mask between you was back in place, but it didn’t feel like enough. “Leaving already?” His voice was low, almost lazy, but there was something beneath it now, something thin and dangerous, like the edge of a knife.

“Duty calls,” you said, and forced a smile that didn’t quite hold. He tilted his head, a mock toast in your direction. “Then I won’t keep you.” You hesitated for a heartbeat, not sure why, then turned, heels sharp against marble. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. Inside, the ballroom swallowed you whole. Perfume. Laughter. Gold. The glittering noise of people oblivious to the storm around them. Your pulse hadn’t calmed. You touched your earpiece, voice a whisper of steel.

“Confirmed. Visual acquired. Moving in.”

Across the balcony doors, behind the veil of curtains, Jay exhaled slowly. Almost a laugh, low, disbelieving. He dragged a thumb over his lower lip, smudging the faint trace of your lipstick there. Then his own earpiece hissed to life. “Target’s on the move. This is your chance.”

For half a second, he stilled. Looked toward the door you’d just vanished through. The sound of your heels still echoed faintly, and his mouth curved into something almost fond. “Already on it,” he murmured. He straightened his mask, stepped back into the golden noise of the ballroom, and neither of you noticed just how close your paths were about to cross again. Not as strangers. Not as lovers. But as executioners chasing the same prey, each unknowingly aimed at the other.

Outside, Florence gleams. The city is a fever dream of light and stone, domes glinting under moonlight, rain slicking down the marble saints that watch from cathedral spires. Somewhere far below, the Arno catches the moon and breaks it to silver shards. You move fast. The streets twist like veins beneath your heels, narrow, ancient, full of echoes. A blur of a tuxedo flashes ahead, your target. You don’t hesitate. You sprint.

Your pulse syncs to the city: the slap of your boots against cobblestone, the rasp of breath in your throat, the click of metal in your grip. Right turn, an alley, tight and stinking of wine and smoke. Left, a market stall overturned, oranges rolling like spilled gold. Somewhere close, another rhythm matches yours. Footsteps. Controlled. Trained. Not the target. You don’t look. You can’t.

A shadow drops cleanly from a balcony, lands without a sound. Then: a muted thwip. A silenced round cuts the air; the guard beside you jerks once and collapses. You don’t pause to wonder who fired it. You vault the body and keep going, heartbeat climbing like it’s chasing the end of the world. You don’t think of his mouth. Or the way he’d kissed you like it was a challenge. But the memory cuts through anyway, heat and danger, your pulse tangled with his. Focus. The word hits like an order. You obey it.

The target darts into a narrow lane between shuttered cafés, knocking over crates and glass. You follow. Rain starts, first a shimmer, then a downpour. It slicks your hair to your neck, turns your dress heavy. Somewhere above, thunder mutters across the hills.

Ahead, movement. You raise your weapon.And freeze. Another figure stands at the mouth of the alley, dark suit, wet shoulders, gun already leveled. Both masked. Both steady. Both certain the other shouldn’t be here.

The silence holds, drawn tight as wire. Then, gunfire.

Stone explodes inches from your cheek. You dive behind a pillar, glass raining down, the scent of gunpowder thick and metallic. Return fire. Two rounds. Miss. You curse, roll, reload. The echo of his shots comes sharp and disciplined, military precision. Whoever he is, he’s good. Too good.

Rain hisses down, plastering silk to your skin. You break cover, sprint. Footsteps follow, fast, relentless. The chase twists through Florence’s back arteries: under laundry lines, across empty piazzas glowing gold with lamplight. A bell tolls, slow and ancient. You move faster. Jay cuts through a side street, his jaw set, his breathing even despite the sprint. The voice in his ear crackles: “Suspect’s turning east, toward the river.” Yours says the same. You both turn.

The city splits between you, parallel routes divided by one stone wall, one alley, one heartbeat. You pause under an archway, chest rising and falling. Steam curls from your lips into the rain. You press your back to the wall, eyes scanning corners. On the other side, Jay mirrors you exactly, pistol up, breath controlled, pulse heavy under the thunder.

Neither of you knows how close you are. One step. One corner. One second from recognition. The comm hisses again. “Copy that,” you whisper. At the same time, he whispers it too.

Then the line cuts, dead silence, and the rain swallows everything. For a moment, only the city breathes. Then you move. Both of you. Toward the river. Toward the target. Toward each other. Rain slicks the terracotta rooftops into mirrors. Florence is half-asleep, half-burning, lamplight leaking from shuttered windows, church bells shivering through the mist. You move across the skyline like a whisper, one heel digging into wet clay after another, breath measured, heartbeat locked to the rhythm of the storm.

“Target moving east,” your handler’s voice cuts through the static. “Do not lose visual.”

Copy. You vault a low wall; the slick edge bites into your palms. The world is a blur of rain and stone, wind and distance. Below, the Arno glitters in fractured silver, rippling with the pulse of thunder. You barely feel the cold anymore. You’ve become it, precise, silent, relentless.

But something else moves with you. It starts as a whisper, the faint percussion of steps that match yours too cleanly to be chance. You don’t look back. The rooftops demand all your focus, and the night feels too delicate to trust. One wrong glance, one hesitation, and you’ll vanish into the dark like smoke. Still, the presence clings to you, a pulse in the corner of your awareness. Too close to ignore. Too far to confirm.

Across the river, Jay runs in near-perfect sync. His silhouette cuts through rain, black coat streaming like ink, eyes locked on the faint shape ahead. The same ghost. The same target. The same hunt. “Target’s on the move. Confirm pursuit.” His handler’s voice crackles through the earpiece. He doesn’t reply. The rain drowns everything but breath and metal. He moves faster.

The city below has gone still, Florence folded into itself like a held breath. Only the rooftops are alive, slick with rain and shadows, streaked with the motion of two predators who don’t know they’re circling each other. You catch movement ahead, a glint of metal, a flutter of a coat, the suggestion of someone watching. You push harder, knees burning, lungs tightening. The edge of the roof ends abruptly. You leap, roll, come up hard against scaffolding. Rust flakes beneath your grip; a loose pipe clangs against concrete. A flicker of motion ahead, the target. Gone before you can fire.

“Visual reacquired,” you start to say, but the words falter. The space ahead is empty. Only rain. Only echoes. Jay turns down a side street two blocks away. His shoes slap water, his hand steady on the grip of his gun. For a second, he sees it too, that same half-formed shadow slipping behind glass, swallowed by fog. He stops, scanning rooftops, breathing through his teeth. Just mist. Just the sound of his own heart.

“Visual lost,” you say, your tone clipped, professional, even as your jaw tightens.

At that same instant, Jay murmurs the same words into the same open frequency. Neither of you knows you’ve spoken in unison. Neither knows that the signal is bleeding across both lines, syncing you like reflections. A long pause. Rain patters through static. Then the command: “Return to safe point.”

You lower your weapon. Exhale. The tension leaves you in controlled increments, muscle by muscle, breath by breath, until only the hollow throb of adrenaline remains. You wipe the water from your cheek and glance across the river. There, just for a moment, a movement. A silhouette stepping onto the parallel roof, framed by lightning. Broad shoulders, deliberate stride. A stranger. A shadow. Something in your chest flinches, recognition without reason.

And then he’s gone. Jay pauses in the same heartbeat, head lifting toward the opposite bank. Through the rain, through the fog, he swears he sees someone, small frame, deliberate motion, the glint of a weapon lowered too slowly. Lightning blinks, and she’s gone too. The bells toll the hour, low and distant. The sound drips through the rain like a heartbeat fading.

You disappear down one stairwell. He disappears down another. Two ghosts descending into the arteries of a city that never even saw them. No witnesses. No confirmation. Mission failed.

Just rain.  And the faint, unshakable sense that somewhere out there, in another storm, another night, the chase isn’t over yet. The gala hums when you step back inside, strings swelling, laughter floating, perfume hanging thick in the air. Gold light flickers against the marble; glasses clink like small detonations. The world pretends nothing happened. You don’t. The storm is still in you, heartbeat still ragged, breath still half-missing. The memory of rain and rooftops hasn’t left your skin. You move through the glittering crowd as if surfacing from another world, each step too sharp, too careful.

Then you see him. Jay. By the bar. Hair mussed, collar open, a faint smear of dust near his jaw like evidence of the chaos you both just survived. His suit fits too well to be innocent, his glass of whiskey half-finished, his expression too calm to be real. He looks like sin that dressed itself in a tuxedo, and almost convinced the world it belonged here.

Your pulse betrays you. You shouldn’t look twice. You do anyway. He notices immediately, of course he does. His gaze hooks into yours across the room, slow and deliberate. The smallest flicker of amusement breaks the surface, the kind of smile that says I know something you don’t.

When he moves, the crowd parts for him. Effortless. Predatory. Everyone turns, but he’s already looking at you. “Rough night?” he murmurs when he reaches you, voice threaded with smoke and velvet. You take a sip of champagne you don’t remember picking up. “You could say that.” His eyes drag over you, the faint smear of rain on your shoulder, the damp curl at your temple, the tiny tremor in your fingers you thought you’d hidden. “You look like you ran a marathon.”

“And you look like you started it.” His laugh is low and warm, too human for what he is, too easy for the edge in his posture. “Maybe I did.” You don’t smile. You don’t move. For a breathless moment, there’s no orchestra, no people, no noise. Just the static between you. The kind that feels like something alive.

He tilts his head, eyes catching the light. “Dance with me.” The words shouldn’t sound like an order, but they do. You glance down at his hand, steady, offered, dangerous. “I don’t even know your name.” “Good,” he says softly. “Keeps it interesting.”

Temptation wins. You take it. The music slows into a waltz, sweet and heavy. He pulls you closer, not indecently, but close enough that your perfume mixes with his cologne, sharp and woodsy. His hand rests against your back, the other guiding your palm to his. You follow his lead before you realize you’re doing it.

Every step feels like a secret traded in plain sight, your heartbeat betraying you, his gaze memorizing it. Around you, the ballroom spins in slow gold blur, chandeliers catching light like fire trapped in glass. “You’re trouble,” you whisper, eyes on his collarbone, your mouth brushing the edge of a smile. He leans in until his lips almost touch your ear. “You have no idea.”

The words hum against your skin, low and certain. You feel the pull, familiar, fatal. For a second, it feels like that kiss on the balcony never ended, just rewound itself into something more dangerous.

When the song fades, you step back first. The space between you feels too wide and too narrow all at once. “This was fun,” you say, because it’s easier than saying what it really was. “Just fun?” His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes don’t match. “You’ll live.” You turn, half-grinning, ready to disappear back into the crowd, but his hand catches your wrist, not rough, just enough pressure to stop time for a single breath. His skin is warm, his pulse steady.

He slips something into your hand. Smooth. Small. Quick. A folded napkin. “Emergency contact,” he says, smirk curving back into place. “In case you ever get lost again.” You roll your eyes, but it’s mostly for show. “You’re assuming I’d call.” “Oh, you will,” he says easily, already walking away. “Curiosity always wins.”

You watch him go, the straight line of his back, the confidence that shouldn’t be as compelling as it is. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t need to. You unfold the napkin. A number, written in dark ink. No name. No flourish. Just a number. You stare at it longer than you mean to. Your fingers hover over your phone. You tell yourself not to. You do anyway.

You: You’re insufferable.

The reply comes faster than it should.

Unknown: Tomorrow, 8 p.m.?

You hesitate. One heartbeat. Two. The city hums around you, but all you hear is the echo of his voice.

You: Fine. But I’m picking the place.

A pause. Then:

Unknown: Wouldn’t have it any other way.

You slip the napkin into your clutch, close your phone, and take one last look at the crowd where he disappeared. He’s gone. But the ghost of his hand, his mouth, his voice, all of it lingers like smoke.

You shouldn’t feel this much electricity from a stranger. But then again, he never really felt like one.

The city glows like an open secret, streets slick with rain, lamps flickering gold over cobblestones, the air heavy with the scent of wine and basil. Somewhere in the distance, a Vespa hums past, laughter spilling into the night. Church bells murmur from the Duomo, their echoes carrying like whispers across the Arno. You arrive first. The café is tucked between two narrow alleys, small enough to miss if you weren’t looking. One outdoor table. Two flickering candles. A violin playing softly from an open window upstairs. The sound weaves through the air like silk, mournful, romantic, old.

You sit, order something just to keep your hands busy, and let your eyes trace the crowd, tourists, locals, lovers. You spot reflections in windows, movements in shadows. You can’t quite shake the instinct to scan every corner. Old habits.

Jay arrives late, not enough to annoy you, just enough to make you notice. He moves through the streetlight like he owns it. His shirt is black this time, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair still slightly tousled from the wind. When he smiles, the world sharpens into focus, like someone twisted the lens and suddenly everything else blurred except him.

“You’re punctual,” he says, voice smooth, teasing. “You’re not,” you reply. “Had to make an entrance.” You roll your eyes, but you’re already smiling. The waiter pours wine, deep red, rich, the kind that burns slow. You watch the reflection of candlelight swirl in your glass as he speaks.

It starts easy. Talk of cities, of art, of music. The kind of small talk that feels like testing fences for weaknesses. Every question sounds casual, but neither of you really believes in coincidence. Then it starts to deepen.

He asks, “Why Florence?” You say, “Why not?” He tilts his head, watching you over the rim of his glass. You can feel him studying the shape of your lies, how smoothly you let them pass. You notice he does the same. Every truth feels half-dressed, every smile too measured. But you don’t stop. You laugh. You lean in. You let the warmth of the wine make you bold. He tells you a story about getting lost in Venice; you tell him one about a painting that made you cry. Somewhere between the laughter and the silences, something clicks, not comfort, not trust, but recognition.

When the bill comes, he pays without asking, sliding enough cash to cover both and a little extra. His fingers brush yours on the table, casual but deliberate. You reach for your coat, but he stops you with a look that feels like an invitation and a dare all at once.

“Walk with me?” You do.

Florence at night is cinematic, streets washed in gold and shadow, bridges glowing like veins of light across the river. The air hums with music and memory. You walk without purpose, trading stories that sound true enough to believe. He gestures when he talks, animated, half-distracting you from the way he keeps glancing at your lips.

And somewhere between a joke and a silence, his hand brushes yours. Once. Twice. Then stays. You look at him, really look, and it hits you how dangerous this feels. Not because of who you are or what you’re hiding, but because it feels too easy. Too real. He’s smiling when you glance up at him, like he knows he shouldn’t, but can’t help it. His thumb grazes your knuckles, a touch soft enough to feel accidental, certain enough to say otherwise.

You’re the one who kisses him first, quick, reckless, testing. He’s the one who deepens it, slow, sure, undoing. It tastes like red wine and rain, and something you can’t name yet. And when you finally pull away, the city keeps glowing like it knows something you don’t. Jay pulls back just an inch, lips still brushing yours, breath warm and uneven. There’s a question in his eyes, not permission, not hesitance, but something quieter. Something like want.

And then he says, voice low enough to scrape against your spine: “Come with me.” You blink once, pulse stuttering. “Where?” His smile curves, slow, deliberate, confident in a way that shouldn’t be legal. “My place. It’s… close.”

He means dangerously close. You mean dangerously tempting. Before you can overthink it, before you can remind yourself that you don’t do this, don’t follow strangers into elevators and penthouses with views of entire cities, your hand is already in his. He leads you through the rain-glossed streets, past shuttered boutiques and glowing trattorias, until the marble lobby of an old Renaissance-restored building rises out of the dark. Inside, the floors gleam. The chandeliers drip light. The concierge greets him by name.

Of course he has a penthouse. Of course he does. The elevator ride is silent, but not empty. You can feel him watching your, not with hunger, but with curiosity. Like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with no corners. When the doors slide open, the city spills in. His penthouse is all glass and shadow, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Arno, dark wood floors reflecting the city lights, a bottle of unopened scotch on the counter, a jacket tossed across the sofa.

It smells faintly like cedar and something clean, expensive. He steps inside first, loosening his collar. You follow, dripping rain onto his immaculate floor. Jay turns to you, and for a second, neither of you speaks. There’s the hum of the city. The faint echo of your pulse in your ears. The knowledge that this is a bad idea wrapped in a perfect one.

Then softly, almost shyly, impossibly, he asks: “Can I take your coat?” You laugh under your breath, handing it over. “You kiss someone like that and then you ask for my coat?” He hangs it up carefully, almost too carefully, then looks back at you with a grin that is anything but careful.  “Trying to be a gentleman,” he says. “It’s not working.”

He takes that step toward you, the one that erases distance. His fingers graze your jaw. Your breath catches. The air tilts. “Then I won’t pretend to be one,” he murmurs. His mouth finds yours again, slower this time. Deeper. The room fades, the world dissolves, and Florence hums beneath your feet like it’s holding its breath. You don’t know his name. You don’t know his secrets. You don’t know the life he leads.

But tonight, in the soft glow of a city that has seen too much love to warn you away, you let yourself want him. And when he leads you through the dim hallway toward his bedroom, you follow. Not because you trust him. Not because you should. But because something about him sets every nerve alight, a match struck in the dark a taste of danger a heartbeat you shouldn’t be hearing this close. And because for the first time in a long time, you’re not thinking about lies or missions or escape routes. Just him. Just tonight. Just the way he looks back at you like he’s already memorizing the moment you walked into his life.

The door closes with a soft click behind you, sealing the room in a hush that feels almost sacred. The only light is the thin strip of gold leaking from the hallway under the door and the faint glow of the bedside lamp, dimmed so low it barely exists. Shadows stretch up the walls, long and trembling, and Jay stands in front of you like he was carved out of one. He doesn’t speak. He just steps closer.

“Sit.” A whisper, low, rough, almost like the command scrapes the air. His fingers brush your hip as he guides you backward, barely there, but enough to make your breath stick. The mattress dips when the backs of your knees hit it, and then you’re sinking down, palms sliding across the sheets, heartbeat pounding through your skin. Jay stands over you, chest rising slow, deliberate. You can’t see his expression clearly, not with the light falling only from the side, but you can feel it, the intent, the heaviness, the focus. His gaze drags over you like a touch.

He steps into your space. Knees brushing yours. Breath ghosting your forehead. His hands rise, but he doesn’t touch you yet. He hovers, knuckles grazing the air just shy of your jaw, your collarbone, the hem of your shirt. You can feel the heat of him without the contact, and something tightens inside you.

“Look at me.” Another whisper. Not soft. Just precise. You raise your eyes, and whatever he sees in yours pulls a slow exhale from him, the kind that sounds like restraint unspooling. His fingers finally touch your skin, first the underside of your jaw, tracing the line of it with the backs of his knuckles, then the column of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze. He doesn’t rush. He maps you with a patience that borders on reverence.

His thumb hooks into the neckline of your top. “I’m taking this off,” he murmurs, voice so close it vibrates against your lips even though he’s not kissing you. “Slowly.” And he does. The fabric peels upward inch by inch, his hands never leaving you. His fingers slide beneath the hem, gliding over your stomach, your ribs, the curve beneath your breasts, not groping, not grabbing, just learning you, marking the shape of you into his palms. He lifts the shirt higher, the soft scrape of cotton passing over your skin making every nerve spark awake.

When the fabric hits your arms, he stops again.

“Arms up.”  Breath against your ear, warm and quiet. You raise them, and he pulls the top off in one smooth, unbroken motion, dropping it beside him without breaking eye contact. His gaze runs over your bare skin like he’s memorizing the moment cell by cell. No smile. No tease. Just heat. Stark and focused.

Then he kneels. Right between your knees. His hands slide up the outside of your thighs, slow enough that your breathing stutters. He doesn’t rush to your waistband; he traces circles into your skin with his thumbs, following the curve of your hips, pressing just enough to ground you. His head is down, dark hair falling into his eyes, breathing steady but deep, like he’s trying not to lose himself too fast.

Your shorts sit low on your hips now, his fingers hooked into each side, waiting. “You want them off?” Barely a whisper. You nod, and he shakes his head slightly. “Say it.” Your voice barely works, but the word comes out, small and trembling: “Take them off.” His fingers tighten. He pulls.

The fabric slides downward, dragging along your thighs, your knees, your calves. He doesn’t look away from your body as he works them off, folding them once, placing them neatly beside your discarded shirt, something about the neatness only making the moment feel more intense, more intentional. When he rises back up, his hands cup your calves, sliding slowly up, over your knees, along the tender inside of your thighs. The higher he goes, the slower he moves, like he’s savoring every inch of skin he uncovers. Your breathing catches halfway through, and he pauses, not pulling back, just holding you there, letting the tension coil tighter.

His thumbs stroke lazily along the inner edges of your thighs, and he leans in, voice just a breath: “Tell me if you want me to stop.” You whisper back, “Don’t stop.” A muscle in his jaw twitches, sharp in the dim light. His hands roam upward again, tracing your hips, your waist, the sides of your ribs, every inch taken with an almost cinematic patience, as though he’s unwrapping someone precious, someone he’s waited too long to touch like this. He stands again, towering over you, shadow falling across your bare skin. His fingertips brush your shoulders, glide down your arms, then return to your torso like he can’t decide which part of you he wants to touch first. Every pass of his hands leaves you warmer.

Then he leans close enough that his forehead nearly touches yours. “Lie back.” A whisper that trembles at the edges. You sink into the pillows, and he follows, palms dragging down your sides one more time, mapping you all over again, slower, deeper, more deliberate.

Like he’s memorizing the moment he finally has you stripped, open, waiting under him. Like he’s worshipping you in silence. Like the room itself is holding its breath for what comes next.

The door closes with a soft click behind you, sealing the room in a hush that feels almost sacred. The only light is the thin strip of gold leaking from the hallway under the door and the faint glow of the bedside lamp, dimmed so low it barely exists. Shadows stretch up the walls, long and trembling, and Jay stands in front of you like he was carved out of one. He doesn’t speak. He just steps closer.

“Sit.” A whisper, low, rough, almost like the command scrapes the air. His fingers brush your hip as he guides you backward, barely there, but enough to make your breath stick. The mattress dips when the backs of your knees hit it, and then you’re sinking down, palms sliding across the sheets, heartbeat pounding through your skin.

Jay stands over you, chest rising slow, deliberate. You can’t see his expression clearly, not with the light falling only from the side, but you can feel it, the intent, the heaviness, the focus. His gaze drags over you like a touch. He steps into your space. Knees brushing yours. Breath ghosting your forehead. His hands rise, but he doesn’t touch you yet. He hovers, knuckles grazing the air just shy of your jaw, your collarbone, the hem of your shirt. You can feel the heat of him without the contact, and something tightens inside you.

“Look at me.” Another whisper. Not soft. Just precise. You raise your eyes, and whatever he sees in yours pulls a slow exhale from him, the kind that sounds like restraint unspooling. His fingers finally touch your skin, first the underside of your jaw, tracing the line of it with the backs of his knuckles, then the column of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze. He doesn’t rush. He maps you with a patience that borders on reverence.

His thumb hooks into the neckline of your top. “I’m taking this off,” he murmurs, voice so close it vibrates against your lips even though he’s not kissing you. “Slowly.” And he does.

The fabric peels upward inch by inch, his hands never leaving you. His fingers slide beneath the hem, gliding over your stomach, your ribs, the curve beneath your breasts, not groping, not grabbing, just learning you, marking the shape of you into his palms. He lifts the shirt higher, the soft scrape of cotton passing over your skin making every nerve spark awake. When the fabric hits your arms, he stops again.

“Arms up.” Breath against your ear, warm and quiet. You raise them, and he pulls the top off in one smooth, unbroken motion, dropping it beside him without breaking eye contact. His gaze runs over your bare skin like he’s memorizing the moment cell by cell. No smile. No tease. Just heat. Stark and focused. Then he kneels. Right between your knees.

His hands slide up the outside of your thighs, slow enough that your breathing stutters. He doesn’t rush to your waistband; he traces circles into your skin with his thumbs, following the curve of your hips, pressing just enough to ground you. His head is down, dark hair falling into his eyes, breathing steady but deep, like he’s trying not to lose himself too fast.

Your shorts sit low on your hips now, his fingers hooked into each side, waiting. “You want them off?”  Barely a whisper. You nod, and he shakes his head slightly. “Say it.” Your voice barely works, but the word comes out, small and trembling: “Take them off.” His fingers tighten.

He pulls. The fabric slides downward, dragging along your thighs, your knees, your calves. He doesn’t look away from your body as he works them off, folding them once, placing them neatly beside your discarded shirt, something about the neatness only making the moment feel more intense, more intentional.

When he rises back up, his hands cup your calves, sliding slowly up, over your knees, along the tender inside of your thighs. The higher he goes, the slower he moves, like he’s savoring every inch of skin he uncovers. Your breathing catches halfway through, and he pauses, not pulling back, just holding you there, letting the tension coil tighter.

His thumbs stroke lazily along the inner edges of your thighs, and he leans in, voice just a breath: “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You whisper back, “Don’t stop.” A muscle in his jaw twitches, sharp in the dim light. His hands roam upward again, tracing your hips, your waist, the sides of your ribs, every inch taken with an almost cinematic patience, as though he’s unwrapping someone precious, someone he’s waited too long to touch like this.

He stands again, towering over you, shadow falling across your bare skin. His fingertips brush your shoulders, glide down your arms, then return to your torso like he can’t decide which part of you he wants to touch first. Every pass of his hands leaves you warmer. Then he leans close enough that his forehead nearly touches yours. “Lie back.” A whisper that trembles at the edges.

You sink into the pillows, and he follows, palms dragging down your sides one more time, mapping you all over again, slower, deeper, more deliberate. Like he’s memorizing the moment he finally has you stripped, open, waiting under him. Like he’s worshipping you in silence. Like the room itself is holding its breath for what comes next.

Jay lowers himself over you without letting his weight touch you yet, just hovering, his breath warm and uneven. The bed dips under his knees, and the shadows shift across his face, cutting him into sharp angles. His eyes drag over you, slow enough to make your chest tighten. His fingers find your waist again. Not grabbing. Not rushing. Just claiming the space. “You’re so still,” he whispers, the words brushing your lips even though he’s not kissing you. “Are you nervous?”

You swallow, but your voice is steady when you breathe out, “A little.” His fingertips slide inward… just under your ribs… tracing the slope down to your stomach. His thumb presses lightly, drawing a line that makes your hips jerk. His gaze flicks down, watching the reaction.

Quietly, with a breath that sounds like he’s already losing control: “Good.” Then his lips touch your skin, right beneath your ribs. A single kiss. Deep, slow, warm. His mouth moves lower, pausing between each kiss just long enough to let the heat build. He doesn’t kiss like a man in a hurry. He kisses like he’s studying you, tasting your reactions, choosing his next move with surgical precision.

Your breath stutters when he reaches the softest part of your stomach. He hears it. His voice is a whisper against your skin, low, restrained, almost pained: “Don’t hide that from me.” One of his hands slides up, cupping the underside of your breast. He doesn’t squeeze, he just holds you there, thumb stroking a slow, almost cruelly gentle rhythm. His mouth trails higher, his hair brushing your skin, his lips tracing the line under your breast with a slowness that makes your whole body arch.

When his mouth finally closes around your nipple, your inhale breaks. He groans, a low, quiet sound, muffled against your skin as his tongue circles you, slow and deliberate. His other hand moves to your thigh, fingers digging in, holding you open as he takes his time sucking, kissing, tasting you like he’s trying to keep himself from devouring you too fast.

He switches sides, lips closing around your other nipple with a deeper pull, and you feel every controlled tremor radiating from him. Then he lifts his head and whispers against your breast: “You’re already shaking. Lie still for me.” You try. But when he moves lower, when his tongue traces a line down the center of your stomach, slow enough that your toes curl, your hips lift on their own.

He catches them with one hand, pressing you flat to the bed. “Don’t.” Just one word. But said so softly, so dangerously, it forces stillness into your bones. His lips are at your waistband now, the last barrier, thin and useless. He looks up at you through the shadows. Not smiling. Not teasing. Just hungry. “Open your legs for me.”

Your thighs fall apart, breath hitching. Jay exhales like he’s been waiting for that moment. Two fingers hook the edge of your last piece of clothing, pulling it down slowly, slower than his patience should allow, dragging the thin fabric over your hips, your thighs, your knees, your ankles. He drops it somewhere behind him without looking.

And then he sees you fully. His jaw tightens. His breath leaves him in a slow, shaky exhale. “Beautiful,” he whispers, not soft, but reverent, like the word forces itself out. He spreads your thighs wider with his hands, thumbs stroking the inside, and lowers himself between them. His face hovers inches from you, his breath warm where you need him most. He looks up again. Voice deeper. Rougher.

“Before I taste you,” he murmurs, “tell me what you want.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “You.” Jay shuts his eyes for half a second, just half, like the word hits him too hard. Then he leans in.  Slow.  Inevitable.  Pinning you with his hands on your thighs. His lips touch you. One slow, deep lick. Your back arches, involuntary, sharp, and he grips your thighs harder, holding you open as he does it again… slower this time… deeper.

A whisper against you: “Good… keep giving me reactions like that.” He starts to eat you out with a quiet, consuming intensity, no loud sounds, just heavy breathing, the wet pull of his mouth, the soft drag of his tongue. Every movement is deliberate, like he’s building you from the inside out, like he wants to memorize every tremor. And when you start to beg, breathless, whispering his name, he just moans into you and murmurs:

“I’m not stopping until you break for me.” Then he licks you. From bottom to top, one slow, devastating stripe of tongue that makes your whole spine curve off the mattress. He stops at the top, tongue flattening against your clit for a second, pressing just hard enough to make your breath crack, then he pulls back with a quiet inhale like he’s savoring your taste.

“Oh, fuck…” he whispers, voice roughened. “You taste better than I imagined.”

He doesn’t give you time to recover. His tongue returns, this time soft and slow, lazily stroking you, mapping you, tasting you like he’s learning your body one wet, trembling flick at a time. His hands grip your thighs harder, holding them open as he settles his mouth deeper against you. He chooses a rhythm, deliberate, focused, steady.

Long, deep licks. Followed by soft circles. Followed by slow, pulsing pressure. Your hips twitch up, and he pins them immediately, fingers tightening. “Stay still,” he murmurs against you, voice vibrating through your core. “Let me do the work.” He slides his tongue lower, dipping inside you with a slow push that makes your legs shake. He groans, actually groans, the sound muffled and sinful, and your body answers it with a pulse he feels immediately.

His fingers dig in. “There it is,” he whispers, breath hot against you. “Give me that again.” Then he gets rougher. His mouth latches onto your clit with a sudden, hungry pressure, and he sucks, deep, slow, controlled, the kind of suction that makes you grab the sheets and gasp his name. He reacts to that.

He growls. Not loud, low, quiet, primal, and the vibration rolls through you. Jay keeps sucking, tongue flicking in perfect, devastating pulses, alternating between gentle strokes and sharper, firmer pressure until your voice breaks into airless sounds you can’t control.

Your thighs try to close around his head. He doesn’t let them. He shoves them open, grip firm, voice so dark it borders on a warning: “Don’t… fucking… run.” He buries his face deeper into you, eating you out with an intensity that’s almost desperate, messy now, wet sounds filling the room as his tongue works you faster, harder, his jaw moving with purpose.

He moans into you again when you tug his hair, the sound sending another sharp wave through your body. “You’re close,” he whispers, his voice shaking with how badly he wants it. “I can feel it, don’t fight it. Come for me. Right here. On my tongue.” He sucks harder, the perfect pressure, tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless movements. Your breath breaks, your hips lift, and he holds you down, forcing you to stay exactly where he wants you.

You fall apart. Your gasp turns into a cry, your thighs trembling, your whole body tightening and unraveling all at once, and Jay doesn’t stop. Not for a second. He keeps licking you through it, slow and hungry, drawing every last shake out of you until you’re limp against the mattress. Only then does he pull back, lips glistening, breath ragged, eyes dark.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, slow, deliberate, and whispers: “Again.” Your pulse is still stuttering from his mouth, your thighs trembling against the sheets, when Jay lifts his head. His lips are swollen, wet from you, his breath sharp and uneven. He climbs up your body with a slow, predatory steadiness, each movement deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment before he finally breaks.

His hands bracket your hips first, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who’s in control. Then he drags them up your sides, over your ribs, up to your wrists, pinning both your hands above your head in one smooth motion. He leans down until his forehead nearly touches yours.

“You’re still shaking,” he whispers, voice low, rough. “Good.” His body settles between your thighs like it was made to fit there, warm, heavy, solid. You feel the hard length of him press against your inner thigh, and the jolt that shoots through you is so sharp your breath catches. He feels it. His jaw clenches. “Look at me.” Your eyes lift to meet his, and he holds your wrists tighter, the weight of his stare heavy, consuming.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he murmurs, voice barely audible. “Slow enough that you feel every inch.” You nod, breathless, but he shakes his head. “Say you want it.” “I want it,” you whisper. He exhales, slow, shaky, like those words hit him deeper than they should. Then he lets go of your wrists just long enough to guide himself, the tip of him brushing your entrance. The contact alone steals your breath. He presses forward just a little, barely parting you, just enough to make you whimper.

A soft, dark whisper at your lips: “Relax… let me in.” And then he pushes. Slow. Deep. Unstoppable. Your breath breaks. Your nails dig into his shoulders. Your body tightens around him immediately, involuntarily, and Jay feels it. His head drops to your neck, his breath coming out in a strained, bitten-off groan. “Fuck… you’re tight—”

He stops himself, pulling in a slow, shaking breath like he’s on the edge of losing control already. He presses deeper inch by inch, your body stretching around him, taking him, pulling him in. You gasp his name. His hand shoots to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “Don’t look away,” he whispers again, voice trembling now. “I want to see everything you feel.”

He sinks deeper. Deeper. Deeper until his hips meet yours and there’s no space left between you. You’re full. Breathless. Pinned under him. Jay’s forehead drops to yours, his hair brushing your cheeks, his breath sharp and uneven. “Shit…” he breathes out, voice cracking at the edges. “You feel—” He cuts off with another shuddering exhale. “You feel too good.”

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting them higher around his hips, opening you wider, pulling you closer, pulling you onto him. He holds still for a moment, letting your body adjust, letting the pressure settle deep and heavy between you. Then he whispers: “Tell me when you’re ready for me to move.” You can’t find your voice, so you pull your hips up into him, small, shaky, desperate.

His breath catches. “Okay…” A whisper that sounds like surrender. “Okay.” He pulls out slowly, every inch a drag that makes your eyes flutter, and then pushes back in with a deep, deliberate thrust that knocks a breathy sound from your chest. Jay groans into your neck, the sound low and ragged, his control slipping. His pace stays slow at first, deep, grinding strokes that make your whole body lift off the mattress each time. His hand slides behind your knee, pushing your thigh up higher, opening you more, letting him sink deeper, hit deeper.

Your breath starts breaking, your voice catching with each thrust. And Jay murmurs against your mouth, breath trembling: “That’s it… take it… take all of it…”

He thrusts again, deeper, harder, the sound of your bodies meeting sharp and wet in the quiet room. Your fingers claw into his back. He groans, low, guttural. His voice drops to a whisper so dark it shakes through you: “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.” Jay’s thrusts get heavier, deeper, the kind that shake the mattress, the kind that force sound out of your throat no matter how hard you try to hold it back. His breathing is ragged now, brushing hot against your cheek, every exhale trembling like he’s fighting something in himself.

He’s not winning. You can feel it. His hips snap forward again, harder than before, and your gasp breaks into his mouth. His hand slides up your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there, anchoring you, guiding the angle of your head as he kisses you. A deep, messy, open-mouth kiss that tastes like desperation and heat. He pulls back only far enough to whisper against your lips:

“I can’t—” His breath shudders. “I can’t stay gentle anymore.” Your body clenches around him, and the reaction rips something raw from his chest. “That,” he growls softly, forehead pressing to yours, “don’t do that unless you want me completely gone.” You whisper, broken:  “I want you gone. Lose it.”

Jay freezes, only for a heartbeat. That’s all it takes. His control snaps. His hand slides down your thigh, grabbing hard, and he flips you onto your stomach in one fluid, effortless motion. You gasp as the sheets brush your skin, your body still trembling from the shock of being moved so fast. He’s already behind you. Already pulling your hips up to meet his. Already pressing himself back inside you with a deep, brutal thrust that makes your arms collapse.

Your forehead drops to the pillow, your fingers fisting the sheets. Jay groans behind you, long, low, dragged from his chest like he’s been holding it back for too long. “Fuck… this position…” Another thrust, harder. “You’re gripping me like you don’t want to let go.” He leans over you, chest pressed to your back, his hand sliding around your waist, fingers finding the softness just above your hip. He pulls you back onto him, matching his thrusts to the desperate rhythm of your breath.

Your voice breaks into the pillow. Jay hears it. He slides one hand into your hair, gripping at the base of your neck, pulling your head back until your mouth opens on a gasp. His lips find your ear, hot, panting, trembling with feral restraint. “You want it rough?” Another snap of his hips. “Take it.”

He slams into you, deep, precise, punishing in the best way. Your body jolts, back arching, legs shaking. His whisper cuts right into the sound of your breath: “Every… single… drop of me—”  Thrust.  “You’re taking it.”  Thrust. “You hear me?” You try to answer, but it comes out a whimper. He growls, quiet but sharp, and tightens his grip in your hair.

“Use your words.” “Y—yes,” you choke out. “I’m taking it.” He bites your shoulder, hard enough to make your breath stutter, then licks the spot slowly, soothing it with a soft drag of his tongue.

“Good,” he whispers against your skin. “Keep saying yes.” He lifts your hips higher, the new angle letting him sink impossibly deeper. The sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, sharp, wet, rhythmic. You feel him everywhere. His breath on your neck. His chest on your back. His fingers bruising your hips. His cock dragging so deep each thrust feels like it reaches your breath.

Your voice cracks with every movement. And Jay loses the last piece of control he’s holding. His thrusts turn rougher, faster, his pace hungry and relentless. His hand slides between your thighs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, fast circles that make your entire body jerk. “That’s it,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Come on my cock. Come for me while I’m inside you.”

Your fingers claw at the sheets. Your knees buckle. Your vision whites out. “Jay—” He snaps his hips into you harder, hand working you with ruthless precision. “Say my name again.” “Jay—fuck—Jay—” “That’s it,” he whispers, breath breaking. “Give it to me. Now.” And when your climax hits, sudden, violent, overwhelming, Jay moans into your shoulder, grabbing your hips, thrusting through your orgasm like he’s trying to lose himself inside the feeling of you coming apart around him. Your body collapses forward.

Jay follows you down, still buried deep, chest pressed to your back, breath hot and shaking against your skin. “Don’t move,” he whispers into your neck. “I’m not done with you yet.”

— — —

It happens fast. Not the falling, that part was slow. Weeks of stolen nights. Rain on penthouse windows. Jay learning the shape of your mouth like it was a map he’d forgotten how to read. You pretending you weren’t already lost in him. Two ghosts who had chased each other without knowing it. But the moment he asks, truly asks, isn’t dramatic. It’s raining again. Same rain.  Same city. Different you.

You’re standing under a stone overhang outside the old courthouse, both of you dripping, both of you laughing because this is ridiculous, utterly, impossibly ridiculous, and yet you’ve never been more certain of anything.

Jay’s hair is plastered to his forehead. His shirt is damp at the collar. He looks at you like the world finally stopped spinning. “Marry me,” he says. Quiet. Breathless. No theatrics. No ring. Just him.

You don’t even pretend to think. “Okay.” That’s how you end up inside the courthouse, rain streaking every window, thunder shaking the old wooden floorboards. The lights buzz faintly. The judge looks half-asleep. Your clothes are still wet. Jay can’t stop staring at you. It’s small. It’s messy. It’s real. You hold each other’s hands, cold fingers, warm palms, and the rain outside becomes the only witness.

Jay steps closer, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he’s grounding himself. His voice is barely above a whisper: “’Til death do us part.” You lift your chin, eyes locked on his. “You first.” Jay lets out a broken laugh, the kind that sounds like surrender, and kisses you right there, before the judge even finishes the sentence. The world blurs into rain and lips and the taste of something terrifyingly close to forever.

But you don’t end there. Hours later, the storm has quieted into a drizzle as he drives you through narrow streets until the Florence Cathedral rises, luminous, ancient, impossibly beautiful. No crowds tonight. Just candlelight pooling through stained glass, flickering in ruby and sapphire across marble floors. Jay leads you inside, not to marry you again, not for formality, but because he wants this memory carved into something sacred.

He stands with you in the center of the vast nave, rain dripping from your coat onto centuries-old stone. His hand finds yours. Your wedding bands, simple silver, glint under the candles.

The silence feels holy. Jay turns to you, jaw softening, rain still clinging to his lashes. “You know,” he murmurs, voice reverent, “if you ever walk away from me, this place won’t survive it. I won’t survive it.” You lean in until your foreheads touch, breath mingling in the chill of the cathedral. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m not going anywhere.” Outside, the bells begin to ring, slow, deep, echoing through every stone archway like a blessing.

Two ghosts who once chased each other across rooftops now stand inside a church older than every name they’ve worn, bound by a rain-soaked vow whispered too quietly for the world, but loud enough to last.A courthouse wedding in a storm. A kiss beneath a vaulted ceiling of angels. And a promise neither of you ever planned to keep, yet couldn’t imagine breaking. Til death do you part. You first.

— — —

The present burns colder than memory. Gone is Florence. Gone is warmth. Gone is the taste of Jay’s mouth on yours, hot and reverent, like he was learning you cell by cell. All that remains is the mission room. An unmarked building. An unlabeled door. A table so cold it might as well be carved from absence. A folder hits the metal with the blunt weight of inevitability. Your handler doesn’t sit. He doesn’t blink. His voice is a monotone blade when he says:

“Target identified.”

You open the file. At the top lies a grainy surveillance still, taped in with a single yellowing strip of medical tape, like the print is alive and might try to run. LEE HEESEUNG. Codename: EVAN. Black hair. A sharp, unsmiling mouth. Eyes that look like they’ve witnessed the wrong side of hell and decided not to come back. Below, in stark block letters:

HIGH-VALUE TARGET.DIA PRISONER – ESCAPED CUSTODY. A HIGHEST PRIORITY FOR ELIMINATION.POTENTIAL RISK: EXTREME.

You keep your expression neutral, professional. Your pulse betrays you anyway, tightening in your wrists, fluttering too fast in your neck. Your handler continues, tone flat: “Intel confirms he resurfaced three days ago. Multiple agencies want him dead. We’re pulling international contractors to lock down the grid. You’ll have first contact. Coordinates on dispatch only when his location stabilizes.”

Stabilizes. A strange word. A stranger implication. You close the folder with a soft, decisive snap. “When do I move?” “Tonight.” You nod, controlled, composed, a ghost wearing your skin. But your stomach twists tight, curling around a feeling you can’t name. Something is wrong. The lights above flicker as if agreeing. You slide the file into your coat and walk out like nothing inside you has shifted at all. Except everything has.

—

Different city. Different agency. Same fluorescent hum of dread. Jay sits across from his director, legs spread loose, posture careless enough to fool anyone who hasn’t watched him kill. But the tight vein in his jaw pulses once, barely there, but real. “Your assignment,” the director says, pushing a folder across the steel table. Jay flips it open with two bored fingers. Then he sees the photo. A small taped polaroid. Same face. Same eyes. Same ghost. LEE HEESEUNG. Codename: EVAN.

Jay goes still. Not visibly. But he forgets to breathe for half a second.

His director doesn’t notice. “Target escaped custody. Too dangerous to leave in circulation. Termination authorized, no retrieval, no arbitration.” Jay turns the page. Dense black text. Red stamps that read like they were carved instead of printed.

HIGH-VALUE. PRIORITY ONE. ELIMINATE ON SIGHT.

His voice comes out low, edged with something he doesn’t let surface often. “Solo contract?” “Yes. Clean. Quiet. No footprint.” Of course. Jay is a ghost maker. “Location?” he asks. “You’ll receive coordinates in transit. Target is migrating.” Jay closes the folder, leans back, tongue pressing once against the inside of his cheek, a tell he never allows. Not unless something feels off. He didn’t expect the sensation clawing through his chest now.He doesn’t like it. Like he’s standing at the mouth of a memory he hasn’t lived yet.  Like the world has tilted one degree and he’s the only one who noticed.  Like fate just cracked its knuckles.

He stands. “When do I depart?” “Now.” Jay leaves without another word.

Your safehouse greets you with silence and stale air. You drop the folder onto the bed. It flips open on impact. Heeseung’s eyes stare up, dark, hollow, too knowing. Something in you recoils. Not in fear. In recognition you can’t justify. A familiarity that feels like a bruise you don’t remember getting.

You press your palm over his image until your skin hides the photo entirely. Your comms vibrate.

MISSION ACTIVE.STANDBY FOR COORDINATES.

The unease slithers deeper, coiling in your ribs. This is just another job.  Just another shadow to neutralize. That’s what you tell yourself. You don’t know Jay is reading the same photo in another part of the city. You don’t know he’s already moving. You don’t know the mission has already tied your fates too tight to pull apart. Outside, the wind picks up. Somewhere, the storm shifts. And the moment the coordinates hit both your phones… everything begins to break.

The desert wind cuts like glass. You stand among the guards, helmet low, visor down, uniform crisp. Breath steady. Pulse measured. The armored convoy crawls across the dirt road in front of you like a beast made of steel and secrets. Engines hum. Radios crackle. Boots crunch.

Evan, Heeseung, is in the third vehicle. Chained. Drugged. Supposed to be harmless. He isn’t. You grip your rifle tighter. Up on the ridge, unseen, Jay lies flat against red stone, rifle braced on a bipod. Sun cutting across his scope in a thin, lethal line. He’s still. Focused. A shadow carved from patience. His handler’s voice whispers in his ear: “Confirmed visual on Evan?”

Jay exhales. “Confirmed.” Your handler whispers the same into your comm, almost word-for-word. Neither of you knows the other is listening to the exact same briefing.

The transport halts. Guards reposition. You blend among them, steps silent, movements practiced. Your disguise holds. No one looks twice. Jay adjusts his aim, tracking the man being escorted out of the armored vehicle. Evan’s hair is longer than the file photo. His face gaunt. But his eyes, sharp and aware, cut through everyone around him.

Jay’s finger settles on the trigger. So does yours. The plan is clean: You draw fire and chaos from the inside. Jay snipes from the ridge. Evan dies between both shots.

Flawless. Mathematically perfect. Zero risk of failure. Until the sun shifts. Until Jay’s scope catches the smallest sliver of reflection, your reflection. Helmets down. Uniform standard. Should’ve been nothing. But he sees the tilt of your chin. The tension in your shoulders. The way you steady your rifle. He knows bodies. He knows yours. Jay’s breath stops.

…No. It can’t be. Not here.

He blinks once, and, you look up. Your eyes meet his through the glint of his scope. Instant. Electric. Catastrophic. Recognition hits you like a punch to the ribs. Your lips part beneath the helmet, shock flooding ice-cold down your spine. Jay. Jay is the sniper. Jay is the second operative. Jay is on the same hit.

What the hell—

“Shooter One, take the shot,” your handler orders. “Shooter Two, green light,” his handler echoes. Neither of you pulls the trigger. That hesitation, one heartbeat, ruins everything. Evan, ever perceptive, looks directly where Jay is hiding. Then directly at you. His mouth twitches. Not into a smile. Into readiness. He moves first. A knee to a guard. A ripped weapon. A shot fired into a fuel tank.

You dive, Jay curses and rolls, and the world explodes. Fire erupts through the convoy. Guards scatter. Bullets rain. Smoke eats the sky. Through the flames, Evan slips free, fast, trained, terrifyingly calm, and vanishes into the burning horizon. Mission blown. Target alive. You and Jay exposed. You scramble behind an overturned truck, helmet half-melted, lungs burning with smoke. Jay slides down the ridge, grabs his gear, and disappears into the canyon. Both of you escape.  Barely. Both of you are shaking. More from the recognition than the blast.

You drive with white-knuckled hands, headlights slicing through dusk, replaying his face in your mind. Jay. At the ridge. Rifle aimed at the same man. Your stomach refuses to settle. Across the city, Jay drives just as hard, jaw tight, music off, mind racing. You. At the convoy. In uniform. Holding a rifle. Too coincidental. Too precise. He isn’t stupid. Neither are you. You both know exactly what this means.

Your apartment is warm. Your clothes are clean. Your pulse is anything but steady. Jay arrives right on time. You don’t hug him. He doesn’t kiss you. The tension is a living thing between you, sharp, metallic, almost visible.

You cook because it gives your hands something to do. He stands behind you, silent, watching the knife move. You speak first. “Traffic?” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. He shrugs. “Not bad.”

You sit. You both eat too quietly. Then you slip. You don’t realize you’ve said it until the air collapses. “I thought you were in Itaewon today.” You freeze. Jay lifts his gaze slowly. A smirk forms, slow, subtle, cutting. “You always think you know where I am.”

It’s not flirtation. It’s a test. Your pulse spikes. “Where were you?” you ask. He places his chopsticks down, leans back, eyes on yours with unnerving calm. “In the heat,” he says. “In the open.” “Wind was bad. Distance was… manageable.”

Your heart stops. Only a sniper would phrase it that way. He watches your reaction carefully. Then, softly, almost gently: “Funny thing, though. Someone down there hesitated too.”

Your blood turns to ice. He knows. And worse, he knows you know. The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s lethal.Two operatives. Two lies. Two truths cracking open all at once. One failed mission. One escaped target. One inevitable collision. Jay’s smile fades. His voice drops to something dangerous and intimate: “Tell me, sweetheart…” His eyes glint. “…were you aiming for Evan today?”

You inhale. Exhale. Lie or tell the truth. Either way, everything changes here.

The morning after the botched prisoner transfer tastes like the inside of a bullet casing, metallic, bitter, and humming with the memory of heat. Your apartment is too still. Too neat. Too unbroken for what you both witnessed yesterday. Jay moves through the kitchen like someone daring it to betray him. His shoulders are loose, relaxed, casual, the exact posture he wears right before he puts a knife through someone’s ribs. You’ve studied that body language in your enemies. In him, it’s worse. Because it isn’t foreign. It’s familiar.

You woke up to him breathing beside you, warm, steady. The kind of breathing only a man who slept well produces. He shouldn’t have slept well. Not after seeing you in that convoy. Not after recognizing your eyes through the sniper glint.

Not after realizing the truth. Neither should you. But assassins adapt. And marriage, even a forged, accidental, courthouse one, teaches you how to lie through breakfast. Jay opens a drawer and pulls out a mug. He doesn’t reach for your favorite one. He reaches for the one he bought, the newer one, the one that doesn’t have your fingerprints memorized. He’s telling you without saying a word:

I’m not predictable today. Don’t assume anything.

Good. You weren’t planning to. “Coffee?” you ask, voice light. Sweet. Dangerous. “Please.” Jay leans a hip against the counter and watches you with eyes that give nothing away. Not fear. Not anger. Not confusion. Just calculation. You grind the beans by hand, slow, methodical. You measure the water temperature. You test the bitterness. You make it perfect.

And then, when you pour it into his mug, your finger taps the hidden capsule against the rim. It dissolves instantl, micro-poison, nearly undetectable, designed to mimic food poisoning for the first nine minutes, then shut down the heart. You stir it once. Twice. Jay’s gaze flicks to your wrist. A single raised brow.

He knows. You slide the mug toward him anyway, like the world’s deadliest waitress. Jay picks it up, inhales the steam, and smiles. “Looks good.” His fingers curl around the ceramic. You watch his pulse.

He takes a sip. Swallows. And smirks. “I love when you make things strong,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to meet yours, deliberate. “It wakes me up.” You keep your face serene, completely still, but your blood chills. Because Jay doesn’t set the mug down. He doesn’t drink it again. He just… holds it. Letting you wonder whether he swallowed anything at all. Letting you imagine him spitting it out behind your back this morning. Or swapping the mug. Or taking the antidote he always keeps in his back pocket.

He’s playing with his life like it’s his wedding ring. The same way you just played with his. He takes another sip. You stop breathing. Then he sets the mug down, pushes it a few centimeters toward the center of the counter, and taps the handle twice with one finger.

Message loud and brutal: Try harder.

Your body warms, adrenaline or arousal, you can’t tell. With Jay it’s always been that fine, lethal line. “Early mission today?” you ask casually, rinsing the spoon you stirred his coffee with. Jay’s eyes follow the spoon’s path. Your wrist. Your stance. He’s mapping where your weapons could be hidden. Where you could run. How fast he could catch you.

“Something like that,” he says lightly. “And you?” “Same.” “Ah.” He stretches, neck cracking slightly as he rolls his shoulders. “Busy couple. Always on the move.” His tone is teasing. His eyes are not. You both move at the same time, him reaching for his phone; you turning for your jacket. Your fingers brush the drawer of the entryway table, where you usually keep your keys.

Only today, your keys aren’t there. Jay took them. Jay knows you noticed. You meet his eyes. He smiles. “Borrowed your car,” he says simply. No apology.  No reason. Just theft. Just war. You school your expression. “When?” “This morning.” “That early?” “Hm.” Jay gives a small shrug. “I had… errands.” Translation:  He was checking everything you own for traps.  He didn’t find the ones you wanted him to. But he found enough.

“Yours is still here,” he adds. “What’s left of it,” you say under your breath, so quiet a regular husband wouldn’t catch it. Jay is not a regular husband. He hears it. His smirk sharpens. “You say something?” You look up through your lashes. “Just wondering why you look so tired.”

That lands. A small, precise hit. He steps closer. Not touching. Just close enough that your breath shifts. His hand lifts, thumb grazing a strand of hair behind your ear. It would be tender, if it weren’t a threat. “Oh?” Jay murmurs. “I slept like a baby.” You didn’t. He knows. “Didn’t you?”

You tilt your chin. “Lighter sleeper,” you say simply. “You know that.” Jay’s smile is too soft to be safe. “I do.” A beat of silence. Heavy. Charged. Loaded like a chambered bullet. Then he steps back, grabs his jacket, and says: “I’ll see you tonight.”

A normal line. Too normal. You nod once. “Dinner at eight.” “Eight,” he echoes. Neither of you says if we both make it. When he leaves, the air collapses. Your spine straightens. Your pupils narrow. Today is the day. The first strike. The first real attempt. You check the time. Jay will reach the parking garage in seven minutes. You have the detonator in your hand.

You flip open the blinds just a sliver. The view of the street below is clear. Your husband crosses the road, calm, unhurried, unaware (or pretending to be). He reaches the elevator to the garage.

Six minutes. You move through the apartment quickly, silently, retrieving your backup keys, your boots, the bag under the sink with a gun no one but you knows about. You breathe once. Then you press the detonator.

The explosion shakes the city block. Flame ruptures upward, glass shattering, concrete cracking. People scream. Birds scatter. Smoke billows like a beast unleashed. Your pulse spikes.

You scan the wreckage. Burning metal. Twisted doors. Fire licking the hood of your husband’s car. And then, through the smoke, a silhouette steps out. Untouched. Unrushed. Unburned.

Jay walks through the flames like he’s leaving a photoshoot, not a murder attempt. His jaw is sharp, his hair slightly wind-tossed, suit jacket thrown over one shoulder like the explosion was an inconvenience at best. He lifts his gaze straight to your window.

And smiles. Slow.  Infuriating.  Devastatingly amused. He mouths: Cute. You exhale a curse. War has officially begun. Your phone lights up before the smoke even clears.

1 new message — JAY 💍

You open it with a thumb that doesn’t tremble. You won’t give him that. The message contains no text. Just a photo.

Him. Standing in front of the burning remains of his car. Two fingers raised in a peace sign. A heart emoji drawn in smoke behind him. You clench your jaw. Smug bastard.

You’re still staring at the photo when your door unlocks behind you. Not forced. Not picked. Not kicked in. Unlocked. From the inside. Your stomach drops. You reach for your gun, too slow.

Jay presses the muzzle of his gun behind your ribs, so gentle it feels like a greeting. “Good morning again, sweetheart,” he says, voice low, warm, mocking. “Miss me?” You don’t let your spine stiffen. “Doors lock for a reason.” “Oh, I know.” His breath brushes your neck as he steps around you, gun still resting at your side like an affectionate hand. “I just don’t care.”

He doesn’t shoot. He doesn’t need to. He walks in, calm as ever, dropping his jacket on the couch. You watch him move, fluid, confident, unbothered.

He survived your bomb. He broke into your home. And he’s making himself comfortable. “Coffee was good,” he says lightly as he toes off his shoes. “Bold flavor. Slightly poisonous aftertaste, but still smooth.” You grit your teeth. “You drank it.” “Did I?” Jay tilts his head. “Or did I pour it into the pothos plant when you blinked?”

You glance at the plant. It’s wilted. You exhale sharply. “…you asshole.” Jay beams. “I love when you notice.” He walks past you without a care in the world, crossing to your desk. Your laptop sits there. Closed. Untouched. Or so you thought. Jay sits in your chair, spins once, and props his feet on your notebook. “Can I ask you something?” he says casually.

You cross your arms. “No.” He continues anyway. “Why did you think blowing up my car would work?” he asks. “You know I’ve survived worse.” You force your heartbeat to steady. “It was worth a try.” He looks at you for a long, quiet moment. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It was.” And then he opens your laptop. Your breath catches. “Jay.” Warning. Threat. Plea.

He ignores all three. The screen comes to life, your wallpaper, your folders, your encrypted files, Except it’s not your normal login screen. It’s a new one. White text on a black background:

HELLO, SUNSHINE.ENTER PASSWORD TO SIGN YOUR RESIGNATION LETTER.

Your blood goes ice-cold. Jay glances up sweetly. “You didn’t think I’d let you be the only one to leave surprises today, did you?” “If you touched my files—” “Oh, I touched everything.” He taps a few keys. Windows flicker open—your missions, your photos, your kill records, your handler’s notes. “Your entire professional history is so… intimate. Like reading your diary. Except more murder-y.”

You lunge forward. Jay lifts a finger. One finger. Barely a motion. You stop. Your body responds to him before your mind does. “Baby,” he murmurs. “Do you really want to fight me this early? We haven’t even discussed lunch.” You want to hit him. You want to kiss him. You want to strangle him with the charging cable.

He continues typing with lazy, deadly precision. “Your firm thinks you’re resigning effective immediately,” he says. “I drafted a lovely, heartfelt letter. You talk about burnout. Wanting to reconnect with your spouse. Wanting a quiet life.” “I would never write that.” Jay grins. “I know. That’s why it’s funny.” You step closer. “Jay, undo it.”

“Can’t.” “Undo it.” “No.” You slam your palm on the desk beside him. “Now.” His eyes lift to yours with slow, thrilling danger. “You blew up my car.” “You drank poison.” “You tried to stab me in your sleep.” “You dodged. That’s not my fault.” “Oh, please,” he scoffs, fingers flying across the keyboard. “You were aiming for my shoulder.” Your jaw tics. He noticed. Of course he did.

Jay’s tone shifts, softens. “You don’t want to kill me.” You ignore the sting in your chest. “That’s not the point.” “Then what is?” he asks quietly. Silence drapes over you both. Thick. Heavy. Truth-shaped. You break it with steel rather than vulnerability. “You’re compromising my mission.” Jay laughs under his breath. “Sweetheart, you are the mission.” You freeze. He doesn’t. He clicks one last button, and your laptop pings. Your heart stops. On the screen is the confirmation:

RESIGNATION SENT.  

ACCESS TO FIRM FILES LOCKED.

GOOD LUCK IN YOUR FUTURE ENDEAVORS.

You breathe out slowly, deadly calm. “You’re insane.” Jay stands slowly, stepping into your space like he owns it. Like he owns you. “Maybe,” he says. “But I’m your problem now.” You grab his collar, hard. “Undo it.” He dips his head so your noses almost touch. “Make me.” You shove him away. He lets you, only because he wants to see what you’ll do next. “You’ll pay for that,” you say under your breath.

Jay smirks. “Promise?” You turn on your heel. He follows. Every step you take, he mirrors, calm, close, unshakable. Like you’re dancing. Like you’ve always been dancing. Like you were both trained for this moment without knowing it. “Where are you going?” he asks lightly.

“To fix what you broke.” He hums. “Try. I’ll enjoy watching you.” You reach for your weapons bag. Jay reaches the other side of it at the same time. Your hands brush. He freezes. You freeze. Then his smile curls sharp and dark. “Married couple things,” he says softly. “Sharing the murder kit.”

You grab the bag first. Jay lets it go. “This is war,” you tell him. He shrugs. “It’s Tuesday.” You don’t bother responding. You storm toward the door. Jay calls after you: “Dinner at eight!” You flip him off without looking back. “Can’t wait!” he shouts cheerfully.

The smile drops. His eyes narrow. His entire posture shifts from amused husband to operative. He sits back at your desk, pulls out a flash drive, and inserts it quietly. A new screen pops up:

TRANSFER COMPLETE.TARGET: EVAN — LOCATION UNKNOWN.SECONDARY TARGETS: YOU.

Jay stares at the screen. His jaw ticks. He whispers: “…you weren’t supposed to be on this mission.” He closes the laptop gently. Then stands, stoic, tense, deadly. No more jokes. No more flirting. For the first time since the wedding,

Jay looks scared. Not for himself. For you. The moment you hit the street, the cool air cuts through the lingering smoke clinging to your clothes. You breathe once, deep, steady, calculated. Then your phone vibrates.

JAY 💍: Miss you already.

You turn the phone off. No, you slam it off.

You hit your firm’s satellite tech hub in under twenty minutes. Not the front door. Not even the side entrance. You take the maintenance stairs, four levels up, two down, a narrow hall, a biometric scanner you bypass with a thin strip of heated wire and a practiced twist, and you’re in. The room is dark, humming with servers and fluorescent lights that flicker like dying stars. Your handler, Mira, sits at the central monitor wall, boots up on the desk, chewing gum like she’s bored with the world.

She doesn’t look surprised when you appear behind her. “Bad day?” she asks. You toss your locked-out credentials onto her lap. “My login’s dead. Who did it?” Mira leans back, chewing slowing. “Didn’t come from us. It came from you.”

Your blood chills. “Someone hacked it,” you say. “No.” Mira taps her screen. “Someone with physical access logged in as you and sent a resignation letter manually.” You inhale through your teeth. “Jay.” Mira whistles softly. “You got married fast.”

You don’t answer. Her gum pops. “Look, I don’t care about your love life, but if you’re out, you’re out. I can’t reverse this.” “Give me access,” you say. Voice low. Controlled. Deadly. She studies you. Then sighs. Then types. Her gaze flicks up once. “If anyone finds out—” “No one will.” A temporary access tunnel opens on her screen, thirty minutes before it self-erasers.

You pull out your phone to re-route your handler keys, but the phone isn’t in your pocket. Your pulse spikes. Mira raises a brow. “Lose something?” You exhale. “Jay.”

You return home like a shadow, silent, poised, lethal. Your apartment is dark. Too dark. Jay never leaves it dark. He hates the dark. You move slow, every step measured.  The door clicks behind you. And the moment it shuts, a hand covers your mouth. Not rough. Not panicked.

Purposeful. Jay’s body presses yours into the wall, his breath warm against your ear. “You left without saying goodbye,” he murmurs. You sink your teeth into his palm. He hisses, pulling back, hand flexing. “You bite harder at home than on missions,” he says lightly.

You elbow him in the ribs. He dodges, laughs, and spins you, pinning your wrist to the wall with a grip that’s firm, not bruising.

“Are we fighting?” he asks, eyes bright, wild, excited. “Please say yes.” You twist your wrist. He tightens grip. “Let go,” you whisper. “No.” You slam your knee toward his thigh, he blocks, catches your leg, hooks it around his waist. Too close. Too intimate. Too familiar. Your breath stutters. He notices. His voice softens. “Where were you?”  It’s not jealousy. It’s not suspicion. It’s fear. Real fear. “Don’t,” you say. Jay leans in, forehead brushing yours. “Tell me.”

“Why?” Your pulse stings. “So you can report it?” He freezes. Slowly, his hand drops from your wrist. “You think I’d turn you in?” “You hacked my firm.” “You blew up my car.” “You poisoned me.” “You stabbed me.” “You started it.” “You married me.”

You both blink. Everything stops.Jay takes a slow step back. Something flickers in his eyes, hurt, sharp, unguarded for a fraction of a second. “You don’t get to use that,” he says quietly.

“…Jay—” “No.” He shakes his head once. “That was real. Whatever else we are, whatever game we’re playing, that wasn’t the game.” His voice cracks just a little. Barely there. Barely audible.

It hits harder than any weapon. You swallow. Your chest feels too tight. He steps around you, slow, cautious, like approaching a wounded animal. “If you keep treating this like a mission,” Jay says softly, “I’ll start fighting like it is one.” That’s the warning. The last one he’ll give. Your voice is thin. “I didn’t ask you to follow me.” “You never have to ask,” he says. “I just do.”

You turn away, fast. Too fast. It gives him the opening. Jay reaches into his back pocket and tosses something onto the table. Your phone. Completely wiped. Factory reset. SIM ejected. Firmware updated. “Jay.” The word isn't anger. It’s disbelief.

“I told you I was good with tech,” he says. You stare at the dead device. “You wiped my tracking. My contacts.” “Yes.” “My encrypted notes.” “Yes.” “My mission tags.” “Yes.” You take a step toward him, voice lethal. “Why?” Jay stares at you. Not smirking. Not teasing.

Serious. “Because someone else put you on the Evan hit,” he says quietly. “Someone who wasn’t supposed to. And your firm isn’t the one pulling strings.” Your heart stops. “…what?” He walks closer, slowly, the way he always does when the truth is the most dangerous thing in the room. “The target?” Jay says softly. “Everything around him?” “The hit that went wrong?” “The explosion?” “The double assignment?” He exhales. “It wasn’t an accident.” Your breath stutters. “Jay, what the fuck do you know that I don’t?”

He shakes his head. “Not here.” He reaches out, slowly, like a truce. His fingers hover near yours. “If we’re going to survive this,” he murmurs, “you need to trust me.”You stare at his hand. Trust. You haven’t trusted anyone in five years. You don’t know how.

So you do the only thing you can. You don’t take his hand. But you don’t walk away either. Jay’s breath shakes. A tiny, almost imperceptible release of tension. It’s enough. He nods. Steps back. Gives you space. “We’re in this together now,” he says. You swallow. “Not by choice.”

Jay holds your gaze. “Marriage never is.” You almost laugh. Almost. And that’s when both your phones buzz at the same time. You look at each other. Then at the notification.

PRIORITY ALERT — EVAN SIGHTINGLocation: UNKNOWNSender: UNKNOWNMessage: RUN.

Your pulse spikes. Jay’s eyes flick to you, fear, fury, devotion all tangled into one sharp, explosive truth: Someone is hunting you both. And they know exactly where to find you. Your notification blinks twice before the screen goes black. Jay’s does the same. A synchronized kill-switch. An external override.

Someone just shut down your comms. Someone inside your network. Someone inside his. Your pulse spikes. Jay’s jaw tightens. “Back room,” he says. You don’t argue.

The two of you move in perfect sync, terrifyingly perfect, crossing the living room in three strides. You reach for the emergency drawer beneath the bar; Jay grabs the floor-plate latch behind the bookshelf. Your fingers brush cold metal. Glock. Silencer. Knife. Jay pulls up a case you didn’t even know he hid beneath the floorboards.

“Really?” you whisper, motioning to the hidden compartment. “I said I was good at tech, not that I was boring.” He flips the case open. Guns. Ammo. A tracking beacon the size of a grain of rice. You don’t have time to question it. A soft click echoes through the apartment. Then another.

Then—

WHRRR—

The building’s automatic locks engage. Jay’s head snaps up. “Someone triggered the internal seal.” “From outside?” “No.” He cocks his gun. “Someone who has access to both of our profiles.” Meaning: Someone who knows you’re assassins. Someone who knows you’re married. Someone who wants you trapped.

Your breath goes thin. Jay moves first, pushing you behind the kitchen island just as the glass balcony doors SHATTER. Wind. Glass. Gunfire. The first bullet whistles past your ear. The next embeds in the marble countertop. Jay shoves you down with a sharp, “Stay low,” then fires three quick, precise shots through the broken glass.

Two bodies drop. A third retreats behind the balcony railing. You slide across the floor, snagging a spare pistol he’d left under the table (of course he has guns everywhere), and pop off a shot toward the movement. Jay glances at you. Not surprised. Not impressed. Something like relief.

Then an echoing THUNK. A grappling hook hits the floor, metal claws digging into the tile. “They’re coming in from the roof,” you hiss. “No, they’re coming in from everywhere.” As if on cue, the hallway door explodes inward, splintering wood across the floor. Four men enter. Black gear. Custom rifles. Zero insignia.

Not government. Not mercenaries. Something worse. “Down!” Jay barks. You duck behind the overturned chair as Jay fires again, his shots sharp and clean even in chaos. One intruder drops, but the others fan out, forcing you into a crossfire. You roll sideways, sliding behind the dining table, heart hammering. You fire twice, one bullet taking a man’s shoulder, another grazing his thigh.

Jay shouts, “Left!” You spin, knife out, just as another intruder lunges. You bury the blade between his ribs. Jay’s breath catches. Not from fear. From something closer to awe. But there’s no time to acknowledge it. More footsteps thunder down the hall. “Jay,” you breathe, “we need an exit.” “We’re not making it to the stairs.” He reloads. “We take the balcony.”

“That’s a ten-story drop.” “I didn’t say jump.” He hits a switch on the wall, a switch you’ve never noticed, and a thin metal cable unspools toward the balcony like a steel lifeline. You stare. He winks. Of course he has a zipline.But before either of you can reach it—CRACK.

A bullet hits the floor inches from your hand. You dive. Jay turns to cover you, and in that one second, you see it. The sniper on the roof. The glint of a scope. The trajectory aligning perfectly with Jay’s chest. Your breath freezes.

“JAY—!” The gun fires.Jay turns, but not fast enough. THUD. The bullet slams into his shoulder, jerking his body backward. You scream his name, raw, unfiltered, instinctive, and launch forward, catching him before he hits the floor. Blood spreads fast beneath your fingers. “Fuck—Jay—no—stay with me—” He grits his teeth, breath ragged, eyes squeezing shut for a second too long.

“I’m fine,” he pants. “You’re bleeding out,” you snap. His grin is shaky, defiant. “You should’ve seen the other guy.” Another bullet smashes into the wall behind you. “Move!” you hiss, dragging him behind the couch. He tries to push you away. Fails. His arm trembles.

Your chest feels like it’s collapsing. Not from panic. From realization. You are not supposed to care this much. You are absolutely caring this much. Jay leans his head back, breath heaving. “You’re… worried about me,” he says weakly. “Shut up.” “You are.”  He smiles again. It’s soft. It’s stupid. It’s killing you.

“Jay, I swear to god—” “Your hands are shaking,” he whispers. You look down. They are. Another blast from the hallway makes the floor tremble. You grab him by the jaw, forcing his eyes open. “Listen to me. If you pass out, I’m killing you myself.” Jay breathes a broken laugh. “I knew you cared.” You press your forehead to his, just for a second, because fear is a physical thing in your throat.

“We’re getting you out,” you whisper. Then you stand.  Gun ready. Heart burning. A shadow moves in the hall. You fire before you think. Two shots. One body drops. Jay watches you through half-lidded eyes, dazed and bleeding but still tracking your every move. “Jesus,” he murmurs, “you’re beautiful.”

“Jay, shut the fuck up—” Another volley of gunfire cuts into your words. Jay forces himself to his feet, pressing a hand to his wound, face going white. You grab his arm. “Don’t you dare—” “I’m not leaving you,” he says hoarsely. “You can barely stand—” “Then you’ll hold me up.”

He raises his gun with his good arm. You stare at him, angry. Terrified. A little in love. Just a little. “On three,” you say. Jay nods, breath stuttering. “Three.”

You don’t even say one or two. You both burst from cover, you firing left, Jay firing right, two bodies drop, and Jay stumbles. You catch him with an arm around the waist, hauling him toward the balcony.

Glass crunches under your boots. The wind screams through the broken doors. Jay gasps, “We zipline.” “You can’t grip it.” “You’re not carrying me.” “Watch me.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but gunfire erupts behind you and he has no time. The cable swings wildly in the wind. Jay sways. You grab the harness, loop his arm through it, cinch it across his chest. “Hold on to me,” you demand. His hand grips your shirt weakly. “Always,” he whispers. You kick off the balcony.

Bullets chase you through the air. Wind tears at your clothes. Jay’s blood smears your arm where he’s clinging to you. You hit the opposite balcony too hard. You nearly fall. Jay groans, collapsing against you. But you’re alive. You’re out. For now. You drag him inside the empty apartment, slam the door shut, and drop to your knees beside him.

Jay looks at you through hazy eyes. Smile faint. Voice faint. “You saved me.” “Don’t.” Your voice cracks. “Don’t say it like that.” Jay lifts a hand, shaking, bloodied, and touches your cheek.“You’re shaking again,” he whispers.

Your vision blurs for a second. “You took a bullet for me,” you breathe. His lips part. “Of course I did.” The truth of it hangs between you, dangerous, unspoken, blinding. And that’s when you realize:You are not his enemy. You never were. Someone else is. Someone who wants you both dead. Someone who just forced you onto the same side.

Jay’s head lolls forward, barely conscious. “Stay with me,” you whisper, grabbing his face, forcing his eyes open. He breathes a tiny laugh. “As long as you’re here,” he murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.” And he doesn’t let go of your shirt.

His head lolls forward before you catch it, your hands sliding under his jaw, guiding him back against the wall. His skin is cold. Too cold. “Jay—Jay, stay with me,” you breathe, panic tearing up your throat like barbed wire. Not even when his eyes finally close do you let yourself blink. “No… no, no— Jay.” You shake him, voice breaking. “Wake up! Wake—” Your vision blurs. Hot, stinging tears gather so fast you barely feel them until they fall, hitting his cheek, mixing with the rain and blood.

Jay’s lashes flutter. His eyes open only a sliver, unfocused but stubborn. “Relax, princess…” he murmurs, and the nickname sounds wrong on dying lips. He coughs, hard, body shaking, blood splattering across your wrist. You flinch, but only for a second before cupping his face again. “Don’t talk,” you whisper. It comes out harsher than intended. “Please. Don’t talk.” He tries to laugh, but it breaks in his chest. “Bossy…”

“Shut up.” You press your forehead to his, breathing him in, counting his breaths like you can hold them steady with sheer will. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna fix this, okay? Just— just hold on.” Your hands move before your thoughts do, tearing open the med pack strapped to your thigh. Your fingers shake so violently you drop the gauze twice before slamming it against the wound in his side.

Jay groans, low, guttural, teeth gritted. “I know,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I know, I know— I’m sorry—” You press harder. His blood seeps through instantly, hot and slick against your palms. You’re losing him. If you don’t stop the bleed, he’ll— “I’ve had worse,” he rasps.

You glare at him through your tears. “Stop trying to be charming while you’re dying.” “Worked on you before,” he whispers, mouth twitching. “Jay.” Your voice breaks again. “Please. Let me help you.” He lifts a shaky hand, blood-soaked fingers brushing your cheek, smearing red across your skin like paint. “You’re beautiful when you worry.”

Your breath leaves you in a shudder. “I’m not— I’m not losing you,” you choke out. “Not now. Not like this.” You rip open another roll of gauze, press harder, feel for the bullet. You can’t pull it out here, not without killing him faster, so you stabilize, bind, improvise a pressure pack using your own torn shirt.

Jay watches you through half-lidded eyes, like memorizing you is the only thing keeping him awake. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs.“Because you’re bleeding out, you idiot.” He tries for a smile, fails. “Still bossy.” You swallow a sob. “Jay, don’t close your eyes.” “I’m tired.”“No.” Your voice snaps, sharp and terrified. “You don’t get to sleep. Look at me. Keep looking.”

His gaze slips, then steadies. “I’m right here,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his temple. “Stay with me.” He exhales, long and shaky, leaning into you like it’s instinct. “Thought you hated me,” he mumbles. “I do,” you whisper. “But you’re not allowed to die.”

His hand finds your wrist weakly. “Selfish.” “I don’t care.” For a moment, there’s only rain, blood, your breath shaking against his. Then, “Princess…?” His voice breaks. “Don’t… leave.” “I’m not going anywhere,” you swear, gripping his hand so hard your knuckles ache. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” And even as his eyes start to flutter closed again, you keep holding him together with your hands, your voice, your heartbeat pressed to his. You won’t let him go. Not tonight. Not ever.

You press your palm to the wound, breath shaking. “Stay with me, Jay, don’t you dare—” His eyes slip half-shut, lashes wet. “Relax, princess… I’m fine.” He’s not. Blood spreads warm under your fingers.

“Fine?” you snap, voice breaking. “You took a bullet for me. I could’ve—” A sharp clatter echoes from outside the safehouse. Both your heads snap up. Jay inhales sharply, forcing himself upright despite your hands. “We need to move.” You sling his arm over your shoulder, practically dragging him out the back. The moment the door bursts open, the sky greets you with a cold, merciless downpour. Rain soaks through your clothes instantly, mixing with the blood on your hands.

You stop in the alleyway, chest heaving. Everything hits you at once. “You shouldn’t have done that,” you whisper, rain sliding down your face like tears you refuse to let fall. “You shouldn’t… I could’ve taken the damn bullet, Jay.” He opens his mouth, but you step back from him, shaking your head hard.“ You don’t get to make that choice for me.” Your voice is raw, trembling. “Not anymore.” Then you turn, heart pounding, rain drowning out every sound except the shatter of something breaking inside you, and you walk away from him.

You slam the door behind you so hard the frame rattles. Jay’s eyes follow you, bruised from the shrapnel, and still somehow infuriatingly calm. The apartment smells like smoke and adrenaline. You smell like panic. He saved you. You hate that he saved you. You hate even more that he almost died doing it.

You wheel around on him, chest heaving. “What the hell was that?”

Jay pauses, one hand braced on the wall as he toes off his boots, rainwater pooling beneath him. There’s a cut across his cheekbone he hasn’t even bothered to wipe. He glances up at you, slow, measured, knowing exactly how to piss you off. “What was what?” he says lightly.

Your hands curl into fists. “You were reckless.”

His brows lift, just a little. His breath hitches, just a little. And then he laughs under his breath, soft and disbelieving. “That’s what I get for saving your life?” “It’s not—” you start, voice cracking with more emotion than you’d ever allow if you weren’t this wrung out. “It’s not like that, Jay.”

He pushes off the wall, stepping closer, wiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Really? Because from where I was standing, you were about two seconds away from becoming modern art on that wall.” “That was the job.” Your throat burns. “And you— you didn’t have to—” “Didn’t have to what?” he interrupts. “Jump in? Blow my cover? Pick you over the target? Yeah. I’m aware.”

You stare at him, stunned. He says it like it’s nothing. Like it didn’t cost him. Like he didn’t just choose you over a multimillion-dollar bounty. Like he didn’t almost get shot in the throat because he was too busy making sure you stayed alive.

“You can’t do that,” you whisper. He laughs again, but this time it’s not amused. It’s sharp, frayed, ripped out of him. “Can’t do what?” He gestures wildly toward you. “Care if you get killed?” Your nails dig half-moons into your palms. “You’re not supposed to. That’s the point.” “Oh, right,” he snaps. “Because we’re professionals. Cold. Detached. Dead inside. Pick your favorite cliché.”

“This isn’t funny.” “You think I’m laughing?” You shut up. Silence slams into the room like a bullet. Jay inhales deeply, trying, failing, to steady himself. There’s soot on his collar. A bruise blooming over his ribs. He looks wrecked. And somehow, still… looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth keeping track of.

He steps closer. “You scared the shit out of me,” he says quietly. Almost brokenly. His voice is low enough that if the thunder outside were louder, you’d miss it entirely. Your breath catches. Your heart forgets what it’s supposed to do. “Jay…” you say softly. But he’s already shaking his head, pushing past whatever softness was threatening to break him open.

“Don’t twist it,” he mutters. “You’d have done the same for me.” You don’t answer. Because he’s right. And that terrifies you more than anything. His eyes search yours, messy, raw, too honest for two people who signed a marriage certificate under false names and lies.

Then he says, quieter still: “Tell me it didn’t mean anything.” A challenge. A plea. You swallow hard, and say nothing. Because you can’t lie to him anymore. Not in this moment. Jay exhales sharply, stepping back like he’s been hit. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s what I thought.” The storm outside cracks open the sky. Inside, the tension is a different kind of thunder. “Jay, wait—” “Don’t,” he says, turning away, jaw clenched. “Just… don’t.”

But you cross the distance before he can escape into the hallway, grabbing his wrist. His pulse jumps beneath your fingers. “Listen to me,” you say, breath shaking. “I wasn’t angry because you saved me. I was angry because you didn’t think about yourself.” He scoffs. But you see the way his shoulders loosen, just barely. “How noble of you,” he mutters. “Concern for the man you tried to poison with his morning coffee.” You wince. “You know why I did that.”

“Do I?” he says, spinning to face you, eyes burning. “Because from my perspective, our marriage turned into a battleground before breakfast.” “Because I thought you were going to kill me first,” you snap. Jay’s jaw flexes. He stares at you, stunned. “No,” he says slowly. “I wasn’t.”

“I knew,” you whisper. “I knew the second you hesitated at the briefing. You were never going to take the hit.” “And you were?” There’s no accusation. Just hurt. You close your eyes. “I don’t know,” you admit. Jay’s breath leaves him in one long, exhausted sigh. “Then what are we doing?” he says. The question isn't rhetorical. It’s the most honest thing he’s ever asked you.

“We’re surviving,” you say. “Together?” he asks. You don’t answer. You can’t answer. Not yet. But you don’t let go of his wrist. And he doesn’t pull away. 

“I think not letting you die is the bare minimum of being your husba—” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing, voice cracking on the word he suddenly seems afraid to say. Husband. The one word neither of you had dared to use since the reveal. Your heart thunders. “You can’t—Jay, you can’t just—” “Just what?” His hand wraps around your wrist and slams it above your head. “Care? Worry? Interfere?”

“Get shot!” you snap. “Better me than you,” he snaps back. And that, that is what breaks something open in you. The fear. The fury. The adrenaline. Everything you’d been holding together with duct tape and denial. Your hand goes to your thigh holster so fast he doesn’t even register the movement, but he does when you jam the barrel of your pistol into the center of his chest.

You feel the jolt run through him. A shiver. A hesitation. He looks down at the gun, then up at you. Slowly. A smile, sharp, crooked, infuriating, crawls onto his lips. “Finally,” he murmurs. “There you are.” You pull the trigger half a millimeter, just enough to make the metal click. He exhales like you’ve kissed him. Then he moves. His hand knocks the gun sideways; the shot fires into the ceiling, plaster raining down. At the same time he sweeps your legs, fast, elegant, brutal, and the two of you crash onto the floor in a snarl of limbs and curses.

You roll, flip, pin him. He twists, grabs your waist, flips you back. Your knee drives into his ribs. His elbow catches the floor beside your head, inches from smashing your skull. A grunt. A gasp. The scrape of skin on hardwood. Your breaths tangling like wire. He manages to get on top of you, thighs bracketing your hips, hands gripping your wrists so tightly you feel the pulse pounding through his palms.

His face is flushed, chest heaving, eyes burning with equal parts fury and want. “You’re out of your mind,” you breathe. Jay leans down, lips brushing your ear. “So are you.”

You buck your hips to throw him off just as he lowers himself onto you, and it backfires. His hips grind into yours, the friction sharp, scorching. A moan breaks in your throat. He hears it. His breath stutters. And then everything changes. His grip on your wrists tightens.  His hips pin yours harder. The fight hums into something darker.

He drags your hands above your head and holds both with one palm, the veins in his forearm rising like tension cables. His other hand slides down your throat, not choking, just feeling your pulse slam against his skin. “You were scared,” he says quietly. The softness of the words clashes with the ferocity of his hold. “No,” you lie. His thumb brushes the hollow of your throat. “You were terrified something would happen to me.”

Your breath shakes. “Jay—” He kisses you. Not gentle. Not careful. A violent, hungry collision of teeth and breath and heat. You bite his lip and he groans into your mouth, his hand sliding down your throat, along your collarbone, under your shirt. His fingers splay across your stomach, dragging the fabric up.

Your legs lock around his waist without your permission. He breaks the kiss only to drag his mouth down your jaw, biting just hard enough to leave marks. “You wanted to kill me five minutes ago.” “I still might,” you pant. “Do it after.” He grinds down against you, slow and deliberate, and your back arches off the floor. His hand releases your wrists just long enough to rip your shirt open, the buttons snapping, scattering across the hardwood.

You shove him onto his back and straddle him, your hands braced on his chest. He looks up at you like you’re a miracle and a threat. “Fuck,” he whispers, head falling back. “Hit me again.” You punch him in the shoulder so hard it echoes. He groans, long, deep, wrecked.

You drag your hips down against his and his entire body jerks. He grabs your waist, thumbs digging into your skin, guiding your movement with frustrated, desperate precision. “Harder,” he gets out, voice fraying. “Don’t—don’t hold back.” You lean down and bite his neck, the taste of his skin hot and sharp between your teeth. He bucks so violently you have to grab his shoulders to stay balanced.

His hands slide under you, gripping your ass, pulling you against him rhythmically, hungry, demanding, each motion a dare. You kiss him again, even messier this time, both of you gasping into each other’s mouths, tearing at clothing, at control. At sanity. He flips you again, your breath knocks out as your back hits the floor, and then he’s on you, between your legs, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other drags down your stomach, down your hip, down, you gasp when he reaches between your legs through what’s left of your underwear.

His thumb strokes you once, experimentally. Your hips jerk. Jay exhales shakily, forehead pressing to yours. “God, you’re—” He cuts himself off with a shudder. “You’re killing me.” “Good,” you breathe. He kisses you again, slow for half a second, then brutal, full of teeth, his fingers sliding against you, stroking harder, deeper, pushing you toward a fall neither of you planned for. Your nails drag down his back. He hisses. He bites your shoulder. You moan.

Every movement is anger and need and unstoppable momentum. He shifts, lining himself up, breath hitching, but then he stills. Completely. His forehead presses to yours. His breathing stumbles. You feel the tremor run through him. “You sure?” he whispers. You grab his jaw, forcing him to look at you.  “Jay. Shut up.” He laughs once, wrecked, breathless, then pushes into you.

Your breath catches, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in as he thrusts again, harder this time, hips snapping forward with the same precision he fights with. A broken sound leaves your throat. He answers with one of his own. His rhythm is fast, rough, hungry, each thrust driving your back across the floor, your fingers scrambling for purchase, your legs tightening around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. He kisses your mouth. Your neck. Your jaw. Whispering curses and confessions against your skin.

“I shouldn’t want you like this,” he growls. “Then stop.” “You know I can’t.” Your bodies snap together in a frantic, violent rhythm, fighting and clinging and devouring each other, the line between combat and desire shredded beyond recognition. Your climax hits like a gunshot, sharp, overwhelming, ripping a cry from you that you try and fail to swallow. Jay feels it. His whole body shudders. “Don’t—stop—” you gasp.

He doesn’t. He can’t. He moves faster, hips slamming into yours, hands gripping your throat and waist like he can’t decide whether he wants to worship you or pin you to the floor forever.

When he finally comes, it’s with a broken, strangled sound, his face buried in your neck, his body shaking through the final thrusts, breath hot and shattered against your skin. For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sounds: your breathing, his breathing, the distant hum of the fridge, the soft clatter of a gun rolling across the floor. Slowly, carefully, Jay lifts his head. His hair falls over his forehead, damp with sweat. His eyes meet yours. And there it is. The truth you’ve been avoiding, fearing, hating.

Neither of you will ever kill the other. Not because you can’t. But because you won’t. He collapses beside you, chest heaving, arm thrown over his face. You stare at the ceiling, heart still racing, your body still trembling with the shock of everything that just happened. After a long silence, Jay speaks, voice quiet, wrecked:“…We’re in so much trouble.”

You laugh, soft, disbelieving, broken.  “Yeah,” you breathe. “We are.” His hand blindly finds yours on the floor. You let him take it. You don’t let go.

Morning breaks through shattered glass like an apology that comes too late. The living room is a battlefield wearing sunlight.  A cracked lamp. A chair on its side. Guns scattered across the floor. Your ripped shirt dangling from the edge of the couch like a white flag no one surrendered.

You’re the first to wake. Your body aches, bruises blooming purple, muscles trembling in ways that have nothing to do with fighting. Jay is asleep on the floor beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest rising slow and steady despite the deep, angry bruise blooming across his ribs.

Right where your knee hit him. You swallow. Last night had been a war. This morning feels like the ceasefire no one signed. You push yourself up, wincing. Jay stirs at the sound. His voice is rough, sleep-heavy, almost gentle enough to hurt: “…Morning.” He moves to sit up and instantly stiffens, pain flashing across his face. His hand goes to his shoulder. You reach out without thinking. “Hey, stop. You're injured—”

He bats your hand away, offended. “I’m fine.” “You’re literally bleeding, Jay.” He looks down at the dried streak of red along his side, unimpressed. “Occupational hazard.” “You need rest.” He snorts. “I need coffee.”

He pushes himself to his feet anyway, stubborn as hell, favoring his left side. He winces only once, and only because he thinks you’re not looking. You are. You follow him into the kitchen, the air between you still… charged. Last night sits on your skin like phantom fingerprints. Jay grabs the French press. Pauses. Glances at you.

And in a quiet voice that sounds like truce, like surrender, like something you’re not ready to name,“Coffee?” You hesitate.Not because you don’t want it. Because accepting anything from him feels too much like trust. Your silence makes something flicker through his eyes, hurt, maybe, or fear he’d never admit to. He turns away. “It’s not poisoned.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I know.”

He pours two cups. You take yours. His shoulders drop the smallest amount, as if that simple gesture, coffee accepted, means he can breathe for the first time since last night. You open your mouth to say something, apology, maybe, or warning, but your phone vibrates on the counter. A single alert. Your blood runs cold. Jay’s phone buzzes at the exact same time. You pull yours open. He does the same. Two identical messages. Two identical contract codes. Two identical targets.

TARGETS: – CODENAME: SPECTER – CODENAME: NIGHTSHADE HIGHEST PRIORITY: ELIMINATION STATUS: CONFIRMED STRIKE IMMEDIATELY

Specter. Jay’s codename. Nightshade. Yours. Your firm gave you a kill order. On him. His firm gave him a kill order. On you. Jay’s eyes meet yours, quiet, hollow, stunned. “…They teamed up,” he says. “Yeah.” Your throat feels tight. “They did.” “Because we survived.” “Because we didn’t kill each other.” Silence stretches between you, long, sharp, terrifying. Then, A shadow moves behind the frosted glass of the front door.

Jay reacts first. Gun drawn. Body tense despite the pain ripping through his ribs. You move beside him, back-to-back, mirroring his stance. Your hands tremble just slightly. “…Jay?” you whisper. “I see him.” The doorknob turns. Jay raises his gun. The door opens. A man steps inside, hands lifted, expression calm, but eyes alert, scanning the room in one sweep. Black jacket. Messy brown hair. Sharp, intelligent gaze. Yang Jungwon. Jay’s handler. His closest friend.

Jungwon shuts the door behind him and lets out a soft whistle at the destruction. “Well,” he says lightly, “at least you two finally consummated something.” “Jungwon,” Jay warns through his teeth.

Jungwon ignores him. He looks at you, not as an enemy, not even as competition. As someone whose life is equally hanging by a thread. “They know,” Jungwon says simply. You force your voice steady. “About last night?” “No.” Jungwon steps further inside, lowering his hands. “About the prison transfer. About the botched hit. About Evan.”

Your pulse kicks hard. Lee Heeseung. Codename: Evan. The target both firms wanted dead. The target who escaped because you and Jay were too busy staring each other down to finish the job. Jungwon continues, tone flat: “You’re both liabilities now. Loose ends. They teamed up to erase you.”

Jay tenses beside you. “How long do we have?” “Hours. Maybe less.” Jungwon’s eyes settle on Jay’s side. “You’re hurt.” “He’s fine,” you say automatically. “I didn’t ask you,” Jungwon replies, but not unkindly. Jay straightens despite the clear pain. “What’s the plan?” Jungwon hesitates for the first time. He looks at both of you, at the bruises, the tension, the silent terror beneath your defiance.

Then: “You need leverage. Big leverage.” A beat. “Grab Evan.” You blink. “He escaped. He could be anywhere—” “He’s not.” Jungwon reaches into his jacket, pulls out a tracking photo. Grainy but clear. “He’s wounded. Hiding. He won’t get far without help.” Jay exhales slowly, jaw tightening. “You want us to use a DIA prisoner as a bargaining chip.”

Jungwon nods. “It’s the only thing that stops both firms from wiping you off the map.” You step back, shaking your head. “Jay needs rest. He can’t—” Jungwon raises a brow. “Jay has hours until a kill squad kicks down this door.” You turn to Jay. “We can do it tomorrow. You’re injured—”

Jay laughs once, dry, disbelieving. “Tomorrow?” “Jay—” “Tomorrow?” he repeats, stepping closer, his voice quietly furious. “We don’t have a tomorrow if we sit here.” You grab his arm. “You’re not at full capacity—” “I don’t care.” “You’re bleeding—” “I. Don’t. Care.” His voice cracks on the last word. Not with anger.

With fear. He looks at you, really looks, eyes raw, chest rising too fast, his ribs clearly killing him. “I’m not losing you,” he says. It’s barely louder than a breath. Your heart stumbles in your chest. Jungwon clears his throat. “So… shall we?” Jay grabs his jacket, his gun, the keys to the ruined car you blew up yesterday. You take a breath, steady yourself, and follow him out.

Because even injured, even furious, even hunted, Jay doesn’t hesitate. And neither do you. The plan should’ve waited. You said it three times. Jay ignored it three times. He’s still moving like someone stitched him together with adrenaline and pure spite; his ribs are wrapped, his lip is split, and every few minutes he winces like his body is reminding him what you did to each other last night.

But he still holsters his weapons like nothing hurts. “Jay,” you hiss as you crouch behind the concrete barriers overlooking the transport route. “You’re injured.” He cocks his head, expression maddeningly casual. “And you’re bossy. We all have our burdens.”

“Jay—” “Look,” he murmurs, adjusting his scope despite the tremor in his grip. “We do this now or they move him underground forever. You want to spend the rest of our lives being hunted? Because I would like at least one morning where our coffee isn’t poisoned.”

You smack his shoulder. He smirks. “See? You care.” “Shut up.” The convoy rumbles into view, six armored cars, two decoy vans, the kind of escort pattern reserved for nuclear weapons or very, very important men. Like Evan. Heeseung. The reason your entire world is burning.

Jay gives you a look, a question disguised as a shrug. “Ready?” You exhale. “Don’t die.” His jaw softens, but only for a second. “Not planning to. Not until you say I can.” And then, chaos. You drop smoke onto the road. Jay shoots out the front wheels of the lead truck. The transport jolts, metal screaming as it swerves off the roadside barrier.

Soldiers scatter. Jay moves fast, too fast for someone stitched with bruises, sliding over the hood of a van, taking two guards down with clean, silent precision. You match his rhythm: a blade to a throat, a chokehold, a sweep, a disarm. The two of you could’ve coordinated this in your sleep, and maybe you had, in the old life, the life before rings, before truth.

He catches your eye mid-spin. “You always were sloppy with exits.” You duck a punch, elbow a guard in the temple. “You liked that about me.” He laughs, breathless, wicked. “You’re not wrong.” Together you reach the transport, override the manual lock, and haul the reinforced door open. Inside, cuffed to a steel bench, sits Evan. He looks… calm. Almost forgiving. “You came,” he says softly, like he expected you. Jay points a gun at him. “Move and I’ll put three in your leg.”

Evan tilts his head. “Jay Park. DIA’s worst hire and their biggest headache. You’re looking a little rough.” “Thanks,” Jay says flatly. “We had marital issues.” You shove Jay. “Shut up.” Evan smiles like he knows exactly what that means.You cut his restraints. Jay yanks him out by the collar. “We’re using you as leverage,” Jay says. “Don’t get sentimental.”

Evan’s eyes flick toward you. “You still think I’m the mission?” You stiffen. “What?” Jay narrows his eyes. “Don’t play games.” Evan sighs, rolling his wrists where the cuffs had bitten skin. “You really don’t know.” “Know what?” you demand. He looks between you, slow, almost pitying. “You weren’t sent to kill me.” His voice is calm. Too calm. “I was bait.” Jay stops breathing. “What?” you whisper.

Evan steps out of the truck like a condemned man walking himself to the gallows. His voice is steady, but there’s a tremor beneath it, fear or grief, you can’t tell. “You were meant to kill each other.” The world goes very quiet. Your firms. The double kill order. The impossible mission overlap. The repeated “no survivors” clause.

Everything clicks. Everything shatters. Jay closes his eyes for one heartbeat, then another. “…Fuck,” he breathes. You swallow. Hard. “We walked into a setup.” “You didn’t walk,” Evan says gently. “You ran.” Jay’s fingers twitch toward yours, barely a brush, barely a breath, but you feel it like impact. You’re both shaking. Not from fear. From realization. From betrayal.

From the knowledge that the only person who didn’t try to kill you… is the same person you were ordered to kill. The wind circles the wrecked transport, carrying smoke and dust and the faint metallic bite of blood. Evan waits several paces away, smart enough to give you distance, smart enough to know the real explosion hasn’t happened yet.

It’s between you and Jay. Jay’s breathing is uneven, like his body can’t decide whether to collapse or fight. The morning sun cuts across his cheekbone, highlighting the bruise you gave him, the split lip he earned, the exhaustion he’s hiding badly.

He looks at you. And for the first time since the night you married him… you can’t read him at all. You take a half-step back. “Don’t,” he says quietly. Your throat feels scraped raw. “Jay—” “No.” He runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his ribs protest. “Let me, just, try to say something before this gets worse.” You stay silent. You don’t trust your voice. He breathes in slow, controlled, like he’s defusing a bomb strapped to his own spine. “So that’s what we were,” he says. “A mission. An assignment that went on too long.” Your mouth trembles. You hate that he can see it.

“We were set up to fail,” you say. “Set up to kill each other.” Jay nods, grim, bitter. “Yeah. I guess the joke’s on them.” His eyes meet yours, something breaking underneath. “Because I didn’t.” You swallow hard. He takes one step closer.

“Maybe it started as a mission.” His voice softens in a way that hurts more than any bullet ever could. “But I fell anyway.” The world steadies for one impossible heartbeat. Jay doesn’t look away. He doesn’t lie. He doesn’t hide. He just stands there, bruised, cut, breathing too shallow, offering the one thing that could destroy you more thoroughly than any firm ever has: the truth.

Your fingers curl into fists. You want to scream. You want to kiss him. You want to go back in time and drag your past self by the throat for letting this happen. Instead, your voice comes out barely audible. “That’s the problem.” Jay’s jaw clenches. Not in anger. In pain. He knows exactly what you mean. You fell too. And that, that, is the one variable neither of you were trained to survive.

Smoke drifts from the cracked asphalt. The transport alarms wail faintly in the distance, glitching in and out like a dying heartbeat. You and Jay stand there in the tension of something raw and newly broken,  your confession hanging between you like a live wire. Jay’s chest rises and falls too fast. You can tell he wants to step toward you again. You can tell you’d let him. But before either of you move, a voice slices in: “Romantic,” Evan deadpans. “Touching, even. But unless you both want to be buried here, we should RUN.”

You turn sharply, Evan is limping toward you, a stolen pistol in one hand, blood drying on his collar. He looks pissed, exhausted, and somehow still completely unimpressed. Jay mutters, “You always had terrible timing.” “Yeah?” Evan snaps. “Well, your welcoming committees are two minutes out. Drones, thermal sweeps, and eight agents who don’t miss.” He points at you with his gun. “Especially at you.” You exhale through your nose. “Wonderful.”

He gestures wildly. “You think I wanted to be bait? They framed me just to trap you two idiots. So unless you feel like dying for a failed marriage, MOVE.” Jay flinches at the word marriage. You do too. But Evan isn’t done. He jabs a thumb behind him. “Your firms have teamed up. They know you’re alive. They want a clean slate. And guess what cleans a slate real nice and shiny?”

Jay groans. “…our corpses.” “Ding ding,” Evan says. A distant drone hum rises over the ridge. Jay meets your eyes. The argument. The confession. The truth. All of it collapses into one silent decision.

“Come on,” he murmurs, grabbing your wrist, not rough, but firm. “We’re not dying here.” “For once,” Evan mutters, “I agree with the husband.” You shoot him a glare. “He’s not—” But Jay interrupts. “Later.” The three of you sprint across the dirt, weaving between charred vehicles. The drone’s beam sweeps across the ground, searching. Jay shoves you behind a wrecked armored van just as gunfire sparks against the metal.

Evan dives in beside you, panting. “They brought the elites. Perfect. Fantastic. Love this journey for us.” Jay peeks over the edge. “We can take the valley road. It’s unscannable for at least five kilometers.”

You wipe blood from your cheek. “And after that?” Jay hesitates. Evan answers for him: “We improvise. Badly, based on your track record.” Jay throws him a glare. “You’re welcome for pulling you out of that transport.” “I didn’t ask to be saved!” “Doesn’t mean you weren’t going to die.” “GUYS,” you snap. They shut up. Gunfire hits closer.

Jay reaches out, not grabbing your hand, but hovering near it. Almost asking. Almost touching. “Stay close,” he says softly. And you do. Not because he’s right. Not because he’s wrong. But because everything inside you is already moving toward him. Evan sighs dramatically. “If you 

You all break from cover. Running. Breath burning. Heart pounding. Behind you, the drones rise like angry steel hornets. The valley road is nothing more than a cracked stretch of asphalt carved between cliffs, no lights, no railings, just moonlight and danger. Jay’s SUV fishtails as he guns the engine, gravel spraying behind you in flashes. Evan is half-conscious in the back seat, muttering insults between pained breaths. Jay keeps glancing at you through the reflection in the windshield. Not checking if you’re okay, checking if you’re still here.

Drones rise behind the ridge like a dark swarm, red eyes pulsing. “Tell me that’s not four,” you say. Jay doesn’t blink. “It’s six.” “Perfect.”

You’re already climbing into the back, popping open the trunk compartment. Jay keeps one hand on the wheel, the other reaching blindly to grab a spare mag you slap into his palm. The swarm locks onto the car’s heat signature. Beep—beep—beep. “That’s a missile lock,” Evan groans. “Missile. As in things that blow up. You two love ignoring those.”

Jay’s voice drops into something low, focused, lethal. “You want to complain, or do you want to grab the EMP?” Evan coughs. “Which one’s the EMP?” “The one that looks like it’ll kill you if you sneeze on it,” you say. “Oh,” Evan mutters. “Right.”

The beeping quickens. You vault over the seat, shove the hatch open, and balance yourself against the frame as the wind tears at your clothes. Jay yells, “Are you insane?” “Do you have a better idea?” “Yes! Not dying!” “Then drive faster!” Behind you, the drones tighten formation, sleek, military, unrelenting. You yank the EMP sphere from Evan’s shaking hands and twist the dial. The device warms instantly, humming with unstable power.

Jay swerves hard. The world tilts. Wind howls. The beeping hits a fever pitch. You look over your shoulder, a missile flare ignites. “Jay—” “NOW!” he shouts. You slam the EMP button. A pulse of blue light erupts, rippling through the air like a shockwave. The missile flickers, stutters, then drops dead midair. The drones short-circuit, spiraling into the canyon like dying birds.

Jay lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You collapse back into your seat, chest heaving. Evan wheezes, “I… hate… you both.” Jay glances sideways, finally letting the relief, and something softer, show for half a second. “You okay?” he asks. You meet his eyes. “You’re reckless.” He smirks. “You knew that when you married me.” Evan coughs loudly. “Oh my god, is this really the time—”

BANG. Gunfire explodes against the rear glass, cracking it like ice. Jay curses. “They sent the ground teams.” “Of course they did,” you mutter. Ahead, headlights bloom, three black armored transports blocking the road. Jay’s grip tightens on the wheel. “Baby,” you say, “don’t you dare—” Jay floors it. Evan screams. The SUV slams through the barricade in a shower of sparks, spinning out onto the main highway. Jay wrestles the wheel, gravel spitting in all directions until the tires grip and the car rockets forward again.

You’re all thrown back in your seats. More headlights appear over the hill. Evan groans, “Please tell me that’s ordinary traffic.” Jay snorts, feral. “At this hour?” You draw your gun and chamber a round. “So what now?” Jay’s jaw flexes. “We lose them.” “How?” He slams the turn signal even though no one is looking. And cuts across lanes into oncoming traffic.

Evan shrieks. Jay grins. You swear under your breath but reach for the dashboard to stabilize yourself. “You’re insane.” “Married me anyway,” he says.

Bullets spray from the pursuing convoy, shattering the side mirror, shredding the back tire. The SUV fishtails again. Jay growls under his breath, correcting. “We need cover!” you shout. Jay nods. “I know a place.” “Is it stable?”

“No.” “Safe?” “Not a chance.” “Jay.” He gives you a reckless, stupidly beautiful half-smile. “You trust me?” The car skids around a blind corner. And you see it. A hotel. Lit up like a beacon. Crowded with civilians. Your stomach drops. “Jay—no—” “We’ll shake them inside.”

“That is a terrible idea—”

“You married me.” “That was BEFORE I realized how insane you are!” Jay slams the brakes, yanks the wheel, and the SUV rockets toward the hotel’s front entrance. Evan screams again. “WE ARE NOT DRIVING INTO A—” CRASH.

Glass explodes. The lobby floods with smoke and gunfire. And the chase becomes a war. The SUV skids to a brutal stop in the middle of the marble lobby, tires smoking, chandeliers trembling from the impact. Guests scream and scatter, champagne flutes smashing across polished floors. You shove the door open first, coughing through the dust cloud. Jay emerges on the driver’s side like he does this for morning cardio, rolling his shoulders, grabbing his gun, unfazed.

Evan limps out behind you both, wheezing. “You two need therapy. Separately.” No time to answer, because the glass front shatters again as three tactical teams charge into the lobby, rifles raised. You duck behind a toppled luggage cart, pulling Evan down with you. Jay rolls across the floor, sliding behind a display of fake plants.

Gunfire erupts in a violent percussion. Marble chips fly. A statue of some Renaissance noble loses its head. Jay shouts over the chaos, “You take left, I’ll take the right!” You grit your teeth. “What about the middle?” Jay’s smile is audible. “Trust me!”

You pop up and fire three quick rounds, two hit body armor, one finds a jaw. The man drops. You pivot, grab a server’s overturned tray, and use the polished steel to catch reflections behind you. Two more. You shoot through the tray like a mirror sight.

Jay mirrors you on the other side, sliding across the lobby floor, grabbing a weapon off a fallen guard, and firing with surgical precision. Evan crawls toward a decorative fountain like he’s seeking baptism. “This is—this is not—this is—holy sh—” A grenade clinks onto the floor.

You and Jay shout in unison:  “DOWN!” It detonates, smoke spilling in thick white plumes. Vision drops to zero. Your ears ring. Boots thunder closer. Through the fog, you hear Jay’s voice, low, controlled: “Two incoming to your right!” You twist on instinct, catching only silhouettes, dark, hulking, moving fast. One lunges.

You grab his wrist, twist, and slam his head into the marble. He goes down but tackles you with him, rolling both of you across the floor. He pins you. You jam your knee upward. He chokes, loosens. You elbow his face and finish him with a point-blank shot. Your chest heaves. Jay’s figure cuts through the smoke, expression sharp with adrenaline. “You good?” he asks.

“I’m busy,” you snap, firing past him to pick off someone aiming at his back. Jay doesn’t even look. “Thank you, sweetheart.” “This is NOT the time!” “Later then?” More gunfire. More bodies. The smoke thins just in time for you both to see the second wave enter through the blown-out glass front, armored, masked, efficient. Jay clicks his tongue. “They brought the expensive ones.”

You reload. “Great. Let’s be cost-effective and kill them fast.” He grins. “God, I love you.” You fire twice. “Shut up.” They move in a tight formation, sweeping through the lobby. Jay tugs your arm. “We need high ground.” “What high ground? It’s a lobby.”

He nods toward the enormous crystal chandelier above. “We jump.” You stare at him. “Jay. That is a terrible—” He grabs your waist. “On three.” “Jay—” “Three!” He launches the two of you upward, one hand on your hip, one on the broken banister of the second-floor balcony, using the momentum to swing both your bodies upward. Your stomach drops. Your hands scramble for purchase, but you make it.

The two of you land hard on the balcony floor, breathless but alive. Below, the squads fire up at you. Jay yells, “Go left!” You sprint, ducking behind decorative pillars. Jay takes the opposite direction. Bullets tear through the railings. The balcony trembles. You fire back, picking off the commanders first. Jay’s shots sync with yours, like choreography forged in war.

A guard climbs up the far stairwell. You see him first. Jay’s busy taking down three at once. “Jay, head’s up!” Jay turns, too late. The guard fires.You leap, tackling Jay behind a bust of Julius Caesar. The bullet hits Caesar’s face. Jay breathes hard. “He ruined history.” You shove him. “Stay focused.” But you’re both smiling. Because this is what you are, two storms that somehow learned to move in orbit.

A rocket launcher beeps. You freeze. Jay freezes. Evan screams from downstairs, “DUCK!” The entire left wall detonates, ripping a hole through the lobby, blasting marble, wood, plaster in a bloom of fire and dust. You shield Jay with your body. He drags you down with him. The world tilts, groans, and finally settles. Silence. Then, Jay coughs. “Okay. New plan.”

You rub the blood from your lip. “Yeah?” “Run.” “Run where?” He points toward the emergency exit sign flickering over a side door. You blink. “You want to escape?” “Temporarily.” “That’s new.” “You’re rubbing off on me.” “Jay—” He grabs your hand. Warm. Steady. Infuriating. “Come on.”

And the two of you sprint through the ruined lobby, through fire, through smoke, through broken marble and gunfire, until you slam into the alley behind the hotel, lungs burning.

And for one tiny, fragile second, you’re alive. Together. Just long enough for Jay to say: “…they’re still tracking us.” You turn. A drone hums overhead. Jay sighs. “Great.” You reload your gun. “Where to next?” Jay jerks his head down the alley. “The one place they’ll never expect.” You raise a brow. “And that is—?”

Jay smirks. “A home décor store.” You skid into the fluorescent-lit entrance like two escaped zoo exhibits, guns out, drenched, bleeding, adrenaline-soaked.

The bell above the door chimes politely. Jay looks at it, offended. “We’re literally being hunted by black-ops kill teams and they give us a cute little ding?” You grab his wrist and yank him inside. “Move.” The place is enormousm a warehouse-style labyrinth of staged living rooms, fake kitchens, throw pillows, and more plants than any single store should legally be allowed to sell. Soft jazz plays over the speakers, which feels personally disrespectful considering the number of bullets you’re both carrying.

Jay’s eyes scan the aisles. “Okay. Everything in here is soft. And useless.” You kick over a wicker basket full of blankets. “We’ll adapt.” “I hate adapting.” “You married me.” “Exactly.” You shoot him a look. He grins, even bleeding from the eyebrow. Somewhere behind you, the front door gets kicked in. Boots pound the ground. Jay grabs your hand. “C’mon.”

You drag him between two couch displays, both the same beige color that speaks of hopelessness, and duck behind the one labeled NORDIC DREAM: Minimalist Elegance.

Jay snorts. “This couch has better marketing than I do.” “Focus.” “I AM focused. I’m focused on how ugly this couch is.” You smack his arm. Hard. Behind you, motors whirr, a drone floats up the aisle, sweeping blue light beams across the furniture. You flatten. Jay pulls you tighter against the back of the couch.

And thenm Jay whispers, “We’re really hiding behind a couch set?” You whisper back, “It’s 30% off.” A beat. Then he shakes with silent laughter. “God, I fell for a menace.” The drone draws closer. You tilt your head just enough to see it. Sleek. Armed. Deadly. Jay meets your eyes. You nod once. Timing. One— Two— THREE— You both pop up. You shoot the drone once — Jay shoots twice, it jerks, sparks, then spirals into a Rustic Autumn Display, setting several decorative pumpkins on fire.

Jay winces. “Seasonal items. Tragic.” You don’t get to scold him, because the next wave of agents storm in, black armor, LED visors, full tactical gear. Six of them. Jay mutters, “They seriously brought the deluxe edition.” You grab his wrist. “Split?” He nods. “Rejoin in… kids’ furniture?” “Deal.” You break off, sprinting behind a row of Scandinavian storage units. Jay peels left toward the lamps.

Gunfire erupts immediately, rounds punching through walls, splintering wood, sending ceramic mugs exploding into shard clouds. One agent rushes your aisle. You duck behind a wardrobe closet. He swings it open. You shoot him point-blank inside the wardrobe. He collapses neatly into the storage space. You mutter, “Narnia’s closed.”

Another agent charges. You grab the nearest object, a coat rack, and swing it like a medieval halberd. He goes down. Jay, on the other side of the store, grabs a lamp off a display and smashes it over someone’s helmet. You hear him shout: “THAT WAS FIFTY EUROS!”

You almost smile. Almost. Two more agents sprint your way, coordinated, fast. You vault over a dining table and land on the other side, grabbing a steak knife from a staged place setting. You fling it, it buries itself in the thigh plate of the first agent. He stumbles. You seize the opportunity, rushing in, tackling him to the ground, slamming his helmet into the floor until the visor cracks.

Gunfire ricochets behind you. Jay yells, “Left side! Two incoming!” You spin, sliding across the floor behind a coffee table. One bullet grazes your arm; the sting burns through you.

Jay sees it, and his voice drops to something lethal. “You okay?” “Keep shooting!”

He does, with unnerving accuracy, even while limping, even while bleeding. You take down the last one together, one shot from you, one from him, the bodies hitting the ground in a synchronized thud. Silence. Smoke wafts between bookshelves and model kitchens. Designer rugs are shredded. Fake fruit is EVERYWHERE. Your chest heaves. Jay’s, too.

He walks toward you through the chaos, brushing debris off his bloodstained shirt, hair a mess, expression fierce. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until he’s right in front of you. Jay gently touches your cheek. “You’re hurt.” You whisper, “You’re worse.”

He huffs a half-laugh. “Yeah. But I’m prettier, so it balances out.” You smack his chest. He catches your wrist. You pull back, he pulls you forward. Your bodies crash together in the ruined remains of Modern Elegance: Cherrywood Collection. His forehead rests against yours. Your breath mingles. Chaos hums around you.

Jay murmurs, “They’re not stopping.” “I know.” “They’ll chase us until one of us is dead.” “I know.” “And you still want to run with me?” You swallow. A nod. He exhales, part relief, part fear. Then someone coughs behind you. You jerk apart, guns drawn, Evan limps out from behind a plant shelf holding two throw pillows, looking traumatized.

“Not to interrupt your, whatever that was, but we should probably MOVE. Like, now.” Jay blinks. “Were you hiding in the plants?” Evan glares. “I have been shot at eighteen times in the last twenty minutes. I will hide in whatever I want.” You grab Jay’s hand again.

“We go out the back,” you say. “Steal a car. Disappear.” Evan waves a pillow. “Yes. Please. Let’s do that.” And as the three of you sprint through the emergency exit, alarms blaring, sprinklers erupting overhead, Jay looks at you sideways. “You know,” he pants, “this could be our thing.” You snort. “Running for our lives?” He grins. “No. Making terrible decisions together.”

You squeeze his hand. “Yeah. Same thing.” The wind outside the safehouse screamed like it wanted to skin the walls. Evan limped ahead of you and Jay, muttering curses under his breath as he shoved open the back exit. “Go,” he hissed, eyes wide with a terror you’d never seen on him, not even on missions gone nuclear. “They’re already here.”

Jay tried to steady him, but Evan shoved him off. “No, idiot. I’m slowing you down. And if they catch me, they’ll keep me alive long enough to track you. So run.” Jay opened his mouth, probably to argue, probably to be noble and self-sacrificial and infuriating, but Evan jabbed a finger into his chest. “Don’t make this sentimental,” Evan snapped. “I will punch you.”

The building shuddered. A boom echoed from somewhere above, heavy boots, breaching charges, the entire damn alphabet soup of elite killers descending the stairwells. You grabbed Jay’s wrist. “We need to go. Now.” Evan stepped back into the shadows, lifting the gun you’d stolen from the transport convoy. His stance was shaky. His jaw was set.

“Buy me a beer when you somehow survive this,” he said, already firing toward the stairwell. Jay hesitated for a fraction of a second, the kind that gets people killed, before you yanked him through the emergency door, into the alley’s morning haze. The explosion behind you rattled the street. Jay flinched. You didn’t let go of his hand.

The car was a battered sedan Jay hot-wired in under seven seconds. You climbed in, slamming the door, but before he could pull away, bullets punched through the rear window. “Drive!” you snapped. “I am driving!” He floored it, tires screaming. Black SUVs surged into the intersection behind you, windows dropping. Muzzle flashes lit up the fog.

“Who the hell did they send?” Jay muttered. “Everyone,” you said. “They want us erased.” A bullet grazed the side mirror, exploding it into shards. Jay tilted his head, avoiding the spray. “Still think we could’ve done this tomorrow?” he snapped, throwing the car into a turn so sharp your shoulder slammed into the door. You shot him a glare. “I said you’re injured, genius! Your ribs are barely—” “Oh my god, not this again,” he cut in. “We’re being hunted by two governments and three private intelligence corps, and you’re nagging me about my ribs—”

“That’s because you don’t value your own life—” “That’s what I get for saving yours?” You froze. The words hit you harder than the crash you narrowly avoided when he swerved around a delivery truck. “It’s not—” You gritted your teeth. “It’s not like that.”

Jay’s jaw flexed. But he didn’t push. Not now, not when the streets behind you filled with vehicles, shadows, drones, a whole strike team sent to wipe their hands clean. Ahead of you, the highway unfurled like a silver throat. A perfect kill box. Jay cursed under his breath. “We’re not making it out on wheels.” You checked your mag. “Then we improvise.” “You always did love improvising.” “You always did hate it.” “And yet,” he said, meeting your eyes with a wild, reckless smirk, “You married me.” 

— — —

The counselor’s office hadn’t changed. Same soft beige walls.  Same too-sweet diffuser scent. Same watercolor painting of a boat that made Jay snort every time you came in. The only difference was you. Both of you dressed in black, not intentionally matching, yet somehow perfectly coordinated. Your bruises had turned from deep violet to faint amber-yellow. Jay’s lip still held the slightest cut, healed enough to look rakish rather than dangerous.

You sat on the left side of the couch. Jay sat on the right. Somewhere in the middle, your knees brushed, but neither of you acknowledged it.

The counselor, bless her soul, tried to hide the tremor in her hands as she adjusted her glasses.

“So,” she began, voice bright in that therapist way people use when they’re silently praying, “I… hear things are… better?”

Jay smiled. That slow, clean, lethal smile that made people confess state secrets without realizing it.

“Much,” he said.

You nodded once. “We communicate more now.”

Jay added, “Explosively.”

You elbowed him. He didn’t even flinch. The counselor laughed, the brittle kind that shatters like cheap glass. “That’s wonderful. Can you give me an example of, uh… improved communication?” You and Jay exchanged a glance. Dangerous. Shared. Almost amused.

You shrugged. “We’re more open about our needs.” Jay leaned back, stretching an arm along the couch, behind you, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat.

“She tells me when I’m being unreasonable,” he said.

“And he tells me,” you countered, “when I’m being reckless.”

The counselor nodded, scribbling notes frantically. “Good, good. And how do you handle disagreements now?” Jay tilted his head. “Non-violently.” You coughed. He coughed louder. The counselor frowned.

“Mostly non-violently,” you amended. “Emphasis on ‘mostly,’” Jay added, helpful as ever. The counselor blinked rapidly. “And… intimacy?” Jay’s lips twitched. You stared at the wall and prayed.

He answered anyway. “We’re bonding,” Jay said, voice dark silk. “Deepening trust exercises.” You choked. The counselor didn’t understand but blushed anyway.

“That’s… very good to hear.” She cleared her throat. “And your shared activities? Are you spending more quality time together?”

Jay laced his fingers loosely in front of him. “Well, we’ve started a joint workout routine.” You nodded. “And we cook more.” “Travel together.”

“We run.” “Sometimes sprint.” You sighed. “That’s when we’re being shot at.”

The counselor froze. Pen hovering in the air. “Shot… at?” Jay smiled politely.  “We process stress differently.” “And together,” you added. It wasn’t a lie. Not anymore.

The counselor shuffled her papers. “Well,” she said weakly, “despite the… intense phrasing… I’m glad you’re finding ways to reconnect. Marriage can be challenging. It’s wonderful you’re trying.” Jay hummed. You leaned back. Silence fell.

Not awkward. Not sharp. Just… easy. The kind of silence you’d both earned. The counselor exhaled softly, relief creeping into her voice. “I… think we’ve made real progress. If you two keep communicating this well, your marriage will absolutely thrive.” Jay looked at you. You looked at him. A beat. Then, you both laughed. Low, quiet, shared.

A secret. A promise. A survival. You leave the counselor’s office side by side, the hallway glowing with cheap fluorescent lighting. Jay’s hand brushes yours once, twice… then stays. Outside, the sky hangs low with clouds, soft and silver. Rain threatens, it always does around the two of you.

Jay opens the door for you. Not to be polite. To watch your back. You step into the street.

— — —

Waves smashing against jagged cliffs. Vineyards rolling down green hills. A stone house with blue shutters and a terracotta roof. Your laundry clips onto a line in the sun. Jay is terrible at it. He pretends not to hear your laughter. A cat you absolutely did not adopt lounges on your windowsill like it owns the world.

Jay at a sleek laptop, glasses sliding down his nose. Freelance “security consultant.” (He pretends that doesn’t mean occasional assassination.) You, leaning over architectural blueprints at the dining table. Freelance “restoration expert.” (You pretend that doesn’t mean breaking into high-security estates at 3AM.) Your passports line the drawer. Five each. All believable. All dangerous.

He watches you zip a duffel bag. You watch him check a handgun’s magazine. Neither of you tells the other to be careful. You don’t have to.

Gnocchi. Fresh tomatoes. White wine. Jay chopping basil in a way that is objectively illegal. You lean over from behind and correct his knife angle. He complains. You kiss his shoulder. He pretends to complain louder. The kitchen smells like garlic and warmth and something that feels frighteningly close to peace. Music plays low, old Italian jazz humming through the small speaker near the window.

You steal pieces of bread off his cutting board. He pretends not to notice. Jay steals kisses. You pretend not to notice. A storm rolls in. Rain taps against the roof. He lights a candle. You open the window anyway, letting in the scent of wet earth. The cat knocks something off the counter. Jay swears. You laugh so hard you snort.

He looks at you like you hung the moon. You ignore the way your chest tightens.

Dinner done. Dishes in the sink. Rain whispering against the glass. The house dim and soft, lit only by candlelight and lightning far off the coast. Jay steps behind you as you wipe the counter. His hands slip around your waist, confident, warm, familiar in a way that still startles you.

He kisses your neck once. Slow. Claiming. Home-making.

You inhale sharply. He murmurs against your skin, voice velvet-dark: “Til death do us part.”

You turn in his arms, tug his shirt, pull him closer, your smile brushing his mouth, dangerous and adoring all at once.

“You first.”

The screen cuts to black.

Fade out. 

The nameplate hung on your door tilts, Mr and Mrs. Park.

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[qhordosmos]

HIS LITTLE KITTEN

2022 ・ 16+ ・ 7k ・ oneshot — yandere + shock trope

— requested by anon!

warning: severe bullying, abuse, degradation, controlling and sadistic! jungwon, good boy! jungwon gone bad lmao, mild delusion, cursing, pulling hair, slapping, jungwon having a short temper, non-con kissing, jungwon ruining reader's belongings, public humiliation, cursing, cat & mouse game, um someone's head gonna get cut off - descriptive gore scene?

— I'm not a native speaker so I apologize for any grammar errors (I'm still learning!)

Slap!

A stinging pain engulfed your cheeks as you looked back up to meet those same eyes that hold so much innocence and kindness to it, eyes that made you fell into it's lovely depths and wishing nothing but to see more of it — and that was your first mistake, by now you'd wish you have never taken the first step; a dare within your friend group, a seemingly innocent dare to force yourself to gather a courage to walk straight to your crush; him.

Yang Jungwon.

The first time you've ever laid your eyes on him was on the day of your first day of school. The day where your dad had been promoted into a higher position in his job and so this immense luck landing it's grace on your family had you and your mom jumping in the living room with pure bliss after your dad breaks the news.

You've remembered it all very well; the pure happiness adorning your parent's face, the scent of the city and the mesmerising sight of the tall buildings you've never seen before for you grew up in the countryside your entire life, the day when you tried on your new school uniform — spinning around as you looked at yourself in the mirror, happy and contented, the day when you stepped in to your new high school and instantly made good friends, and the day you laid your eyes on him.

The class president, the smartest and the perfect ideal type of every girl; his feline eyes that somehow holds the enchanting melody of a siren, pulling you deeper into its deepest parts inside the ocean. His lush black hair flowing along the gentle breeze under the sunny blue sky while his face constantly switches to numerous kinds of expressions.

Confused, curious, shock, amazement, disbelief and many more you've grown to memorise as you watched him from the distance.

He was ethereal and a piece of canvas that you couldn't dare to lay your hands onto.

It continued on for many weeks till your friends caught on with your hidden but obvious feelings for the class president, and a not so bright but daring idea popped in their head.

You, to say the least, were very taken aback by the game your friends suggested.

Of course, you refused, shaking your head in complete refusal not wanting to embarrassed yourself and possibly stamping your entire life with such a bold and shameless name.

But your friends advice strikes your heart even deeper with the logic in your head, "Your class president won't always be there, better take the chance while it's still free and flying~"

And so, you did it as you proceeded with the dare.

You don't know how you got this sudden outburst of courage but yet, you still did it.

You remember how his feline-like eyes grows into cute boba ones as he takes in your confession. Abashed you were as you voiced out the dare you had with your friends; a small peck on his cheek would suffice the deal as your cheeks heated up with each words escaping from your mouth while your friends' giggles annihilates you like an arrow.

What he said next surprises you, "Sure, a small peck won't hurt anyways."

You were sure your eyeballs were about to pop out when you heard those words but nevertheless you regained your composure, biting your lips every now and often as you lifted yourself up in tiny tip toes to his height.

Taking a quick, chaste peck on his soft cheek. You muttered a thousand thank you while you bowed down for nth time, striding off to your friend with their joyous responses.

How foolish you were as you blushed in a complete mess, taking a one last quick look at him and you swore you almost choked on your saliva when his feline-like eyes were fixated on you and a tiny grin adorning his lips while his friends playfully pushed him.

Ah, was that it?! Have you somehow had pulled the strings within his heart?

Love, love, love — sweet kind of love that everyone dies for! What could anyone else want if not that kind of love?

You thought, that was it. When your eyes were met that soft pink letter laying inside your locker. The owner had his name written below the sweet paragraph, a sweet confession, a sweet epiphany.

— Yang Jungwon.

Your heart exploded in utter happiness, trying to suppress your wide grin with your clenched fists up to your lips.

But why?

What is this? Where's the love story you were hoping to experience in? The rainbows, the soft clouds, the pastel colours surrounding it — where was it?

The stinging burn on your face says otherwise and that same spine-chilling voice you once so much adore echoes inside the empty classroom.

"Have you always been such a slut behind my back? Even before you had met me?"

Why did your angel-like crush turn out to be such a horrible and an incarnate of devil himself?

You couldn't processed everything so quick as in a split second; you were pulled into those warm chests in a harsh approach, actually. Jungwon throws daggers into you as his wrath filled eyes softened and at once he crashed his lips into you for what seems like a hundredth time.

The kiss, his kiss, his lips that you ever so often gazed at and wonder how does it taste like?

Was it soft? Was it caring? Was it love?

Was it capable to even bring you a larger bliss within your heartstrings? To pull and tighten, to push and hold and to strengthen the love you had for this very boy?

Apparently, no.

It hurts you instead — like a handmade scarf that has been meticulously sewed with love all these time, only to be mercilessly torn apart by this thorned love.

The very first time he did that was back then when you came back from home together with your childhood best friend who came to visit you from the countryside, a short visit that is; and a boy that to be exact, and when Jungwon approaches you from the distance with a pair of yogurt in his hands — it was your foolish dumb mistake to miss that sour expression on his face.

You failed to realise that he didn't like it. He didn't like it even for a bit. In fact, it made him bitter. It ruin his supposedly good day. The pair of yogurt in his hands had been crushed into pieces, its contents staining his hands.

It was crystal clear that you two liked each other but due to personal reasons such as you didn't want to be in a relationship first considering you had a strict parents. Talk about your questionable approach that day. .

He respected that even more so with a gentle smile adorning his face and his feline-like eyes raising up in the slightest smiles.

He was so attentive and sweet to you, often listening to your wishes and never complaining. Love was written all over his pretty face as he watches you read a book out loud with the utmost affection, helping you with your homework as a wide big smile never leaving his cherry pink lips.

However that day . . .

That day was the first time you knew what he was capable of; he was pissed. Pushing you into your room harshly with an immense rage written all over his being, it was like he was controlling himself from releasing it on you and so he took it out on your belongings. Ripping your notebooks in pieces, your precious belongings into a dumb broken useless stuff as soon as he was done.

You were weeping, desperately begging for him to stop and when he did — you were taken aback, fear for the first time engulfed your being when he approached you with small steps.

"Fucking slut. That bastard, what was so good in him that you had to let him walk you home rather than me?!"

"You could've ask me. You could've called me. That piece of shit you had in your pocket, you got my number right so why? Why, why, why?"

"Answer me!"

This boy right in front of you and that boy you've often watched from afar was a complete different persona from each other.

And this wasn't the one you had fallen in love with.

"Fuck, kitten. You've become so brave, aren't you?"

From then on, your spring life bathed in soft pink and cherry blossoms has been replaced with a darker shade of petals — roses with thorns, sharp edges that mercilessly graced your once untainted skin with its claws and teeths.

A harsh pull on your hair made you stumble backwards in a swift speed, your butt hitting the floor with a loud thud, making you gasp and looking up to see that same boy you once adore but very much harboured a deep hatred now.

Jungwon's feline eyes hold the same emotion as he had that fateful day, annoyance and bitterness.

"Ah!" you gritted your teeth when his claws aggresively pulled a fistful of your hair to his nose — sniffing it like a mad dog.

"Your hair. . Did you got a new hair shampoo today?" His eyes softened for a bit and you hastily nodded not wanting to anger him further in this once again empty classroom in which most of the students had gone for the lunch break or to their respective clubs. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've bought a new one for you, you know? Shouldn't have troubled yourself to buy cheap ones. ."

His harsh grip on your hair loosens and instead turns into a caring pat, "They don't suit you."

In this very situation, Jungwon doesn't like it the slightest if you don't answer him because he demands you to agree with every single thing he says, obey him and submit yourself to him.

"I-I. .—"

"Oh c'mon, I haven't did anything yet and you're stuttering like a dumb bitch? Fuck, kitten. . Stop being so adorable will you?" Jungwon giggled as he brushed your hair in a caring gesture.

Those giggles that were once a sweet-like melody to your ears now only served as a horror bell ripping your ears apart.

"—But it's not so adorable walking around with someone behind my back. I thought you've learned your lesson?"

Silence.

The dark, eerie atmosphere and the unnerving silence engulfing the entire room had your body ran with goosebumps as the feline boy sighed, fixing his posture and dragging one of the desks to his side.

"Kitten," Jungwon brushed your hair with his fingers, patting your head ever so loving as he helped you get up on your feet — his other hand wrapped itself around your waist.

Helping himself sat on the desk, he pulled you between his legs, further closing the distance between you both as his arms grabbed you in either your side while you couldn't bear to look at him with those menacing and alluring eyes as always.

"You're fucking lucky I'm in a good mood today, or else I would've snap your ear in half considering I saw you with a particular student in the corridor."

Panic arises within your heart, spiraling into your pupils as your eyes widen. "N-no! Jungwon, it's not like what you t-thought! Ah!—"

His soft strokes on your hair suddenly digs its claws in your skin, pulling your face a bit close to him in a swift speed.

"Excuses. Haven't I told you to stop giving me dumb excuses if you still want to keep that sweet tongue of yours, kitten?"

You gulped nervously.

"I don't mind taking it since that would mean you won't have to scream everytime we play a game.."

Shaking your head in desperation as you pleaded with your eyes, you can't bear to get tortured by him again.

"Then beg. Show me how sorry you are."

You hesitated but if this is what it takes to escape his wrath then you have to.

On your knees to the floor as you wrapped your arm around his pants, "Jungwon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you! I just— I just—"

Silence, silence.

"Are you really sorry?"

You nodded in a frantic manner.

Another pure agony of silence ensues but eventually, Jungwon's eyes softens, "Sweet, sweet, kitten. That's exactly what I wanted from you." His hand wrapped itself around your neck making you leaned forward to him.

Once again, his lips devoured yours. The heated moment between the both of you contain so much romance and chemistry as you watched yourself and him in the mirror leaning against the wall.

If only, if only this was all a dream.

You were beyond lucky to have escaped his dangerous little games that day, as it was a rare occurrence for Jungwon to do so.

When he's in a good mood, soft and melodic humming emitting from him and aura brightening with each passing second — this boy was the one you're familiar with.

He was a self composed boy, calm as the water and familiar as the gentle sky — but the truth couldn't be any more uglier when his wrath overtook every inch of him as deep inside him; a sinister darkness spiraled inside the depths of his now rotten heart — which was he said, your very fault.

And when it did happened, all hell breaks loose. You could only pray to the deity above for him to go easy on you.

"Wear this skirt I bought for you, I think it would suit you alot, kitten."

"What's this shit? You could've ask for my help than from others, don't you know how fucking it pissed me off to see you begging around like a dumb slut?"

"(Name)! Look, here's a picture of a cat I took the other day."

"You look so damn adorable with all these scars, darling!"

It's that unpredictable emotions of his that switches on and off that scares you so much. You were lucky he only resorted to slapping you or choking you most of the time, and only then when you were being a brat to him — does the real torture starts;

Jungwon takes a great pleasure in torturing you in every way possible he could think of and everytime it would end with fresh deep scars with blood dripping from it, dark bruises all over your arm. He was sadistic but dramatically romantic at the same time.

Hell, hell it was.

He's the reincarnation of evil itself.

Another hell disguised in a normal day.

You could never escape this hellhole that has this demon lurking inside it, Yang Jungwon.

"Earth to (Name)?" A hand waves in front of your face in a hasty manner and you looked up only to be met with the gentle aura that exudes from this boy.

Sim Jake. The puppy-like boy of this school, with that gentle and polite manners of his that always have been the talk of the town just like Jungwon.

In fact he was among Jungwon friends. Those friends that you often saw around Jungwon during lunch break.

Jake, to say the least, was the one who showed support and cheer for you whenever he passed by. Ever since the day of that bold confession of yours, Jake would randomly appear and strike a short and brief conversation which consists of teasing you and telling bits about Jungwon, something he never fails to do so.

Kinda like your secret wingman.

You've always thought Jungwon was the only one different amongst his friends; kind-hearted and the caring type and that's why it surprises you that Jake was so easy to approach and talk to unlike the typical high school popular groups you often watch from TV shows, expecting them to be very mean and evil.

Evil.

Well, that was before you knew just how Jungwon really was and so you've became extremely wary around his friends, not wanting to form any close nor brief friendship with any of them.

Drowning in your thoughts, you missed Jake's question and his frowning expression were crystal clear that he wasn't letting it pass.

"(Name)!"

"O-oh?" stuttering as the noises of the cafeteria surrounding you brought you back to reality, and back to Jake. Gulping, you pulled your sleeves down to hide the purple bruises on your wrist but your abrupt gesture caught Jake's attention, making his eyes lingered on your covered wrist.

And yet, he just tilted his head — passing it off as a random habits of yours, "So, how's your relationship with Jungwon? Is it all good?"

The way he gleefully say it with that big wide smile splattered on his face made your stomach churned. Was he oblivious to what was happening to you and Jungwon?

"Um. . I guess so?"

"Pfft, that short response is all you got?"

You looked down to your tray of food, "Then what else do you want me to say, Jake?"

"Uhm, anything? Is this only the update you can give to us after that bold dare you did in front of all of us that day? C'mon now, (Name)." Jake whined. "Even Jungwon won't tell us anything about you."

You munched on your food, hoping nothing but for the conversation to end and for Jake to leave at once.

If Jungwon appears and sees you with another guy other than him, it won't end well. But it's not like you could spat out to Jake and tell him to get out of your sight since deep inside you, you still want to talk with him and laugh with him like you used to.

"Didn't it work though? God, have my sacrifices were all a waste, gone to the drain?" Jake pouted, grabbing your arm dramatically which instantly made you flinched in surprise.

"Huh? What's wrong?"

You swore your heart sank due to that abrupt close proximity and because of that, your mind was once again drowning in fear of him. Your head snapped around, looking for any signs of him but there was none and so a sigh of relief escapes your mouth.

"(Name), you're acting like there's a murderer on the loose hunting you down." Seemingly annoyed by your cold response, he just sat down next to you munching on his food — acting like a lost, mad puppy.

The sight made you wanna chuckle but his words made your heart sank for the nth time, he was spot on. If only, he knew what was happening all this time.

If only he knew, would he help you?

You're so fucking tired. You're tired of Jungwon and all the atrocities he put you in through. The comforting vibe this blonde-haired boy sitting next to you made you wanna break down and bawl in tears. You've been keeping it all this time and not even your parents were aware of it.

Jungwon was so good, so good at making you kneel before him and unknowingly letting him manipulate your emotions and it seems like he takes in a great amusement in doing that to you. So to the school, he made it look like you two were lovers but distant just so he can see who would dare to approach you.

Just so he can see who would be bold enough to put themselves right into the mouse trap he created.

And luckily for you, you've managed to avoid some students especially the male students who approached you because you don't want anything to happen to them.

But some were had their life ripped apart from them because of your fault, just like he said.

However, you can't take it anymore. You can't bear to live in this hellhole anymore.

"J-Jake? . ."

Jake scoffed as he munched his food but nonetheless answered, "Hmmm?"

"Can you help me?"

Your heart pounded deep inside your ribs to the point it hurts, you couldn't believe you did it.

You went back to the classroom and bumped into someone's chest, mumbling an apology so quick that you didn't realise it was him.

Your breath getting caught up in your throat, you took a few steps backwards but he immediately grabbed your hand pulling you closer to him in a harsh way.

What is it? Why is he mad again? Did I do something wrong? Please no, let it be not that reason!

Your mind ran a dozen thoughts as his grip on yours grew tighter making you whimper in pain, "J-Jungwon? Agh!"

"Shut up." Jungwon spat out, his face clearly irritated and bitter — you gasped, fear engulfing your body again as you realise those are the same expressions you've seen before. "Why are you talking with Jake, huh?"

"It— it's not what you think it is! W-we were just talking!" You pleaded not wanting to go through the same fate again.

"What could you two be possibly talking about? Do you think I'm fucking dumb to not realise that Jake often met you behind my back?"

"No! We didn't do anything! I swear, Jungwon please get that thoughts off your mind!"

"Fuck, what else do you want me to think? That my girlfriend is going around with my friend behind my back and doing whatever I—"

"You always say the same dumb shit!" You screamed and that made him taken aback. "You're fucking delusional! I've never even agreed to be your girlfriend and so even if we did anything, you don't have the right to control me like this! Why are you doing this to me?!"

Instant regret. Just why the fuck you did it?

Slap!

"Brat."

Slap!

"Seems like I didn't taught you enough, I see."

Slap!

You fell on the floor with a loud thud, cupping your face with both your hand that you were sure had gone deep red due to the repeated, painful slap. Your eyes had endless tears welling up inside it, gritting your teeth in an immense fear and agony.

Bending his height down to your level — his dainty fingers stroke the edges of your face, a complete contrast to what he did a few seconds ago but it didn't last long when he digged his nail deep into your skin, forcing your pathetic eyes to look at his deep ones.

"When was the last time I told you to quit doing that? Are you really trying to test my patience? Trying to see what I am even more capable of doing to you?"

"Is that it?"

You shook your head.

"Is that it?"

Again, you shook your head, tears dripping down your cheeks as your lips were pressed tight.

"IS THAT IT?!" you whimper at his sudden outburst, his veins popping in his neck as his face had bathed in red — again, you shook your head in desperation in hopes to appease his wrath.

"Then, honey?—" his voiced softened in a remarkable pace along with his eyes, "Where did you even get that bratty attitudes of yours? Did someone teach you? Tell me then, I'll give them a lesson in behalf of you."

You shook your head once again, shutting your eyes tight.

"Was it Jake?"

Panic surged inside your veins which instantly had you opened your tear filled eyes. "N-No! It's not him!"

Jungwon tilted his head at your sudden response, "Are you defending him?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You made another horrible mistake.

"Why. Are. You. Defending. That. Bastard?" Jungwon gritted his teeth.

"No! Jungwon! Please!"

Jungwon dragged you to the hallways of the school where all of the students were there, watching you drown in your embarrassment with snickers and giggles escaping their mouth.

No one was helping you here.

"See, everyone. This slut over here is betraying me, do you actually believe it?!"

Loud murmurs and gasps emits from all of them, one of the girls stepped forward with an exaggerated pout, "Then Jungwon-ah? Why can't you just leave this bitch?!"

"Right? She doesn't deserved you!"

"Just leave her! A bitch her like belongs to the street."

"Fuck right."

Your mind was bombarded with all the loud murmurs and insults thrown at you, like a knife stabbing all over your body on repeat — dragging it's tip and ripping your skin open. Your ears felt like it's gonna burst and bleed, you wanted to run, you wanted to escape.

But where?

Where?

Where?!

It felt like an endless eternity for you as you weep silently, weak and helpless as you could do nothing but let Jungwon walked you home, he brought you back to your home with that sickeningly sweet smile splattered on his face as he talked with your parents. Attending to your bruises and softly caressing it with the white towel and a bowl of water on the table.

"It is because I love you that's why I'm doing this." There it was once again, that gentle Jungwon you've always known. Why? Just what kind of bullshit is this? Why was he so kind and so evil at times? It almost makes you cry to your heart again.

"Then please stop doing this to me. ." You cried out, voice so small because inside you, a deep and big fear were lingering.

"What? This is for your own good. Haven't you gone being such a brat, I wouldn't have to go far to that extent." Jungwon raised his eyebrow. "Your bratty attitude fucking pissed me alot, y'know?"

"It's not like I intended to!" You whisper-yelled, a sudden courage burst inside your heart but still wary of your parents downstairs. And you don't know why you're even doing it. "

Jungwon was taken aback by your outburst but stayed silent and so you took it as a chance.

"Jungwon, you're fucking insane! You're insane! This is not normal and I don't know where the fuck your head is but this isn't it! What happened to you? What have happened to you? This isn't you!"

"I'm not m-me?" Jungwon giggled, letting out an amused scoff as he looked down and then back to meet your teary eyes again, "Darling! I think you're the one who's gone insane."

"No! It's not me! It's you! A sane person won't ever do all these bullshit! Yang Jungwon! Just leave me, I fucking beg you!"

Jungwon suddenly grabbed ahold of your jaw in an aggressive manner, forcing you to look at him as he leaned forward — your faces against each other just an inch closer.

"There, there," his other hand tucked in the strands of your hair behind your ear, "You don't know what you're saying so just fucking shut your mouth, love. I know you better than you know yourself."

"Just give it a little time, you'll get used to it. I know you will. Now let me see that pretty smile?" Jungwon's lips tugged up in the brightest smiles, a complete contrast to his lovesick feline eyes.

You were done. You can't bear this anymore, all of these extreme torment and abuse to your mental health. You don't care anymore, you have to run away from this city, away.

Away from him. Whatever it takes, you just have to escape from that boy you once ever so declared to love with your whole heart and gave your whole life to.

Your undying love for Jungwon has ceased to exist, it's painfully gone to ashes.

With the phone in your bruised hand, your being was shivering in fear as you called that one person you only trust right now.

Beep, beep.

Beep, beep.

"Hello? What's up, (Name)?" His voice almost made you bawl in tears due to how safe and comforting it was.

Cupping your mouth to prevent yourself from crying, you spoke up, "J-Jake. . P-please help me."

But why is it?

Just why?

One foot forward, and another.

Here he comes, here he comes.

Didn't you say you wanted to be with Jungwon? That you wanted to be remain by his side and never leave the town? To be the only one who's going to be by his side and show who truly likes him?

To remind you of your very words, the very words that came out from your lips in the very first place.

Here you are inside Jake's house, unsafe you were as you sat on his couch with him sitting on the other side just to make you feel as comfortable as you can.

You appreciated the gesture but really, the damage has been far too done.

"Are you sure you don't want to report this off to the police?"

"Fuck, Jake. Let's just get over it please?" You bit your lip as you frown deeply, unable to look at Jake's eyes. "He's— extremely manipulative a-and it's so fucking tiring to even try to get him back in his senses and whatever we do, he's insane and I just really, really don't want to see him anymore. Please, please. Just please bring me far away from this place, from him."

Jake felt there was nothing to say anymore after hearing your words and so he stood up walking towards you, crouching in front of you as he took your hands and pat it slowly.

"Don't worry, I'll do just that. Wherever you want to go, there we'll stay."

"W-we? What do you—"

"City life fucks my head sometimes too, just want to get a break too but of course I'll get a separate house, haha." Jake's smile widens and it comforted your heart instantly, it almost felt like the situation was never this serious and everything you've experienced before was all just a bad, bad dream; a nightmare you've been forced to live in.

Ring, ring!

"Oh— let me get this call first!" You nodded watching Jake walking over to the other room. And just like that, you took a deep breath sensing a great relief engulfing your body that you were atleast safe right now.

In Jake's house to stay in until everything has settled, there were tight security surrounding his house or mansion considering how wealthy his family is, it's really no wonder at this point. You've kinda felt a bit ashamed to asked for his help but there was really no choice, you've have to take the only opportunity laid in front of you to save yourself . . . From the devil himself.

It has been a few days since you've went to school and even return back to your home. School was one thing but even your so-called home was no longer your safe haven as even Jungwon often break into your room's window and the rest was history.

Everywhere you go, there he was.

A soft chime echoes from the door a few metres away from where you are; the spacious living room. Turning your head to the source of the sound, you pondered for awhile and just a whole good minute — one of the old maid who helped you just now came out, striding too the main door.

Somehow, something was making you uneasy.

Just why Jake's taking so long with the call he got?

Fiddling your fingers and peeling away the skin of the edges of your nails, you sighed dejectedly waiting in patience but just then you heard the maid's voice echoing through the hallway you've just came in through.

A desperate, weak voice that almost reminds you of yours when you were in Jungwon's presence, resembling your voice whenever he was playing his little games that you hated so much, that you grew to fear all this months being with him.

Cat and mouse.

The winner takes the prize.

And the roles was crystal clear, he has always been the cat and you've always been the mouse.

Always had been.

A pair of rubber shoes halted it steps just a few steps away from you — the table being the only object separating you from that person.

"Love, do you think ignoring me is such a good idea? I don't think so."

And speaking of the devil, there he was beside the old lady.

Your heart sank to it's core and your stomach churned as soon as your eyes met with his gaze filled with expressions you couldn't fathom but something you were sure rings the death bell to your life.

You couldn't stand up, your feet were stuck to the ground and your body froze — you wanted nothing but to run but why, why, why. .

Why can't you move? Stand up and run.

It was as if he had cast a spell on you; a poisonous one that pulls you towards him, those same feline eyes that helds a siren-like melody — a melody that sang an approaching bloodbath.

"(Name)—" You didn't even have to look up to see Jake as he too, were shocked to see the feline boy he had been avoiding all this time for your sake. "J-Jungwon? What brings you here? This is rare, y'know? Bro?"

"Why? Am I not allowed to visit?"

"No, of course not! It's just—"

"(Name)?"

Your eyes shoot open when his spine chilling voice called out for you, almost as if your body was acting out of your own will. "H-huh?"

Jungwon reached out his hand with a sweet smile on adorning his lips, "Let's go home. I prepared dinner for you and I'm sure the dishes are getting cold, so let's go?"

Lies. He's fucking lying.

You whimper silently as you pushed yourself back to the couch, "No. ."

Jake immediately went to you, covering you from Jungwon's view. "Just go home, Jungwon. She's not going back with you."

"Hm?"

"You heard me, she's not going home with you so just please—" Jake paused, struggling to find the right words to say, "W-we we'll just talk about this tomorrow, okay?"

Silence.

"Okay?" Jake repeated once again, waiting for Jungwon's response but only a low giggle escaped from his lips.

"Tomorrow? What are you talking about? Do you actually think you still got to live one more day after messing up my fucking plan?"

"J-Jungwon?"

Another scoff, "Honey, why do you keep seducing other bastards? Haven't I done enough for you? Haven't I taught you enough lesson?"

"Just stop it!" You yelled at him as you took a cover behind Jake.

"I hate it when they look at you, so fucking much . . ." Jungwon snapped his head to the old lady beside him and to her utmost fear, everything happens so fast that you and Jake couldn't processed what happen but froze to death.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

"You're all I ever think about, and you fucking dare to run away with someone who wasn't me?!" Jungwon screamed to the top of his lungs as his tight grip on the maid's hair grew tighter, her head breaking open with every fatal blow to the wall — deep red blood dripping from the wall to the furniture.

Run.

As soon as Jungwon was done with the utter mess he created, his head tilted to your direction — his eyes holding nothing but insanity.

"Come here, kitten. Maybe I would go easy on you if you just come over here and beg like I taught you."

Jake shielded you away from the monster's sight as he pushed you backwards, whispering, "Run. Just r-run."

You shook your head as tears formed in your eyes again, gripping Jake's shirt in hopes to pull him with you.

The sight in front of Jungwon made him more bitter, "Fuck, (Name). I don't know if I want to kiss you or kill you. But okay, go ahead and run. I'll catch up to you later. . Just make sure to hide very, very well."

"(Name)! Just go!" Jake pleaded, and your heels spun around taking you away from the both of them.

Why? Why did you even bother to run away from Jungwon in the first place?

You ran far ahead, far away from the monster — you were drowning in immense fear as you hid behind the rooms among the countless of rooms in the vast hallway.

The eerie silence between them was eating Jake alive, his body shivered on its own as he tried to stop it with his other hand.

This boy, this boy wasn't Jungwon.

"J-Just what had happened to you?" Jake cried out.

Jungwon's face remain expressionless but his eyes were holding a thousand words — words that screaming annoyance and bitterness.

"You should've known better. Flirting with what's mine? You must want to die so bad."

It couldn't be more creepier as the lights went off. Darkness engulfed everything leaving the entire mansion into a complete hell and the only thing providing light for you was the moon on the sky, it's bright form hiding behind the grey clouds outside the window.

Your chest rose and fell in hopes of trying to gain your breath back but it was all hopeless as you can't calm yourself down, your lungs only hurting with each passing second and your nails almost breaking as you digged it so deep into your legs.

"Please don't let him find me, please don't let him find me!" you prayed silently over and over again as you bury your face in your legs.

Blood dripping from the boy's arms as he took his time to search for you across the hallway filled with countless of doors on his either side. Sighing, he wiped his face over a thousand times somehow getting more and more irritated with each passing second. "Do you think if you ignore me. I would stop following you?"

Your face had gone pale, blood drained from your face when you heard his small voice from the distance, the walls and doors blocking the danger from you.

Another door got crashed with a loud kick.

"Do you think if you would get some help, I would back down and give up?"

A few, soft tsk emits from him.

"Or have you ever thought, if you hide somewhere, I'd never find you in this world?" Another door were kicked in, delivering a ticking death bell towards your direction as you curled your form even deeper in hopes to protect yourself from him.

"Oh no no no dear kitten!" His exaggerated voice made you whimper, there was no turning back — this was the beginning of his game. This was how he starts his game.

Jungwon claps so loud as he throw his head backwards, a series of giggles emitting from him, "Why? Are you scared?"

He doesn't care, if it's fun he will do it. That's why he was looking for you while his other hand lazily grips the dripping head within his claws. "Kitten~"

BAM!

"Are you here?!" a grim giggle soon follows one after another, your breath hitched in utter fear making you cupped your mouth from producing any more sound.

It was obvious by now that he purely enjoys the thrill of hunting you down like a prey waiting to be devoured.

"Let's see. ." His blood-stained fingers slides continuously through the wooden doors.

Silence.

The sound of the empty air and low chimes below the mansion were heard all over the space.

Your body froze when a rush footsteps stride over to to another door, just beside from where your door are. "You're here then?!"

Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.

Your chest rose and fell in a countless times making your heart ache as just then—

BAM!

The entire lights surrounding in and out of the mansion flickers open, except the room you were in and the door to the room you were in bursts opened, revealing the boy tilting his head downwards to take a good look on your weak, petite crouching form on the corner of the room.

"Ah, found you. Kitten."

You felt a surge of goosebumps engulfed your entire body and without realising, you were already bawling in tears — your cries of agony filled the entire room.

Pain, pain, pain.

You knew pain was waiting for you.

If you were lucky enough, if he was lenient enough, you'd be away with some few scratches.

But if you weren't, you'd be sure that you wouldn't be walking away from this place with your legs still attached to yours because you remembered what he said when he brought you back home.

"I don't mind cutting your legs off just to keep you by my side."

But that wasn't the only thing that made your breathe caught in your throat, your cries of agony had stopped instantly when something he threw rolled over to your direction.

You watched it but not being able to comprehend what it was due to the darkness of the room and the light behind Jungwon blinding your view.

It rolls, rolls, and rolls until it halts before you.

Utter disgust.

A surge of scream from you emits in the air and your head threw downwards, vomiting everything from your stomach.

"J-Jake?" You bawl in tears, excruciating pain had you stood up in a frantic manner wanting nothing but to stay away from the dripping head on the floor.

What were you feeling?

Sadness? Anger? Pity? Regret? Guilt?

You couldn't fathom what it was as you keep letting out loud cries of agony, shutting your eyes tight but the gory image before you were etched deeply in your mind.

Jungwon wasn't at all pleased but let out a low chuckle anyways, "Ta-da! Like the gift?"

He slowly approaches you in a leisurely way, taking a good look at the pathetic head laying on the floor before giggling and kicking it off like a soccer ball.

The flesh organ hits the wall, furthering the damage on it's bruised face which results in its eyes popping out.

"Why don't you see it? Fuck. Take a good look at the present I made for you." Jungwon grabs ahold of your jaw, pushing your face to the head of the boy who once promised to look after you. "Look. Doesn't he look nice with all that?"

You cried. Cried and cried. You were incredibly tired but you still cried.

It was your fault, wasn't it?

A spine chilling and low giggle emits from him behind your back. "Yes, it's your fault."

"Haven't you tested my patience, nothing sort like this would've happen but you did, brat." He pushed you so hard towards the ground once again.

Helpless and weak, you didn't look up, only weeping in pure agony.

"Remember when you first did the dare back that day?" A soft giggle emits from him. His chest rose and fell as a satisfied grin adorned his face.

"At first, I was wondering why a girl like you would be so damn brave.. I was more than intrigued." A small pocket knife emerges from Jungwon's pockets, already stained with blood. "But when you told me you'd be by my side for the rest of our eternity, something snapped inside me y'know? When you told me that you'd remain with me even if no one else did, don't you realise just how fucking insane that is?"

Jungwon grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head up to meet his dark and lovesick gaze.

You whimper in utter fear as he stroked the cold tip of the knife on your lips then slowly sliding it down to your neck. "I'm so madly in love with you, kitten."

"You love me too, right?"

You nodded so fast, tears dripping to your cheek down to your jaw and that sight made Jungwon leaned forward, licking and tasting the tears staining your face.

"Now if you don't kiss me, I'll slit your fucking throat."

📣AUTHOR'S NOTE: bruh writing bout jungwon always made me so invested tf. Again, don't confused fiction w reality, this is only meant to satisfy the readers' imagination. I can't stop myself from adding my dose of my craziness in it 💀 I think I should also control myself from writing long fics for a request lmao. As always, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! They're the ultimate motivation fuel!

© sweetpieceofnightmarez, 2023 JAN 5.

-> ask blog: @llyzblog

[swiftjay23]

╚»★«╝ 𝕱𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖟𝖊𝖗 𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓 ╚»★«╝

Pairing: Park Sunghoon x Reader (Darkfic) Word Count: 4956 words Genre: Obsession | Horror Kink | Psychological Smut | Dark Romance Summary: The first sign is the cold. Not winter cold. Not roommate-left-the-window-open cold. This is the kind of cold that lives under your skin. The kind of cold that warns you you’re prey. You don’t know who he is the first time he shows up behind you, whispering in your ear with a knife at your throat. But he knows you. He’s been watching. And he’s decided: If he can’t kill you, he’ll keep you. And no matter how far you run, he always catches you. Content Tags: Darkfic / Yandere / Horror Romance, Stockholm Syndrome, Captor x Captive dynamic, Obsession / Possessive Behavior, Psychological Manipulation, Knife Kink / Fear Kink / Predator-Prey, Dubcon / Noncon Dynamics (reader freezes, but also participates—nuanced consent issues)Orgasm-as-currency / , Power play, Somno whispers / Ambiguous dream state confessions, Emotional Breakdown / Psychological Punishment, Post-Orgasm Denial / Silence Treatment as Punishment, Death (past: canon character death & revenge), Morally Gray / No Redemption Arc, No Happy Ending, Explicit Warnings (Hard Limits Sensitive Readers Should Note):, Noncon elements / coercion, Stalking / Home Invasion, Knife play (no gore, but threat of violence is intimate and constant), Past murder (canon to plot), Psychological manipulation / grooming into submission Mentions of alcohol & inebriation during capture scene Freezer burn metaphor throughout (cold obsession that leaves permanent damage) Author’s Note: This is a darkfic with no safe ending. It explores twisted obsession, emotional captivity, and the point where survival starts to look like surrender. If you need fluff, healing, or redemption arcs, this is not the fic for you. But if you like predator-prey dynamics, horror kink, and morally gray captor POVs, welcome to Freezer Burn. However, if this is too heavy for you, no pressure. I'll see you next time.

The first sign is the cold. Not the regular kind, the roommate-left-the-window-open cold. No, this is different. It’s bone cold. Deep, crawling cold that makes the hair on the back of your neck lift even though you’re wrapped in two hoodies.

You glance at your laptop screen. 3:12 AM. The cursor blinks at you. Your essay is still at 400 words.

You should’ve been done hours ago, but your brain’s on overload. Deadlines. Overdue bills. The sound of your professor’s voice looping in your skull. And underneath it all? That cold.

You rub your arms, try to shake it off. Maybe the AC’s broken. Maybe you’re going into shock from too much caffeine. Three Red Bulls and a cold slice of leftover pizza don’t exactly count as self-care.

But then the clock ticks. Louder. It sounds…off. Like it’s warning you. Tick. Tick. Tick.

You stare at the wall. Nothing’s there. You try to type again. Your fingers are numb. There’s sweat on your palms, but your spine? Frozen.

And then you feel it. Breath. Hot against the shell of your ear, but somehow your skin still prickles with frost.

Before you can move, before you can even think, something sharp slides under your chin. Cold steel. A knife.

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Your eyes flick to the side, wide, but his hand is already there, gloved fingers curling around your jaw, tilting your head just enough to expose your throat.

“Check your thermostat, sweetheart.”

The whisper curls into your earlobe.

Low. Silk-soft. Intimate in the worst possible way. Your pulse jumps so hard you think he can feel it beneath the knife.

His lips don’t touch you, but his voice does. Warm breath in contrast to the blade’s ice. “Go on,” he says again. His tone is casual, like this is a game.

“Let’s see why it’s so cold in here.” Your knees threaten to give out. You try to tell yourself it’s a nightmare. Sleep paralysis. Another stress hallucination, like the ones you get during finals week.

But this? This is real.

You feel his chest brush your back. Solid. Calm. Like he’s done this before. The blade dips lower, grazing your collarbone.

You don’t move.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock’s louder now. Mocking you. “You’re not gonna scream?” he murmurs. “Good girl.” Your lips tremble, but your throat stays silent. What’s the point?

You’re not stupid, you’ve seen enough movies to know what happens to the ones who make noise.

“Been watching you for weeks,” he says softly, almost like a confession. “I know when you shower. When you cry over deadlines. When you fall asleep at your desk.”

His gloved thumb strokes your pulse. Gentle. Possessive. “I know the way you leave your window cracked when you get too hot.” The blade shifts, tracing the curve of your neck. “But tonight?” His lips finally ghost over your skin. “You’re not hot anymore, are you?”

Your eyes flick to the thermostat.

It’s set to 74°F. But the number on the screen is wrong. It reads: 32°F. Freezing. “See?” he breathes. “Told you to check it.”

You don’t scream. You don’t ask him who he is. You don’t cry, beg, or plead. You do what the trauma textbooks say is the worst thing: You freeze. And you convince yourself that this isn't real.

Because he disappears. Just like that.

The moment your clock hits 3:33 AM, the blade vanishes. The cold lifts. And you spin around to nothing but your shadow.

No footprints. No blood. No signs he was ever there.

Just a faint scent on your hoodie. Clean. Sharp. Something like frost and cologne and danger. You tell yourself it was a dream.

You never asked him who he was. Not that night.

Not when he whispered in your ear, not when the blade tapped your throat like a secret. You didn’t ask because some part of you, the animal part, already knew.

Predators don’t explain themselves. And prey? Prey pretends it’s a dream. So that’s what you did. You told yourself it was stress. Lack of sleep. Too much caffeine. Not enough oxygen. Hallucinations from hunger and overwork. You convinced yourself it wasn’t real. You had to.

Because the alternative? That he was real? That meant you were already marked.

A product of sleep-deprivation and caffeine poisoning. You laugh about it in the morning. You even tweet something dumb like "Lmao I think I hallucinated a hot serial killer last night 🥲🔪"

But then the notes start. At first, it was small things. A folded piece of paper slipped under your door: "You look pretty when you’re scared."

A text from an unknown number, even though you never gave it out: "Did you eat today? Don’t lie." A sticky note on your bathroom mirror: "Don’t lock the window tonight. I like watching." Days passed. Your brain frayed at the edges.

The next one shows up in your textbooks. You open your political theory exam prep and a square of white flutters out.

“You bite your lip when you’re about to cry. I’d like to bite it for you.”

You stop sleeping. You start checking the thermostat every ten minutes. You don’t tell anyone, because how do you tell someone you’re being haunted by a dream that left behind fingerprints?

Every night, you stared at the thermostat, watching it dip below freezing even though the heater was on.

And still, you said nothing. To anyone. Until tonight. You go insane.

You think you see him in crowds. You hear his voice in cold gusts of wind. You sleep with the lights on and your back to the wall. And then, one night, three weeks after that first visit, it happens again. You’re in your kitchen, pouring water for ramen. It’s exactly 3:12 AM.

Your phone is face down.

The world is still. And the cold returns. Hard. Immediate. Biting. You don’t need to look behind you to know he’s there. Only this time? You don’t pretend it’s a dream. But this time, you speak.

"Why?" you whisper, eyes forward. Your reflection stares back at you from the darkened laptop screen. "Why me?"

His smirk curves slow, like ice forming on glass. He doesn’t answer. His lips brush your ear instead.

“…who are you?” Your voice is small, cracked. It barely makes it past your lips.

You swallow. Try again. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” Silence.

You don’t turn. You feel his presence like a thundercloud behind you. Feel the blade before it touches you. And then, nothing.

No steel. No breath. Just the sound of your heart punching against your ribs. And then he speaks.

“Run.”

The word slithers down your spine. Your mouth goes dry. You blink once, and he’s in front of you.

Eyes like snowstorms. Mouth curled in a slow, delighted smirk.

“Go on,” he says softly. “I’ve given you a headstart.” You try to step back. He tilts his head. “Because once I catch you?” He leans in, teeth flashing. “I’m never leaving.” “Go on, sweetheart.” His voice is sugar-laced frost. “Run. I want to see how far you get.”

At first, you don’t take it seriously. You brush off the whispers in your ear. The cold steel against your throat. The voice telling you to run.

You tell yourself it was sleep deprivation. A hallucination. A trick of your exhausted mind and caffeine-burnt nerves. But then the notes get worse.

They stop being playful. Stop being flirty. They start getting personal. The first one is taped to your pillow when you come home from class.

“I told you to run, didn’t I?”

You rip it up. Throw it away. Pretend it was a prank. Some sick joke by someone who found a spare key. You change your locks the next day. Buy pepper spray. Sleep with scissors under your pillow.

But the second note comes anyway. This time, it’s tucked into your wallet, between your student ID and your driver’s license.

“So you don’t believe me, Piro?”

Your stomach collapses. Nobody calls you that anymore. Piro was your nickname when you were little, something soft and stupid that your parents used when you scraped your knees or spilled juice on the carpet. You haven’t heard it in years.

Nobody knows it now. Except him. So you do the only thing you can think of. You run.

You grab your keys at 3:03 AM, throw your laptop into a bag, and leave the city. Your hands shake on the steering wheel. Your breath fogs up the windows even though the heater’s on.

Your ears ring the whole drive. Two hours later, you pull up to the family house. The one nobody lives in anymore. No lights. No neighbors. Just you and the ghosts of old summers. You lock the doors. Close the curtains. Double-check the windows, the closets, under the bed. For three days, you live like a ghost.

You eat dry cereal out of the box. You don’t shower. You don’t sleep. You listen. To every creak. Every groan of the house settling. Every bird outside that sounds too much like a footstep. Your pulse never slows. You’re always waiting for the cold to come back.

But on the fourth night, you crack. It’s stupid. It’s just one night. You’re tired of shaking. Tired of hiding. So you find the old bottle of vodka under the sink. It’s dusty, half-empty, leftover from a New Year’s you barely remember.

You drink straight from the bottle, eyes blurry, throat burning. You finish half of it before you realize your hands are numb. But the alcohol feels better than the fear.

For a moment. You sit in the living room, dizzy. The house is too quiet. Your stomach turns.

But the vodka hums warm in your chest, drowning out the panic for the first time in weeks. Your head lolls back against the couch cushion. That’s when the clock starts ticking louder.

The old grandfather clock in the corner, it’s been broken for years, ever since you rode your bike straight into it back when you were seven. But now it’s ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Like it’s counting down. Like it knows something you don’t. You blink. Your vision swims.

And then, you feel it. That cold. That impossible, sharp cold that crawls over your skin like frostbite. It sinks into your scalp. Down your spine. Into your veins.

You don’t turn around. You already know.

“Piro.” His voice is a ghost behind you. Soft. Smiling.

Your spine snaps straight. But you’re too drunk to run. Your knees buckle. Your breath gets stuck in your throat. He steps into view. Right in front of you, between the couch and the dark hallway. You don’t know how he got inside. You don’t know when.

But he’s here. And you’re too drunk to stand. His hoodie is black. His skin pale, almost glowing in the dim kitchen light. His mouth is curved in a lazy smirk.

Eyes sharp. Cold. Unblinking.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” His voice is casual. Almost playful. Like he’s commenting on the weather. Like this is a reunion, not a threat. “I told you,” he whispers, stepping closer. His shoes make no sound on the hardwood.

“I always keep my promises.” Your head spins. “Why…” Your lips are numb. You swallow hard. “Why me?” He tilts his head. Smiles wider. But he doesn’t answer. He crouches in front of you instead, eyes level with yours.

His breath is cold, but his skin is colder when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek. “You should’ve run farther, Piro.” His voice sinks into you like icewater. “I gave you a headstart.” His hand curls gently around your jaw, tilting your face up.

“Didn’t I?” The knife appears like magic. Glinting silver. Pressed against your throat again, but not cutting. Just reminding you.

You’re drunk. You’re shaking. But you can’t look away from him.

“Now?” he whispers. His lips graze your ear. His breath smells like winter air. “Now I get to keep you.”

You make the mistake of trying to run. Even drunk, even trembling, you try. Your muscles jerk. Your feet slip off the couch.

You think maybe if you bolt for the door, you can outrun him. But he doesn’t give you the chance. Before you can take two steps, his arm wraps around your waist.

The knife kisses your neck. Soft. Like a lover. “Piro.” His voice is calm, like you’re just kids playing tag.

“You’re not listening.” You squirm.

His grip tightens. The blade never cuts, it’s gentle the way he handles you, terrifyingly gentle. Like he’s keeping you warm while he cages you.

He carries you back to the couch like you weigh nothing. You’re shaking, shivering, vodka making your stomach twist, but he sits down and drapes you over his lap.

Then, without a word, he picks up the blanket from the couch back. Wraps it around you. Tucks you in. With the knife still at your throat. “There we go,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back.

His lips ghost over your temple. His breath is ice. “You’re mine now.” When you wake up, he’s still there. In your kitchen.

Cooking breakfast. Eggs crack against the pan. The smell of butter sizzles in the air. Your head pounds, but the memory is crystal clear. Not a dream. Not a blackout.

He stayed. He stays. He sets a plate in front of you. “Eat,” he says softly. “I made it for you.” You’re too afraid not to.

He lets you ask small things at first. Where did he sleep last night? Answer: “Next to you, of course.”

What time is it? Answer: “Doesn’t matter anymore.” Why are you still here? Answer: “Because you’re mine.”

He tells you to call him Sunghoon. Not “hey” or “you” or “what are you.”

Just Sunghoon. And for days, it’s like this. He cooks. He hums. He showers in your bathroom, leaves wet footprints down the hallway.

He sleeps beside you. Sometimes his arm drapes over your waist when you lie stiff in bed. Sometimes he watches you before you open your eyes.

But one day, you push too far. You ask him too many questions.

What are you? Where did you come from? How long have you been watching me? And then: “Why me, Sunghoon?”

Something clicks behind his eyes. He drops the kitchen towel. His jaw tightens. Before you can move, he’s on you. He throws you over his shoulder like you’re a bag of groceries.

Carries you down the hallway. You kick. You plead. But he’s humming softly, like this is fun for him. He tosses you on the bed.

The mattress squeaks under your back. You’re out of breath, heart slamming. He leans over you, eyes sharp, smile cold.

“Wanna play, Piro?” he whispers. “Let’s make it fair.”

“Every orgasm you give me,” he says softly, “I’ll answer two questions.” His hand cups your chin. “But I get to decide when to stop.”

Your throat closes. Your legs clamp shut, but he pushes them apart with his knee like it’s second nature.

“Wanna know who I am, baby?” His smile stretches wider. “Earn it.”

Your head spins. Your thighs shake. Sunghoon’s breath is hot against your ear as he pins you to the mattress, one hand wrapped tight around your jaw.

“I told you the rules, baby.” His voice drips with mock sweetness, but his hips grind harder, slow, brutal thrusts that have you gasping.

“Every orgasm you give me, I’ll answer two questions.” You can’t think straight. His palm slides between your legs, fingers pressing exactly where he knows you’re weak.

“But I get to decide when to stop.” His cock drags slow inside you, long, deep strokes that make your toes curl.

Your stomach knots. Your brain fuzzes. And the worst part? You want it. Even while you hate him. Even while you should be screaming. “C’mon, Piro.” His lips brush your neck. His tongue licks over your pulse. “Beg me for answers.”

You whimper. Your thighs clamp around his hips, but he just chuckles. “Fucking desperate now, aren’t you?” His fingers tighten on your throat, not enough to stop your breathing, just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

“You were so brave when you tried to run. Look at you now.” He rocks his hips harder, grinding into the spot that makes your back arch.

“Pathetic little thing,” he groans. “Look at you, wet, shaking, taking my cock like you’re starved for it.”

Your eyes roll back. The room is spinning. Your voice cracks when you plead, breathless and ruined. “Sunghoon, please, I need to know—”

“Oh?” His smile is razor-sharp. His rhythm doesn’t falter. “Is that a question, baby?” Your face burns. Your legs shake. You feel your orgasm creeping up, unstoppable, choking your throat.

“You gonna cum?” His lips are right by your ear, teasing, filthy. “Gonna cum on my cock like a good little hostage?” You try to hold back.

You really do. But curiosity kills the cat. But his hips slam into you harder. His hand grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him, no escape.

“You want answers, love?” His breath is a growl now. “Fucking earn them.” Your body gives out first.

You cry out, shuddering beneath him, walls clenching around him so tight he lets out a groan of approval. “There you go,” he purrs. “First orgasm down.” He doesn’t stop thrusting.

Doesn’t pull out. Keeps fucking into you like he’s punishing you for it. “Two questions. Go.” Your voice breaks. Your mind scrambles for something, anything, but you’re too wrecked to think straight.

You gasp for air. “Why me?” you whimper. Sunghoon’s mouth brushes your cheek. “Because I like breaking things that run.” Your stomach flips. You try to ask the second question, but your voice cracks. Your lips part, his thrusts get harder.

“Come on, Piro.” His smile is sharp, cruel. “One more. Before I make you cum again.” Your eyes fill with tears. Your throat is raw.

But you ask it anyway, without thinking.

“Did you kill my brother?” Silence. His hips still. His cock twitches inside you, but he goes dead quiet. You feel the cold return.

Worse than before. The air turns sharp. Frozen. Like the temperature just dropped twenty degrees in an instant.

His hand leaves your throat. His eyes? Flat. Empty. Like glass.

Sunghoon slides out of you slowly. Your legs fall open, used and wet, but he doesn’t even look at you now. He sits at the edge of the bed. Back to you. Silent. You reach for him, panicked.

“Sunghoon, I—I didn’t mean—” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. The room is so quiet you can hear the clock in the kitchen ticking again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Your body is still trembling. Your skin burns where he touched you, but the space between you now feels like ice.

You beg him. “Sunghoon, please—just tell me—” Nothing. He stares at the wall, shoulders tense. Like something broke inside him. And for the first time since he showed up in your life, you wonder if you finally asked the one question you weren’t supposed to.

The room goes cold. Colder than before. Not just the air, the space between you. Sunghoon sits at the edge of the bed. His back to you. Shoulders stiff. Eyes locked on the wall like he can’t even stand to look at you anymore.

And that’s worse than the knife. Worse than the threats. Worse than when he made you beg. This isn’t punishment you can fight against.

This is silence. Frozen silence that seeps into your lungs and makes it hard to breathe. You try to fix it. Your voice is soft, cracked from gasping and crying, but you try anyway.

“Sunghoon—” His hand lifts. One slow movement. “Don’t.” That’s all he says. You swallow it. You don’t speak again. The Bed is a Coffin Now He lies down next to you. Not touching. Not kissing. Not whispering in your ear like before.

Just breathing. His breath is soft against the pillow, but his body is tense, coiled like a predator that isn’t done playing yet.

You lie next to him, shivering under the blanket he once used to tuck you in. But now? You’re terrified to move. Your body is still wrecked from before. Your thighs ache. Your skin is marked where his fingers pressed too hard. Your mouth tastes like sweat and vodka and tears.

But it’s the silence that makes your chest hurt. The clock ticks on the wall. Too loud. Too slow.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You close your eyes and pretend to sleep. Because you don’t know what else to do. Somewhere after 4 AM, when your brain starts drifting, lost between dream and nightmare, that’s when it happens.

You feel him move. You hear the shift of the sheets. The soft brush of his lips near your ear. So close you feel his breath. And then, so quiet you barely catch it: “Your brother killed mine first.” Your eyes snap open. Your breath stutters.

But when you turn your head to look at him, Sunghoon’s still lying beside you. Eyes closed. Face soft. Like he’s asleep.

Did he say that? Or are you hallucinating? Your heart races. Your stomach knots. Did he really whisper that in your ear? Or did your guilt twist the memory, make you imagine it? You don’t know. And that’s the worst part.

When you wake up, he’s gone.

His side of the bed is cold. The imprint of his body still dents the mattress, but the space beside you is empty.

You sit up fast. The house is quiet. Too quiet. The kitchen is empty. No eggs. No coffee. No humming under his breath like the other mornings. You check the front door, it’s locked from the inside.

He’s gone. But he never left. You feel it in your bones. Maybe he’s watching from outside. Maybe he’s in the basement. Or the attic. Or behind you right now, breathing against your neck while you pretend to be alone.

You think about his words. If he really said them. Your brother killed mine first. That would explain it, right?

Why he picked you. Why he’s obsessed. Why he’s doing this. But your brother’s dead. And Sunghoon…? You don’t know what he is.

You wander the house. Barefoot. Silent. You check the mirrors. Check the closet. Check your own reflection, like maybe you’ll find an answer in your own eyes. But the notes don’t stop.

Day One Alone:

You find the first note in the bathroom. On the mirror, written in red marker.

“I’m still here, Piro.”

Day Two:

One under your pillow.

“Did you like my answer, or do you want a better one?”

Day Three:

The power goes out. And the cold gets worse. You don’t know if it’s winter or if it’s him.

You don’t hear him come in. You just feel it. That shift in the air. That cold slither under your skin. Like ice pressing into muscle.

You don’t move. Because you already know it’s him. The mattress dips beside you. Sunghoon’s breath curls against the back of your neck.

“Still here,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. You don’t run. Not this time. His hand slides under the blanket. Finds your waist. Pulls you back against him like you’re his favorite thing to keep.

“You get it now, huh?” His voice is soft. Sweet. Deadly. “This is easier, baby.” His nose nuzzles behind your ear. “Let me keep you.”

The Obsession Starts Here. You don’t fight when his hand drags between your legs. Your thighs twitch, but you stay open.

You stay soft. “Fuck—listen to you.” His voice dips lower, crueler. “Wet for me. Always so fucking wet for me, Piro.” His fingers sink inside you. Two. Deep. Without warning.

Your breath hits the back of your throat, but you don’t stop him. “See?” His mouth brushes your jaw.

“You’re already taking my fingers so easy.” He fucks them into you slow. Deliberate. Cruel. “You’re mine now, baby.” His lips drag over your neck. “I get to do whatever I want to you.” And he does. He flips you onto your stomach like you’re a toy. Like you’re his.

Face smashed into the pillow. Hips dragged back, ass in the air, legs shaking. “No running this time.” His cock slides into you hard.

One sharp thrust. No warning. No teasing. No prep beyond his spit-slick fingers and the way he knows you’re already wet for him.

You cry out. But he covers your mouth with his hand.

“Shhh.” His breath is ragged against your ear.

“You’re gonna take it.” His hips slam into you. Rough. Deep. Punishing. The slap of skin on skin is loud in the room. But his voice is louder. “Fuck, listen to that.” Your nails claw at the sheets.

But you don’t try to get away. Because some part of you, the broken partd, oesn’t want to.

Sunghoon leans over you, hips still driving in deep, cock heavy inside you. His lips ghost your ear. “You like getting ruined, huh?” Your face burns.

Your thighs tremble. But you nod. Because it’s easier now. “Good girl,” he groans, hips stuttering for a second before he sets the brutal pace again.

“You’re warm right now, baby,” he whispers, dragging his tongue along your throat, “but you’ll remember me like freezer burn.” His teeth scrape your shoulder. “Hurts like hell. But you still need it.” His hand slides from your mouth to your throat.

Fingers tightening just enough to make your pulse flutter. “Say it.” His voice is darker now. Filthy. Breathless. “Say you like it.” Your throat closes, but you say it anyway. Your body does it for you. “I like it.”

“Say you’re mine.” You should say no. You should still fight. But you don’t. Because it’s easier now. And he’s right. “I’m yours.”

The Breaking Point When you cum, it’s ugly. Raw. Your legs quake. Your vision blurs. Your cunt clamps down around him so hard you feel him twitch inside you.

“Fuck—good girl.” His hips keep moving. “Just like that.” You’re shaking. Sweaty. Eyes glassy. But you stay exactly where he wants you. Face in the pillow. Ass up. Owned.

When you’re ruined, fucked out and limp beneath him, he finally says it. Cock still inside you. Breath warm against your ear.

“Your brother killed mine first.” Your stomach flips. Your throat tightens. But your body? Your body stays relaxed. Because by now? It’s too late to fight. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stays inside you. Stays close. But in his head? He’s back there again. The Alley. The Night Everything Broke. His brother’s blood was still warm when it splashed his shoes. That was the part no one tells you about death. How it’s hot before it goes cold.

Gun to the chest. One shot.

Your brother did it with a grin. Told his crew it was just business. Something about a bet gone sideways. A debt unpaid.

“It’s just business, man.” That’s what he said. Right before kicking the body into a puddle. Sunghoon watched from the shadows. Hands in his pockets. Rain dripping down his face. Didn’t cry. Didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe for a second.

His brother, the one everyone called Ice, lay there with his chest ripped open. A hole right where his heart should’ve been. Sunghoon stared at it. And something in him broke clean in half.

The Obsession Starts He followed your brother after that. Tracked him home. Learned his habits. But that’s when he found you. He saw you through the window. Sitting on the floor in sweatpants. Hair messy. Eyes soft.

You weren’t like your brother. You were still warm. And Sunghoon? Sunghoon got stuck. He started watching you instead. Learning you.

Tracing you like muscle memory. Your routine. Your favorite food. The way you left the porch light on for stray cats.

He told himself he’d kill you after. After he was done watching. After he was done listening to you hum in the kitchen. After he was done jerking off to the sound of your shower turning on.

But he never stopped. When his brother died, he promised revenge. But after you? After watching you fold laundry while humming to yourself? He made a new promise:

“If I can’t kill her, I’ll keep her.”

Back to Present Sunghoon’s still inside you when the memory fades. His cock twitches. His hand strokes your waist like he’s calming himself. You don’t know any of this. You don’t know how long he’s been watching you.

“It’s okay, Piro.” His voice is soft in your ear. “It’s easier this way.” And you believe him. Because you have no idea what’s coming next.

The next morning, you don’t ask questions. You eat the breakfast he makes you. You sip the coffee he stirs. And when he presses a kiss to your forehead, you don’t flinch. You lean into it. Because this? This is easier. You’re his now. You’ve been his.

And some sick, soft part of you? It’s glad. Sunghoon cups your chin. Makes you look at him. Eyes sharp. Smile soft. “Good girl.” His thumb wipes your lip. “No more running.” His voice drops low. Right into your ear. “Freezer burn, Piro.” His tone is almost tender.

“Cold enough to blister you. Hot enough to hurt when you thaw.” And you believe him. Because now? You don’t even remember what it felt like to be warm without him.

END

Masterlist

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✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

⟡ @rosepetals09, ⟡ @cherry-blossomfrag, ⟡ @mari-marimar,  ⟡ @paradieseoul, ⟡ @microwavedstrawberries3,  ⟡ @thatonerandomblondechick, ⟡ @heebambilee,  ⟡ @simjaeyunsdoll, ⟡ @sinceresilverstrawberry,  ⟡ @heeseungslefttoee, ⟡ @shayinthesims, ⟡ @larichard,  ⟡ @noinspirationkisstoday, ⟡ @frenziedseerdesolation,  ⟡ @wtfisgoingright, ⟡ @heekijakey, ⟡ @luvwonsito,  ⟡ @cheetosthabratt, ⟡ @en-ner-jay, ⟡ @shouldergangsterrj,  ⟡ @brennanmeijalover00,⟡ @wondash, ⟡ @kimuranishi,  ⟡ @thep3rfectgirl25, ⟡ @doraemon02, ⟡ @rotttenhalo,  ⟡ @oldeubois-blog, ⟡ @putrescentpoet, ⟡ @jinnibug, ⟡ @vayuzzz,  ⟡ @kimmyaaaa, ⟡ @ppcarolina9, ⟡ @giagotthezoomies

[cinnamon-won]

I never ever read horror fics so I didn’t expect to love this as much as I did, but it’s sooo good!!!

[beargyu313]

Blurred lines 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

۶ৎ Summary: You’ve always gotten along really really with Jake during uni, so it only made sense to share a flat with him post-grad. Now you’re roommates who have a playfully physical friendship but it’s starting to mean something.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚Word Count: 10.9k, lowkey not my best work but, oh well

۶ৎ Tags: angst, smut, lawyer apprentice Jake, slice of life, shared domesticity,, smut tags: munch!Jake, jealousy, angry sex, heavy petting, pussy slapping, edging + denial,, soft dominance, possessiveness, use of blindfold, sex on the balcony

౨ৎ Content Warning: mdni, smut Extra: masterlist, taglist: @mrsjjongstby

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

You and Jake weren’t best friends exactly, you were more like orbiters who kept getting pulled into each other’s gravity. Same friend groups. Late-night library hangs. Group project partners who accidentally became each other’s go-to plus-one. You’d pass each other snacks during lectures and you might’ve "jokingly" sat on his lap a few times.

By the end of final year, it was just… normal to be around each other.

Fast forward to post-grad life looming. Your friend group start spiraling with “where is everyone living next year” stress.

You say “Ugh, I don’t want a random roommate. I just want someone chill.” Jake, half-asleep on the couch, goes “So… live with me then.” You blink. “You’re serious?” He shrugs. Casual, like always, “Yeah. We already practically do.”

And that’s it.

You both tour two flats, pick the one with huge windows, two bedrooms and a couch that sinks too deep, and sign a lease. It’s not even dramatic. It just makes sense.

You fight over rugs. He insists on a “muted navy palette.” You want color. He ends up secretly buying the yellow throw you liked.

On your first night together in the flat, you’re both sitting on the floor eating noodles out of the box.

“You nervous?”

“Only about what your snoring sounds like.”

He throws a pillow at you.

And after weeks of living together, you two fall into a rhythm. Jake leaves early in the morning for his part-time internship at a law firm. He was prepping to become a lawyer, so seeing him in suits, shirts and ties quickly became a regular occurrence. The first time you saw him all professional was when you had to help him with his tie.

It was kind of cute. He quietly shuffled into your room and gently woke you up. You remember how shy he was, a slight blush covering his cheeks. Still remember the way his hand rested on your waist as you worked on knotting his tie properly.

Since you’re a screenwriter, your mornings on the other hand are much slower. You shuffle to the kitchen in socks and a hoodie that might be his. Most days, you talk to yourself more than you talk to anyone else. Except Jake. Always Jake.

He’s usually gone by the time you fully wake up, but his presence lingers. A mug left in the sink. Cologne in the hallway. A post-it on the fridge that says, "Eat something real today. Instant noodles don’t count. – J"

Days you two spend apart, but evenings unanimously become a time just for you two. Sometimes you would go out for a walk, other days a party, but most evening would end with a shared dinner and watching series.

But not tonight. You had been looking forward to tonight for way too long. You had been eyeing one of your coworkers for months and finally he asked you out on a date. Sunghoon was the same age as you and Jake and while you didn’t really know him that well, there was something about him...

Which is why you spend over an hour picking your outfit, and then another hour doing your makeup. You’re just putting on your perfume when you hear a soft knock at the door.

Jake leans in, fresh from a shower — hair damp, grey tee hanging loose, one hand braced against the wood. His eyes catch your reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t smile.

“You going out with that guy tonight?”

Your mascara wand pauses. You glance at him through the mirror. “You mean Sunghoon?”

Jake shrugs. "Whatever his name is."

You turn slightly, narrowing your eyes. “Why?”

“Just asking,” he says casually.

There’s a beat of silence. The room smells like your perfume and the faint mint of his body wash. You go back to your lashes, but he doesn’t move.

Then, he steps closer, so close you can smell his body wash, and reaches past you like he’s fixing something on the counter. Instead, his fingers brush along your temple, then tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingers a second longer than it needs to.

“You look prettier with your hair like this,” he murmurs, voice low.

You freeze. It’s nothing. It’s always nothing.

Except it isn’t.

You stare at him in the mirror. His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, a challenge tucked behind his calm demeanor. Your pulse stutters.

Then your phone buzzes on the counter.

You glance at it. A message from Sunghoon. hey… sorry. can’t make it tonight. something came up. rain check?

You deflate before you can stop yourself. Jake notices immediately.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Date’s off?”

You try to sound breezy. “Work emergency or something.”

Jake doesn’t gloat, but there’s something smug in the way he shifts back, arms folding across his chest.

“Guess that means movie night’s back on,” he says, already turning toward the living room. “Your pick. But nothing depressing.”

You don’t answer right away. You just watch him go.

It takes you a moment to move, and then you’re changing into shorts and a loose shirt. It would lowkey be a waste to take your makeup off after you just applied it, so you leave it on. No other reason.

When you reach the living room, Jake’s already half-sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest like he owns the place (he kind of does). The blinds are drawn, the fan hums softly in the corner, and Netflix’s horror menu flashes onscreen.

He looks up when he sees you, and his gaze lingers for a second longer than usual. On your legs. Your lips. Your eyes — still done up like you’re going somewhere better than this.

“Didn’t change much,” he says, smirking.

You throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He catches it, laughing. “I meant that as a compliment. You look…” He gestures vaguely. “Fancy. For a movie about bloodsucking sadists.”

You shrug, climbing onto the couch and tucking your feet under you. “Might as well let the vampires appreciate the effort.”

Jake’s eyes flick to your lips again, just for a beat. Then he’s clearing his throat, shifting to grab the remote. “Alright. No crying if it’s gory.”

You nudge his leg with your toe. “Please. I’ll protect you.”

Jake grins, all smug. “Oh yeah? Gonna fight off the undead for me?”

You nod solemnly. “With style.”

“Great,” he says, tossing the blanket over both of you. “Then I’m officially off-duty.”

You shift to get comfortable, letting your legs stretch across the couch. The blanket settles over you both. His thigh brushes yours. Your foot nudges his again, not quite by accident. He doesn’t move.

The movie starts — all flickering shadows and eerie violins — but your focus wavers. Jake smells like laundry detergent and that citrusy cologne he always wears. You feel the rise and fall of his chest beside you, calm and steady.

A few minutes in, another jump scare hits. You jolt. He snorts.

“Still feeling brave?” he teases.

You scowl at him, then shift closer, just to prove a point. Your knee nudges his hip. Your arm slides across his stomach.

“Shut up,” you mumble. Jake doesn’t say anything, but he lifts his arm and lets you curl against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before long, you’re draped half across his chest, cheek against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. The room is dark except for the flicker of the screen. His fingers find your hair, brushing through it slowly, over and over.

It feels good. Too good. You let yourself sink into it for a few long breaths. Then you start to shift back. But Jake doesn’t let you. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers resting gently. “You always run when I touch you,” he murmurs.

You give a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Do not.”

But your voice is too soft to sound convincing. The movie drones on in the background  but your mind's gone quiet. Jake’s still stroking your hair. Your eyes flicker to the muted blue light of your phone on the coffee table.

Sunghoon’s text still sits there. You don’t say anything, but your body gives you away, in the way your shoulders curve in, the weight of your breath.

Jake notices.

“Hey,” he says softly, thumb grazing your jaw. “You okay?”

You nod. Pause. Then shake your head.

“I feel stupid,” you admit.

Jake shifts to face you more fully. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I even liked him that much.” You press your cheek against his chest, voice muffled. “I just wanted someone to like me that much.”

There’s a long pause. Jake doesn’t say anything right away, he just holds you tighter, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You know,” he says eventually, a teasing lilt creeping back into his tone, “I bet I’m a better kisser than that guy anyway.”

You let out a tired laugh, pulling back to look at him. “Oh yeah? So confident.”

Jake shrugs, mouth twitching. “I have a good resume.”

“Oh, do you?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Prove it.”

You don’t even know what makes you say it.

Maybe it’s the leftover sadness. Maybe it’s the way his thumb is brushing your cheek. Or the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re not just his roommate. Like you’re his everything.

But suddenly you’re leaning in, still half-laughing.

The kiss starts soft. Just lips. Barely moving. Just a pause. Just a breath. Then Jake tilts his head. His hand slides up to cup your jaw. His thumb grazes the corner of your mouth and—

He kisses you like he means it.

No teasing. No jokes.

You whimper. A quiet, involuntary sound you don’t even recognize as your own. And he pulls you closer in response.

You don’t even realize spreading your legs, straddling him from where he still lays down on the couch. Jake’s hands rest on your hip and when his tongue traces your lower lip. When you open your mouth in submission his grip on your hips tightens.  You shudder, and then Jake starts guiding your hips. Back and forth, slowly. You let him.

But then, just as suddenly, you both pull back.

You’re both breathing hard. Your thighs are still locked around his hips. His hands still resting on your waist. The air between you feels charged but no one’s saying it.

So you clear your throat and go, voice light, “Okay. Yeah. You’ve… definitely got a good resume.”

Jake huffs a laugh, chest rising under your palms. “Told you.”

“But,” you add, trying to keep your voice teasing, even though your pulse is still sprinting, “I’d need references before hiring full-time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “References? Babe, I am the reference.”

You laugh, it’s shaky, breathless and slowly climb off his lap, adjusting the hem of your shirt like that’ll somehow undo the grinding you just did.

Jake shifts too, leaning back on the couch like nothing happened. Except for the pillow hat he places in his lap. And the way his gaze drops to your lips again, just for a second.

“So,” you say, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “Still wanna finish the movie, or was that your idea of a plot twist?”

Jake grins, low and slow. “Let’s see how it ends.”

You press play. But your body’s still humming. He throws his arm across the back of the couch, unbothered.

Neither of you says anything else.

But something’s changed.

And you both know it.

The next morning is weird. It’s one of those days where you can’t work from home so you wake up at the same time as Jake does. And when you step out of your room, wearing only an oversized shirt – that’s probably Jake’s – you pause.

Jake is at the kitchen table, coffee half-drunk and Kindle in hand. His hair is still damp from his shower. He’s wearing that crisp white shirt that always fits a little too well, sleeves already rolled to the elbows.

His eyes lift when he hears your bedroom door creak open, and then they drop, slowly tracing the length of your legs like they have every right to.

“Morning,” you mumble, throat suddenly dry. You don’t wait for him to answer before disappearing into the bathroom.

When you return, you’ve changed into something semi-professional and pulled your hair back. Jake’s putting on his watch by the door. His cologne hits you before his voice does.

“You good?” he asks casually, like you didn’t ride him on the couch fourteen hours ago.

“Peachy,” you say, grabbing your tote bag. Your voice is light. Neutral. A little too neutral.

The car ride is… quieter than usual. There’s no playlist. Just the sound of traffic and turn signals. Until Jake breaks the silence.

“So, Sunoo texted. He wants to do something this weekend,” Jake says, eyes still on the road.

“Oh?” you ask, eyes flicking toward him.

“Haunted house. The one near the old train station.” He glances at you. “You in?”

You shrug, forcing a smile. “Yeah, sure. Who else is coming?”

“Me, Sunoo, Jay, Heeseung. I think Yujin and Liz are joining, too.”

“Great,” you say. “Perfect for Yujin to scream into Jay’s arms.”

Jake chuckles at that. “Better than Sunoo clinging to my hoodie again.”

“You’re the designated safety blanket. You knew what you signed up for.”

Jake glances at you again. His voice drops just a touch, teasing. “You gonna cling to me too this time?”

You don’t answer right away. You let the question hang there, feel the weight of it settle between the bucket seats.

Then you say, “Only if the ghosts get handsy.”

Jake snorts, but you catch the faint smile tugging at his mouth. He taps the steering wheel lightly with his thumb.

“That’s my favorite shirt, by the way,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“This morning. You wore it last week too.” He pauses. “Looks better on you.”

You stare out the window, ears burning, pretending you don’t hear him. But your heart is a little too loud.

And suddenly, the idea of getting scared on purpose this weekend… doesn’t seem so bad.

Except when the weekend rolls around and the seven of you near the abandoned train station you don’t think you will have to pretend to be scared.

The air is colder here, even though it’s the middle of summer. Not even a breeze breaks through the stillness. Like the atmosphere has forgotten how to move. Everything is quiet in that unnatural, pressurized way that makes your ears buzz. Even the sky feels different. Dusky, despite the fact that it’s barely past sunset.

The old train depot looms ahead. All rusted beams and broken windows, the paint long since peeled away to reveal something grey and rotting underneath. Ivy curls up the corners like fingers trying to hold it shut or maybe hold something in.

Jake whistles low under his breath beside you. “Charming.”

“Nope,” Sunoo says immediately. “Absolutely not. This place is cursed. There’s, like… ghost laws being broken right now.”

Liz snorts. “What the hell are ‘ghost laws’?”

Sunoo ignores her. “Why is it so quiet? Why is the sky pink? Why does it smell like iron and regret—?”

“Stop reading Wattpad,” Jay mutters, though his own grip on the back of Yujin’s shirt is noticeably tight.

“I’m just saying,” Sunoo huffs, edging closer to Liz, “if we go missing, check the attic first. It’s always the attic.”

Heeseung says nothing, but he’s clearly uncomfortable, his hands are in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He gives the place one slow look and mutters, “Why do I feel like something’s watching us?”

Jake laughs under his breath. “Because something is watching us. The actors are probably already inside.”

You glance at him. He looks calm. Relaxed, even. But when you brush his hand with yours, he squeezes it lightly. Just once.

You don’t let go.

By the time you reach inside, you’re glued to his side. He lets you, fingers interlocked together and your other arm gripping his bicep. You think he flexes his muscle when you touch him, but don’t comment on it.

 The haunted house (train?) is all black walls and red lighting, with old train sounds whistling through hidden speakers. The air smells like dry metal and artificial fog. Each hallway is tighter than the last, cramped and dark and full of sharp turns.

It doesn’t take long before you’re pressed against Jake, your face buried in his chest after a vampire-jumpscare pops out of a hidden wall.

“Jesus,” you whisper, trying to breathe.

He chuckles and holds you tighter. “They got you good, huh?”

“You flinched too!”

“Only because you screamed in my ear.”

Up ahead, Liz and Sunoo are doing a running commentary about which horror tropes they’re about to fulfill.

“Oh my god, we split up!” Liz shrieks. “This is how I die! I’m the comic relief!”

“I’m the comic relief!” Sunoo counters. “You’re the hot one who survives ‘cause of fan demand!”

Meanwhile, Jay is trying to walk calmly while Yujin clings to his arm with a suspiciously delighted smile. Heeseung’s behind them, dead silent, bambi eyes scanning every corner like he’s prepping for actual war.

But you and Jake… are in your own little bubble. Somewhere between adrenaline and instinct, you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just holding onto him. Sometimes his arm is around your shoulders. Sometimes your hand is in his hoodie pocket. You’re never apart.

At one point, someone turns around and says, “Wait… are you guys, like, together?”

You don’t have time to respond. A vampire lunges from the shadows just then, and you shriek again, arms looping around Jake’s waist.

Behind you, Sunoo gasps, “It’s giving main couple energy!”

You feel Jake’s chest rumble against yours with laughter. You don’t look up.

But later, when the group finally exits through the heavy fire door and spills into fresh night air — breathless, laughing, buzzing — you catch Jake looking at you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just raises an eyebrow like he’s in on a joke you haven’t caught yet. You should roll your eyes. You should brush it off. Instead, you stare back. For just a beat too long. Your pulse is still racing and you know it’s not just because of the fake blood or flashing lights.

The group piles into a tucked-away corner booth at a 24-hour Korean BBQ joint, still riding the adrenaline of half-screams and nervous laughter.

Sunoo is loudly recounting how a jump-scare made him nearly cry. Liz keeps teasing Heeseung for “flinching like a grandma.” Yujin’s arm is looped through Jay’s, who’s clearly enjoying the attention.

You squeeze into the bench between Jake and Heeseung, feeling the warmth of Jake’s thigh pressed casually against yours like it belongs there.

You’re halfway through wrapping some pork belly in lettuce when Heeseung nudges you lightly with his shoulder. “You held it together better than I thought,” he says, mouth tugging into a crooked grin.

You look up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “You just… seemed like the type to scream.”

“You’re the one who kept swallowing his own scream,” Liz chimes in with a laugh. “Like, Heeseung, be honest. You were dying in there.”

The table erupts in laughter. Heeseung doesn’t even deny it, just grins, eyes sliding back to you. “Still. You were pretty cool.”

Jake goes quiet beside you. You don’t notice. But his hand rests heavier on the bench now, a fraction behind your back.

The table shifts into smaller conversations. You sip your drink, unaware of Jake’s eyes watching the way Heeseung leans in when you laugh. Or how Heeseung always seems to address you when telling a story.

Jake says nothing. But the ice cubes in his water clink sharp under his grip.

You both get home after dinner. You're still laughing a little, still a bit tipsy from the soju and beer. Jake tosses his hoodie on the back of the couch, stretches. “You good?” he asks, glancing at you.

You nod, toeing off your shoes. “You were kind of a human shield back there.”

Jake smirks. “What can I say. Built different.”

You swat at him as you pass, and when you pause in the hallway, he follows. In the kitchen, you're pouring water, and he steps behind you. He’s too close, not quite touching you but you can feel his breath flutter over your neck. Goosebumps appear on your skin.

You turn around to say something and — bump into him. You both freeze.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

You laugh. He smiles. Then he tugs you into a hug, arms wrapping low around your waist. You don’t even question it anymore. Your arms slide around his shoulders. His face buries into your neck. You hold there. A few beats too long.

Then his hands start to move. Thumbs brushing over the hem of your shirt. Fingertips ghosting up your spine. You should say something, but instead you start leaning. Hips shifting closer. Your fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck.

You whisper, “You’re touchy tonight.”

Jake laughs, but it’s quieter now. “You didn’t mind seem to mind it in the train.”

“No,” you admit. “I didn’t, still don’t.”

When you pull back, it’s just enough to see his face. His eyes flick to your mouth. Then away. Then back again. He doesn’t let go of your waist. If anything his grip feels firmer, grounding you in this kitchen into his arms. Like you belong in them.

You tilt your head. “What?”

Jake hesitates. Then shrugs, too casual. “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, what is it?”

He exhales slowly through his nose. “Just… you and Heeseung were talking a lot tonight.”

You blink. “So?”

He shrugs again, but it’s tighter this time. Like he regrets saying anything. “Didn’t realize you were into that.”

You stare at him, utterly confused. “Into what?”

Jake’s gaze finally meets yours head-on. “Guys who flirt like they’re trying not to get caught.”

Your lips part, startled. “What? He wasn’t— Jake. Are you jealous?”

“No,” he says immediately. Too fast. Then, quietly “Maybe.”

It’s quiet. So quiet you can hear the tick of the fridge behind you. Your fingers flex where they still rest on the back of his neck. You step in all the way now chest to chest.

And you say, softly “There’s nothing going on with me and Heeseung, we’re just friends.”

Jake’s jaw clenches. “Good.”

His hands slide up your sides. “Are we also just friends?”

You tilt your head. “I’m not sure what you mean, but you’re acting like you want to prove something.”

“I do,” he says. Then leans in. His lips find yours and it’s like a fuse short-circuits. The kiss starts hard. His hands gripping your waist, your thighs pressing closer, the edge of the counter digging into your back. Jake doesn’t ease into it this time. He kisses like he means it, like he's been waiting all night.

You gasp into his mouth. His tongue sweeps past your lips, and you moan before you can stop it.

His hands drop to your thighs, squeezing, and then he’s lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. You spread your legs and he steps between them without breaking the kiss.

One of his hands slides up your bare thigh under your shirt. His touch slow, teasing, stopping just below where you want him. The other cups your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You tug at the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, chasing his mouth. Jake growls softly into the kiss low and pleased and murmurs against your lips “Still just friends?”

You shake your head, breathless. “Stop talking.”

But the specialness of the moment was ruined. As soon the words leave your lips Jake pulls back. He looks like a kicked puppy. A hot kicked puppy, with swollen lips and hair a mess. And it’d be hot if it weren’t for the look in his eyes.

Hurt.

Jake steps back completely. His hands fall from your waist like you burned him. “Right,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “Just… talking too much again.”

You blink. “Jake—”

But he’s already turning away, moving down the hallway. Your chest tightens, but you don’t follow. What would you even say? That it didn’t mean anything? That it did? Instead, you stare at the counter where he just stood. Your thighs are still spread. The air still tastes like his kiss.

The silence stretches between your two rooms that night like a canyon.

And it continues into the next day. You hear the door shut closed after he leaves for work. He’d usually come and say bye, sometimes even kissing the top of your head.

You’re not sure what you’re feeling when he just leaves. A strange hollowness seems to follow you throughout the day. Like a dark shadow you can’t quite shake.

You sit on the pleather couch, just staring at your screen as if the script would write itself. But no matter how much you push, no words get typed out. Or even worse, they do, but suck.

Whenever you try to concentrate your thoughts betray you. The kiss replaying like a music video over and over again. You force yourself reread your script for the fifth time.

It sucks. You have a writers block.

You want to scream, deadline fast approaching but you just can’t write today. You slam the laptop closed just as the front door opens.

Jake comes home after work, loosening his tie. Looks at you — slumped on the couch, laptop closed, a half-eaten granola bar on the table.

“You’re still in the same spot as this morning.” He notes, but you don’t register the concern in his voice.

“Congrats. You can see.” You flatly deadpan at end with your nerves. It was everything, the kiss, your confusing feelings, the writer’s block. Nothing seems to be going your way today.

He sets his bag down carefully, steps over to the couch, and lowers himself beside you. His knee touches yours.

“Is this… because of what happened yesterday?” he asks, voice softer now. Cautious. Like he’s not sure if he’s stepping on a landmine or something delicate.

You blink at him. Then scoff quietly. “No.”

His eyes flicker.

“I mean—” You sigh, finally looking at him. “Maybe. I don’t know. Everything’s just… loud right now. In my head.”

He stays quiet. He hates not being sure of you. Hates the idea that maybe you regret it. Jake’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. “Did I do something wrong?”

The question makes you soften. Just a little.

“No,” you say. “It’s not you. It’s this.” You gesture at the couch. The mess. The day. Your laptop. “I have a deadline tomorrow and I’ve written nothing. I’ve been sitting here for hours and everything I type feels like garbage.”

Jake breathes out. A small sound. His shoulders relax.

“Oh,” he says, almost relieved. Then he glances at you again — closer this time — eyes flickering to your mouth. “So it’s work.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Just work.”

A beat passes.

“You should’ve texted me,” he says, voice casual. “I could’ve picked up something sweet on the way home.”

“I didn’t know you were taking care of me now,” you say, teasing, tired.

Jake’s expression softens in that unreadable, dangerous way he has. “Someone has to.”

Then he moves closer.

You don’t stop him. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. Your cheek finds the soft place between his jaw and collarbone. He smells like cologne and fabric softener and something warmer underneath, something like home.

“You’re so tense,” he murmurs, thumb brushing lightly over your arm.

You sigh again, melting without meaning to. The hug isn’t just comforting it’s grounding. Familiar. He rubs your back, and something in your chest eases. You sit like that for a while, your limbs tangled loosely.

Then Jake leans back just a little, just enough to see your face. His hand slides down your arm, brushes over your bare knee, thumb pressing into your thigh.

You glance at him, blinking.

He tilts his head. “Want me to distract you?”

You go still. “What?”

Jake’s hand doesn’t move, but his eyes are darker now. Slower. Studying you. Like he’s weighing your silence, like he’s making sure you understand him.

You do. All too well. And the worst part is you want to be distracted. You want to forget everything.

You swallow. “Jake…”

But you don’t say no.

Not when his hand slides higher. Not when he shifts to face you fully, his knee pressing between yours, lips brushing your cheek. Not when he whispers, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

And when you breathe out, shaky and slow, that’s the only yes he needs. You allow him to guide you, lay flatly on the couch. And watch him.

You pupils are blown. His hands are slow at first, deliberate, almost reverent as they slide beneath the hem of your shorts. Jake swallows hard when you lift your hips for him, helping him pull them down your legs. His fingers tremble slightly as he sets them aside.

Your eyes are wide. Blown.

He hovers above you for a moment, one hand pressed against the couch cushion by your head. His eyes meet yours — and it’s not teasing, not smug. Just watchful. There’s a storm brewing beneath his gaze. A question, unspoken.

Still okay?

You nod, and your breath stutters. "Jake."

He leans in, brushes a kiss against your inner thigh, then another, higher. You flinch slightly at how tender it is. How intimate.

“Relax,” he murmurs again, voice low. His hands slide beneath your thighs and he shifts you forward. Closer to him. “Let me take care of you.”

You’re not sure if he’s talking about your stress, your block, your loneliness or himself. But when his mouth meets your lower lips he’s slow and devastating and you forget the question altogether.

He’s not rushed. Not greedy. He moves like someone making up for something, like this is a confession more than an act. A worship. Each flick of his tongue purposeful, his grip tightening when your thighs threaten to close around his head. He wants to be here. He needs to be here.

You gasp when Jake licks a long stripe from your hole up to your clit. He reaches for your thighs, setting them on his shoulders and then he digs in again.

He’s rougher this time, suckling on your clit. He moans, sucking with more passion when you grab his hair.

He let’s you rock his face on your pussy, squeezing your thighs.

And you… fall apart too easily. The slow build of pressure has been sitting inside your body all day, maybe longer. Weeks. The almost-kisses, the confusing touches, the way he looks at you like he wants to ruin you gently.

It all crests as his fingers dig into your hips and he murmurs against you, low and coaxing, “That’s it. Just like that.”

It’s almost too much. Not from stimulation but from the intimacy. From how seen you feel. You hear how wet you are, can feel Jake’s jaw work. And then – he adds fingers.

He slips his middle finger into you and your mind literally melts. Pleasure is all you can focus on right now, not caring about how loud you’re being or the way your hips keep humping his fingers deeper into you.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, back arching. “Jake—fuck—why are you—”

“Shh.” He hums into you, sending another wave through your body. “You needed this. That’s all.”

And when you finally come apart — shoulders tense, mouth parted, breath catching in your throat — Jake doesn’t stop. Lapping your juices up as if he’s a starving man. But it’s too much. You’re twitching, trying to pull back – but Jake has you locked in place.

He doesn’t let you go until you’re a whimpering and squirming mess, too sensitive, gasping his name like it’s a question.

He looks up at you from between your thighs, lips slick, eyes dark and unreadable.

You blink. “What the hell was that?”

Jake just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shifts forward so he’s hovering over you again, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back.

“You needed it,” he repeats, soft and serious. “That’s all.”

But you both know that’s not all. It’s not sex. But it’s not not, either. And neither of you have a single word for what this is now.

Instead of answering him, instead of letting yourself ruminate over what just happened, you pull him down into a kiss.

Jake seems surprised, gasping when your lips meet. But you don’t mind taking lead. You cup his face, legs wrapping around his waist as you kiss him as if your life depended on it.

He kisses you back, matching your urgency, your need. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the saltiness of it making you moan as you grind down against his thigh, chasing more.

He groans into your mouth, hands gripping your waist tighter.

“You’re—” a breathless peck to his lips, “such—” another kiss, “a good friend.”

The words slip out, stupid and soft, the kind of thing you didn’t really mean — or maybe meant differently in your head.

Jake freezes.

His mouth is still on yours, but he doesn’t kiss back this time. His brow creases, and after a beat, he pulls away. Resting his forehead against yours, his eyes flutter shut like he’s trying to hold something in. His body is still hard against you, unmistakably turned on — but that fire dims as he slowly leans back.

“I need to shower,” he says quietly, voice low and clipped. “Watch a movie when I come back?”

You nod, feeling his absence instantly as he pulls away. Your chest aches not just from arousal but something else now. Regret? Confusion? You’re not sure. You didn’t mean it like that. Not like just a friend.

But the damage is done.

When he returns, fresh from the shower, his hair damp and curling at the ends, he wraps you in a blanket before joining you on the couch.

You expect warmth. Closeness.

Instead, the blanket settles like a barrier that’s soft, but solid. His arm curls around you from behind, sure, but there’s distance in the way he holds you now. A subtle restraint, like he’s afraid of touching too much.

Your chest twists.

You almost say something about earlier, about the kiss, about what you meant, but the words sit thick in your throat.

Because the truth is, you didn’t mean to call him a friend like that. Not in that moment. Not when you were half out of breath, high off his touch. But it was easier to label it safe than admit how much you were spiraling inside. How close you felt. How badly you wanted him to stay.

You fidget under the blanket. Jake doesn’t speak.

Your hand twitches like it wants to reach for his. It doesn’t.

And maybe this is what hurts more than anything — not the silence, not even the awkwardness. But the knowing. That one wrong word was enough to push you back behind this invisible line neither of you knows how to cross again.

So you let him hold you. Quiet. Still.

Not because you're fine with it, but because you're scared if you speak, the rest will tumble out. Everything you don’t know how to ask for. Everything you're afraid he doesn't want.

And maybe… just maybe, if you wait, this will pass. If you keep the quiet gentle, maybe you can find a way to fix it later. To talk when the air doesn’t feel so fragile. When it won’t sound like a confession.

So you press your face into the pillow, trying not to breathe too loud. Trying not to need too much.

Behind you, Jake shifts a little closer, just barely. His arm tightens for a second, like he almost forgets the wall between you.

But then it loosens again.

And neither of you says a word.

The next morning, Jake comes into your room just before leaving for work. He leans down. Presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Like it's nothing. Then he straightens, gives you a small smile that’s polite and distant and he disappears.

You lie there, frozen.

At first, you try to brush it off. Tell yourself this is what you wanted, right? Just friends. No pressure. No awkwardness. But that kiss stings in a way you weren’t prepared for. So you do the only thing that makes sense in the moment.

You start ignoring him back.

When he texts, you leave him on read. When he walks into the room, you don’t look up. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. But beneath the chill, the silence, the shoulder-turning — your heart aches. You’re not mad. Not really. You just don’t know how to say I didn’t mean it like that.

You miss him. And worse — you want him. Not just the way he touched you, but the way he looked at you. Like you weren’t just some girl, but someone he couldn’t stop wanting.

You crave that again.

So by the time Thursday rolls around, your pride is fraying, your patience thinning. You need a reaction. Any reaction.

Which is why you’re sitting on the couch in shorts that toe the line between indecent and illegal, a tank top clinging to you like it’s been shrunk in the wash — waiting.

Not because you think this’ll fix it. Not because you're confident. But because it's the only language you know how to speak right now.

The door clicks open.

Jake walks in.

You don’t turn your head. Not right away. You hear the jingle of keys. The sound of shoes being kicked off. A pause.

Then, finally, his voice — calm, clipped, guarded.

“Didn’t realize this was a lingerie party.”

You glance up slowly, eyes wide with innocence. “Oh?” you murmur. “This? Just comfy.”

And even though you smile, your heart's pounding in your chest. Because you're not teasing — you're reaching.

Jake drops his bag by the door, loosens his tie, and walks past you — like it’s nothing. But his eyes… his eyes say something else entirely.Lingering. Burning.

You push further.

“I was feeling a little hot,” you say casually, stretching your arms overhead. The hem of your tank rises with you.

He opens the fridge. Grabs water. Doesn’t look at you.

“You don’t say.”

You blink. So he’s going to act like he doesn’t care?

You rise. Pad toward the kitchen on bare feet. “You’ve been quiet,” you say, voice light. “Everything okay?”

Jake shrugs, drinks. “Busy week.”

He won’t meet your eyes.

You step closer. “Or is it the fact that you had your mouth on me, and now you’re acting like we’re just roommates again?”

That gets his attention.

Jake finally turns — cool gaze sweeping over you, lingering a second too long on the slope of your chest, the bare skin of your thighs. Then his mouth quirks. Not a smile — more like a warning.

“We are just roommates,” he says. “Friends. You said so yourself.”

You blink. “Right,” you say tightly. “So friends can do that? Friends can—”

You don’t finish. You’re flustered now, and Jake sees it. Smirks.

You move closer, fast, needing the upper hand. Bold. You press a hand to his chest, slide your fingers down to his waistband. Your other hand rests on his shoulder. You glance up at him, lashes low.

“You’re hard.”

Jake doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. “So are we taking turns stating the obvious now?”

Your breath catches.

His voice is calm. Controlled. Cold.

“You’re the one who wanted no label,” he continues, tone light but jaw tight. “So this? It doesn’t count. Just a reaction, right?”

You falter.

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear.

“But you’re not really looking for just reactions, are you?”

And then he walks past you. And now you’re confused.

You tried not letting it get to you, but insecurity starts to seep in. Was something wrong with you? You’re chilling in your room when your phone pings. It’s the groupchat.

🌞noo:

PARTY THIS FRIDAYYYY BY THE RIVER. pls someone else bring the aux tho. jake’s taste in music makes me want to bite drywall

Jake:

you’ve literally danced to my shit before????

🌞noo:

yeah because i’m hot and adaptable not bcs it was good

💋 Liz:

sunoo let jake have one win this week 😭

Jay:

where is this exactly?

Yujin:

next to the trail behind the docks. we used to go there for bonfires remember?

You respond, half-joking:

cute. will there be skinny-dipping or should i bring a towel

🦌 Hee:

you can borrow mine 👀

You do a double look as you read his reply. Your stomach swoops but before you can reply Jake’s responding.

Jake:

relax.

🦌 Hee:

lmao. you relax. what, scared she’ll get cold?

🦊 you:

i love it when the groupchat turns into a pissing contest <3

Jay:

anyway i’m bringing tequila. yujin said she’s making jello shots.

Yujin:

no i didn’t

 Jay:

you will tho 😇

💋 Liz:

can we all agree on one thing?

🌞noo:

no drama

💋 Liz:

no hookups between friends

🦊 you:

girl be serious

Is what you type, but your mind is already wandering traitorously to a boy with black fluffy hair and a puppy persona.

It’s Friday. Jay picked you and Jake up and now here you were. Golden hour is kissing the riverbank. Music drifts lazily through bluetooth speakers. There's a cooler full of drinks half-submerged in the water. People are arriving in waves — towels, sandals, skin on display.

You're in a two-piece with a light cover-up that’s definitely more "slip" than "dress." You clock Jake the second he gets in Jay’s car. Black swim trunks. Messy hair. Oversized tee hanging off his shoulder. He meets your gaze once and looks away.

Heeseung’s the one who whistles when he sees you.

“You always gotta show up looking like a vacation?”

You snort. “And you always gotta flirt like it’s your job?”

He grins. “Not a job if I enjoy it.”

Jake’s nearby. Not close. Not far. Just watching with a drink in hand, jaw tight. Sunoo and Liz are already loudly arguing over who makes better playlists. Jay and Yunjin are sitting side by side but not touching, throwing little glances every few minutes.

But Jake?

He’s not talking much. Not laughing. He hasn’t really been spending any time with you over the past week. Not texting as much. And suddenly it matters more than it should.

You pretend you’re not flirting with Heeseung. Yes, you lean in when he jokes. Yes you laugh too loudly at something stupid he says. And maybe you’re watching Jake’s reactions when you do so.  

And he sees it. He sees the way you touch Heeeung’s shoulder when he makes you laugh. Sees the way Heeseung’s eyes seem to linger too long on your top. And something in him snaps.

Just then you lean into Heeseung, Jake sees you saying something to him and then you’re leaving.

He follows you before Heeseung can.

The bass from outside the bathroom thumps through the tiled walls. You’re alone, fixing your lip gloss in the mirror, but your hands are shaking from nerves. You had a feeling  he followed you.

The door creaks open. Jake steps in. Locks it.

You meet his eyes in the mirror.

“Bathroom’s taken,” you say, tone flat.

He doesn’t leave. Just watches you. “You and Heeseung having fun?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

Jake shrugs. “You’ve been laughing at all his jokes. Hanging off him like he’s your boyfriend.”

You spin around slowly, still leaning against the sink. “So what? You jealous?”

He doesn't answer right away. Just stares at you, jaw tight, chest rising a little faster than normal.

“Should I be?”

You swallow. “I don’t know. Should you?”

Jake takes one step closer. Then another. He’s toe-to-toe with you now, his hand brushing your hip.

You don’t back down. “We’re just friends, remember? Isn’t that what we are?”

He exhales through his nose. The corner of his mouth twitches.

Then, without warning, he steps between you and the sink, arms braced on either side of you, caging you in.

You’re breathless.

“I was doing just fine,” he murmurs, voice low, eyes scanning your face, “telling myself we’re just friends.”

Your heart stutters. “What changed?”

Jake leans in, nose brushing yours. “You.”

You blink. “Because I flirted?”

“Because you know exactly what you’re doing.” His voice sharpens, heated now. “Wearing that dress. Touching his arm. Laughing like that.”

“I was just being nice—”

“No, you were provoking me. And you wanted me to see it.”

Your stomach flips.

Jake’s hand slides to your hip, pulls you flush against him. You can feel him. Hard and restrained. His voice stays low and even, but it cuts through you.

“You wanted a reaction?” His hand slips under your cover-up, skims bare skin. “Now you’re going to deal with it.”

He presses you harder against the sink. His other hand wraps around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, claiming. You half whimper half gasp, chest rising and falling deeply as you let him do with you whatever he pleases. After all, this was what you wanted.

“I’m not gonna say it,” he whispers, mouth brushing your ear. “Not yet. But I’ll show you.”

You gasp as he hooks your leg up on the sink, exposing you. You dress hikes up, bunching by your waist as your panties are put on display.

His hand slides between your thighs, brushes over the fabric clinging to you, wet and sticky.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, amused. “And you’re trying to act like you don’t care.”

You clench around nothing, lips parted.

He pulls your panties to the side but doesn’t give you what you want. Just strokes you slow, maddening. Teasing. Fingers never quite brushing over your clit. He plays with you like that until you react.

You whimper.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, fingers circling your hole.

“Jake…”

“Say it louder.” He commands, stopping his movement.

“Please—”

He gives your pussy a sharp slap. The sting oddly pleasurable. But the unexpectedness of it, makes you flinch.

Your eyes fly open. “What—?”

“You like begging?” he says, tone cool, eyes half-lidded. “I think you do.”

He sinks to his knees, pulls your hips forward on the counter. You scramble for grip. His mouth is hot and unrelenting — but he keeps you right on the edge. Tongue circling your clit, tugging, sucking on it but never in the way he knows you like.

Eventually he gives in, circling your clit with his tongue, before working with his jaw. Loud suckling sound can be heard mixed with your loud whimpers.

But every time you start to fall apart, he backs off.

By the third time you’re panting. Desperate. “Jake—!”

He looks up at you, lips wet. “Say you want me.”

“I want you.” You cry out, rocking your hips (or trying to) against any surface. You’re practically buzzing with the need to release, shaking in want.

“No. Say you want to be mine.”

You falter. The words feel too big.

He doesn’t push. Just pulls back slightly — and the emptiness is unbearable.

“Say it,” he says again, softer now. “Or I’ll stop.”

Your hands fist in his hair.

“I’m yours.”

His eyes flash with something akin to victory and hunger.

“That’s better.”

He stands, yanks your panties down, and pushes into you in one smooth thrust. You want to curse, the stretch almost too much. You feel too full and at the same time you want more.

 Your moan is caught halfway in your throat. He kisses you like it’s punishment, like it’s worship. One hand on your throat. The other cradling the back of your head like you’re glass.

“You make me fucking insane,” he groans, hips snapping up into you, rougher now. “You want danger? You want someone to claim you?”

“Yes,” you choke out. “Yes.”

He fucks you like it’s a message. Like he’s carving his name into you. Hips relentlessly pushing into you.

You whimper, the rough pace Jake set making you cock drunk.

Jake notices, the hand around your throat sinks lower, covering youe tit as Jake leans down.

He kisses your neck softly, his hips snapping into you. He’s so close to you that he’s almost humping into you. Your body moving with his whenever he thrusts into you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling harshly and Jake bites you. Literally bites you. And then, he’s sucking a love bite on your skin. Right below your throat. For everyone to see.

After, when you’re trembling and dazed and the mirror’s fogged with heat, he doesn’t say a word. Just adjusts your cover-up gently, tucks your hair behind your ear, and kisses your forehead like you didn’t just break each other in a public bathroom.

The morning after the party you’re tired. Hungover. Emotionally tapped. You fumble through your kitchen, making tea like your body doesn’t ache with memory — like Jake didn’t fuck you in a bathroom last night so hard you still feel him in you.

He’s already sat behind the kitchen table, almost as if he was waiting for you to wake up. At first neither of you say anything.

Until you can’t take it anymore.

“What?” you ask with more bite than you intended.

Jake’s jaw is tight. “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms. “There’s nothing to—”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t do that again.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Pretend it didn’t matter.”

Silence.

“You always do this,” Jake says, voice low. “Something happens, and you brush it off. You act like I’m imagining it.”

You open your mouth — and he shakes his head.

“You’re not confused. You’re scared.”

Your breath catches. You hate how right he is. He always sees you. Even when you don't want to be seen.

You try again. “Jake, we were drunk. The party—”

“I wasn’t drunk,” he says. “You know I wasn’t.”

His eyes are sharp, unreadable. “Were you?”

You hesitate. Shake your head once.

He exhales, jaw flexing — then takes a step forward. “So just say it.”

You take a shaky step back. “Say what?”

“That you want me.”

Your back hits the wall. “Jake—”

He pins you with his eyes, chest rising and falling. “Say it.”

You can’t look at him. “Why? So you can say I told you so?”

“No,” he says quietly. “So I can finally touch you without wondering if you’ll run the second we’re done.”

You grab his shirt, fisting it near his stomach, and pull him in until your breath fans his lips. “I want you,” you whisper. “All of you.”

His hands lift slow, intentional, and cup your face like you're something breakable. His thumbs brush your cheeks. He tilts your chin up, studies you.

"Okay," he says, like a vow.

When he kisses you, it’s not hurried or hungry. It’s deep. His mouth moves over yours like he’s memorizing, reclaiming. And when he finally pulls back, you're breathless.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “How you sound. How you taste. How you fall apart.”

His hand slides under your shirt, resting over your stomach not rushing, just feeling.

“And I’m not gonna stop this time,” he says. “Not until you forget anyone else ever looked at you.”

You gasp when his fingers dip lower, but he still doesn’t move fast. He lingers. Draws circles on your thigh like he’s playing with patience, watching you twitch.

He likes it. The way you can’t stay still. The way your breath comes shorter now, even though he’s barely touched you.

“You’re squirmy,” he murmurs, amused. “Already?”

“Jake,” you whisper, nails digging into his arms.

His gaze flicks up, sharp and dark. “Use your words.”

“You want me?” Jake asks, voice quiet but laced with heat.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes wide.

He studies you, gaze steady. “Then prove it.”

Your heart skips. “I will. Jake—” you reach for him, desperate now, “I swear, anything.”

A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face.

“Yeah? Then let me try something,” he murmurs.

He produces a silk tie. The same one he wore this week. The same one that still smells faintly like cologne and heat and him. You hum in anticipation, you think he’s probably going to tell you to turn around and tie your wrists together. But you’re caught off guard when he speaks.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs.

You do. The tie ghosts across your cheek, a featherlight tease, before he slips it around your eyes and knots it behind your head — tight enough to hold, loose enough to keep you comfortable. Your breath catches as darkness wraps around you. It heightens everything. And everything is laced with Jake. It’s like you’re in a personal Jake-terrarium, his scent all around you, his hands ghosting over your arms, shoulders and back. He laces your fingers when you feel him against your ear, warm and close.

“You’re not gonna run this time?” His voice is low, close, threading against the shell of your ear.

“No,” you whisper. “I want this.”

“You want me,” he corrects. His fingers brush your jaw, tracing down your neck. “Say it.”

“I want you,” you repeat, voice needy.

Jake hums — satisfied, not smug. Then his hands take yours, and he guides you. Carefully. Silently. Every step feels electric. You don’t know where he’s taking you — until the air shifts, cooler now, tinged with the crisp morning air.

You’re on the balcony.

The city hums below. Too far to hear, close enough to feel. You’re hidden from view — probably. Not completely. It doesn’t matter.

Your hands rest on the railing, and Jake’s voice returns, low and calm behind you.

“Stay still.”

You do.

He steps in close, chest against your back, fingers slipping under your shirt, sliding it up, baring you to the sky.

“This okay?” he asks.

You nod, but it’s not enough.

“Words,” he reminds you, breath warm on your shoulder.

“Yes, Jake.”

The tie around your eyes tightens with your inhale. The air is cool, but Jake’s hands are fire.

He kneels behind you.

You feel his mouth first — soft, reverent — trailing kisses along the backs of your thighs, then up higher. You slightly bend over, hands gripping the balcony railing as if it’ your lifeline. And in a way it was. Because just one slip ad it could end badly – but you trust Jake. Trust him to take care of you.

His hands grip your hips. Gently at first. Then firmer. Possessive. And he holds you in place, watching as you try to rub your thighs together, but when his grip is too tight you switch to rocking your hips back and forward. it doesn’t give you any friction and that’s when Jake’s hands slide towards your butt, then under your butt, before he’s slippin one hand to your inner thighs.

But he doesn’t touch you there yet. He simply pushes his face into your clothed butt, nose pressing right where you need him. And then he says,

“You smell like you’ve been thinking about this all day.”

You whimper. He chuckles — low, pleased.

Then his fingertips glide up inside of you and you gasp. He was gentle, yet powerful. You spread your legs further, bending down even more so your chest presses against the cold railing.

“You’re soaked,” he says as he keeps pushing two digits in and out of you in a scissoring motion.  Your hips twitch. He presses you still with one hand, the other pulling at your lacy panties.

“Did you wear these for me?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe, wiggling your cunt over his hand.

“Did you want me to find you like this? Desperate. Squirming.”

“Yes,” you breathe, your pretty hole practically vibrating with the way you keep doing kegles.

His finger circles your clit — barely there. And you moan, knuckles white from how hard you’re holding onto the railing.

“Hold still,” he murmurs.

You try. You fail.

He tsks under his breath and let’s go of the panties. They snap. The touch stinging. You immediately still completely. “Didn’t I say still?”

You gasp. “I’m sorry—”

Jake strokes deeper once, then pulls away. You whine at the loss.

He loves this. You can feel it in the way he exhales — slow, in control. You’re on fire. He’s the one holding the match. He stands up then, hugging you from behind. He presses his hips against you and you moan, rocking yourself back into him. Jake kisses your neck, and it’s all you can focus on.

But his hands are already pulling your panties down, he lightly pats you on your butt and you step aside a bit, letting them fully fall down. You don’t worry about someone seeing you two, you were too high up for pedestrians to see and your neighbors had the view obstructed by the railing. But still, you shiver once he bares you to the outside world.

But Jake doesn’t worry, he’s back on his knees as soon as your panties hit the ground. Then one finger slips back in. Then another. He keeps them deep as he pushes them in, and out. In a hook motion, reaching the most pleasurable spot inside of you.  His whole palm is on your cunt, with his thumb teasing your clit in light, endless circles.

“You feel that?” he whispers, mouth against your ear now. “How perfect you are like this? Bare. Open. Mine.”

You whimper. “Jake—”

“Not yet.”

He pulls his fingers out. You nearly sob.

Then he brings them to your lips. “Open.”

You do. He pushes them past your mouth, slow and steady, watching as you suck him clean.

“Good girl,” he says.

You nearly come from those two words alone.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod frantically, tie still in place, heart pounding out of your ribs. Jake pushes and hold you into his desired position. Now you’re standing straight, looking as if you’re just looking over the city (if only it weren’t for the tie still tied around your head), and Jake is holding you from behind – as if he’s just hugging you.

Your head cocks to the side, and Jake nuzzles into it. His right hand disappears behind you and you can hear him shuffling behind you.

Then you feel it — his cock, thick and warm against your entrance.

“You sure you’re not gonna run again?” he murmurs, teasing the tip against you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper. “Just—please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me,” you plead, grinding yourself against his dick. And Jake finally pushes his hard dick into you. You don’t think you’ve ever been stretched by a dick this good and you kind of stop breathing. The lack of oxygen and vision made the feeling of his dick ten times better.

And you know Jake feels it too. He groans as soon as his cockhead stuffs you, hips stilling and stuttering for a moment.

You whine, squeezing him in a silent command to give you more, more, more.

“More Jakey, please,” you whine, he tsks but complies. Slowly stuffing you full.

He doesn’t give either of you time to move before he’s thrusting into you. Slowly. So slowly you think you know how every vein looks, how every ridge looks and you still want more.

Jake fucks you with intent. Deep, deliberate strokes that claim you inch by inch. You’re crying out, gripping the railing, blindfolded and desperate. He fucks you like he’s memorizing every sound you make. Like this isn’t just sex it’s proof.

That you’re not going anywhere.

That you’re his.

And when he finally lets you fall apart, it’s to the sound of his voice behind you, whispering like a spell

“That’s it. Good girl. Let them hear how mine you are.”

Your body’s still trembling, silk tie slipping down your nose, the air cooling your skin. Jake doesn’t speak right away. He just holds you from behind, pressing a kiss to your shoulder — then another, higher this time, near your neck.

You feel his heartbeat against your back. Fast. Just like yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

You start to laugh, just a little. Maybe from adrenaline. Maybe because you don’t know what else to do.

Jake gently unties the blindfold, letting it fall away. He cups your jaw, turns you to face him, and really looks at you.

“Too much?” he asks softly.

“No,” you say too quickly. Then realizing that might sound dismissive you add, “It was… good. Intense. But good.”

He studies you for a beat, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. You think he might tease you, say something cocky but instead, he kisses your forehead.

Then your temple.

Then your lips.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to protest.

Carries you in, literally. Like you weigh nothing. Like you’re something precious.

He runs a warm bath and adds eucalyptus salt like it’s routine. His hands are all over you — not sexually now, just present. Stroking your back as you sink into the water. Brushing damp hair from your face. Letting you lean into his chest when you finally relax.

You close your eyes. Not because you're tired. Because it’s easier than letting him see how much this is affecting you.

He still sees it.

“You okay?” he asks again, quieter now, as if he knows you’re trying not to feel anything too real.

“I’m fine,” you mutter. But your fingers are clinging to his forearm.

Jake notices. Smiles a little.

“I always kiss your temple after,” he says casually, like it’s a fact. “Even before tonight.”

Your eyes snap open. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s where you melt the most.”

You scoff. “That’s not—” But you trail off. Because yeah. You probably do.

Once you’re dry, wrapped in a soft towel and oversized shirt that smells like him, he pulls you into bed. Doesn’t let go.

You lie there together, limbs tangled, and it should be awkward, but it’s not. Not until the words slip out of your mouth — too fast, like everything else with you lately.

“So… what now?”

Jake shifts to look at you. “Now I take you on a real date.”

You blink. “Even if we’re already fucking?”

“Especially if we’re already fucking.”

That makes you laugh. So does he. Your noses bump as you kiss again, slower this time. Lazy. Sweet.

Afterwards you head to a late lunch — the usual post-party ritual. Sunoo picked the spot: some cozy place with overpriced eggs and bottomless mimosas. Everyone’s a little sluggish, mildly hungover, and deeply curious.

You and Jake walk in together.

At first, no one clocks it.

But then you slide into the booth next to Jake. And his hand is still resting on the small of your back when you sit. You’re glowing. He looks way too pleased.

Sunoo is the first to notice.

His eyes narrow. “Wait…”

Jake doesn’t say anything. Just leans back, throws his arm casually behind you like it’s nothing like it’s normal and smirks.

Sunoo gasps.

“WAIT.”

Jay lifts an eyebrow over his coffee. “Here we go.”

“Is this—are you two—” Sunoo points between you like he’s solving a murder. “Did you finally do it?”

Liz drops her fork. “Finally?”

Yujin gasps, slapping Jay’s arm. “I told you something was up after the haunted house.”

Jay just sips his drink. “Yeah, but I figured we’d all be grandparents before they figured it out.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything at first. He just tilts his head, eyes flicking between the two of you. There’s a little smile tugging at his mouth — you think it’s fond, but you also see the tiniest flicker of something else. Surprise, maybe. Something more complicated. Still, he raises his glass like a toast.

“Well,” he says smoothly. “I guess Jake finally manned up.”

You look at him, curious, but Jake doesn’t flinch. “Someone had to,” he replies, calm and steady.

Sunoo clutches his chest. “So it’s real? Like real real?”

Jake nods. And then like it’s not a big deal at all he laces your fingers with his under the table.

You don’t pull away.

“Wait,” Liz says, eyes darting around. “Have you guys, like… had the talk?”

Jake looks at you. “Have we?”

You smile at him, that private kind of smile only he seems to get. “I think last night counted.”

Sunoo practically combusts.

“OH MY GOD THEY TOTALLY FUCKED.”

You slap your palm over your face. Jake just laughs, entirely unbothered. “Thanks for keeping it classy, Sunoo.”

Heeseung raises his brows. “Bathroom?”

Jay chokes on his drink.

“Not confirming or denying,” Jake says but he’s grinning now, actually grinning like he just won the lottery and isn’t even trying to hide it.

“You’re disgusting,” Yujin says through a laugh, but she’s clearly happy for you. “But like, in a cute way. I guess.”

“Disgustingly overdue,” Liz mutters. “Seriously, this has been months of tension. I deserve a gift basket.”

Sunoo nods, dead serious. “With candles. And at least one thank-you note.”

You roll your eyes but you’re still smiling.

And underneath the noise, the teasing, the laughter, Jake leans closer to your ear. Low enough that no one else hears.

“Mine,” he murmurs.

You look at him. “Yours.”

And for once, saying it feels easy.

[mssishipi]

payback! — psh

Fortunately, you got the best, filthiest fuck of your life with your boyfriend’s friends. Unfortunately, Sunghoon doesn’t tolerate sneaky sluts. ─── In which Sunghoon's dick does all the disciplining :)

content tags/warnings: cheating, vouyerism (video), mention of double penetration, sunghoon smokes, jayke cameo, slut shaming, objectification, nymphomania implications. uhm. angst at the end? explicit content (smut): revenge unprotected sex, spitting, slapping, headlocking, throat fucking, mild pussy eating, squirting, power imbalance, creampie, dub conish. MDNI. WC: 5.4K

“Ahh—fuck! Harder! Want it harder! Please, please, please!”

Sunghoon sat low on the sofa, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. His other hand clutched the phone tightly, knuckles slightly white around the edges. His gaze was fixed, unmoving, pupils dilated.

He took a long, deliberate drag from his vape. Smoke filled his lungs, a bitter warmth crawling up his throat as he leaned his head back and exhaled slowly toward the ceiling, watching the vapor curling at the air.

His jaw tightened, thumb hovering, he paused the video at just the right moment: your mouth stretched open, eyes glazed and hungry. Jay was buried deep inside you, and you were still trying to force Jake’s cock past your lips like you couldn’t get enough.

Sunghoon should’ve known better than to trust a fucking slut like you.

He let the video play, it was torture, but he didn’t stop. He watched—watched you, his girlfriend, on your hands and knees, getting railed back and forth by the two people he called "friends".

Every sound bled through the speaker: your squeals, your moans, the choked-out begs between thrusts. You sounded wrecked, gone, cockdrunk out of your mind.

“Jay, man, take a video of me too,” Jake muttered.

The camera shook as it switched angles. Sunghoon blinked slowly. You yelped when Jake pushed into you from behind, face buried into a pillow, your ass bouncing from the impact. His grip clamped tight around your waist, dragging you into every thrust.

Jake bit his lip, one hand locking on your hip as he slammed into you harder. When he noticed the camera again, he flashed a quick grin, threw up a lazy west side sign, and laughed, right before burying himself even deeper.

Sunghoon didn’t realize his hand had moved until the sound of shattering glass snapped through the room. His phone hit the wall hard and fell to the floor in pieces.

He stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on the broken fragments scattered across the floor. His pulse throbbed in his ears, Fuck his friends. Fuck everything. And fuck you for letting them touch you. For letting them use you like that. Was his dick not enough? Was his attention not enough? You couldn’t stop at one—you had to take both of them?

His hands curled into fists at his sides. Heat crawled up his neck, his fingers trembled at rage, disbelief, something else he didn’t want to name. And God—fuck him, for the way his cock throbbed through it all.

—

“Baby! Miss you, miss you, miss you so much! How was your trip?”

Your voice spilled out with that same sugary tone you always used. You threw your arms around his neck, clinging tight, lips grazing his cheek, trailing up to his jaw, then to his mouth, like you had no idea what you’d done. Like you hadn’t fucked two of his friends like the filthy little cum-soaked toy you were.

Sunghoon stood still.

Not because he didn’t feel anything—but because he felt too much. Anger sat thick behind his ribs, it made his skin itch. Made his muscles tighten. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His jaw locked as he stared past you, eyes locked on the clock ticking against the wall. Each second felt louder than your voice. Each tick reminded him to hold the line.

Your perfume clung to him, so sweet that it made him fucking sick.

God, you really had the audacity. Clinging to him like you missed him. As if those bruises on your hips weren’t from someone else’s hands. As if your throat hadn’t been used just days ago while he was away.

Pathetic.

That’s all he could think. You were pathetic.

A lying, moaning, desperate little slut who’d do anything for attention. Spread your legs for the first hand that touched you, then crawl back to him with that same fake innocence in your eyes. How many times had he fallen for it? How many times had you smiled up at him with those soft lips, pretending to be his and his alone?

He almost laughed again.

“Did you miss me?” you whispered against his ear, voice sweet like sugar melting over rot. You didn’t even know what you’d walked into.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

You beamed at him. He smiled back, just enough to keep the game going. Just enough to keep his hands from wrapping around your throat.

You didn’t deserve anger, not the full weight of it. You didn’t deserve to be screamed at or broken down. No. You deserved to be seen for exactly what you were and stripped of the illusion you wore so well.

That’s why Sunghoon was quiet now, laid back against the headboard, watching you beautifully ride his dick.

You rode him with that same practiced rhythm, hips rising and falling, skin gleaming with sweat. Your hands rested on his chest, fingers curling against his skin as you moaned his name.

“Ahh! Hoonie!” you gasped, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut.

Sunghoon eyebrow twitch at the way your pussy clings to his dick. His jaw slackened, eyes traveling from the way your breasts bounced with every grind, down to where your slick folds swallowed his cock, again and again.

His grip on your waist tighten, He wondered if you even knew you were showing him your tells. The little things—how your hands trembled slightly, how your moans pitched too perfectly, how your eyes kept darting open to check his face when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Guilt, maybe. Or fear. Or just the habit of someone used to performing for an audience.

He let his thumb slide along your waist. “You’re working hard tonight,” he said finally, “trying to earn something?”

You froze for half a second. Then gave a breathy laugh, hips rolling again. You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed that spot deep inside you, the one that made your thighs shake.

Sunghoon leaned in close, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Keep going,” he whispered. “I want to see how far you’ll go pretending like you haven’t fucked any man behind my back.”

Your breath caught hard in your throat. Eyes shot open, wide, startled—exposed. Panic spilled into your face faster than you could mask it. You looked to the side, slowly, like maybe you’d misheard, like maybe he hadn’t just said what he said.

Sunghoon sat back slightly, his eyes fixed on yours, that smirk on his face was evident and it wasn't playful, it was cruel.

You scrambled instinctively, trying to lift yourself off him, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear your own breath.

Sunghoon hands clamped around your waist. In one swift, punishing motion, he dragged you back down onto his cock, forcing you to take him all the way to the base. You let out a sharp squeal, a breathy cry of surprise as your walls clenched around him. Your hands braced against his chest, legs trembling around his hips.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. “You were doing so well.”

He began to thrust up into you, deep, grinding against that spot that made your body betray you. You couldn’t stop the way your breath hitched, the way your eyes fluttered shut even as shame colored your face.

“S-Sunghoon…”

“Shhh, baby,” Sunghoon whispered, almost gentle. A sick mockery of comfort. His hand slid up your thigh, then curled around your waist again. “Just ride it out. You’re so good at it.”

He smiled up at you hazy. Enjoyment, yes, but laced with contempt.

“You fucked them like this too?” he asked softly “Bounced on their cocks just like this?” His eyes dragged over your body, taking in the way your tits moved with every thrust, the way your mouth opened like you couldn’t breathe. “Moaned their names the way you moan mine?”

You whimpered, trying to press against his chest, to pull back but the moment your hips lifted, he slammed back up into you sharply. You cried out, your hands trembling where they pressed against him.

“Oh? What’s wrong?” he breathed, tightening his grip on your hips to keep you from moving. “It was easy when it was Jay, right? When it was Jake choking you on his cock. You didn’t stop them.”

He fucked up into you harder now, each thrust punishing. “But now you’re shy? Now you can’t take it?”

His other hand moved between your legs, thumb brushing your clit, with just enough pressure to send your body jolting. A cry left your throat, your hips twitched instinctively, confused between pulling away and pushing closer.

Sunghoon watched every reaction. His smile widened when your head dropped forward, shoulders shaking, your entire body caught in the unbearable space between pleasure and shame.

You whimpered, a sound choked with emotion—humiliation, arousal, panic. Everything at once. Your thoughts scattered, dizzy, your chest heaving as tears welled in your eyes threatening to fall.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” Sunghoon murmured. “On my cock. After spreading your legs for my friends like a filthy, greedy little thing—you’re still going to fall apart for me.”

His thrusts didn’t stop. He kept you pinned, grinding deep inside you, thumb flicking against your swollen clit.

“You are a slut, aren’t you?” he breathed. “Mine or not—you were made for this. Made to take cock. Any cock. As long as it fills you up.”

Your body jerked as a sob hitched in your throat, but before you could look away, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back.

His eyes were on fire. Cold rage underneath that made you whimper in fear. “Look me in the eyes,” he said. “I want to see what’s left. What’s left of your fucking dignity when I make you cum on the cock you were supposed to stay loyal to.”

You trembled under his gaze, lips parting, chest stuttering for breath as his thumb circled harder, relentless, synced with each thrust.

Your orgasm built fast, twisted in shame. You couldn’t hold back the moan that tore from your throat as your walls fluttered violently around his cock.

“S-sorry… I—I am… I’m sorry,” you whimpered, voice breaking as your orgasm dragged through you. Your body was shaking, overwhelmed, your skin burning with the heat.

Your head felt light as if you might float away if not for the solid grip of his hands anchoring you to him. He was still thrusting into you, slower now, but just as deep—riding your high, using your own climax as fuel to fuck you further into submission.

“Sorry?” Sunghoon echoed, a dark, breathless laugh curling from his throat. “That’s it?”

You choked on another moan, trying to pull away, but he held you tight, one hand still in your hair, the other sliding to your throat again keeping you in place like a doll.

“That’s your apology? You cum on my cock like a fucking whore and think sorry makes it better?”

He tilted his head, eyes locked on your tear-streaked face. “You begged them too, didn’t you?” he continued, “Bet you moaned for Jay just like that. Bet you looked up at Jake with those same cute innocent eyes."

He thrust up harder, forcing a strangled moan from your throat, and you hated that it felt good.

“That’s what makes you sorry?” he hissed. “Not the cheating. Not the lies. Not the way you spread your legs the second I was gone. No—you’re sorry because I found out.”

Your lips parted to deny it, but nothing came. Just another whimper, another shaky breath.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say what you are.”

You blinked at him, glassy-eyed, barely able to think past the ache between your legs, the fog in your brain.

Sunghoon’s hand came down hard across your breast, the sharp smack echoing through the room. You cried out, gasping as your back arching from the sting, skin blooming with heat where his palm landed.

“Say it.”

“I’m a slut,” you whispered, eyes shutting tight.

He didn’t move right away. Just sat beneath you, cock still buried deep, like a man in complete control. Then he leaned in, face close, his lips brushing your ear. “What?” he murmured. “Louder.”

You hesitated, swallowing the shame thick in your throat.

“I—” your voice caught, but his grip on your waist tightened, and he gave one slow, grinding thrust up into you that made your stomach clench and your throat tighten.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he said, each word coiled with threat.

“I’m a slut,” you said louder this time, voice shaking.

He chuckled, he brought both hands down hard on your ass, your body jolting forward instinctively. “Now ride it, bitch,” he said flatly.

He laid back, arms folding behind his head, eyes locked on you. You sobbed softly, body trembling, tears dripping from your chin. Your legs felt like they were giving out beneath you, but you moved, slowly, awkwardly, lifting your hips and sinking back down onto his cock. You whimpered from the stretch, your body clenching in protest.

It wasn’t pleasure anymore. Not really.

Your slick had dried, leaving just the raw friction of swollen flesh and too much use. Each downward push made you flinch, made your breath hitch. But you moved anyway, grinding your hips weakly, trying to obey.

“Why are you crying?” Sunghoon muttered.

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t even look at him. You kept your eyes down, throat tight, lips trembling as more tears rolled down your cheeks.

“After everything you did, you’ve got the fucking audacity to cry?”

You flinched, but kept moving, trying to hold yourself up as your knees wobbled.

“I make you cum—again—even after what you did, and this is what I get?” he sneered. “You ride me so fucking ugly. Limp, clumsy, pathetic."

You blinked through your tears, heart sinking deeper into your chest.

“This is how you repay me?” he continued. “Slutting around behind my back, then giving me this?” His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into sore flesh

You gasped, hands trembling where they braced against his chest.

“If you’re so sorry,” Sunghoon said flatly, “then show it. Stop running your filthy mouth. It’s disgusting.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Off,” he ordered. “This is getting fucking boring.”

Your breath caught, but you obeyed. Your legs shook as you slowly lifted yourself off of him, wincing from the rawness and the ache. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, swallowing hard, trying to steady your breath.

Sunghoon stepped off the bed, ignoring you entirely as he grabbed his vape from the nightstand. He took a long drag, smoke curled around his lips as he exhaled, head tilted slightly, eyes locked on you.

You stared at him, uncertain. His gaze didn’t soften, the moment your eyes met his, your stomach turned. That look—cold, disgusted, fully aware of your every weakness—made your skin crawl. You instinctively tried to cover your body with your arms, shrinking under the weight of it all.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Kneel.”

You hesitated.

“Kneel,” he repeated, slower, deadlier.

You dropped to your knees, the floor cool against your skin. Your palms settled on your thighs, head lowered, trying not to cry again.

He took another drag before stepping closer, towering over you. "You know what to do. Hmm?"

You nodded faintly, lips already parting as instinct took over. You leaned forward, pressing your mouth to the tip of his cock, licking slowly around the head, soft, tentative, almost apologetic.

Above you, Sunghoon sighed, his head tilting back slightly, mouth parting. His hand slid into your hair, fingers tangling at the roots. His hips rolled forward without warning, forcing more of him past your lips.

You choked softly but didn’t stop. You pressed your tongue along the underside, taking him deeper, your jaw stretching. Your eyes fluttered shut, tears slipping again.

You heard him breathe out again, pleased but quiet, watching the way you submitted—how your cheeks hollowed, how spit clung to your lips and chin.

“Deeper,” he muttered. “Don’t make me do all the work.”

You moved, slow but desperate to please, sucking him in until your lips touched the base, your nose brushing his skin. Your throat tightened, gagging softly, but you held him there, swallowing around him. Your hands instinctively gripped his thighs, nails pressing into the skin as you tried to steady yourself through the strain in your jaw and the tightness in your throat.

“Keep your hands off me.”

Sunghoon’s voice cut through. You froze, then slowly let your hands fall, resting them on your own thighs instead. The position made you feel even smaller, more exposed. Forced to hold yourself steady without any support, you sank deeper into the reality of what this was.

He didn’t look down at you with affection. There was no care in his touch, no softness in his grip. He simply pushed your head forward again, guiding you down until you were swallowing him whole.

Even with the heat in your cheeks, even as tears lined your lashes and your chest tightened with shame, you felt the ache between your legs.

The growing slickness, the way your pussy clenching with each shallow breath you took.

You hated how the humiliation bled into arousal, how the sting of his words and the weight of his control made your body want.

You sucked him deeper, every wet glide of your tongue along the underside of his shaft made your own thighs press together. Your slick coated your folds.

Sunghoon’s fingers tightened in your hair again, holding your head still as he began to thrust slowly into your mouth, using you at his pace.

“Ahh—fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, head falling back as the pleasure surged low in his gut. His stomach tightened, breath ragged. He bit down on his bottom lip, then forced his gaze back down.

There you were—eyes wide, teary, locked on him.

Your lips stretched around his cock, spit dripping down your chin, but your gaze didn’t falter. Those wide, innocent eyes. That soft expression. The contradiction of it all. His thighs tensed, another shaky breath escaping him—half sigh, half moan.

God, you looked perfect.

Too perfect.

Perfect in a way that made his chest ache. You were beautiful—painfully so. Beautiful in your face, your mouth, your movements. Beautiful in how you took him, how your tongue still moved even when your jaw had to hurt, how you kept trying to please him no matter how much you were falling apart.

It infuriated him.

You were so beautiful, it made him angry.

Sunghoon took a long drag from his vape, chest rising slowly as the heat burned in his lungs. The smoke curled in his throat while his other hand tightened in your hair, and he began to move faster.

Your whines were muffled around his cock as you struggled to take him, the slick, wet gagging sounds filling the room. He exhaled the smoke in a slow stream, the haze rising as his head fell back, a groan tearing from his chest.

The pleasure was overwhelming. Your mouth, your heat, the way your throat tightened around him—it all crashed into him at once. Every sound you made echoed through his body, feeding every lust on his brainstream.

His muscles tensed, jaw clenched, hips grinding forward again and again, chasing that high while watching you choke on him.

Painfully perfect.

Sunghoon took a drag from his vape again, his other hand gripped the back of your head, and without warning, he pushed you down until your nose pressed to his skin.

His hips stilled. He let out a long, guttural moan as he came, the pleasure crashing through him in heavy waves. Warmth spilled into your throat, his breath caught in his chest, and the smoke slipped out around his lips before it ever reached his lungs—lost in the force of the moment.

His stomach flexed, fingers tightening in your hair as he held you there, making sure you swallowed everything.

“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving.

The room fell quiet for a moment, just the sound of his breath, the faint hiss of the vape in his hand, and your muffled gasp as he finally let you go.

You pulled back slowly, coughing once, spit trailing from your lips as you caught your breath, face flushed and soaked, lips swollen from use.

Sunghoon looked down at you—still high off the orgasm, but his gaze already sharpening again. “On the bed,” he said. “Lay on your back. Spread your legs.”

You hesitated for a moment, throat dry. Slowly, you stood, legs trembling beneath you. Your mouth opened as your voice cracked out. “L-Love…”

His expression shifted instantly. The glare he gave you made your breath catch, your body stiffen. “Who said you could talk?” he snapped. “I gave you an order. Lay down. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You swallowed hard, heart thudding in your chest. The word stayed frozen on your tongue as you climbed onto the bed. You lay back slowly, your hands slid to your thighs, hesitating again until you saw him watching.

Without another word, you parted your legs, exposing yourself fully, the slick between your thighs sticking to your skin, making everything feel vulnerable.

Sunghoon stared down at you, his thoughts turned over themselves again, looping in quiet intensity.

You were pathetic. And somehow, you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. That contradiction burned in him. You had the perfect face for submission. The perfect body for ruin. The perfect pussy.

Sunghoon climbed onto the bed slowly, knees sinking into the mattress as he settled between your legs. His eyes never left your face, watching every twitch, every breath. You gasped softly as his hands reached for you, fingers sliding along the inside of your thighs before spreading you wider with both hands.

His thumbs parted you carefully, deliberately, exposing the soft pink flesh that throbbed under his gaze.

Your chest rose and fell with short, anxious breaths. Heat flushed across your skin as his eyes moved lower, tracking every inch of you. He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting over your slick entrance, close enough to make you twitch.

“Mine,” Sunghoon growled, the word thick with possession.

You moaned at just the sound of it—your body reacting before he even touched you.

His mouth found you, tongue dragged along your folds, swirling over your labia with deliberate pressure. The heat of his mouth, the wet glide of his tongue—it sent a pulse straight through your core. Your hips jerked upward, instinctive, desperate for more.

"'Hoonie!"

His nose pressed against your clit as he pushed his face deeper into you, letting your thighs squeeze around his head. The rough drag of his tongue, the way he flicked it just beneath your clit before flattening it again—it made your eyes roll back, a breathless cry tumbling from your lips.

Sunghoon’s hands slid up your body, settling on either side of your breasts. He kneaded them with slow, heavy pressure, watching you from beneath his lashes, eyes half-lidded.

He flicked his tongue faster, lips locking around your clit, sucking it once. Then his fingers found your nipples, pinching them lightly between his thumbs and forefingers. Your back arched instantly, the sudden stimulation shooting straight through your chest.

You cried out, overwhelmed, hips grinding against his mouth, trying to chase more of that friction. His grip tightened.

He moaned low into your pussy, the vibration making your whole body jolt, heat surging across your skin as your walls fluttered in response.

You almost believed for a second that the Sunghoon you knew had returned.

It was the way he pressed soft kisses to your inner thigh after you came, the way his hands shifted you from position to position with steady control, the way he fucked you so deep and slow that your vision blurred. You saw stars. Again. And again.

But it wasn’t the same.

The Sunghoon you remembered didn’t talk like this. Didn’t whisper filth into your ear with each thrust. Didn’t slap your ass raw or choke you until your moans turned to broken gasps.

Still, you took it. You let him. Because deep down, you knew that you deserved it.

“Ahh—s-stop, p-please…”

You’d lost count of how many times you’d come, how many times he’d flipped you over, dragged you back, split you open on his cock without pause.

Maybe it was the frustration in him. Maybe it was the shame in your eyes. Maybe he liked how breakable you looked under him, how pliant your body had become, how you still clung to him with every breath. Something about that flipped a switch in him. Whatever restraint he had was long gone now.

And once that restraint broke, he discovered things.

He saw it clearly.

You were a slut in the most literal sense, a body that didn’t know when to stop. A mouth that begged him to slow down while your pussy clenched tighter the rougher he fucked you. You kept saying you needed a break, that it was too much but you bounced harder on his cock every time he called you a liar.

And he was learning fast. The more he overstimulated you, the more honest you became.

The shame turned into hunger. The cries turned into moans. And your begging… it was starting to sound less like desperation.

“More… more—please, g-give me… nghh, more!”

Sunghoon kept his forehead pressed to your shoulder as he drove into you from behind. His hips snapped against your ass, each thrust deeper than the last, his chest slick with sweat against your back.

He bit his lip hard, eyes dropping to watch your body unravel. Your head lolled forward, hair damp and clinging to your neck, mouth falling open with every jolt of his cock hitting deep.

He gritted his teeth, groaning low as your pussy clamped down hard around him, spasming again.

He didn’t miss the way your moans kept rising—louder, sloppier—your voice barely forming real words anymore, just needy sounds spilling from your throat.

Your whole body was trembling, overstimulated past reason. He hadn’t even touched your clit, and yet you came again, your walls fluttering around him as your ass rocked back into his hips, trying to keep him inside just a little longer, trying to stretch the pleasure further. Your mind was so far gone, he almost wondered if you even knew where you were.

High, like on him. On the way his cock punished you. The way he filled you over and over until you didn’t care what you looked like, what you sounded like, or how broken you were getting.

“More! More!” you squealed again, the pitch cracked.

Sunghoon clicked his tongue, his arm came up fast, locking around your neck, bicep flexed tight across your throat as he pulled you back into him.

You gasped, then moaned louder despite the pressure. Your hands shot up to his arm, nails digging into the muscle, but you didn’t try to stop him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled into your ear, hips pounding forward even harder. His cock dragged along that sensitive spot inside you with cruel precision, over and over again, and you squeezed him so tight he nearly saw white.

“Fucking hell,” he moaned through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna milk me dry like this.”

You whimpered something, eyes rolling again, mouth slack, tears mixing with sweat down your cheeks.

Sunghoon realized he could keep going for hours, and you’d never stop asking for more.

“Gonna cum, g-gonna cum!”

Sunghoon’s arms locked around you tighter, dragging your body down as he shifted his weight over you, pressing your chest into the mattress. His full weight settled on top of you, forcing your legs wider, holding you down. Your breath hitched. Vision blurred. The pressure in your core spiked as your stomach tensed, nerves screaming from the inside out.

And then it hit.

The orgasm ripped through you, your back arched beneath him, toes curling, fingers clawing at the sheets. You tried to scream, tried to say something—but your lungs wouldn’t cooperate. The air caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. Every nerve in your body burned.

Your pussy clenched so tightly around him, it was unbearable. He didn’t stop.

“Ahhh—fuck!”

A rush of liquid spilled out of you, your body jerking, forcing his cock to slip halfway free. But Sunghoon growled under his breath and drove back in, ignoring how your walls convulsed violently around him, squeezing him too hard to be comfortable.

You tapped his arm, again, again, frantic, but he didn’t slow.

He kept thrusting, rough and deep, chasing his own high. His moans got louder, breath ragged against the back of your neck, hips slamming into you with a rhythm that felt merciless.

Drool slipped from your parted lips, dripping to the sheets beneath you as your body went limp beneath him. You tried to form words, to beg, but your voice came out broken, slurred.

“H-hurt…”

Sunghoon paused only for a second, but then he pulled out halfway, slammed back in, grabbing your hips and lifting them higher, changing the angle. His thrusts became faster, more direct, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room.

You gasped, eyes wide and unfocused, body jerking with every motion. Your body trembled under him, your legs shook, unable to hold form, collapsing slightly with each heavy snap of his hips.

Sunghoon gripped your waist harder, knuckles pale, holding you steady as he fucked deeper.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he moaned. “Gonna fuck you so full you won’t even remember their names.”

Your eyes rolled back, vision going white at the edges. The ringing in your ears drowned out everything but the heavy beat of your pulse.

Until you felt the sharp grunt against your skin. The way his cock throbbed as warmth spilled inside you. His whole body trembled, every muscle locked tight. His grip on your throat and waist tightened with that final release, pouring everything into you—rage, frustration, need—all of it buried inside you.

You swore you almost blacked out.

Your body went limp the second he let go of your neck. His cock slipped out of you, overstimulated and leaking, and without warning, he flipped you onto your back. You landed against the mattress roughly, arms falling open—one near your head, the other across your stomach, completely drained.

Your skin was pale, cold in some places, burning in others. Your chest rose and fell in shaky, uneven breaths. Eyes unfocused and drifting.

Sunghoon stood over you, chest heaving, his body shining with sweat. The bedsheet beneath you was soaked between the sweat, the slick, the mess of it all, everything was drenched.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, jaw tight. His eyes dropped to your pussy still twitching, so red, his cum starting to leak out, pooling beneath you.

Still riding the edge of his rage, he leaned forward and spat right onto your stomach. The wet splatter hit your skin, sliding down over the curve of your hip.

A single tear slipped from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t flinch. You just laid there, still and open, chest rising in shallow, erratic breaths.

Sunghoon stepped back, reaching for his vape, fingers trembling slightly. He took a long drag, turning away as smoke filled his lungs. His jaw stayed clenched, shoulders tight as he tried to center himself.

“N-need… m-more cock…”

He froze. Slowly, he turned, eyes narrowing.

You hadn’t moved. Still flat on your back, limbs slack, eyes unfocused. But the tears kept coming, streaming quietly down the sides of your face. Your lips were curved into a strange, hazy smile.

“Want… more…” you breathed.

Without thinking, Sunghoon moved back to you. His vape clattered onto the nightstand as he dropped to the bed, hands gripping your waist. He pulled you into him, cradling your body, his chest pressing to yours. His arms wrapped around you tightly.

You kept whispering soft, broken words that made no sense. Repeating yourself and pleading.

Your body twitched slightly, your hips shifting even now, instinctively seeking more.

Sunghoon just held you tighter, burying his face into your neck and breathing in your scent, grounding himself in your warmth and in the truth of what you were.

[cinnamon-won]

This is pure filth omg but still once of the best things I’ve read in a longgg time

[heejamas]

MANCHILD

➢ pairing: cowboy!jake x fem!reader … ﹒cowboy au, strangers to lovers, smut \\ ➢ synopsis: you’re trouble, and jake sim knows it. you flirt like it’s your job, wear sin like perfume, and make men beg without even trying. he’s the only cowboy who doesn’t chase you. so naturally, he’s the only one you want. a small-town, slow-burn, filthy little game of who breaks first. ➢ word count: 9.5k

➢ warnings: smut!! minors dni. oral sex (f and m receiveing), unprotected sex (dont do it!!), public-ish sex, dirty talk, possessive!jake, softdom!jake, bratty!reader, spanking, cum eating, praise and degradation, cowboy kink™, jake is a menace but so are you, yeehaw but make it slutty

you’re wiping down the counter when you say it, voice low and lazy, like it’s just another tuesday night and not the kind of sentence that rearranges a man’s brain chemistry.

“i like my boys playing hard to get.”

you don’t mean it to land anywhere in particular. you’re just talking, tossing it out there between gossip, your voice sweet, meant only for the girl beside you. so she laughs, nudges you with her hip. “you mean the ones who ghost you after three days?”

“no,” you sigh, stretching like a cat behind the bar. “i mean the ones who pretend they don’t care. the ones too proud to beg. makes it more fun when they do.”

you say it like it’s a joke, but you mean every word. and across the room, jake sim hears you.

he hadn’t meant to. hadn’t even realized he was eavesdropping until the words tangled around him. he’s not the type to pay attention to chatter. he’s been coming to this place for years, knows how to tune out the flirting and the country drawls and the clink of empty glasses. but your voice is different. and he’s seen you around, of course. everyone has.

you’re the kind of girl people build myths around. the kind they write country songs about, because you have a laugh that could ruin a man. and every guy in town’s tried his luck. most ended up a little poorer, a little dumber, and twice as obsessed. and you never even blinked.

so when you breeze past his table, tray balanced on your palm, perfume trailing like a challenge, jake doesn’t move. doesn’t shift, doesn’t look up from his drink. not obviously, at least. he doesn’t give you the satisfaction. and you notice. oh, you notice. because you’re used to stares, to whistles and clumsy compliments and boys who fall over themselves to hand you things you never asked for. you’re used to the way they sit up straighter when you walk by, the way their words fumble out of their mouths like dropped coins.

but this one? this one just sits there. quiet and unmoved.

you catch him watching only once, just once, when you lean forward to grab a bottle from the bottom shelf, and when your eyes flick up, his are already somewhere else. not pretending, not faking it, just gone. and it pisses you off more than it should.

you don’t say anything. you just toss your hair over your shoulder and smile at the other girl again, louder this time. “i like my men all incompetent,” you declare, tucking a dollar into your apron, “and i swear they choose me, i’m not choosing them.”

jake lifts his beer to his lips, slow. doesn’t smile. doesn’t even smirk. and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel in control of the game. you hate that, but you also love that.

but you definitely hate rodeos.

too loud and sweaty. too many men with too little brain and too much cologne. it’s just the same loop every time—horses, hats, hollering, and someone calling you “sweet cheeks” like that’s supposed to make you blush instead of gag. normally, you stay far away. but tonight’s different. because you heard jake sim was riding.

so you show up. late, of course, on purpose. your boots crunch over dirt and beer cans as you make your way through the crowd, hips swinging just enough to remind everyone you don’t walk, you arrive. every man you pass straightens his spine like you might look at him if he behaves, and every woman rolls her eyes in that half-jealous way they always do.

but you don’t care. you’re not here for them. you’re here for the man on the horse.

and when you spot him, out in the pen, one hand gripping the reins, the other resting light against his thigh, you feel that slow, low flutter in your stomach that tastes a little like trouble. because he’s wearing that stupid hat again, the same beat-up one that sits just low enough to make his eyes a mystery and his mouth a promise. his shirt’s rolled up to the elbows, collar unbuttoned, forearms dusted with dirt and sin. he looks like sin. he rides like sin.

you lean against the fence, pop a piece of gum into your mouth, and pretend you’re not watching. but you are, everyone is. but he doesn’t look into the crowd, not once. he doesn’t wave, doesn’t show off, doesn’t even smile. he just focuses—on the gate, on the bull, on the seconds ticking down before the chaos. there’s something precise about it, almost like he’s not here to perform, just to win.

and you hate how hot that is.

when the gate finally opens and he bursts out, body moving like he’s part of the beast beneath him, the whole crowd goes wild. people scream, hats fly, beer spills. but you just chew your gum and watch. he holds on longer than anyone else that night. and when he lands, smooth and sharp and smug, your stomach does a traitorous little flip.

he still doesn’t look at you. not even when he walks past, later, towel slung over his shoulder, shirt sticking to his back, sweat dripping down his neck like something out of a country girl’s fantasy.

you’re standing by the concession stand now, pretending to look at overpriced chili fries when he walks right past you again. and for the first time, maybe in ever, you don’t know what to do with that. because everyone looks at you. everyone wants something from you.

but jake sim? jake sim doesn’t even blink.

you pop your gum again, louder than necessary. he still doesn’t turn. bastard. so you lick your lips, tilt your head, and mutter just loud enough for the girl next to you to hear—just loud enough for him to maybe hear, too— “god, i hate cowboys.”

except you don’t. you really, really don’t.

so you decide to wear red on saturday. not a soft red. not a muted, tasteful, wine-country red. no, this is bright, dangerous, stop-sign red. the kind that glitters when you walk and blasphemes when you bend. you slip it on slow, knowing exactly what it does to your body and your ego. it’s the kind of dress that starts fights and finishes them.

you don’t wear it for him, not technically. but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t check your lipstick twice before heading to the bar, or if you hadn’t spent a good three minutes wondering if jake sim was the type of man who noticed sequins.

(it turns out—he isn’t.)

he’s already there when you walk in, sitting in his usual corner like a piece of furniture carved from patience and denim. same hat, same shirt, same maddeningly blank expression. he doesn’t flinch when you walk by. doesn’t scan your legs like every other man. doesn’t lean over to whisper something to his friend and then laugh too loud. he just looks. once. and then looks away.

you could scream. instead, you smile. you spend the next hour putting on a show—not for him, of course, never that. just for… the atmosphere. you take extra time leaning over the bar. you laugh a little louder, let your fingers trail longer. you flirt, you twirl, you dance like you’re made of sugar and smoke.

and he just sits there. solid. steady and stoic in the face of sin.

when the jukebox shifts to something slow and sweaty, your friend pulls you out from behind the bar and spins you onto the floor. you go willingly, you always do. you dance with her, and then with some other guy, who’s a terrible flirt but a decent dancer. you laugh as you move, hips swaying, hands up, hair stuck to your neck. people cheer, whistles echo. someone shouts your name.

and still, jake sim doesn’t look. he sits there, beer untouched, fingers drumming slowly against the table. his eyes are on the wall, or the floor, or nowhere at all. you want to throw a chair at him. instead, you press your body just a little closer, let your head tip back, your laughter bubble out like champagne. 

and for half a second, just half, you swear you can feel his gaze. but by the time you glance over, it’s gone.

you finish the dance anyway, cheeks flushed from effort or ego or something worse, and when you walk past jake’s table again, you pause. just enough. he still doesn’t say anything. but his knuckles are white around the bottle, and that’s something.

and ​​you’re not much of a smoker, not really. it’s more about the image. the ritual of it—door swinging shut behind you, the hum of the saloon dulling into background noise, a lighter flicked slowly. you like the weight of the cigarette between your fingers, the way it makes your mouth look meaner. you especially like the way people look at you when you do it.

on sunday, though, the sidewalk is mostly empty. the neon sign above the door buzzes like it’s dying, and your heels click against the pavement. you’re alone, almost. because he’s there. leaning against his truck—of course it’s a truck, stupid and long and matte black— arms crossed, hat low, chewing on a toothpick like he was placed there by god.

you try not to look. but of course you fail.

“you always stand like that,” you say, taking a drag and blowing smoke sideways, “or is this a special occasion?”

he doesn’t turn, god, he doesn’t even smile. “like what?” he asks, voice low and scratchy, like he only uses it when necessary.

you flick ash toward the gravel and shift your weight, one hip out, just enough to suggest: i am here and i am wearing very little. so you say: “like you’re being painted,” you say. “by someone too obsessed with denim.”

that gets a reaction, barely—a twitch at the corner of his mouth. nothing close to a smile, but you count it anyway. “you don’t like denim?” he asks.

“i like it just fine,” you say, letting your eyes travel up and down. “i just think it likes you a lot.”

he hums, quiet and unfazed. the toothpick shifts from one side of his mouth to the other with devastating nonchalance. “you always flirt like that?” he asks finally, and it’s almost cruel, the way he says it—like he’s calling you out without even looking at you.

you tilt your head. “like what?”

“like you’re bored.”

you take another drag, slower this time. it buys you a second. maybe two. “i’m not bored,” you say. “i’m offended.”

he finally looks at you then. really looks. not a glance, not a flick of the eyes, but a slow, full scan that starts at your boots and ends at your mouth. “offended?”

“yeah,” you say. “you’re the first man in town who hasn’t tried to get a shot with me.”

he raises an eyebrow. your breath hitches, and you curse yourself for it. because god damn it. he pushes off the truck, and he steps forward, just one step, just close enough for you to smell him. smoke and leather and desert heat. “that why you came out here?” he asks. “to collect another admirer?”

“no,” you say, a little too quickly. “i came out to smoke.”

he nods, glances at your cigarette. “you’re holding it backwards.”

you look down, you are. shit.

he walks past you then, amused and infuriatingly tall, back toward the saloon. and just before the door swings shut behind him, he tosses the toothpick into the dirt and says, without looking: “you’ll have better luck with someone who gives a damn, sweetheart.”

you stand there for a minute, blinking smoke out of your eyes, lips parted in disbelief, cigarette still backwards in your hand. you don’t know whether to chase him or marry him. probably both.

the annual summer festival happens a week later, and the whole town’s lost its damn mind. kids run wild, drunk uncles argue, and there’s a man singing country ballads off-key on the main.

and you look stunning, obviously.  short dress, boots too clean to be from here, a pair of sunglasses you don’t need but wear anyway. you walk through the crowd like you’re not sweating like everyone else. and your arm? it’s linked tightly through lee heeseung’s. the sheriff’s son. walking cologne bottle. he thinks calling women “sugar tits” is flirtation and not a felony. you smile like he’s the most charming thing this town’s ever coughed up. and across the lot, jake sees everything.

he’s standing near the fence, drink in hand, chewing on his pride. he looks like a warning sign, his arms crossed so tight his biceps look like they’re planning a mutiny. he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t even pretend not to be watching. you glance at him once, and once is enough.

you laugh louder. lean closer to heeseung, who’s talking about god-knows-what—his truck, his workout, his daddy’s badge—and you nod like you care. every move is calculated. every smile is a weapon. because you know exactly what you’re doing. so you excuse yourself after a while, muttering something about needing another drink, slipping away from heeseung before he can say something else that’ll make your ears bleed. you walk through the back, your boots clicking fast.

you’re halfway to the bar when you feel a heat at your back. 

“fun night?” his voice is behind you. dry and quiet. 

you don’t turn around right away. you let the moment hang. and then you say, “depends,” running a hand through your hair like it’s not dripping down your neck. “you havin’ fun watching?”

he steps in closer. you feel him before you see him, his chest just a breath away from your shoulder. “you always hang off men you don’t like?” he asks, voice low enough to make your knees consider collapsing.

you shrug. “what makes you think i don’t like him?”

“you’re bored. i know what you look like when you’re havin’ fun.”

you hate how that line makes your stomach twist. hate it more that he’s right. so you finally turn to face him, hands on your hips, head tilted with mock sweetness. “what, jealous?”

he laughs. it’s short and dark. “of lee heeseung?” he scoffs. “sweetheart, i’m jealous of his dog before i’m jealous of him.”

you bite your lip to hide the smile, and you fail. “then why are you here?” you ask, eyes locking onto his. 

he leans in, just enough to make you dizzy. his gaze dips—down your lips, down your throat, down your dress—and lingers there, shameless. he looks like he wants to say more. or do more. and you kind of wish he would. but instead, he straightens up, steps back, and lets the space between you fill with heat again.

“because, darling, next time you wanna get under someone’s skin,” he says, “maybe pick a man who ain’t wearin’ daddy’s badge.”

and just like that, he turns and walks off. no touch. not even a goddamn smirk. you’re left standing there, pulse racing, drink forgotten, mouth parted like a woman halfway to disaster.

you fan yourself with your hand, mutter to no one, “fuck my life.”

and over the next few weeks, jake sim makes a habit out of losing his mind quietly.

he tells himself he’s just thirsty. that’s the only reason he keeps showing up to the saloon. he tells himself that every night he parks that stupid truck in the same stupid spot and walks through the same door into the same bar where you’re working, and where you, lately, won’t even look at him.

and that’s what kills him. because you used to look. all big eyes and evil little smiles, like you were constantly cooking up something sinful and he was the poor bastard about to taste it.

but now? now you barely glance in his direction. you walk past him like he’s just another part of the furniture. take other tables. pour drinks with your back to him. laugh at other men’s jokes.

and jake watches silently. desperately. he tries not to, he really does. but his eyes betray him every time. they flick to you the second you walk by—legs bare, hair pulled back with a pen, lips glossed to hell. you smell like vanilla and cigarette smoke, and it’s infuriating how much he wants to bite that smell off your throat.

and the worst part is that he knows you’re doing it on purpose. because sometimes, just sometimes, he catches the way your mouth twitches when you pass his table. the way you shift your weight a little slower, lean over a little further when you’re grabbing something. and when he doesn’t look up—when he pretends not to notice—you bite your lip like you’re trying not to laugh.

you’re playing hard to get. which is adorable, really. but it works. fuck, it works.

jake sim, who’s spent most of his adult life being aggressively unbothered, now sits at this bar like a man possessed. he sips beer and imagines things he shouldn’t. he watches your mouth wrap around straws and thinks about how it’d look wrapped around something else entirely. he stares at your hands pouring drinks and thinks about them fisting in his shirt, pressed against his belt, sliding down—

he coughs. shifts in his seat. takes another sip and pretends like he’s not half hard just because you leaned against the fridge five minutes ago.

he doesn’t talk to you. hasn’t, since the festival. because that would mean giving in. and if there’s one thing jake sim is worse at than feelings, it’s losing. but god, the way you walk? the way you smile at the wrong people? the way you drop the occasional “cowboy” into a sentence like it’s not meant to ruin him?

it’s almost sweet, the way you’re trying to get under his skin. but also: it’s working. and he thinks, not for the first time, that if you asked—if you looked at him a certain way—he’d let you wreck his entire life. you could tie him to the back of his own truck, spit on his mouth, call him useless in front of god and the sheriff, and he’d probably thank you. 

but you don’t look at him anymore. you just brush past him one more time, close enough for your skirt to kiss his knee, and say to no one in particular, real sweet: “why so sexy if so dumb?”

and jake swears to god he’s gonna start a bar fight just to calm down.

but the moment you step onto the dirt lot of the fairgrounds, sundress fluttering and sunglasses perched high on your nose, his brain short-circuits. ​​he sees you the second you walk in. he pretends not to, of course. jake sim has made an olympic sport out of pretending you don’t exist. but you’re here, again. and he’s fucked. 

he’s in the chute, adjusting his gloves, boots already caked in dust, chest strapped down tight like it might explode. he tells himself to focus on the ride, on the bull, on anything but the way your thighs are peeking out from under that goddamn dress.

you shouldn’t be here. he was hoping you’d show up, obviously, but now that you’re actually here, it feels like a setup. like god’s decided to make him fail in front of everyone and look good doing it. so he refuses to look directly at you. not while you’re standing near the fence, leaning against the railing like you’re modeling for the “ruin a man” calendar. not while you’re laughing at something some poor bastard just said, tossing your hair over your shoulder. and certainly not when you suck on that red snow cone.

he adjusts his hat lower. counts backward from ten. tries to remember how to breathe.

he’s still got it under control—mostly—until the moment he’s mounting the bull and glances toward the crowd just once. just a peek. and there you are, watching, with your lip between your teeth and a look that could sterilize holy water.

he slips. just a little. just enough for one boot to miss its mark and his hand to falter on the rope. no one notices. not really. but he does.

the ride still goes fine. better than fine, actually. he makes it the full eight seconds, lands smooth, wipes the sweat off his brow like he’s not a mess on the inside. like he didn’t almost fall off a 1,500-pound animal because you were licking syrup off your finger.

later, after the noise dies down, after the dust settles and the crowd starts dispersing into beer and music and gossip, you find him. he’s near the back of the stables, away from the noise. hat off, hair damp, shirt sticking to his back in places that make your hands twitch.

you lean against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted. he sees you coming. of course he does.

you don’t say anything right away. just look him over like you’re checking for bruises. “didn’t fall this time,” you say.

“not for lack of tryin’,” he mutters.

you raise an eyebrow. “the bull or me?”

he doesn’t answer. you take that as a win. so you step closer, slow. toe the dirt with your boot, pretend to be casual. but everything about you tonight is a performance, and he knows it. the cherry lip gloss. the dress with buttons that strain when you breathe. the way you keep shifting your weight like your thighs are begging for attention. you’re trying to get to him, and you are. but he’ll die before he admits it.

“you always ride that well,” you say, voice syrupy and cruel, “or was that just for me?”

“don’t flatter yourself, darlin’.”

“too late,” you grin. “flattered myself the whole way here.”

he laughs at that, but he still doesn’t move. you take another step. now you’re in front of him, barely a breath of air between your bodies. the tension crackles, like something’s about to snap. he looks down at you, his jaw tight, eyes darker than usual. you could kiss him, you could push him. you could drop to your knees and he wouldn’t stop you. but he stays still. and you know what that means. he’s losing it. slowly and deliciously.

so you just smile, all teeth and trouble, and say: “you gonna say thank you for coming, or do i gotta leave and come back so you can do it right?”

he looks down at you and decides—fuck it. if this is a game, he’s gonna play. so his hand lifts. two fingers hook lazily in your belt in your dress, just enough to make your breath hitch and your knees forget how to behave. he doesn’t pull, doesn’t tug, just lets it sit there. you blink up at him like you weren’t expecting him to do this. because you weren't.

“thought you came to watch the ride,” he says, voice like gravel and heat. “didn’t know you were hopin’ to start one.”

you’re stunned for a second, flustered. but you recover fast. your hand comes up, trailing a single finger down the buttons of his shirt, slowly. and you giggle. you say nothing, you only giggle and smile. then you step back, leaving him standing there with nothing but the smell of your perfume and a growing problem in his jeans. he blinks once. twice. and you’re already gone.

a few days later, he sees you again at the gas station. you’re sitting on the hood of your car. your car is pink, of course it’s pink. girly in that deadly way. floral air freshener, fuzzy dice, a sparkly steering wheel cover and a bumper sticker that probably says something like “yee-haw, bitch.”

you’re licking a cherry lollipop. wearing the tiniest pair of shorts known to mankind and a tank top that does nothing to hide your agenda. your legs are crossed, one foot bouncing lazily in the air like you have nowhere to be and every intention of being stared at. and people are staring. two guys walk by, heads snapping so fast they nearly sprain something. an old man in a tractor cap gives a long, disapproving look that lasts until he crashes into a trash can.

you? you smile sweetly. wave. keep sucking on that lollipop like you’re not ruining lives. and jake watches from the far pump, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying so hard not to enjoy the sight of you doing exactly what you do best.

and then, just like you’ve sensed him from across the lot, you slide off the hood, sway your hips across the concrete, and approach him with the most dangerous sentence in your arsenal: “cowboy,” you say, “i think i got a flat.”

he raises an eyebrow. looks at your car. no flat. you grin like the liar you are. “could you check for me?” you ask, voice all syrup and fake innocence. “i’d do it myself, but—” you shrug, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. “i don’t wanna chip a nail.”

he stares at you and you stare back. he knows what this is. you want him on his knees. and god help him—he’s thinking about it.

“you sure?” he says, tone dry. “seems like you’re the type to pop a tire just to see what crawls out the woodwork.”

“you caught me,” you beam. 

he sighs, but he walks over anyway. you trail behind, delighted, watching him crouch down in front of your car, like he is your personal cowboy-themed thirst trap come to life. he’s in front of you, all strong hands and dirty jeans, touching your tires like it’s a performance.

you lean back against the hood. cross your legs the other way. suck louder on the lollipop, just to be mean. and jake knows the tire’s fine, he also knows he’s losing. and when he looks up—sweat on his brow, eyes half-lidded, gaze landing right between your crossed legs—you don’t say a word. you just smile and keep chewing. you got what you wanted: him on his knees.

and it happens on a thursday. the saloon’s half-full, sticky with the usual noise, and you’ve got a tray in one hand. you spot him before he sees you. or maybe he lets you think that. he’s sitting at the bar, same stool as always. sipping something dark with his hat tipped low and one leg stretched out like the floor belongs to him. he’s talking to someone, a girl you don’t recognize, leaning in just enough to make your stomach twist.

he’s smiling. he never smiles, at least not like that. and that’s when it hits you: he’s doing it on purpose.

your first instinct is to roll your eyes. your second is to walk over there and ruin both their nights. instead, you drop off your tray at the counter, smooth your skirt, and remind yourself that you’re not bothered. not even a little. so you circle around the bar, busy yourself with orders. chat with a guy in a cowboy hat, laugh too loud, lean too close. and eventually, you feel that static buzz that only comes from being watched.

you turn your head, and of course he’s looking. not just looking, jake is devouring. his eyes trail down your legs, up your hips, pause at your chest like he’s making a list of crimes he’d commit if the sheriff weren’t his boss’s daddy. and your heart stutters, your mouth dries. you take a step toward him before you even realize it.

but then he gets up and walks past you, doesn’t say a word. and you think, what the hell?

but then his hand brushes yours, just barely. like an accident that wasn’t an accident. you whip around to say something sharp, but he’s already halfway to the door. and you follow. you don’t mean to, really, but you do. you catch him near the back hallway, one hand braced against the wall, like he knew you’d come after him.

you open your mouth to say something clever, but he steps in real close. close enough that your back hits the wall and your knees almost collapse. “somethin’ wrong, darlin’?” he asks, voice all silk.

“what was that?” you hiss, trying not to stare at his mouth. “flirting with that girl like i wasn’t in the room?”

he smirks. smirks. “didn’t know i needed permission.”

you cross your arms. push your chest up just enough to be annoying. “you’re playing games.”

he shrugs. “so are you.” his hand lifts, not to touch you (the bastard’s too good for that), but to brush a piece of lint off your shoulder. “you looked a little jealous,” he murmurs, voice dipped in sin. “cute look on you.”

your pulse stutters, but you refuse to show it. “you’re gonna die alone,” you say, breathier than intended.

“probably,” he says. “but not before i ruin you first.”

you suck in a breath. his face is right there, close enough that if you leaned forward, you’d taste the whiskey on his lips. you think he might do it, you think maybe this is it. but he doesn’t kiss you. instead, he leans in slow, his breath hot against your cheek, then presses a kiss right there, soft and warm and maddening. the kind of kiss that doesn’t take anything but still leaves you ruined.

then he pulls back. smirking, so smug and infuriating. “goodnight, sweetheart,” he says. and then he walks away, like he didn’t just light a fire in your chest and leave it burning.

and there’s a party on the edge of town on that week—somebody’s cousin’s birthday or maybe just an excuse to drink next to a fire. there’s music blasting out of speakers in the back of a lifted truck, people doing shots, and you’re there, of course, making every poor bastard lose his mind just by existing.

you’re wearing denim shorts and a little white top that ties in the front, and jake sim wants to fight the concept of clothing for making something that looks that illegal.

he sees you before you see him. and he sees heeseung before you do. pretty boy with too-white teeth and too many opinions about his own biceps. he’s been in love with you since high school and never got the hint. but tonight, you’re letting him talk. you’re laughing, you’re standing close. and you don’t even have to look across the fire to know jake’s watching.

you toss your hair over your shoulder. heeseung says something about his new truck and how it “purrs like a mountain cat,” which isn’t a thing, but you smile anyway. you’re about to make some flirty comment just to push it further when a hand wraps around your arm.

not rough, not mean, just firm. you whip around and there he is. jake. his face is unreadable. calm, almost. but his grip says something else entirely.

you blink. “well, hey there, cowboy—”

“walk,” he says.

you try to act annoyed, dramatic. “what if i don’t feel like—”

“walk.”

so you do. he leads you away from the fire, away from the crowd, toward the gravel lot where his truck is. you expect him to say something, yell, maybe. accuse you of something dramatic and delicious. but instead, he spins you around and presses you up against the passenger door.

his hand is still on your arm. the other braces beside your head. his body doesn’t touch yours, not really, but he’s close enough that you can feel the heat off his skin and the tension coiled under it. you blink up at him, wide-eyed and fake-innocent. “is this how you treat all your women, cowboy? dragging them into parking lots and pinning them to cars?”

“no,” he says. “just the ones who know better.”

you gasp softly, it’s almost a laugh. “oh, so now you’re mad?”

he leans in, mouth inches from yours, eyes dark and hungry. “you wore that top on purpose.”

you smirk. “maybe i was hot.”

he looks down, pointedly. “you are. and you know what you’re doin’.”

“do i?”

he exhales sharp through his nose, like he’s trying not to combust. and when he speaks again, his voice is lower. “you really want him to touch you? that what you’re lookin’ for?”

you blink slow and wet your lips. “maybe i just want somebody who actually does it.”

the look on his face shifts just slightly. then he leans in. you think this time it’ll happen, finally, the kiss, the collapse. the moment the game ends. but instead, his lips graze your jaw, not your mouth. his hand dips low, fingers brushing the hem of your shorts like he’s thinking about it.

“you don’t want ‘somebody,’” he whispers. “you want me.” you’re not breathing. he pulls back again, just enough to leave you gasping in the space between what was almost and what still isn’t. “but you’ll have to beg, sweetheart,” he adds, smirking. “and i don’t think you’re ready to do that yet.”

he turns like he’s going to walk away again, like that’s the last word. like he didn’t just light a match and drop it between your legs. but this time, you don’t let him. your hand shoots out fast and grabs his belt loop. he pauses and stills, and slowly, turns his head back toward you.

“you think i won’t?” you ask, voice low and deadly sweet.

he looks down at your hand, still fisted in his jeans like a challenge. then his eyes flick back up to yours—dark, wild, curious. he steps closer, just one step. then another. until he’s right in front of you again, and this time there’s no space. no teasing, no gaps. just you, caught between a truck door and the worst mistake you want to make.

he leans in. both hands come to rest on either side of your head. caging you in and claiming the air between you. “careful now,” he murmurs, voice rough. “you’re not the only one who likes to play.”

and then his knee presses forward, between your legs. you gasp. it’s not subtle, not even a little. he fits it there, deliberate and slow, until your thighs part just enough to make room for the solid weight of him. his thigh is strong and warm. your breath catches and your fingers twitch where they’re tangled in his shirt.

he’s watching your face. watching your mouth, like he’s trying to memorize the exact second you lose composure. but you don’t, you smile. then, slow and wicked, you roll your hips just a little against his thigh—enough to make him grunt, low in his throat, like he wasn’t ready for it. “you started it,” you say, feigning innocence. “don’t get shy now, cowboy.”

he exhales sharp. one of his hands drops and wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him. your shorts ride up. the pressure of his thigh against you gets sharper, filthier, almost unbearable. “you think this is a joke?” he growls.

“no,” you breathe. “i think it’s foreplay.”

his hand tightens. he shifts his thigh just barely upward, grinding it between your legs, and you have to bite your lip to keep the sound in. he leans in, mouth ghosting over your ear. “i could make you come like this,” he says, voice like a sin you want to confess over and over. “right here, against my truck, with nothin’ but my thigh between your legs.”

you shiver, but you smile. “you talk a big game,” you whisper, lips brushing his jaw. “but so far all you’ve done is flex in tight jeans and give me blue balls.”

he lets out a sharp laugh, dangerous. then his hands drop to your hips, grip possessive, and he rolls you against his thigh again. this time harder and filthier. like he wants to see how far you’ll let it go. your knees almost buckle. your head hits the truck window. but your hands are in his hair now, pulling, tugging, dragging his face closer.

and still he doesn’t kiss you. you pant, flushed and desperate and mad as hell. he just smirks. “look at you,” he says. “makin’ a mess on me and i haven’t even touched you proper.”

you glare at him and your lip curls in frustration. “maybe you’re scared.”

he arches a brow. “of what?”

“of me.” you press down hard against his thigh again—your move now, your game—and you feel him tense. feel him curse under his breath like you’ve just won a round he didn’t even know he was playing. you lean in and whisper against his mouth: “i could ruin you.”

he inhales sharp. you swear you hear him mutter fuck. but still, still he doesn’t kiss you. he pulls back, eyes wild, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.

and then he steps away. leaves you there. aching and panting. blinking like you just came out of a trance. “one of these days, sweetheart,” he says, adjusting his belt like he needs a minute. “you’re gonna be the one beggin’.”

and then he climbs into the driver’s seat and drives away. you stare after him, thighs trembling, heart racing, and mutter:

“i’m gonna set his truck on fire.”

and jake sim spends the week trying not to think about you. which is stupid, because you’re everywhere. in his sheets, in his hands, in his mouth when he mutters fuck at two in the morning and fists his hair like it’ll shake you out of his head.

he sees you in the curve of a beer bottle. in the red of a stoplight. in the fucking grocery store, standing in front of a watermelon display like you invented sin.

he can’t focus. can’t sleep. can’t work. every time he bends over a fence or climbs into the truck, he hears your voice in his ear: i could ruin you. every time he closes his eyes, he sees your thighs wrapped around his fucking leg. he’s losing it. actually, clinically losing it.

and the worst part is that he let it happen. he swore he wouldn’t. told himself he wasn’t like the rest of them—the boys who lined up for your attention like fools in heat. he used to watch you tease and twist and toy with every man in town and laugh. not because he didn’t get it, because he did. but now he’s just another name on your list. and he hates it.

he’s a grown man. a cowboy, for christ’s sake. he should be immune to lip gloss and flirty banter and skirts short enough to send him to jail. but he’s not. and the worst part is that you know, you know what you’re doing. you know exactly how to stand, how to talk, how to glance up with that little tilt of your head like oops, did i break you again?

and he’s fucking gone. he’s a freak for it. a perv. he thinks about your mouth at church. he imagines your legs wrapped around his waist when he’s driving. he’s so far gone it’s pathetic.

so on thursday, when the thought of you cleaning up at the saloon alone hits him like a truck, he doesn’t fight it. he gets in the truck, drives like the devil’s chasing him. when he gets there, the bar is dark, empty. just the faint sound of clinking glasses and a broom dragging across the floor.

you’re behind the counter. sweaty and tired. loose hair falling around your face. still the hottest thing he’s ever fucking seen.

the door creaks open. you don’t look up. “we’re closed,” you call out, distracted.

then you lift your head, and you pause. your lips part. 

his boots hit the floor. he doesn’t say a word. just crosses the room in four heavy steps, reaches for your wrist, and pulls you in like he needs you to breathe. and then— he kisses you.

not sweet. not shy, not teasing. hot, open and filthy.

he groans when your mouth opens under his, when your fingers clutch his shirt like you’ve been waiting for this just as long. his hands are everywhere, your waist, jaw, the small of your back. he kisses like he’s mad about it, like this is a punishment.

your back hits the counter. your teeth knock. a glass falls off. and still, he kisses you like he’s trying to erase the space between you. 

he pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your cheek. “you win,” he mutters. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you’re panting, flushed. “not yet,” you whisper. “i like my man playing real hard to get,” you whisper, breath ghosting his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to tease.

and that’s the moment he snaps. his hands come up, cup your jaw like he’s trying to memorize it, and he kisses you hard, messy and desperate. and you moan, you can’t help it. he tastes like whiskey and salt and everything you’ve been dreaming about at three in the morning.

his hips press forward, tight against yours, grinding you back into the edge of the counter like he wants to leave a dent in your spine. and you grin against his lips. you reach back blindly, “you gonna keep kissing me like a saint,” you pant, pulling back, “or you gonna bend me over something, cowboy?”

his eyes go dark. “oh, you wanna act like a brat now?” he growls.

you smirk. “what gave it away?”

he grabs you, lifts you right off the floor and sets you down on a table like you weigh nothing. your legs part without hesitation and he steps between them, his hips hard against yours, and his hands gripping your thighs like he’s trying to decide which one he wants to ruin first. “look at you,” he mutters, eyes trailing down your body. “pretty little mouth, dirty little attitude.”

you tilt your head, all fake innocence. “you like it.”

he leans in close, mouth against your ear. “i’m gonna fuckin’ break you.”

your breath vanishes. his fingers trail up your thigh, slow, teasing, maddening. he doesn’t go where you want him, but just next to it, brushing the edges, watching you squirm. “i know what you need,” he murmurs. “you need someone to shut that mouth. teach you some fuckin’ manners.”

you wrap your legs around his waist. “you volunteering?”

he laughs, low and filthy. “baby, i’ve been applying for that job all month.” then he grinds forward, slow and mean, dragging a moan out of you that echoes across the empty bar. you gasp and clutch at his shoulders. he grabs your hips, presses them down, holds you there. “no running now,” he mutters. “you been beggin’ for this.”

you roll your hips up into his. “you liked it.”

he groans, kissing down your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp again. “liked it so much i nearly wrecked my truck thinkin’ about you.” his hand slips under your top. calloused fingers on your skin, rough and reverent all at once. he palms your chest like he’s claiming it. like he’s mad you let anyone else look. you arch into him, moaning. “so impatient,” he teases, voice a growl. “what happened to makin’ me beg, sweetheart?”

“shut up and fuck me.”

he smirks against your throat. “say please.”

you groan, kick your heels against his ass. “cowboy—”

“say it.”

you hiss, then lean in and bite his lip. “please.”

he pulls back just enough to smirk, breath hot against your lips. “please what?” he asks, voice low, gravel rough.

you glare at him, or at least, you try to. but your legs are wrapped around his waist, your hips aching for friction, and his hand is already creeping up your thigh like he’s got nowhere to be but inside you. so you say it, no shame. no power left to pretend. “please, fuck me, jakey.”

he groans loudly, like the words physically hit him. then he mutters something that sounds like jesus fucking christ, and crashes his mouth into yours. and this kiss is different. it is hungry and starving. he grinds against you, slow and hard, pressing you down into the table with the full weight of his body. your shirt rides up. your back arches. the wood creaks underneath like it might give out, and honestly—if it breaks, let it. you’ll thank it for its service.

his hands are everywhere. palming your thighs, squeezing your ass, gripping your waist like he owns it. “look at you,” he rasps, lips trailing down your throat. “fuckin’ dream girl of the county. all these poor bastards lining up for a smile, and here you are—legs open for me.”

you gasp and whimper and dig your nails into his shoulders. he presses his hips harder, grinds right against where you need him most. your head drops back, your moan echoes. “you love this,” he says, panting now. “bein’ up here where anyone could walk in. where anyone could see you gettin’ ruined by me.” you don’t answer, you can’t. “what happened to that bratty mouth, huh?” he growls, dragging his teeth along your jaw. “where’s all that sass now?”

“shut up,” you breathe. “just—please.”

“beggin’ again?” he taunts. “thought you didn’t do that.”

“i’m making an exception.”

he laughs, dark and hot, and grabs your hips tighter, pulling you to the edge of the table. “you should see yourself right now,” he mutters, undoing his belt with one hand. “look so fuckin’ pretty like this. so desperate.”

“you’re the one that came after me.”

“yeah,” he admits, lining himself up, voice breaking a little, “because i’m a goddamn fool for you.”

and then he pulls back. his hand wraps around your jaw, gentle but firm, tilting your face up to look at him. he’s flushed and panting. pupils blown wide. and his voice, when he speaks, is low and dangerous and thick with control he’s barely holding. “get on your knees.”

your heart stops and your grin widens. “you asking or telling me, cowboy?”

he presses his thumb into your cheek, leans down, kisses the corner of your mouth like he’s being nice before doing something awful. “i’m tellin’ you,” he mutters, “be a good girl and make me feel good.”

you blink slow, mouth open, pretending to think about it. “what’s in it for me?”

his hand slips down, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make you feel it—not choking, just owning. “my cock in your mouth,” he growls. “and maybe if you do it right, i’ll let you come later.”

your knees buckle, but your pride doesn’t. you hum, all fake sweetness. “guess i could use something to suck on.” you drop to the floor, knees hitting the sticky saloon wood like you belong there. he watches you, chest heaving and jaw tight. trying not to come just from the sight of you looking so cute on your knees for him. you look up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. “you nervous?” you tease.

he barks a laugh. “just waitin’ to see if the mouth that talks so much can finally do something useful.”

you pout. then reach for his belt, slow and dramatic, undoing it like it’s the last gift under a christmas tree. and when his cock springs free, hard, flushed, huge, your mouth waters. you glance up again. “you been thinkin’ about this, haven’t you?”

he hisses as you wrap your hand around him, thumb brushing the tip. “every fuckin’ night,” he admits, voice ragged. “jesus, i’d wake up hard just rememberin’ how you looked struttin’ around in those little shorts behind the bar.”

you stroke him once, twice, slow and sweet. then you lean forward, kiss the tip. just a whisper of a touch. he groans. his hand finds your hair, pulling it already. you drag your tongue along the underside, all the way down, then back up again. he swears, low and filthy. “look at you,” he rasps. “knees on the fuckin’ floor, pretty mouth full of me. you know how many men in this town would give their right hand for this?”

you hum around him. smile with your eyes, because you do know. and you love that it’s you doing this to him. so you take more of him in, then more. until he’s deep in your throat, and he’s gripping the edge of the table so tight you think he might snap it in half. “fuck,” he moans. “that’s it, sweetheart. just like that. takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

his hips twitch forward. just a little, just enough to make you gag—on purpose, and he loves that. he loves the sound. he loves how messy your mouth is for him. so he starts to move in shallow thrusts. hand in your hair, not rough, but claiming. “you gonna let me come in your mouth, baby?” he groans. “gonna swallow it all, show me how good you are?”

you nod and moan, sucking harder, and that’s it. he gasps, his hips snap forward. his whole body shudders. he comes hard, hot and thick on your tongue, fingers tangled in your hair, voice wrecked. you swallow it all, slowly. wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, like a brat.

you’re still on your knees, lips wet, tongue peeking out in satisfaction like you just finished dessert and might go back for seconds. he looks down at you, utterly wrecked. and then he laughs breathless and disbelieving. “jesus christ,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair like you just short-circuited every last nerve. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you grin, smug as sin. but then he leans down, and his strong arms slide under your shoulders, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you squeal, half-laughing, hands flying to grip his shirt. “hey—!”

“shut up,” he breathes. “my turn.”

he sets you down on the table again, right where you were before. but this time, he doesn’t kiss you yet. doesn’t even touch you. he just steps back, eyes dark and hungry. and says, “spread.”

you blink, chest rising. “what?”

he tilts his head, steps back in, hands firm on your knees. “you heard me, sweetheart. open up. now i’m gonna make you feel good.”

you part your thighs slow, watching his eyes drop, watching his breath hitch. you lean back on your elbows, head tilted, and he glances at the wet mark through your shorts. he drops to his knees, his hands grip your thighs, dragging you to the edge like he’s pulling you into hell with him. he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, slow and reverent, like you’re a prayer and a sin at the same time.

“you wet for me already?” he murmurs, hot breath brushing your core through your shorts.

you nod, breathless. “since you walked in.”

he grins. bites the soft skin just above your knee. “should’ve told me. i’d’ve come sooner.”

he yanks your shorts and panties down fast, like he’s impatient. because he probably is. so then—finally—he licks you. one long, slow stroke that makes your back arch off the table. you gasp. grab the edge and moan his name so soft it sounds like a confession.

and he devours you. not gentle, not slow. just hungry and precise, like he’s got something to prove. his tongue works you open, circles and flicks and drives you fucking wild. he hums when you buck your hips, groans when you moan. his grip on your thighs bruises. his tongue never stops. “so fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against you. “no wonder they all wanna taste.”

you whimper. he slides a finger in, then another. crooks them just right. your whole body tightens. your breath catches. “that’s it, baby,” he whispers. “ride my face. let go. give it to me.”

you do. you shatter, legs trembling, back arched, voice gone. you’re gasping his name, tugging his hair, begging him to stop or keep going—you don’t even know. he doesn’t stop. not until your whole body is shaking. not until your thighs twitch and your breathing turns ragged and your hand slaps the table in surrender.

then finally he pulls back with his mouth glistening with you. his smile is wrecked, his eyes wide and wild. he looks up at you like you just handed him the goddamn meaning of life. “holy fuck,” he whispers, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “you came so good for me, angel.”

you try to glare, you really do. but your limbs don’t work. your knees are jelly. your stomach’s still twitching in aftershocks. and then he stands, towering. glowing like he just found religion between your legs. and then he leans down, kisses your jaw, and says—soft and cocky— “think you can take one more?”

your eyes flutter open, you blink at him. “you’re insane.”

he grins and kisses the corner of your mouth. “that ain’t a no.”

you roll your eyes. but you’re already lifting your hips, already turning. and then his hands are on your waist, firm and steady, spinning you around until you’re bent over the table. your cheek presses to the cool wood. your arms stretch forward. “fuck,” you whisper.

he hums behind you, hands sliding up your back, bunching your shirt at your ribs. “look at you,” he mutters. “so goddamn ready. still drippin’ for me.” he leans over you, chest to your back, mouth at your ear. “tell me you want it.”

you inhale shakily. “i want it.”

his hand slides between your thighs. fingers glide through your wetness. “tell me who’s gonna make you come again.”

you gasp. “you are.”

“say my name, sweetheart.”

“you, jakey.”

he groans. lines himself up. and then he pushes in. you gasp, you arch and whimper. his hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, controlling the pace. his hips move slow and deep, dragging a moan out of you every time he bottoms out. “so tight,” he pants. “like you’re fuckin’ made for me.”

you moan his name again, cheek still to the table, one hand reaching back to grab at his wrist. he laughs low and feral. “no runnin’ now,” he growls. “you said you could take one more.”

his thrusts get faster and harder. the table starts to creak. your moans start to sound like pleas. and he’s loving every second. he leans in, bites your shoulder, mutters against your skin, “gonna fuck you so dumb you forget how to sass.” you gasp and grin. you push back against him just to be a brat. he grabs your hips, pulls you back onto him hard. “jesus,” he hisses. “you like this, don’t you? bein’ used like this.”

“i like you like this,” you pant. “all obsessed.”

he grunts, and slaps your ass with a sting that makes your knees wobble. you yelp. and then he laughs, breathless, wicked. “i’m not lettin’ anyone else touch you again,” he mutters, voice cracked open, raw in your ear. his hand comes down to your hip, gripping. “this?” he growls, grinding into you harder, deeper. “this fuckin’ mouth, these thighs, this perfect little pussy— all mine.”

you moan, loud and shameless. he leans in, mouth hot on your neck, and his hand slips around you, fingers finding your clit like they never forgot it. he rubs in tight, fast circles, exactly how your body begs for. “come for me again, baby,” he pants. “show me how fuckin’ pretty you fall apart.”

and you do. you break, and your cry punches through the empty bar, your walls clenching so tight around him it nearly knocks the air from his lungs. your hands scrabble for the edge of the table, your face buried, your voice gone, just moans, sobs, his name like a prayer you can’t stop saying. and then—still shaking, still high on it— you whisper, broken and filthy: “inside. jake. please—come inside.”

he fucking loses it. his hips stutter, his breath catches, his hand grabs your ass roughly. “fuck, baby—” his head drops to your back. his rhythm falters, he’s right there. “you want me to fill you up?” he growls, desperate. “want me leavin’ you dripping with me?”

you nod, frantic. “yes—yes, please—i want it, i want all of it—”

he groans, loud. his thrusts go messy. erratic. wild. “goddamn, you’re gonna ruin me,” he gasps. and then he comes, deep and hard. body shuddering as he spills inside you, hips pressed tight, your name falling from his lips like a sin he’s finally ready to be forgiven for.

his hand stays in your hips. his forehead pressed to your back. both of you panting. shaking. wrecked. and you smile, eyes closed, face against the table, voice barely above a whisper:

“told you you were obsessed.”

he laughs—hoarse, drunk on you—and kisses your spine. “shut up,” he murmurs. “you fuckin’ love it.”

after, at your place, after he wrecked you in every possible way, you watch him fall asleep beside you, arm slung across your waits like he is still trying to stake a claim. cowboy hat on the floor. love bite on his throat. your lipstick on his chest.

you smile to yourself. “i like my men playing hard to get,” you whisper.

lucky for you, he never stood a chance.

author’s note: soooo i saw this edit of jake in full cowboy mode and lost every functioning brain cell i had left. then i watched manchild by sabrina carpenter and went wait what if… so this fic accidentally became the most porn-with-plot thing i’ve ever written. but i regret nothing. cowboy jake has a chokehold on me and the saloon girl in my brain wouldn’t shut up until he was wrecked and begging. anyway, yee-fucking-haw 🤠

my masterlist // perma taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

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Digital Shadows- Yang Jungwon

pairing: yang jungwon x f!reader genre: hacker x reader, psychological thriller, dark romance, suspense warnings: obsessive behavior, hacking, privacy invasion, psychological tension, explicit sexual content (18+, minors DNI), unprotected sex (wrap it up IRL!), oral sex (m receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, teasing, begging, strong language word count: 9.6k a/n: A thrilling mix of suspense and dark romance, this fanfiction dives into Jungwon’s obsessive hacking of Y/N’s life and their intense, twisted love. Written with vivid emotional detail, it’s a wild ride of fear, desire, and digital danger. Thanks for reading this tale—more to come!

The faint hum of your laptop filled the quiet of your bedroom, its blue light casting jagged shadows across the walls. You sat cross-legged on your bed, scrolling through your inbox, when a new email notification popped up. The sender’s name was just a single letter: J. No subject line, no greeting, just a single sentence that made your skin prickle: “You looked nice in that red hoodie today, Y/N.” Your fingers froze over the trackpad. You hadn’t worn that hoodie since yesterday, and you’d only gone to the library and back—alone.

This wasn’t the first message. For three weeks, J had been slipping into your digital life like a ghost. It started with a text from an unknown number: “That latte art at Brew Haven is overrated, don’t you think?” You’d brushed it off as a prank, but then came the DMs on your private Instagram—comments about songs you’d played, books you’d posted, even the exact time you’d left your house one evening. Whoever J was, they weren’t just guessing. They knew you.

You clicked the email shut and glanced at your phone, its screen dark but somehow menacing. Downstairs, your sister Ryujin’s laughter rang out, sharp and carefree, mingling with the low voices of her boyfriend Jay and his best friend, Jungwon. They’d been over all afternoon, sprawled across the living room couch, playing some co-op game on Jay’s PlayStation. You’d kept your distance, as usual. Jay was fine—sweet, reliable, the kind of guy who’d help with dishes unprompted. But Jungwon? He was different. Too smooth, too sharp, like he was always calculating something behind those dark eyes.

You shook your head, trying to dislodge the creeping suspicion. Jungwon was just a guy, not some shadowy cyberstalker. Still, the timing of J’s messages felt too convenient. They always came when you were alone, late at night or early in the morning, when Jungwon wasn’t around. Or was he? You couldn’t be sure anymore.

The doorbell had rung earlier that day, and Ryujin had let Jungwon in, his black backpack slung over one shoulder, his hair slightly messy from the wind. He’d flashed you a grin as he passed your room, his voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Y/N, still glued to that laptop? You’re gonna turn into a robot.” You’d rolled your eyes, muttering something about schoolwork, but his gaze lingered a second too long, like he was reading you instead of just looking.

Now, alone in your room, you opened your CCTV app, a habit you’d picked up since your parents installed the system last year. The feed loaded: the front porch, empty; the backyard, still; the living room, where Ryujin, Jay, and Jungwon were laughing over a spilled bowl of popcorn. Jungwon’s head was tilted toward his phone, his fingers moving swiftly across the screen. You squinted, trying to make out what he was doing, but the feed was too grainy. Probably just texting, you told yourself. But your gut churned.

Another ping. A new message from J: “Why’re you checking the cameras, Y/N? Don’t trust your guests?” Your breath caught. The CCTV app was still open on your phone, the living room feed staring back at you. You slammed the app shut, your heart hammering. This wasn’t a coincidence. Whoever J was, they could see what you were doing—right now.

The next morning, you woke to the smell of coffee and the clatter of dishes downstairs. Ryujin was in the kitchen, flipping pancakes, while Jay hovered nearby, stealing bites of batter. Jungwon was there too, leaning against the counter, his laptop open and his fingers flying across the keys. He looked up as you entered, his smile easy but sharp, like a blade hidden in velvet. “Morning, Y/N. Sleep okay?”

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as you grabbed a mug. “Fine.”

“Rough night?” he pressed, closing his laptop with a soft click. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Ryujin laughed, oblivious. “She’s just stressed about finals, right, Y/N? You’ve been glued to your laptop 24/7.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, pouring coffee to avoid the conversation. But Jungwon’s eyes didn’t leave you, and you felt them like a weight. He was always like this—too observant, too interested. Last week, he’d “accidentally” bumped into you at the café you frequented, claiming he was just passing by. The week before, he’d shown up at your house with Jay, offering to fix your router when it started lagging. You’d declined, but he’d lingered, asking questions about your tech setup with a curiosity that felt too intense.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jungwon said now, his tone casual but his eyes anything but. “Your laptop’s pretty high-end, right? Mind if I borrow it later? Mine’s been crashing, and I’ve got some… projects to finish.”

Your grip tightened on the mug. “Why not use Jay’s?”

Jay snorted, tossing a pancake onto a plate. “My laptop’s ancient, dude. It can barely run Netflix.”

Jungwon shrugged, his smile disarming. “Yours is faster, Y/N. I’ll be careful, promise.”

Every instinct screamed no. But Ryujin was watching, and Jay was nodding like it was no big deal, and saying no without a reason would sound paranoid. “Fine,” you said finally, your voice tighter than you meant. “But don’t mess with anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jungwon replied, his grin widening. He opened his laptop again, and you caught a glimpse of green code scrolling across the screen before he angled it away.

That afternoon, you handed over your laptop, your reluctance masked by a forced shrug. Jungwon settled on the living room couch, his posture relaxed but his focus razor-sharp. You hovered nearby, pretending to scroll on your phone, but your eyes kept darting to him. His fingers moved like they were born for this, typing commands you couldn’t follow, his expression unreadable. Occasionally, he’d glance up, catching your eye with a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“Got some cool stuff on here,” he said after a while, not looking up. “Your playlists are wild. Didn’t know you were into screamo.”

“It’s not screamo,” you snapped, defensive. “And don’t snoop.”

He chuckled, low and teasing. “Relax, Y/N. Just making conversation.”

But you didn’t relax. You couldn’t. Not when your phone buzzed in your hand, a new email from J popping up: “He’s in your system now. Careful what you let him touch.” Your blood ran cold. You glanced at Jungwon, still typing, oblivious—or was he? The CCTV app was still on your phone, tempting you to check. You opened it, the living room feed loading instantly. There he was, Jungwon, on the couch, his laptop screen reflected faintly in his glasses. You zoomed in, heart pounding, and saw it: lines of code, a terminal window, and what looked like a mirrored image of your laptop’s desktop.

You closed the app, your hands shaking. “I’m grabbing a drink,” you mumbled, fleeing to the kitchen. Alone, you opened the email again, rereading the message. He’s in your system now. It couldn’t be Jungwon. Could it? He was Jay’s best friend, practically family. But the messages, the timing, the way he watched you—it all lined up too perfectly.

Your phone buzzed again. Another message from J: “Check your webcam. Smile for me.” You froze, your eyes darting to your laptop on the couch. The webcam light was off, but that didn’t mean anything. Not if J was as good as they seemed. Not if J was Jungwon.

That night, you lay awake, the house silent except for the faint creak of pipes. Ryujin and Jay had gone to bed hours ago, and Jungwon had left with a casual “Thanks for the laptop, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver.” But you weren’t sleeping. You couldn’t. Every creak, every shadow, felt like a threat. You’d taped over your webcam, changed your passwords, even unplugged your router, but the unease lingered.

Your phone lit up. A text, not an email this time, from an unknown number: “You’re cute when you’re scared, Y/N. But you don’t have to be. I’m not here to hurt you.” Attached was a grainy image—a still from your bedroom CCTV, showing you sitting on your bed, staring at your phone. The timestamp? Five minutes ago.

You dropped the phone, your breath hitching. The cameras. He was in the cameras. And if Jungwon was J, he’d been in your house, in your life, closer than you ever realized. The question wasn’t just who he was—it was what he wanted. And whether you were scared enough to run… or curious enough to find out.

The next morning, you woke with a jolt, the memory of last night’s CCTV image burning behind your eyes. Your phone lay face-down on the nightstand, as if ignoring it could erase the message from J: a grainy still of you in your bedroom, timestamped just minutes before it arrived. You hadn’t slept properly, your dreams a jumble of code and Jungwon’s sly smirk. Now, sunlight streamed through your curtains, but it did nothing to ease the chill in your bones.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. Ryujin had left early for a study group, and Jay was probably with her. You were alone—or so you hoped. Your laptop sat on your desk, its lid closed like a sleeping predator. You hesitated, then opened it, half-expecting something to leap out. The screen flickered to life, normal at first glance. But as you opened your notes app to jot down your thoughts—anything to make sense of the chaos—something was wrong.

Words appeared on the screen. Not yours.

“You’re up early, Y/N. Thinking about me?”

Your fingers froze above the keyboard. The cursor blinked, then moved again, typing in real-time: “Don’t look so freaked out. It’s just a little fun.” You slammed the laptop shut, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. You hadn’t touched the keys. Someone—J—was in your system, watching, typing, playing with you.

You grabbed your phone, opening the CCTV app to check the house. The feeds loaded: kitchen, empty; front porch, empty; living room, empty. Your bedroom feed was last. You hesitated, then tapped it. The screen showed your room, your bed, you—right now, hunched over your phone, eyes wide.

The angle was from the ceiling camera, its lens unblinking. You forced yourself to look at the laptop. The webcam light was still off, covered by the tape you’d slapped on last night. But the notes app incident told you tape wasn’t enough.

Another ping. A text from an unknown number: “You can’t hide from me, Y/N. But why would you want to?” Attached was a screenshot of your notes app, the words J had typed still visible. Your stomach lurched. This wasn’t just emails or texts anymore. They were inside your devices, real-time, like a shadow moving with you.

You skipped breakfast, too rattled to eat. Instead, you sat at the kitchen table, your laptop and phone in front of you like evidence in a crime scene. Jungwon’s face kept flashing in your mind—his quick fingers on his keyboard, his too-knowing smile when he borrowed your laptop yesterday. It had to be him.

He was Jay’s best friend, always around, always too close. And he’d had access to your laptop, your house, your life. The CCTV system was Ryujin’s idea, installed after a string of neighborhood break-ins, but Jungwon had been here when the techs set it up. You remembered him asking questions, leaning over the technician’s shoulder, his curiosity seeming innocent at the time.

Now, it felt like a setup.

Your phone buzzed again, this time a notification from your music app. A new playlist had been created: “For Y/N, From J.” The songs were eerily specific—your favorite obscure indie tracks, a metal song you’d only listened to once in private, even a demo you’d downloaded from a sketchy site years ago. No one could know this. No one but someone who’d dug deep into your digital footprint.

You opened your laptop again, determined to fight back. You ran every antivirus you had, the scans coming up clean. Frustrated, you opened a browser, but before you could type, the search bar autofilled: “How to know if you’re being hacked.” You stared, your hands nowhere near the keyboard. The browser loaded a page, but instead of search results, it displayed a single line in bold: “You’re asking the right questions, Y/N. Keep going.”

You yanked the laptop’s power cord, shutting it down manually. Your hands shook as you grabbed your phone, ready to call Ryujin and spill everything. But what would you say? That her boyfriend’s best friend was a psycho hacker? That he was stalking you through your own devices? She’d think you were unhinged. You needed proof.

That afternoon, Jungwon showed up again, uninvited as usual. Ryujin and Jay were back, laughing in the living room as Jungwon dropped his backpack by the couch. He caught your eye, his smile as disarming as ever. “Hey, Y/N. Thanks for the laptop loan yesterday. Worked like a charm.”

You forced a nod, your throat tight. “No problem.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “You okay? You look… tense.”

“Just tired,” you lied, avoiding his gaze. You retreated to the kitchen, pretending to busy yourself with dishes, but you kept your phone’s CCTV app open, watching him. Jungwon pulled out his laptop, his fingers moving with that same fluid precision. You zoomed in on the feed, catching a glimpse of his screen: a black terminal window, green text scrolling too fast to read. Your pulse quickened. Was he doing it now?

Your phone vibrated in your hand. Another text from J: “You’re staring. Like what you see?” Your eyes flicked to Jungwon, still typing, his expression unchanged. But the timing was too perfect. You opened the CCTV feed again, switching to the kitchen camera. There you were, standing by the sink, phone in hand, looking rattled. The feed glitched for a split second, and when it cleared, a tiny text overlay appeared in the corner: “Hi, Y/N.”

You dropped the phone, the clatter echoing in the quiet kitchen. Ryujin called out, “You good in there?” You mumbled a reply, scrambling to pick up the phone. The text overlay was gone, but the message was clear: J was in the cameras, and they were taunting you.

That evening, you locked yourself in your room, your laptop powered off and your phone on airplane mode. You needed to think. Jungwon was the only person who made sense as J. His tech skills, his access to your house, his weirdly intense interest in you—it all fit. But why? Was it a game? A crush? Something darker? You remembered the way he’d looked at you yesterday, his voice soft but edged when he said, “You’re fascinating, Y/N.” The memory made your skin crawl, but there was something else too—a flicker of curiosity you couldn’t shake.

You grabbed a notebook, scribbling everything you knew about J. The messages started three weeks ago, right after Jungwon had “fixed” Ryujin’s Wi-Fi. He’d been in the house more often since, always with his laptop or phone, always watching you a little too closely. The CCTV system was cloud-based, accessible with a login Ryujin had shared with Jay—and probably Jungwon, by extension. Your laptop, your notes app, your music app—all compromised after he’d borrowed it. The evidence was circumstantial but overwhelming.

Your phone buzzed despite airplane mode, making you jump. A notification from your calendar app: “Meet J at midnight. Your room.” Your blood ran cold. You hadn’t set that event. You opened the app, and the entry vanished before your eyes, replaced by a single word: “Soon.”

You glanced at the clock. 10:47 p.m. Whatever J—Jungwon?—was planning, it was escalating. You needed a plan, fast. Confront him? Record him? Or wait and see what he’d do next? The thought of facing him alone terrified you, but so did the idea of doing nothing. He was in your systems, your home, your head. And he knew it.

The house creaked, and you froze, listening. Footsteps, soft but deliberate, moved down the hall. Ryujin and Jay were asleep—you’d heard them go to bed an hour ago. Which left only one person who could be out there.

Your phone lit up again. No notification, just a single image on the lock screen: your bedroom door, from the hallway camera, with a shadow just outside.

The shadow outside your bedroom door lingered on your phone screen, a dark silhouette against the grainy hallway feed. Your heart thudded so loudly you swore it echoed in the silent room. The clock on your nightstand read 10:52 p.m.—just over an hour until the mysterious “Meet J at midnight” calendar event that had appeared and vanished like a ghost. Your phone, despite being in airplane mode, felt like a live wire in your hand, buzzing with the weight of J’s presence. You were certain now: J was Jungwon. The messages, the hacked apps, the CCTV access—it all pointed to him. But knowing didn’t make it less terrifying. If anything, it made it worse.

You crept to your door, pressing your ear against the wood. The footsteps you’d heard moments ago had stopped, but the air felt heavy, like someone was still out there, waiting. You glanced at your laptop, powered off and unplugged, its webcam still taped over. Your notebook lay open on the bed, pages filled with your frantic scribbles: timelines of J’s messages, Jungwon’s visits, every suspicious moment. It wasn’t enough. You needed proof—something concrete to confront him with, or to take it to Ryujin and Jay without sounding like you’d lost it.

Your phone vibrated, startling you. Airplane mode should’ve blocked notifications, but there it was: a new text from an unknown number. “You’re thinking too hard, Y/N. Just open the door.” Your breath hitched. You swiped to the CCTV app, the hallway feed loading instantly. The shadow was gone, the corridor empty, but a new text popped up: “I’m faster than you think.” Your hands shook as you switched to the living room feed. There was Jungwon, sprawled on the couch, his laptop open, typing with that effortless speed you’d come to dread. He looked relaxed, almost bored, but his fingers were a blur, and the faint reflection in his glasses showed lines of code scrolling like a digital heartbeat.

You forced yourself to breathe. He was downstairs, not outside your door. But the timing, the messages—it was him. It had to be. You needed to act before midnight, before whatever he was planning came to a head. You grabbed your notebook, flipping to a fresh page, and started mapping a plan. Confronting him directly was risky; he was too smart, too slippery. Recording him might work, but your devices were compromised. You needed something he couldn’t hack—something analog.

You tiptoed downstairs, avoiding the creaky third step. The living room was dimly lit, the TV casting a flickering glow across Jungwon’s face. He didn’t look up as you entered, but his lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low, almost playful.

“Something like that,” you replied, keeping your distance. You clutched your phone, the CCTV app still open in the background, showing the kitchen feed now. You’d left a small voice recorder—one of your dad’s old gadgets—hidden under a stack of magazines on the coffee table earlier. If Jungwon said anything incriminating, you’d have it on tape, untouchable by his digital tricks.

He closed his laptop with a soft click, his eyes finally meeting yours. They were sharp, like he could see through your casual facade. “You’ve been acting weird, Y/N. Something on your mind?”

You shrugged, forcing a laugh. “Just stressed. Finals, you know?”

He tilted his head, studying you. “You sure? You’ve been… jumpy. Like you’re waiting for something to happen.” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a challenge. Your skin prickled. He knew you were onto him, didn’t he?

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again. You glanced down, unable to stop yourself. A new email from J: “You’re cute when you play detective. Check your notes app.” Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t opened the notes app since this morning, when it had typed on its own. Against your better judgment, you swiped it open. A new note was there, timestamped seconds ago: “Stop trying to outsmart me, Y/N. You’re making this too easy.”

You looked up, and Jungwon was watching you, his smirk wider now. “Problem?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock concern.

“You tell me,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you meant. His eyebrows raised, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, like you’d just made the game more interesting.

“Careful, Y/N,” he said softly. “You’re starting to sound paranoid.”

You wanted to snap at him, to demand answers, but Ryujin’s voice cut through from upstairs. “Y/N? Jungwon? You guys still up?” You heard her footsteps descending, and Jungwon leaned back, his expression shifting to innocent in a heartbeat.

“Just chilling,” he called back, winking at you. Ryujin appeared, yawning, her hair messy from sleep. She glanced between you and Jungwon, oblivious to the tension.

“Go to bed, Y/N,” she said, grabbing a glass of water. “You look like a zombie.”

You muttered a goodnight and retreated, your mind racing. Jungwon’s eyes followed you until you were out of sight.

Back in your room, you locked the door and checked the CCTV feed again. Jungwon was still on the couch, but his laptop was open again, and he was typing. You zoomed in, catching a glimpse of a terminal window, but the text was too small to read. Your phone buzzed, another text: “You forgot to check your browser history.” Dread pooled in your chest. You opened your laptop, powering it on despite every instinct screaming not to. The browser loaded, and the history showed searches you hadn’t made: “How to secure a webcam,” “Signs of remote access,” “CCTV vulnerabilities.” All timestamped from the last hour, while you were downstairs.

Your hands trembled as you opened the notes app again. Another new note: “You’re getting warmer, Y/N. But you’re still not fast enough.” You slammed the laptop shut, your breath ragged. He was toying with you, leaving breadcrumbs to prove he could reach you anywhere, anytime.

You grabbed the voice recorder from the living room when Jungwon stepped out to use the bathroom, praying it had caught something. You played it back, but it was just static and snippets of your conversation—nothing damning. Either he hadn’t said anything incriminating, or he’d known the recorder was there. You wouldn’t put it past him.

The clock ticked closer to midnight. You sat on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the locked door. Your phone was off now, battery removed for good measure. The laptop was unplugged, stashed under your bed. But the CCTV camera in the corner of your room felt like an eye, unblinking and merciless. You’d covered it with a scarf, but it didn’t feel like enough.

At 11:58 p.m., a soft knock came at your door. You froze, your heart in your throat. “Y/N?” Jungwon’s voice, low and calm, seeped through the wood. “You awake?”

You didn’t answer, your eyes locked on the doorknob. It didn’t turn, but your phone—off, battery out—somehow lit up on the nightstand. The screen displayed a single word: “Open.”

You stood, legs shaky, and backed away from the door. Another knock, sharper this time. “Come on, Y/N,” Jungwon said, his tone still light but with a hint of impatience. “I just want to talk.”

You swallowed, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s late, Jungwon. I’m tired.”

A pause, then a soft laugh. “You’re not tired. You’re scared.” He said it like a fact, not a question. “But you don’t have to be. I’m not the bad guy here.”

Your notebook was still open on the bed, and you glanced at it, at the list of J’s messages. Every instinct screamed that Jungwon was J, but a tiny, reckless part of you wondered if you were wrong. If he was just a guy, teasing you, flirting in his weird, intense way. You shook your head. No. The hacked apps, the CCTV, the real-time taunts—it was too much for coincidence.

“I’m not opening the door,” you said, louder now, trying to sound firm.

Another pause, longer this time. Then, softly: “Your choice, Y/N. But I’ll see you soon.” His footsteps retreated, and you heard the creak of the stairs as he went back downstairs. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, until the house was silent again.

You stayed up all night, the scarf over the camera, the door locked, your notebook clutched like a lifeline. At 3 a.m., your laptop—still unplugged—emitted a soft hum. You stared, horrified, as the screen flickered on, displaying a live feed of your room. Not from the CCTV, but from another angle—lower, closer. Your webcam. The tape was still there, but the feed showed you, sitting on your bed, staring at the laptop in real-time.

A text overlay appeared: “I told you, Y/N. I’m always watching.”

You screamed, shoving the laptop off the bed. It hit the floor with a thud, the screen going black. You didn’t sleep again that night, your mind spiraling. Jungwon wasn’t just hacking your devices. He was hacking your life. And the worst part? You still didn’t know why—or what he’d do next.

The morning after Jungwon’s midnight knock, your room felt like a cage. The scarf over the CCTV camera hung limp, useless against the violation of last night’s webcam feed. Your laptop, now shoved into a drawer, was a traitor you couldn’t trust. Your phone, battery still removed, sat dead on your nightstand. You hadn’t slept, your eyes burning from staring at the ceiling, replaying every message from J, every glance from Jungwon, every moment that had led to this suffocating dread. You knew it was him. You knew. But knowing wasn’t enough—you needed to end this.

Downstairs, the house was alive with normalcy that felt obscene. Ryujin was humming in the kitchen, flipping eggs, while Jay laughed at something on his phone. Jungwon was there too, perched on a stool at the counter, his black hoodie swapped for a clean white tee, his hair slightly damp from a shower. He looked infuriatingly normal, sipping coffee like he hadn’t spent the night terrorizing you. But when his eyes met yours, that familiar smirk flickered—just for a second, just for you.

“Morning, Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth as ever. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Ryujin glanced over, frowning. “Seriously, Y/N, you okay? You’re paler than my bedsheets.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, grabbing a glass of water to avoid Jungwon’s gaze. Your hands shook slightly, and you prayed he didn’t notice. But of course he did. His eyes tracked you like a predator, and you felt it in your bones: he was J, and he was enjoying this.

You needed a plan—something to trap him, expose him, or at least make him back off. Confronting him directly hadn’t worked; he was too slippery, too good at playing innocent. You needed evidence, something Ryujin and Jay couldn’t dismiss. And you needed it before he escalated further. The webcam feed last night, showing through the tape, was a warning. He was closing in, and midnight—his promised “meeting”—had passed, but you didn’t feel safe. You felt hunted.

You spent the morning pretending to study, your notebook open to a page of meaningless notes while you brainstormed. Jungwon stayed downstairs, but his presence was a shadow, lingering in every ping of your phone, every flicker of your laptop screen. You’d reinserted your phone’s battery to check for new messages, half-expecting another taunt. Nothing yet, but the silence was worse—it felt like he was waiting, letting you stew.

By noon, you had an idea. Jungwon was good, but no one was perfect. If he was hacking your devices, he was leaving traces—logs, IP addresses, something. You weren’t a tech genius, but you’d taken a coding class last semester, enough to know the basics. You needed to bait him, catch him in the act, and record it in a way he couldn’t erase. The voice recorder hadn’t worked, but maybe something simpler would.

You grabbed an old USB drive from your desk, one you hadn’t used in years. It was clean, unconnected to any network. You plugged it into your laptop, quickly setting up a dummy file—a text document labeled “Y/N’s Secrets.” Inside, you wrote nonsense: fake diary entries, random thoughts, anything to make it look personal. If Jungwon was as nosy as you thought, he’d take the bait. You left the laptop on your desk, screen unlocked, and headed downstairs, leaving the USB plugged in.

“Hey, Ryujin,” you called, keeping your voice casual. “I’m running to the store for snacks. Want anything?”

She looked up from her phone, sprawled on the couch next to Jay. “Chips. Spicy ones. You sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”

“Just need some air,” you said, forcing a smile. Jungwon was at the counter, scrolling on his phone. He didn’t look up, but you saw his fingers pause for a split second. Got you, you thought.

You left the house, circling around to the backyard where you could peek through the living room window. The CCTV app was open on your phone, showing Jungwon still at the counter—but then he stood, stretching, and wandered toward the stairs. Your pulse quickened. You switched to the bedroom feed, watching as he appeared in your room, casual as ever, like he belonged there. He glanced at the laptop, then at the door, before sitting at your desk. His fingers moved over the trackpad, opening the USB drive.

You held your breath. The dummy file was rigged with a simple tracking script you’d found online—a long shot, but it logged access times and device IDs. If he opened it, you’d have proof he was snooping. Jungwon’s expression didn’t change as he clicked the file, his eyes scanning the screen. Then, infuriatingly, he smirked, typed something, and closed the laptop. He left the room, and you hurried back inside, heart pounding.

Upstairs, you checked the USB. The file was still there, but a new note had been added at the bottom: “Cute try, Y/N. But I’m better than that.” Your stomach sank. The tracking script’s log was empty—wiped clean. He’d seen through it, turned your trap against you. But worse was the new email waiting in your inbox: “Nice USB trick. Want to see something cooler?” Attached was a video file. You hesitated, then clicked.

It was your bedroom, filmed from an angle you didn’t recognize—not the CCTV, not the webcam. You were in it, sleeping, two nights ago, the covers pulled up to your chin. The video zoomed in, slow and deliberate, on your face. A text overlay appeared: “Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

You dropped your phone, bile rising in your throat. He wasn’t just in your devices. He was everywhere.

That evening, you couldn’t pretend anymore. You cornered Ryujin in the kitchen while Jay and Jungwon were gaming in the living room. “I need to talk to you,” you whispered, pulling her aside. “It’s about Jungwon.”

Her brow furrowed. “What about him? He’s been here all day, Y/N. What’s got you so freaked?”

You hesitated, knowing how crazy it would sound. “I think he’s… hacking me. My phone, my laptop, the CCTV. Someone’s been sending me messages, watching me, and it started when he started coming around more.”

Ryujin stared, then laughed, short and sharp. “Jungwon? The guy who can’t even set up his own Netflix account without Jay’s help? Y/N, you’re spiraling. Maybe you’ve been online too much.”

“I’m not crazy,” you snapped, shoving your phone at her, showing the video from J. “Explain this.”

Her face paled as the video played, but she shook her head. “This could be anyone. Some creep from the internet. Why would Jungwon do this? He’s practically family.”

“Because he’s obsessed,” you said, your voice low. “He’s always watching me, always here. He borrowed my laptop, Ryujin. The messages got worse after that.”

She frowned, glancing toward the living room where Jungwon’s laughter mixed with Jay’s. “Okay, that’s… weird. But we need proof. Real proof. I’ll talk to Jay, see if Jungwon’s been acting off. But don’t do anything rash, Y/N. If it’s not him, you’ll look insane.”

You nodded, but you weren’t waiting for her. You had one last idea—a risky one. If Jungwon wanted to play, you’d play back.

That night, you set the trap. You left your laptop open, a blank text document on the screen, and typed a single line: “I know it’s you, Jungwon. Stop this, or I go to the police.” You left it visible, then hid in the closet, your phone recording through a crack in the door. The CCTV app was open on another device, an old tablet, showing the room. You waited, barely breathing.

At 11:47 p.m., your bedroom door creaked open. Jungwon stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He glanced at the laptop, read the message, and chuckled—a low, dangerous sound. “Oh, Y/N,” he murmured, sitting at your desk. “You’re so close.”

He typed something, his fingers flying, then leaned back, staring at the screen. Your phone buzzed in your hand, a new text: “Police? That’s adorable. But you don’t want to end this. Not yet.” He stood, looking directly at the closet—directly at you. “Come out, Y/N. Let’s talk.”

You froze, your heart stopping. He knew. He’d always known. The tablet’s CCTV feed glitched, then cut to a new angle: inside the closet, showing you, crouched, phone in hand. A text overlay blinked: “Game over.”

Jungwon opened the closet door, his smile soft but chilling. “I told you, Y/N. I’m not the bad guy. I just… like you. A lot.” He crouched to your level, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re fascinating, you know that? The way you think, the way you fight back. I couldn’t stop watching.”

You clutched your phone, your voice shaking. “You’re sick, Jungwon. This isn’t a game.”

His smile faded, and for a moment, he looked almost hurt. “It’s not about hurting you. It’s about knowing you. Everything—your music, your fears, your secrets. I wanted to be close to you. Closer than anyone.”

You stood, backing away. “Stay away from me. I’m telling Ryujin. Jay. The police.”

He sighed, standing too. “They won’t believe you. I’m careful, Y/N. No traces, no proof. Just you and me.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “But I’ll stop. If you want me to. Say it, and I’ll delete everything—every hack, every feed. Or… you can let me show you what I can do. For you. With you.”

Your mind raced. He was offering a way out, but it felt like a trap. Yet the intensity in his eyes, the sincerity beneath the madness, made you pause. Was he dangerous, or just obsessed? Could you trust him to stop? Did you want him to?

“I need time,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the fear.

He nodded, stepping back. “Fair. I’m patient. But don’t take too long, Y/N. I’m always watching.” He left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You collapsed onto your bed, the tablet still showing the glitched CCTV feed. A new message appeared on your phone: “Your move.”

You had a choice to make. Expose him, risk everything, and hope for proof. Or play his game, dive deeper, and maybe—just maybe—find a way to beat him at it.

The silence was a weapon. For three weeks after Jungwon’s midnight confession in your closet, the absence of J’s messages left a void that gnawed at you. No pings, no glitched CCTV feeds, no eerie texts taunting you from the shadows of your phone. Your laptop, locked away in a drawer, was a sleeping beast you didn’t dare touch. Your phone, battery removed half the time, felt like a grenade with the pin pulled. The scarf over your bedroom’s CCTV camera hung like a flag of surrender, a reminder of Jungwon’s eyes—sharp, piercing, obsessive—watching you through every digital crack in your life.

You’d checked your systems obsessively, running scans, scouring logs, even enlisting a friend from your coding class to double-check. Nothing. No traces of J, no hidden connections, no signs of intrusion. Jungwon had kept his promise: he’d wiped his presence clean. It should’ve calmed you, but it didn’t. The silence was his new game, a dare to see what you’d do without his shadow looming. And the worst part? You missed it. Not the fear, but the thrill—the way his messages made your heart race, the way his obsession made you feel seen, wanted, known.

Jungwon was still a constant in your life, showing up with Jay like nothing had changed. He’d lounge in your living room, his leather jacket tossed over a chair, his dark hair falling just right over his eyes, his smirks sharp enough to cut. Every glance he sent your way was a spark, igniting a fire you couldn’t extinguish. Ryujin and Jay were oblivious, laughing and joking as if the world hadn’t shifted under your feet. But you saw it—the way Jungwon’s eyes lingered, the way his voice dropped when he spoke to you, the way his fingers brushed yours when he passed you a drink. It was subtle, deliberate, and it drove you wild.

You should’ve hated him. He’d hacked your life, your privacy, your mind. But the truth was uglier: you were falling for him. His obsession, his ability to unravel every piece of you—your late-night playlists, your unsent rants, the way you danced alone in your room—was terrifying but intoxicating. He’d seen you at your rawest, your most vulnerable, and instead of running, he’d stayed. Devoted. Consumed. And now, you were consumed too, caught in a web of fear and fascination that felt like love.

It was a stormy Thursday night, the kind where the sky roared and the rain lashed the windows like it wanted to break in. Ryujin and Jay were at a friend’s game night, leaving the house empty, the air thick with the scent of wet pavement and anticipation. You were in your room, trying to focus on a coding project, but your mind kept drifting to Jungwon—his voice, his hands, the way he’d looked at you in the closet, like you were the only thing in his universe.

Your phone buzzed, a motion alert from the CCTV app. You opened it, your heart already racing, and there he was: Jungwon, standing on your porch, soaked to the bone, his black hoodie clinging to his frame like a second skin. He looked up at the camera, his eyes dark and unreadable, and smiled—a slow, deliberate curve that sent a shiver through you. You didn’t hesitate. You were already moving, down the stairs, to the door, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears.

You opened the door, the cold air rushing in with the scent of rain and his cologne, cedar and steel. “You shouldn’t be here,” you said, but your voice was soft, almost inviting.

He stepped closer, water dripping from his hair, his eyes locked on yours. “You didn’t change the locks. Or the Wi-Fi. Or the CCTV codes.” His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hunger. “Why, Y/N? Hoping I’d come back?”

You crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground, but your cheeks flushed. “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d keep your promise.”

He laughed, a sound that vibrated through you, warm and dangerous. “I did. No hacks, no messages. I’ve been good.” He took another step, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him despite the rain. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I know you’re thinking about me too.”

Your breath caught. He was right, and you hated it. You’d spent weeks replaying his words, his messages, the way he’d seen you—really seen you. It was invasive, yes, but it was also intimate, like he’d cracked open your soul and memorized every piece. “You scared me,” you said, your voice trembling but honest. “You crossed lines. My phone, my laptop, my cameras. But…”

“But?” he prompted, his eyes darkening, his smirk softening into something more vulnerable.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you either,” you admitted, the words spilling out like a confession. “The way you saw me—everything about me. It’s terrifying, but it’s… it’s hot, Jungwon. Knowing you were watching, knowing you wanted me that much—it’s messed up, but it makes me feel… alive.”

His smile was gone now, replaced by something raw, intense. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice rough. “I saw you—your music, your rants, the way you laugh when you think no one’s around. I couldn’t look away. I tried, Y/N. I stopped the hacks, I deleted everything, but I can’t stop wanting you.”

You swallowed, your heart racing. “Then don’t,” you said, the words reckless but true. “I want you too. All of you—the hacker, the guy, the obsession. I want you in my life, Jungwon. In my systems, my world, everything.”

His eyes widened, surprise flickering before it was swallowed by hunger. “You mean that? You’re giving me access—your phone, your laptop, your secrets?”

You nodded, stepping closer, your hands trembling but sure. “Yes. I want you to know me, like I want to know you. No walls, no games. You get my servers, my data, my everything. But you give me yours too.”

He stared at you, like he was trying to process the weight of your words. Then he laughed, a low, thrilled sound, and closed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face. “You’re insane,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek, warm despite the rain. “You’re giving me your world, Y/N. You sure about that?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady now, your eyes locked on his. “I want you, Jungwon. I want the guy who hacked my life because he couldn’t stay away. I want the guy who sees me like no one else ever has. Hack me, watch me, know me—I’m yours.”

His lips crashed into yours, and the world tilted. The kiss was fire, desperate and consuming, like he was pouring every moment of his obsession into it. His hands were everywhere—on your face, your neck, your waist—pulling you against him, the wet fabric of his hoodie soaking into your shirt. You kissed him back, just as hungry, your hands fisting in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan into your mouth. He tasted like rain and mint, sharp and addictive, and you couldn’t get enough.

The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours, slow and deliberate, then fast and reckless, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. You gasped, and he took advantage, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending a shiver through you. Your hands slid under his hoodie, finding warm skin, lean muscle, the rapid beat of his heart under your fingers. He hissed softly, his grip tightening on your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with want. “I watched you for so long, wanted you for so long, and now you’re here, letting me in.” His lips trailed to your jaw, leaving a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made you arch against him. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

“Then show me,” you whispered, your voice shaky but bold, your hands sliding up his chest, nails grazing lightly. “Show me how much you wanted me.”

He groaned, low and deep, and kissed you again, harder, his hands roaming your back, possessive and urgent. You stumbled back, pulling him with you, until you hit the couch, and he followed, his body pressing you into the cushions. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and he moaned, the sound vibrating against your lips, making your head spin. His lips found your neck, sucking lightly, leaving a trail of heat that had you gasping, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on.

“I saw everything,” he murmured against your skin, his voice raw. “Your late-night dances, your rants about bad coffee, the way you sing when you think no one’s listening. I wanted to be there, Y/N. Not just watching—touching you, feeling you.” His teeth grazed your collarbone, and you shivered, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him back to your mouth.

“Then don’t stop,” you said, your voice breathless, your lips brushing his. “You have me now. All of me.”

He kissed you like it was a vow, slow and deliberate, his hands sliding under your shirt, warm against your skin. The touch was electric, every point of contact burning, and you arched into him, wanting more. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, possessive but careful, like he was still afraid you’d vanish.

You kissed him back, pouring every confusing, thrilling emotion into it—fear, desire, love, all tangled together. Your teeth nipped his lip, and he groaned again, his hands tightening, pulling you so close you could feel his heartbeat, fast and erratic, matching yours.

The kiss stretched on, a blur of lips and tongues, gasps and moans, until your lungs burned and your body felt alive in a way it never had. He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m yours. Every code, every server, every secret—I’m giving you everything, Y/N.”

You nodded, your chest heaving, your hands still tangled in his hair. “And I’m giving you mine,” you said, your voice steady despite the fire in your veins. “My phone, my laptop, my life. Hack me, Jungwon. I want you to.”

His eyes darkened, a mix of awe and hunger, and he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second. His lips moved against yours like he was memorizing you, his hands roaming your sides, your back, your hips, like he couldn’t get enough.

You kissed him back, just as deep, your hands sliding under his hoodie again, feeling the heat of his skin, the tension in his muscles. He groaned softly, his teeth grazing your ear, and you shivered, pulling him closer, wanting every piece of him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Every detail, every moment—I knew it when I watched you, but this… this is everything.” His voice was raw, almost reverent, and it made your heart ache, made you want him more.

You pulled him back to your mouth, kissing him with a desperation that matched his, your hands roaming his chest, his shoulders, his hair. The couch creaked under you, the rain a distant roar, the world shrinking to just the two of you. His lips were swollen now, his breath uneven, but he didn’t stop, kissing you like he’d been starving for it, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

The rain roared outside, a relentless curtain that sealed you and Jungwon in Ryujin’s living room, the world shrinking to the heat of his lips, the press of his body, the fire of his obsession. His kiss was a storm—teeth grazing, tongues tangling, a desperate edge that matched the chaos in your heart. Jungwon, Jay’s best friend, the hacker who’d slipped into your digital life as J, was now unraveling you in the flesh, and you were letting him, craving him, falling for him in a way that felt like love and madness intertwined. His wet hoodie clung to his lean frame, your hands greedy under the fabric, tracing the hard lines of his abs, the rapid beat of his heart. You’d spent weeks terrified of J’s messages, his eyes in your cameras, but now you knew—Jungwon was J, and you wanted every byte of him.

His obsession was a mirror to your own, a twisted thrill that made you feel seen, wanted, alive.

Every night since, you’d waited for him—not by a window, but by your phone, your laptop, your heart racing for a ping, a glitch, a sign of J. You’d refresh your inbox, check your CCTV feeds, even play your obscure playlists, hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d break his silence. The absence of his messages was torture, but it only deepened your hunger. He’d hacked your life, your privacy, your soul, and you’d fallen for it, for him, for the way he knew you better than anyone.

Last night, alone in your room, the longing had been unbearable. You’d lain back, the darkness thick, your body humming with need. Your fingers slipped beneath your panties, finding the damp folds of your pussy, slick with thoughts of Jungwon—his voice, his smirk, the way he’d seen you through your webcam. You gasped, imagining his hands, precise and skilled, his hacker’s fingers teasing you apart. You circled your clit, slow at first, then faster, picturing his eyes on a hidden feed, knowing exactly how you arched, how you moaned. “Fuck, Jungwon,” you’d whispered, your hips bucking, your fingers plunging into your wet heat, chasing the image of him—his obsession, his control. The release hit hard, a shuddering moan spilling from your lips, but it wasn’t enough. You needed him, not just his shadow.

Now, he was here, real and burning, his lips on yours, his body pinning you to the couch. “You’re killing me,” he growled against your mouth, his voice rough with want. “I watched you for so long, wanted you for so long, and now you’re here, letting me in.” His lips trailed to your jaw, hot and open-mouthed, leaving a path of fire that made you arch against him. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

“Then show me,” you gasped, your voice bold, your hands sliding under his hoodie, nails grazing his abs, hard and warm. “Show me how much you wanted me.”

His groan was primal, his lips crashing back to yours, kissing you like he’d die without it. His hands slid under your shirt, fingers rough against your skin, tracing your ribs, your waist, sending sparks through you. You arched into him, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer, feeling the hard press of his cock through his jeans against your thigh. He hissed, his teeth grazing your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a growl. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Good,” you moaned, tugging his hoodie off, your hands greedy for his skin—smooth, taut, fever-hot. His lips found your collarbone, kissing, biting, leaving a trail of heat that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. The couch creaked, the rain a distant roar, the world shrinking to his mouth, his hands, his body against yours.

He pulled back, his eyes dark and wild, his breath ragged. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice thick with possession. “Every song, every secret, every fucking moment—I’ve seen it all, and I want it all.” His hands gripped your hips, yanking you up, and you straddled him, your thighs squeezing his, feeling the bulge of his cock pressing against your core through your leggings. You ground against him, slow and deliberate, and he cursed, his head falling back, his hands tightening on your ass.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his eyes locked on yours, watching every roll of your hips, every flush on your cheeks. “You have no idea how many nights I watched you, wishing I could touch you like this.” His fingers dug into your ass, guiding your movements, making you grind harder, the friction sending heat coiling low in your belly.

“Then do it,” you challenged, your voice breathless, your hands fisting in his hair, tugging hard. “Touch me, Jungwon. Fuck me like you’ve been dreaming of.”

His control snapped, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He flipped you onto your back, the couch creaking under the force, his body hovering over yours, all lean muscle and hunger. He yanked your shirt up, exposing your bra, and his mouth was on you, kissing the swell of your breasts, his tongue flicking under the lace. You moaned, arching up, your hands scrambling to unhook it, and he helped, tossing it aside, his lips closing over your nipple, sucking hard. The sensation shot straight to your pussy, making you writhe, your legs wrapping around him, desperate for more.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your nipple, his hand palming your other breast, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. “I knew you’d feel like this, taste like this.” His lips trailed down your stomach, kissing, licking, until he reached the waistband of your leggings. He looked up, eyes burning, and you nodded, your breath hitching.

He peeled your leggings and panties off in one swift motion, leaving you bare, your pussy glistening with want. He cursed under his breath, his hands spreading your thighs, his eyes locked on your dripping core. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he said, his voice raw, his fingers brushing your folds, teasing, not enough. You bucked your hips, whining, and he smirked, that J smirk, the one that haunted your feeds. “Patient, Y/N. I’ve waited this long. I’m gonna savor you.”

His finger slid inside, slow and deliberate, curling just right, and you moaned, your head falling back. He added another, stretching you, his thumb circling your clit, the pressure building fast. “So tight,” he groaned, his voice strained, his eyes flicking between your face and your pussy, watching every reaction. “You’re gonna feel so fucking good around my cock.”

“Then give it to me,” you snapped, your voice needy, your hands tugging at his jeans, fumbling with the button. He laughed, low and dark, helping you, shoving his jeans and boxers down, his cock springing free—hard, thick, the tip glistening with precum. Your mouth watered, your pussy clenching at the sight, and he noticed, his smirk widening.

“Like what you see?” he teased, stroking himself, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’ve got no idea how many times I jerked off thinking of you, watching you on those feeds.”

You reached for him, your hand wrapping around his cock, stroking him, feeling the hot, velvet weight of him. He hissed, his hips jerking, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, leaning down, kissing you hard, his tongue fucking your mouth like he was claiming it. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

“Then lose it,” you whispered against his lips, guiding his cock to your entrance, rubbing the tip against your slick folds. “Fuck me, Jungwon. Now.”

He didn’t need another invitation. He thrust in, hard and deep, filling you in one brutal stroke, and you cried out, your nails digging into his back, the stretch burning and perfect. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, pausing, his breath ragged, his eyes locked on yours. “You okay?”

You nodded, your body adjusting, the fullness sending heat spiraling through you. “Move,” you begged, your hips rocking, needing more. He pulled back, then slammed in again, setting a relentless pace, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. You moaned, loud and shameless, your hands gripping his ass, pulling him deeper.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he panted, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider, his thrusts brutal and precise, like he’d memorized every inch of you. “My perfect little slut, letting me fuck you like this, letting me own you.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your pussy clenching around him, the dirty words sending you higher. “I’m yours, Jungwon. Fuck, I’m yours.”

He groaned, his lips crashing to yours, kissing you sloppy and desperate, his hips snapping faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. His hand slid between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you screamed, the pleasure overwhelming, your body shaking. “Come for me,” he growled, his voice rough, his thrusts erratic, his own release close. “Come all over my cock, Y/N.”

The command broke you. Your orgasm hit like a wave, your pussy clamping down, your body arching, a choked moan ripping from your throat. Jungwon cursed, his thrusts faltering, and he pulled out, stroking his cock fast, his cum spilling hot and thick across your stomach, marking you. He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, the couch damp with sweat and rain.

For a moment, it was quiet, just the rain and your breaths. Then he turned, his eyes soft, his hand brushing your hair back. “You’re everything,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Every code, every secret, every moment—I want it all.”

You nodded, your heart still racing, your body buzzing. “And I want you,” you said, your voice steady. “Hack me, watch me, love me—I’m yours.”

"I'll always be watching you, my love." Jungwon whispered in your ear. "Always through your digital shadows."

@heesvnqie | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

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[hoondrop]

THIGH FUCKING WITH SUNGHOON

cw: panty fucking, thigh fucking, black lace/ribbon obsession, clothing kink, messy desperation, cumplay, overstimulation themes, soft dom!Sunghoon, praises

You don’t say a word when he walks in.

You just stand by the bed in nothing but a black lace panty set, sheer thigh-high stockings clipped into garters, a delicate little ribbon resting at the waistband, drawing attention to exactly where you know he’ll look first.

And he stops in the doorway — dead silent, jaw tight, gaze raking over your body like you’ve just knocked the air out of him

“You,” he breathes out. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

You blink. “You don’t like it?”

Sunghoon laughs — but it’s not amused. It’s breathless. Shaky. Dangerous.

“Don’t do that.” His eyes lock to yours, heavy and unreadable. “Don’t stand there looking like that and ask me if I like it. I can’t even fucking think straight.”

You take a step back onto the bed and sit, knees parting slightly. “So do something about it.”.

In two strides, he’s in front of you, kneeling between your spread thighs, large palms sliding up from your ankles to your thighs in one slow, reverent stroke. His touch is gentle, but his eyes are starved.

“You wore this for me?” he asks, voice low and frayed.

You nod.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

He kisses your inner thigh, presses his cheek there, like he’s trying to anchor himself — and then he moves you back onto the bed, legs falling open around his hips. He undoes his sweats, pulls his cock out — flushed, leaking, so heavy it hangs before he even touches it.

“You’re already wet,” he mutters, rubbing the head of his cock against your lace-covered folds. “Look at this. I haven’t even touched you, and you’re soaked.”

You whimper. The friction is maddening — the heat of him sliding between your thighs, trapped against that lacy bow. The wet sounds already echo in the room, and he hasn't even really started yet.

“Shit..,” he groans. “I should fuck you right now. But I can’t. Not yet. Not when you’re wearing this. I want to ruin it first.”

And as if his hips and cock had a mind of their own, he thrusts — not inside, but between your thighs, dragging his cock slowly through the tight warmth of your skin, the slippery heat of your panties, the sticky mess already forming as he glides along you again and again.

“God—baby,” he moans. “Your thighs… your panties… this fucking bow—”

The tip of his cock smears precum directly onto the ribbon.

He freezes.

And then slowly, deeply – he grinds again.

“I’m gonna cum all over it,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut like he’s ashamed of how hard he’s rutting into you. “This little bow. You made yourself so pretty and I’m gonna stain it.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Please do.”

That snaps something in him.

His grip tightens on your hips, fucking harder now between your thighs, panting ragged against your mouth.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “You know that, right? These thighs, this pussy, this perfect little lace—mine. All of it.”

His cock drags faster, sloppier, smearing precum across your panties, down your thighs, heat building between both your bodies like a coil about to snap.

“Say it,” he pants. “Say you’re mine while I fucking cum on this lace.”

“I’m yours, Sunghoon. I’m yours—yours—”

He groans — broken — and cums hard, cock twitching violently as he spills between your thighs, thick and hot and messy. It drips onto your lace, your skin, your garter strap, and you watch him twitch through it, his eyes rolling back, head falling to your shoulder as his hips stutter.

But he doesn’t stop.

Even with his cock softening, even with your thighs messy and soaked, he keeps kissing your body like it’s sacred. Keeps stroking your skin, whispering filth against your neck.

“I’m not done,” he murmurs, pulling your panties to the side with trembling fingers. “That was just for me.”

He lowers his head — and licks the mess he made off your thighs first before burying his face between them.

"You’re not changing,” he mutters, lifting his head to take the sight of you in, his lips pink and glossy with his and your release and mixed juices. “I’m gonna eat you out through these cum-drenched panties next. Maybe I’ll fuck your throat with them in your mouth.”

He laughs, breathless.

“Fuck, you make me so dirty.”

[moonriizing]

dear reader... | 02z (18+)

You came seeking permanence in a place known for its impermanence.  Instead, three men showed you what one unforgettable summer can teach about love, adventure, and letting go.

Genre: destination au, strangers-to-lovers, smut Pairing: ENHYPEN Jake/Sunghoon/Jay x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI, Notes: 20k words. I KNOW, WHY IS IT SO LONG? Guys, it's three men. 15k words is not gonna cover it all, lmao. Loosely based on the 2018 movie, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again!. I was rewatching the movie (for the 9868th time) and thought it would make a great fic because it's messy and dramatic, you know what I'm saying? LMAO. I hope you like this! Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for NCT, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself, otherwise, lmk.

Enjoy~

Paris, 2007

At a small restaurant tucked into a corner in Paris, you sat across from a guy who hadn’t stopped talking since the wine arrived. His name was Jake. You’d met him earlier that afternoon at the hotel. Or more accurately, you’d bumped into him just as he was coming back from lunch, with his paper cup of cold coffee spilling all over your shirt.

He’d looked horrified. In accented English, he started rapid-firing: “Oh god, I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you—are you okay? Did it burn? No, wait, it’s iced. Still—fuck—hang on—”

You were still blinking the splash out of your eye when he lunged forward with a bunch of napkins, dabbing at your sleeve in a panic. That only led to a series of increasingly awkward brushes and even more frantic apologies. At one point, his hand grazed your left boob and he practically launched himself backward.

“Shit—I wasn’t trying to grope you, I swear! I’m not a strange man!”

You were flustered and maybe a little annoyed. But the whole thing was so ridiculous that you just started laughing. Jake, still a little red in the face, had let out a breathy, nervous chuckle of his own. For a few seconds, he just watched you laugh with a slight crease on his forehead and a confused but curious smile on his lips.

You’d eventually stopped laughing and started waving your hand dismissively. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It was just… oh my god,” you trailed off, looking away so you don’t laugh again.

“I know this is probably the worst possible timing but—would you, um—” He paused, cleared his throat, and in one breath and what you now realized was an Australian accent, blurted, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

And now here you were. He was still rambling.

“It’s just been a mess since I got here. First, the hotel mixed up my reservation, then I couldn’t figure out the train system, and don’t even get me started on the guy at the station who yelled at me in French—I think it was French. I don’t know. I really thought this trip would be like… I don’t know, healing or something?”

He paused only to take a sip of wine, then set the glass down with a sigh.

“I’m not even the spontaneous type, you know? I plan everything. But I thought, hey, maybe I’ll go off the grid for once. Have my little adventure. And so far, it’s just been a lot of me getting lost and getting sworn at in French.”

“They were probably just saying ‘hi,’” you offered, shrugging.

“Yeah, maybe. But I probably should’ve just stayed home,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Played with my dog, or something.”

You rested your chin on your hand, half a smile tugging at your lips as you watched him go on. He talked a lot about himself, but not in a way that he was trying to impress you. He was just… nervous. A little frantic, even. But there was something about the way he talked earnestly and a bit self-deprecatingly that made you want to lean in and listen. It was kind of cute.

He was kind of cute.

Jake glanced up mid-sentence. “Sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I? I don’t usually talk too much, but I can’t help it. You’re just so…” he trailed off and sighed. “Is it boring? Am I boring you?” he added, looking a little apologetic.

You shook your head. “Not at all. Please, I like listening.”

He smiled, relieved, and you found yourself smiling back.

Two days ago, you’d been somewhere else entirely. Standing at the airport with your two best friends, both trying not to cry, both saying you were being dramatic, that you were running away. Maybe you were. But you liked to think of it as ‘starting over’ instead.

The moment your graduation cap hit the floor of your shared apartment, you knew your youth was over, and that perfect, cookie-cutter life waiting back home would catch up to you. You didn’t want that. So you packed your bags and chose your own path.

Corsica. An island off the coast of France, where you could be whoever you wanted and do whatever you wanted.

You hadn’t made it to Corsica yet. You hadn’t even figured out how to get there. But you weren’t in a hurry. So for now, you wandered Paris. And somehow, you’d ended up here—with a very cute stranger who couldn’t stop talking.

After dinner, you ended up walking along the Seine and Jake had stopped talking.  The silence was a little startling, like someone had hit pause on a very fast, very chaotic radio broadcast. But it wasn’t awkward. He kept close but not too close, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly against the wind.

The city lights reflected on the river, making it glimmer as you basked in the quiet and the beauty around you. Paris looked like something out of a movie, and you found yourself slowing your steps just to take it all in.

“Paris is kind of magical,” you said, just to say something.

Jake nodded slowly, then said, “It’d be a lot more magical if the people were a little nicer.”

You laughed. “Still mad about that guy at the train station?”

“He called me a donkey.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Un âne,” he said, in a terrible accent, pulling out a small dictionary from his coat pocket. “I looked it up later.”

You laughed harder, and he gave a self-pitying sigh that only made it worse. “I don’t even know what I did. I think I just stood too close to him.”

You kept walking, your steps in sync without meaning to.  It seemed like Jake had finally gotten comfortable around you. He’d stopped yapping and the nervous crease on his forehead had disappeared at some point. He asked where you were from, how long you were traveling, what made you pick Paris. You answered casually, carefully. Bits and pieces. Enough to keep the conversation going without opening up too much.

But it was a good conversation, and a good walk. You enjoyed talking to him and hearing his thoughts. And from the way he looked at you when you talked, it seemed like he enjoyed it too.

When you finally made it back to the hotel, Jake lingered with you in the lobby, fidgeting with the room key in his hand. He was getting nervous again, you could tell by the way his forehead was creased, and how he couldn’t look you in the eyes.

“What?” you prompted.

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “Hey, um,” he said, voice suddenly a little hoarse, “do you… wanna go out with me tomorrow?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Are you gonna spill another drink on me?”

“No,” he said quickly. Then added, “Not on purpose.”

You bit back a smile.

“I just—” he exhaled, looking a little too earnest, “Meeting you was kind of the only good accident I’ve had this whole trip. So, if you don’t have plans, how about spending the day with me?”

That sold it. You smiled and said, “I would love to, Jake.”

He looked relieved, grinning at the carpet before finally meeting your eyes again.

You didn’t bother setting an alarm. When you wandered downstairs the next morning, Jake was already waiting in the lobby, sipping a cappuccino and tapping his foot like he wasn’t sure whether he was early or late.

His eyes lit up when he saw you. “Hey,” he said, standing up a little too fast. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

You raised a brow. “I said I will.”

“Yeah, I know, but sometimes people say yes and don’t mean it. And I’ve been ghosted before. Not that I thought you would. Just—anyway. Hi.”

You laughed and said hi back.

“You look good today,” he said, smiling toothily. “And yesterday too. I’m sure you look good every day.”

“Dude, stop,” you chuckled, already making a beeline for the exit. “Let’s just go.”

“Of course! Yeah!”

The plan, if there was one, was to wing it. You both agreed on no maps and no real agenda. Jake suggested museum-hopping, and it sounded good enough. He brought a little foldable tourist map “just in case,” which you teased him for.

You wandered through halls of oil paintings and marble statues, whispering observations like you were museum critics. Jake tried to guess what every sculpture was about—usually something tragic or wildly inappropriate. He made you laugh loud enough to earn a few shushes from other people.

“‘Femme Étendue avec un Chien.’ Sounds like a thriller.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s a woman napping with her dog.”

“Still. Could be a thriller. The dog murdering its master kind of thriller.”

You got shushed by a woman in a long wool coat. Jake mimed zipping his lips but started talking again five seconds later.

After that, you ended up in Montmartre, where artists lined the cobbled square, painting everything from landscapes to caricatures. Jake insisted you both get one drawn together by a grumpy man with yellow-tinted glasses who didn’t say a word the entire time. When he finally flipped the sketch around, Jake let out a strangled noise.

“Is that my nose? I look like a pelican.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “I kind of love it.”

While you were there, a man tried to sell you a tiny Eiffel Tower keychain for twenty euros and Jake got so flustered trying to say ‘non merci’ that you ended up dragging him away before he accidentally bought three.

You shared a crepe from a street vendor and walked into luxury boutiques, the kind where everything smelled expensive and the saleswomen looked allergic to budget travelers. You ran your fingers along a buttery-soft leather purse with no visible price tag.

Jake hovered behind you, blinking at the rows of gleaming handbags.

“How much do you think this is?” you asked, holding up a small purse.

“Mm… two hundred?”

You tilted the bag to find the tag. “Try two thousand.”

Jake recoiled like it burned him. “Does it read your mind? What are we paying for?”

“The aesthetic, obviously,” you said, striking a mock-model pose.

In another shop, you pointed at a pair of heels that looked like crystal. Jake pointed at a maroon scarf and said, “You’d look good in this.”

You scoffed. “If I can afford it.”

Jake tilted his head as he searched for the price tag. “Oh, I think this is the only thing we can afford from here.”

You hummed, narrowing your eyes like you were actually considering it. “Exactly how many crepes can we buy for one of those?” 

He shrugged. “Twenty, give or take?”

“Yeah, nope.”

“Big nope,” he agreed, carefully putting the box back on the shelf.

By late afternoon, your feet were starting to ache. You tried to hide it, but Jake noticed.

“I know you’re tired, but we have one more stop. We’re gonna need to take a train, but I promise it’s worth it.”

You grimaced, and for a second, Jake looked like he was about to give up, but he shook his head and put on a determined face. “You can’t come to Paris and not see the Eiffel Tower.”

That made you nod. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

He took you to the Eiffel Tower. It wasn’t part of the plan—you didn’t have one, but you weren’t expecting it, not really. You’d caught glimpses of it during the day, rising above the city like a paper cutout, but standing under it at dusk felt different.

It glowed. That was the only word for it. Golden lights stretched up into the sky, and there was this hush, like the whole city had quieted just for a moment to let you take it all in.

You ended up on the lawn across the street from the Eiffel Tower, eating sandwiches from a shop you passed on the way there. The sky was turning lilac. You chewed slowly, taking it all in—lights blinking, the faint sound of a violin from somewhere down the street, the grass slightly damp beneath your coat.

“I used to think I’d work for a big hotel chain,” you said after a while. “You know, like… the Four Seasons or The Ritz.”

Jake turned his head to look at you.

“But later on, I decided I wanted one of my own,” you went on. “A little hotel. Cozy and nice. Something that feels like home for people who are far away from theirs.”

Jake hummed thoughtfully, swallowing a bite before saying, “I’d stay there.”

You turned to him. “You would?”

He nodded. “But only if there’s room service. And robes. I’m very fancy.”

You snorted. “We’re eating 2 euro sandwiches in probably the most expensive city in the world.”

“Only for now,” he replied proudly. “We’d both be doing much better and earning much more by the time you’ve built that hotel.”

You didn’t say anything to that. You just smiled at your sandwich and took another bite.

In your dimly lit hotel room, you sat on the edge of your bed, laughing at something Jake had said. You were leaning your head against the four-poster as you watched Jake in his spot on the carpeted floor, fumbling with the wine bottle and the paper cup.

He’d brought it out casually in the elevator, half-joking that he’d bought it on his first day here to take back home, but he was willing to share it with you. One thing led to another, and now here you were, drinking warm Bordeaux out of paper cups and toasting to the kind of day that felt too good to leave unfinished.

Jake finally managed to pour without spilling and handed you your paper cup.

“I wish this place at least had room service,” he sighed, shaking his head at the cup.

“You should’ve gone to a bigger, more posh hotel then,” you teased before taking a sip.

It was fruity, a little warm, and probably not very good, but in that moment, it felt perfect enough.

You talked less now. The day had wrung most of it out of you. Jake had leaned back against the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, his head tilted toward the ceiling as he listened. He was just there—warm and a little flushed, wine-stained cup cradled in one hand.

He let out a contented sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever walked this much in one day.”

You snorted. “You say that like you didn’t make me climb half of Montmartre.”

Jake gave you an indignant look. “I did make you climb, but it was me who almost died trying to keep up with you.”

“You’re such a baby,” you laughed, nudging his knee with your foot. He caught it in his palm.

You looked down, and so did he. Neither of you said anything.

Then his hand slid up, fingers wrapping loosely around your ankle—carefully, almost cautiously. You watched the way he tilted his head to meet your eyes, searching, communicating something you could understand clearly, oddly enough.

You could say it was the alcohol, willing you into something you usually wouldn’t do sober. But you knew that would be a lie. You weren’t drunk, not even tipsy. You knew what you were doing when you gave him the same look he was giving you.

Your heart picked up as Jake’s hand traveled up your leg, pausing at your knee. He leaned in, soft and slow, and planted a kiss on your skin.

You didn’t say anything. And to him, your silence—and the way you were looking at him—was encouragement enough to keep going.

He kissed the side of your knee again, a little firmer this time. When you still didn’t stop him, he shifted closer. His hand slid up your leg, pausing just above your knee. 

“Tell me if this is—if I’m reading this wrong,” he said softly, his voice lower than before but you could hear he was a little nervous.

“You’re not,” you said softly, offering a shy smile.

Jake gave a small, almost bashful smile, like he was relieved but still a little uncertain. Then he leaned in, placing a hand beside your hip as he kissed you. He missed your mouth the first time, catching the edge of your lip.

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

You laughed a little against his mouth. “It’s fine. Come here.”

That helped. He kissed you again, properly this time, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other propped him up on the bed. Still, even as it deepened, he wasn’t rushing. You could feel how careful he was, like he didn’t want to startle you or like he wasn’t sure this was really happening.

When you tugged his shirt up, he hesitated for a second before helping you take it off, eyes darting to yours like he was checking again.

“You sure?” he asked in a whisper.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah. Just… kind of feels unreal.”

That made your chest ache in a good way. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his cheek, and said, “It’s real.”

He let out a breath, nodding as he touched your waist, thumbs brushing your skin like he wanted to be gentle even now. His shyness didn’t last long once you pulled him close again, his confidence creeping in the moment he saw you responding with your hands on him, and your breath hitching under his touch.

Jake took care of the rest, his hands sliding under your top with more certainty now. His palms were warm, fingertips grazing up your sides, over your ribs, until you raised your arms and let him pull the fabric over your head. His gaze flickered downward, then back up again, clearly trying not to stare but staring anyway.

You felt beautiful under his gaze, the kind of beautiful that didn’t come from lighting or lingerie or careful timing, just the way he looked at you. Like he wanted all of you, and genuinely so.

“You’re—” he started, then bit his lip, trying to compose himself. “You’re beautiful.”

You reached for him, pulling him in until your lips met again, slower this time, deeper. When you moved further up onto the bed, Jake followed, crawling up between your legs as you tugged at the waistband of his jeans. He was quiet but not passive. His hands were all over you now, exploring, touching, squeezing with a gentle firmness that made your heart skip.

As he pulled your bottoms down and tossed them aside, his gaze trailed over every inch of bare skin with eyes of adoration and amazement. He hesitated just long enough for you to notice. His fingers were brushing the top of your thigh, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You reached for him instead, undoing the button of his jeans with more confidence than you felt. “Jake,” you prompted.

“Yeah,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He kissed you again, one hand traveling down from your boob to your belly, and futher down to cup your sex. He worked you up for a few moments, fingers circling your clit clumsily but with just enough pressure to make you moan.

And when he finally decided to push into you, he did it painfully slow, still being cautious. He held still, breathing hard, his hand sliding under your thigh to pull you closer. His other hand gripped the sheet near your head like he needed something to hold on to. 

You let out a soft gasp, your back arching as you adjusted around him, and he kissed your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he could reach.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded again. “Yeah. You can move.”

He obliged and moved slowly at first, deeply, the kind of rhythm that made your toes curl.  He kept it up until the tension coiled tight in both your bodies, until his restraint began to slip. The room filled with breathy, lewd sounds—your moans, his whispered curse when you clenched around him, the muffled thump of the headboard as his thrusts grew more desperate.

You bit your lip, eyes shut tight as you tried not to be too loud. The hotel was cheap, and the walls were unforgivingly thin.

“Jake, please,” you whimpered, mouth parting but barely making a sound, even as he drove you to the edge.

“Please what?” he asked softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek and kissing your forehead.

You gripped his arms tighter, holding his gaze. “Harder.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. With a low grunt, he adjusted his grip on your hips and drove into you harder, the rhythm picking up, deeper now, less cautious. Your head tipped back against the pillows, a sharp moan slipping out before you could stop it. Jake buried his face in your neck to muffle his own.

Each thrust made the headboard knock just slightly louder. You barely registered it anymore. All you could think about was the heat of his skin, the stretch of him inside you, and the desperation in the way he held you like he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you feel so—” He cut himself off with a breathy groan, hands sliding up your sides. “You okay?”

You couldn’t answer with words. You just nodded frantically and wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, drawing him in deeper. He gasped, nearly losing his rhythm.

Your hand tangled in his hair as your other clawed at his back, trying to hold yourself together as he kept hitting just the right spot. The coil in your belly wound tight. You were close. His movements turned erratic, one hand slipping down to your clit, clumsily rubbing in tight circles until your body seized around him.

Your orgasm hit like a wave, crashing over every nerve. You clung to him, gasping out his name, your entire body tensing, shaking, unraveling.

Jake didn’t last much longer. The second your walls clenched around him, he let out a strangled groan, buried as deep as he could go, and spilled into you. His whole body trembled with it, the hand near your head fisting the sheet like he needed to anchor himself to something.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you said anything and it was just the sound of your breathing, oddly too loud in the quiet room.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then your cheek. And finally, your lips—slow and breathless and almost shy again.

Then, quietly, Jake asked, “Did you like it?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was messy, and he looked so earnest that your heart squeezed a little.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I really did.”

He let out a relieved breath, then grinned bashfully, like he couldn’t quite believe this had happened.

“Good,” he said, tucking his face into the crook of your neck again. “’Cause I really liked it too.”

You chuckled. “You did well.”

He let out a soft laugh, forehead pressed to yours. “I think I just saw stars.”

He fell on the space beside you, staring at the ceiling as you both caught your breath. You curled up beside him, nuzzling against his chest that was still damp with sweat. You wanted to say something, but sleep was already catching up to you.

Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then he let out a deep, contented breath.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked, suddenly wide awake. You shifted to look at him, but his breathing was already slowing, his features softening.

He was fast asleep before you could say anything.

The wind blew at you as soon as you stepped off the bus, salty and cool and strong enough to tug at your sun hat. You held it in place and squinted up at the sky. It was bright and beautiful, the vivid blue hue decorated with scattered clouds.

You adjusted the handle of your carrier and followed the other passengers toward the ferry terminal. A seagull screamed overhead. Someone lit a cigarette beside you. Around you, people were chattering in what you could make out was French and some Italian. It was much noisier here than it was in Paris. Less posh and polished, more human and real.

The morning felt raw, a little too bright after a night like that. But you didn’t look back.  Corsica was next. That was the plan. That had always been the plan.

The port was small—just one wooden pier stretching out into the water, a few moored boats bobbing gently with the current. It was a far cry from Paris, or even the bus station you’d left this morning. Everything here moved slower, like time itself had decided not to keep up.

You walked up to the small booth, eyes darting to the analog clock above the door. 17:10.

Last Departure - 17:00Next Departure - Tomorrow, 7:10

“No, no, no,” you muttered, quickening your pace. 

You shoved past a wobbly gate that probably wasn’t meant to be opened, lugging your bag like it was a boulder. “Wait!” you screamed at the ferry, your voice cracking as you sprinted along the creaky wooden pier.

“Wait for me!” you shouted, flailing your arms like a maniac.

The ferry let out a long, mournful horn and started to pull away, the wake rippling through the still water.

“Turn back!” you shrieked, weaving past a stack of plastic crates and an unimpressed fisherman. “Turn back! Damn it!”

You reached the end of the pier, panting, face red, chest burning. The ferry was already further on the horizon.

“Seriously?!” you yelled, flailing your hat in the air. “You couldn’t wait five more minutes?!”

You dropped your suitcase with a thud and bent over your knees, catching your breath. “Merde.”

“Missed your boat?” said a man from behind you.

You straightened, whipping around with a glare reserved for backhanded comments and people who cut in lines. “Wow, what gave it away?” you deadpanned. “The shouting or the visible despair?”

The man smiled smugly. His dark hair was pushed back neatly, his button-down was crisp and linen, and on his nose sat a pair of sunglasses you could swear you’d seen on display at Prada yesterday. Definitely not a local. And definitely not someone who’d taken three buses in the past ten hours.

“Both?” he said, tilting his head. “That’s too bad. The next ferry isn’t until tomorrow.”

You sighed, all the fight draining from your body at once. “Yeah. I can read.”

He clicked his tongue, stepping closer to the edge of the dock beside you. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” he said, “if someone had a boat that could take you to the island?”

You let out a dry laugh. “It sure is. But it’s a little early to start hallucinating.”

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking over you with mild amusement.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked past you, toward a gleaming white yacht docked not ten feet away.

You blinked.

He stepped onto the deck like he’d done it a hundred times before, then turned back to look at you with an infuriatingly pleasant smile. You lifted your chin, brushed your hair out of your face, and stepped forward.

“Looks like someone did have a boat that could take me to the island,” you said, flashing your best smile. “If only the owner was nice enough.”

He glanced at the yacht behind him, then back at you. “Oh, this isn’t mine. I just stand here pretending it is so women will fall for me.”

You snorted. “Gross.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning. “But it works.”

You scoffed, laughing under your breath as you waved him off and turned away. “Right. Bye, then.”

“I’m kidding,” he called out, still laughing. “Come aboard. My boat’s heading that way too, and I’ve got spare rooms.”

Your feet moved before your brain could offer a single warning, climbing onto the docked yacht without hesitation. No passport check, no credentials, no double-take at the stranger with movie-star hair and designer sunglasses. Just vibes. Your mother would’ve had a stroke.

Or, more likely, she would’ve shaken her head and muttered something about how you always liked to fuck around and find out.

The man turned just in time to help you onto the deck, his hand warm around yours. “I’m Jay, by the way.”

You told him your name and he chuckled. “Next time, you might wanna do a double-take and get to know people before getting into their boat,” he said. 

You laughed at that, though you agree he was right. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

You glanced around the yacht. Sleek, white, and clean enough to eat off of the floor. A compact galley gleamed to the left, and a staircase led to what you assumed were the sleeping quarters.

“This is Captain Luc,” Jay said, nodding to a man in a white polo who gave you a quick salute before going back to his maps. “That’s Sofia, our cook. Pierre and Manu help out with navigation and maintenance. Don’t worry, they’re all very well-paid and only mildly resent me.”

Sofia gave you a wink as she passed with a basket of fruit, and Manu barely looked up from where he was scrubbing something on the deck.

“Nice setup,” you said, setting your suitcase down with a thunk that felt very out of place on such pristine floors.

Jay smiled. “It’s not huge, but it gets the job done.”

“That’s what they all say,” you quipped, giggling.

His grin widened. “I like you already.” He turned and motioned for you to follow him below deck. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

You followed him down a narrow staircase and into a hallway of sleek wood and soft lighting. He opened a door to a small but clean room with a porthole view and a surprisingly fluffy-looking bed.

“This one’s cozy,” he said. Then, casually added, “Mine’s a bit nicer though. Bigger bed. Better sheets. Better lighting, if that matters.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bet the women loved the lighting in your room.”

Jay leaned on the doorframe, still grinning. “They loved me more, but yeah, the lighting did suit their taste too.”

“Great.” You stepped into the room, tossed your bag onto the bed, and gave him a sweet smile. “I like dim rooms like this one better.”

But Jay wasn’t backing down yet. “You’d be surprised how effective dimmers can be.”

You gave him your fakest smile and nodded to the door. “Thanks for accommodating me. Please close the door on your way out.”

Jay chuckled and pushed off the doorframe. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be dimming the lights in advance.”

He disappeared down the hall, leaving the scent of some expensive cologne lingering behind him.

You looked around the room again, shook your head, and flopped back onto the bed.

The sun had set by the time you made it up to the deck. The sky was starry and cold, and the sea was calm, stretching endlessly in all directions. Dinner had been set on a small table with linen napkins, wine glasses, and even candles.

Jay looked up from the magazine he was reading, straightening up when he saw you walking in. “Good evening. How was your nap?” he asked, motioning to the seat across from him.

“Refreshing,” you replied, eyeing the setup. “First, you tried to seduce me with good lighting. Now it’s sea bass?”

He laughed. “Can’t a guy just offer dinner without an ulterior motive?”

You sat. “Sure, he can. But to me, you’re a walking ulterior motive.”

“Please,” he chuckled. “I just like to make my guests feel special.”

“How many guests have there been?”

Jay poured you a glass of wine and handed it over. “Too many. You’re my favorite, though.”

You smirked as Sofia walked over to fill your glass with wine. “You’re really going for it, huh?”

“Just enough to keep you entertained,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. “If I go too hard, you’ll run. If I don’t try, I’m wasting this view.”

“You mean me or the sea?”

He tilted his glass toward you. “Both. Though you’re slightly more distracting.”

Dinner was actually good. The fish was cooked perfectly, and the wine was expensive and tasted like it. Every so often, a crew member drifted in and out, clearing plates or topping off wine like it was just any ordinary day. Jay, for his part, didn’t stop flirting for more than thirty seconds at a time.

“So where exactly were you running to before you missed the ferry?” he asked, leaning in like he actually wanted to hear the answer.

“Some small village in Corsica,” you said, twirling your fork. 

“Vacation?”

You shrugged. “Immigration? I’m moving there.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Why?”

“Identity crisis?” you offered with a chuckle. “Nothing really. Just trying to figure things out. Make something for myself.”

“Ah,” he said, sipping his wine. “My favorite kind of woman.”

“I’m sure you say that about every kind of woman.”

“Not to every kind,” he replied, smirking. “Just the ones I like.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help chuckling.

“Anyway,” he said after a beat, cutting into his food, “I may not look like it, but I’m kind of figuring things out too. So… I get it.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m sure you’ll get there eventually.”

“I feel like we should toast to that,” he said, lifting his glass. “To starting over and making something of ourselves.”

You clinked yours gently against his. “To strange men and questionable decisions.”

After dinner, the two of you drifted toward the front of the yacht. You leaned against the rail, watching the faint outline of the horizon and the stars dotting the night sky.

Jay stood beside you, close but not touching. His wine glass dangled loosely in his fingers. “Not a bad way to spend a missed ferry, huh?” he said.

You hummed. “Could’ve been worse. I could’ve ended up on a fishing boat with no wine.”

“Or worse,” he said, “with someone boring.”

You glanced at him. “Fine. I’ll concede and say you’re not that boring.”

Jay smirked, eyes on the sea. “I can already imagine how broken my heart would be once you leave this boat tomorrow.”

You snorted. “Did that line ever work for you? Don’t tell me it did, because I know it didn’t.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you’d be surprised. It’s my best line.”

“No, it’s not,” you replied, shaking your head and taking a sip from your glass. 

“It is, though,” Jay insisted, bright grin gleaming under the light. “Although, I can see that it doesn’t work on you, and that’s just making me fall in love with you even more.”

“Stop,” you chided softly, nudging his arm with your elbow. “I won’t have sex with you.”

“Why not?”

You looked over at him, smirking. “We literally only just met.”

He bumped you back with a grin “And you’re not that kind of girl?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, then paused. “Usually,” you added, looking away.

Jay chuckled heartily, taking one step away. “Fine. But it is true that I’m falling in love with you.”

“Yeah,” you sniggered, rolling your eyes. “I'm getting that a lot these days.”

The next day arrived with the soft rock of the yacht and sunlight pouring through the porthole window. You stirred awake at noon, disoriented for a second before remembering the events of the day before—missed ferry, expensive yacht, handsome stranger with very white teeth.

By the time you made it to the deck, the coastline of Corsica was already coming into view. It was closer now and you had specifically pointed out a tiny village by the coast when the captain asked where you wanted to be delivered to.

The village was small, charming in that rustic way travel blogs loved to romanticize—whitewashed walls, terracotta roofs, little boats bobbing in a quiet harbor. It looked peaceful and safe. Like the kind of place where things might finally slow down for you.

Jay was already up, leaning casually on the rail with a coffee in hand and sunglasses perched on his nose like he hadn’t stayed up half the night trying to charm you out of your room.

“Sleep well?” he asked without looking.

You stepped beside him and inhaled the salt-thick air. “Like a sloth. Must be the ocean breeze. Or the sheer emotional exhaustion of your flirting.”

He chuckled. “You wound me. I’m not a flirt, I’m a charmer.”

“Does saying that help you sleep better at night?” you asked, stretching your arms over your head.

“Most of the time,” he said, grinning. Then he nodded toward the dock. “You’re up next. Corsica awaits.”

You glanced at the approaching land, heart flickering with something between nerves and excitement. “Oh, it’s a beauty. Are you sure you won’t stop by and explore the island before you head to Sardinia?”

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m a little behind schedule.” He turned to face you fully, just for a moment. “It’s a shame, though. I was starting to enjoy your company.”

“Was?”

“Am,” he corrected, gently. “Though I suspect I’ll be enjoying the memory of you more than anything else.”

You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling anyway. “Well, thanks for the ride. And the fish. And for not being a strange man who liked to kidnap unsuspecting tourists who missed their ferries.”

Jay laughed a little too hard, head lolling back. When he recovered, he was wiping small tears from the corners of his eyes. “We’ll see each other again, though. I’m sure of it.”

You blinked at him. “That sounded oddly ominous.”

He winked. “Then I said it right.”

The yacht bumped gently against the dock. A crew member waved you toward the exit. You gave Jay a last look, one corner of your mouth lifting in amusement.

“Take care, Playboy.”

“You too, Miss Not-That-Kind-of-Girl.”

You descended the ramp with your suitcase thumping behind you, the sun warming your shoulders and your next destination waiting just ahead.

Behind you, the yacht peeled away from the dock and disappeared around the curve of the coast. But Jay’s last words echoed anyway.

We’ll see each other again.

The village was even lovelier up close. Narrow stone streets wove between crumbling old buildings, flower boxes popping color out of every window. Locals moved slowly, like they had all the time in the world. It felt like a place untouched by urgency, like nothing truly bad could happen here.

You wandered without direction, letting your feet take you uphill, away from the port and toward the cliffs that framed the coastline. The sea stretched endlessly below, crashing in soft rhythms. For a while, you just stood there and stared at it, arms folded loosely, wind tugging at your clothes. You could already picture the postcards.

Then, further ahead, something caught your eye.

It sat like a relic from another lifetime: a grand, slightly crumbling mansion with tall shuttered windows and ivy crawling halfway up the walls. The gate stood open, a “FOR SALE” sign bolted crookedly to the wrought iron. Grass had grown wild, and the gravel path was broken and overgrown, but the bones of the place were beautiful. In your mind’s eye, you could picture the grandeur and the majesty of the place.

You hesitated for a second, then stepped through the gate. The front door wasn’t locked and inside, the air was stale but not unpleasant. The ceilings were high, the rooms wide and flooded with light from broken windows. It smelled faintly of dust and sea. You moved carefully, your footsteps echoing across tiled floors and creaking wood.

In your mind, it all changed. You saw fresh white paint, wide glass doors, airy curtains that fluttered in the breeze. You pictured soft linens and warm breakfasts, travelers coming in from the harbor with sand still on their skin. You could almost hear the clink of plates in a bright little dining room and laughter echoing through the halls.

You gasped at the sheer excitement of it all, covering your mouth as you looked around the place. Then you shrieked and started twirling around. You stopped just in time, breathless at the edge of the stairs.

“This is it,” you muttered to yourself, eyes still wide. “This is the place.”

You turned to leave, determined to find out if the place was still for sale and if your savings was enough to buy it. But just as you were stepping out of the big double doors, large drops of rain started hitting the floor and your head.

The downpour came instantly, heavy and fast, drenching the gravel path before you. You froze at the doorway, then stepped back inside. The once quiet halls were filled with the sound of raindrops battering the roof and the old windows, sheets of it cascading off the eaves. There was no point trying to make a run for it.

So you wandered a little deeper into the house, hugging your arms to yourself. 

“Just for a few minutes,” you murmured aloud, brushing a cobweb off a dusty banister. “I’m sure it’s just passing by.”

But hours passed and the rain didn’t let up.

What started as a drizzle had turned relentless, and by late afternoon, it was hard to tell whether the sky was getting darker from the storm or the approaching dusk. The old house groaned occasionally with the wind. Water pelted the windows like tiny stones.

You paced for a bit, hugged your knees for a while, then tried pacing again. The floorboards creaked. Somewhere upstairs, something thudded. It could’ve been the wind. Or ghosts. You chose not to think about it.

“I love this place,” you muttered to yourself. “I just don’t want to die here.”

With the rain still going strong and no sign of stopping, you resigned yourself to the possibility of staying the night, miserable, damp, and slightly haunted. You pulled your bag closer, rummaging for something that could function as a light source. Cellphone? Dead. Flashlight? Obviously, you didn’t have one. You were sure you had a lighter, though. It was your friend’s that you’d nicked at some point before leaving for France.

Just as you were deep into your luggage looking for the lighter, you heard footsteps. Your head jerked up. Then another footstep, then the sound of the front door creaking.

You froze. You weren’t imagining it—someone was inside!

Your mind raced. Was it the owner? Were you about to be arrested for trespassing? Was it a real estate agent with unfortunate timing? Or worse, some awful drifter who wandered into empty buildings looking for lone women to murder in cold blood?

The footsteps were getting closer. Your heart jumped into your throat.

Without thinking, you grabbed the closest thing—a splintered piece of wood from a broken table leg—and backed into the shadow of the stairwell, gripping it like a weapon.

They were coming down the main hall with steady, heavy steps. When the figure appeared in the doorway, you lunged.

Or, well, tried to.

A startled yelp came out of both of you as the man blocked your swing just in time, catching your wrists with both hands. “Whoa—whoa—hey!” he gasped. “I’m not—! I’m not here to rob you! Or—or murder you!”

You stared at him, breathless, wood still clutched in your hands. “Then what the hell are you doing here?!”

“Trying not to die of hypothermia,” he said quickly. He had a soaked jacket, a backpack slung off one shoulder, and water dripping from the ends of his hair. “And, uh—avoiding flying furniture, apparently.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m—I’m Sunghoon! Park Sunghoon!”

You didn’t relax yet. “Are you the owner?”

“No,” he said. “Are you?”

You hesitated. “…No.”

He slowly let go of your wrists. You slowly lowered your arm. The two of you stared at each other, breathing hard.

“Well,” you said after a few seconds, sighing in relief. “This is definitely not how I imagined meeting someone today.”

He blinked. Then laughed. “Yeah, me neither.”

You both stood there for a while, listening to the rain hammering the roof like it had no plans of stopping. You glanced at him. “Think it’ll let up soon?”

Sunghoon didn’t even look outside. “Nope.”

“…You sound so sure.”

He shrugged out of his wet jacket. “I just know a thing or two about weather.”

“Okay, Weatherman.” You made a face. “Fantastic. So what, we just wait it out? Sit on the floor until morning?”

“There’s probably a fireplace somewhere,” he said, tugging off his shoes and shaking out his soaked sleeves. “A place like this has to have one.”

You sighed, shuddering at the sight of him in wet clothes. You then turned to your suitcase and flung it open. You first found the lighter, turned it on, and rummaged through your clothes for a t-shirt.

You found a plain white oversized sweater and handed it to him. “Here.”

Sunghoon hesitated. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You said so yourself. The rain isn’t letting up anytime soon.”

He sighed, but he looked grateful when he accepted it. “Thanks.”

You turned away as he got dressed, fixing your gaze on a hallway up ahead. “I think I saw the fireplace over there earlier.”

Walking together, with the lighter illuminating the dark halls, the two of you found it the old, soot-caked hearth in what might’ve once been a formal sitting room. Tall windows lined the walls, and you could see lightning flash beyond the horizon. The fireplace was cold and cobwebbed but intact.

“Found our survival base,” you said, voice echoing off the high ceiling.

Together, you gathered anything burnable—splintered chair legs, bits of an old table that looked way beyond repair. Sunghoon kicked apart a broken door with a little too much enthusiasm.

You raised an eyebrow. “You do this a lot?”

“Breaking and entering?” he asked, dragging a long covered couch across the room. “No. But I’m good at winging things.”

He tugged the white cloth off the couch and sent a thick cloud of dust into the air. Beneath it, the upholstery was surprisingly intact—floral velvet with only one visible tear on the side.

“Not bad,” he said, flopping down. “Way better than the hostel I stayed in last night.”

You scoffed. “I appreciate your optimism.”

You dropped your bag nearby and pulled out your meager stash of chips, two chocolate bars, and a slightly squished croissant. You held them out. “Dinner?”

He held up a hand to his chest solemnly. “It’s an honor.”

You shared the food while he coaxed the fire to life. Soon enough, warmth began to seep into the room, and a yellowish glow illuminated your faces and the walls.

“Not the worst way to spend a storm,” he said, stretching out his legs toward the fire.

You gave him a look. “You realize we’re in a haunted-looking mansion, right? With barely enough food and no cell service?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, tilting his head back against the couch. “But at least we’re warm and dry, and not dead yet.”

You laughed quietly, pulling your knees up to your chest. The fire crackled between you. Rain kept pelting the windows, but in here, it was manageable. Almost safe. You were both quiet for a while, chewing in silence, listening to the fire crackle and the storm rage outside.

Then Sunghoon spoke. “I used to be scared of thunder.”

You glanced over. “Really?”

He nodded, glancing over his shoulders out at the tall windows. “I was maybe six or seven. My mom told me it was just the clouds yelling at each other.” He smiled faintly. “So I’d yell back. Thought it made me brave.”

You grinned. “Did it work?”

“Only when she was in the room.”

The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. He leaned back, his gaze on the flames. “You ever have something you were embarrassed to admit you were scared of?”

You thought about it. “I’m scared of spiraling out of control.” You chuckled. “You?”

He looked over, brows lifted slightly. “Me? I don’t know,” he said, then looked away. “I think I’m scared of staying still.”

You didn’t say anything at first, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you asked, “Did you… run away?”

“Not exactly,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if I’m running away or taking a break. I had this perfectly reasonable life mapped out for me. Job, partner, apartment, future. All very respectable.” He let out a dry laugh. “But none of it felt like it belonged to me.”

You nodded slowly, understanding without needing every detail.

“So I left,” he added. “Just picked a spot on the map and left.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then you said, “Good for you.”

He looked at you. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah. Sometimes walking away is the braver thing.”

You took a deep breath and fixed your gaze on the fire. “I ran away, too. Everyone back home had some plan for me. What I’d study. Where I’d work. Who I’d be. And I went along with it because it was easier than fighting. Until one day I looked around and realized nothing in my life felt like mine.”

You felt your chest loosen after saying that out loud, like something unknotted inside you. A long pause followed. Then you added with a smile, “Still doesn’t explain why I walked into a random old mansion.”

“It’s a beautiful one,” he said. “Kind of poetic, really. You leave your life behind and walk straight into a ghost of someone else’s.”

You chuckled, leaning back into the couch. “Well, when you put it that way…”

The wind howled outside, but the room felt warm. Not just from the fire—something else, too. Something like understanding. You looked at him again, really looked this time. He was soaked, probably tired, and definitely not what you expected to find when you first stepped through those gates.

But somehow, running into him made perfect sense.

You woke up to sunlight pouring in from the tall windows. The high ceiling and the dust floating in the rays of morning light reminded you where you were—an abandoned mansion where you got stuck waiting out a storm.

You sat up slowly, noticing that the spot on the couch beside you was empty.

“Sunghoon?” you called out, but there was no response. 

You stood up, stretching your sore arms, and glanced around. The place was as quiet as it had been the day before. The broken furniture. The high windows. The eerie vibe.

You had almost thought Sunghoon wasn’t real. That he was just a figment of your imagination that your brain cooked up out of fear of being alone in this big house, but then your eyes landed on a dark denim jacket hanging near the fireplace, still a little damp.

You smiled a little. He was real after all.

But where was he? You had no idea. Maybe he’d left as soon as morning came and simply forgotten his jacket. Not that you were expecting him to stay, but you had assumed he would at least bid you a proper goodbye.

Well, it was no use sitting around waiting for him to come back and explain himself, so you decided to start your day. After gathering your things and running a hand through your hair, you made your way out of the mansion and back through the village path. The rain had washed the streets clean, and the morning had that fresh-after-a-storm feeling.

At the heart of the village, you found the inn. It looked like it hadn’t been updated in a decade, but it had flower pots on the window sills and a hand-painted sign out front that read Chambres.

The woman at the front desk wore a knit vest, bright lipstick, and had the energy of someone who’d wrestle a bear and win. She welcomed you like you were an old friend who’d finally come home, offered a nice room, and a hearty breakfast.

By noon, you were freshly showered, had eaten something good, and were strolling through the village looking for the real estate office. You found it near a patisserie, and the woman behind the desk raised an eyebrow when you mentioned the old mansion.

“That place?” she said. “You sure?”

You told her you were, and that you had the money ready.

She blinked, then smiled. “Well, no one else was ever interested in buying it, so it’s yours if you really want it. Paperwork will take a while, but you can go ahead and start fixing it up. No one’ll stop you.”

You were halfway through signing the first form when she added, “Funny. Someone else asked about it earlier today. Young man. Seemed curious but didn’t seem interested in buying.”

“Why was he asking about it?”

“Who knows? First-time visitors to this town are always curious about that place.”

You paused for a second, then shrugged. “As long as he’s not a potential rival buyer, I’m good,” you said with a smile.

“I assure you, Miss,” the lady said, stepping out of her desk to join you. “No one wants that place. Why do you think it’s much cheaper than it’s supposed to be?”

The real estate agent handed you note after the paperwork, tapping her nail against the words written on it.

“Since the place is gonna need to be fixed up, I suggest you talk to Jean-Luc. He’s a mason, but he has a group of carpenters working for him. He does a pretty good job, though he can be a little nosy.”

“Thanks. I was just wondering where to start looking for help,” you said, smiling as you examined the name and address on the note.

Before leaving the office, the agent told you what Jean-Luc’s daily rate was and to call out his bullshit if he ever asked for more than that. You thanked her again and turned in the direction of Jean-Luc’s shop. 

You met him at his shop, a wiry man in suspenders and a flat cap. He asked a few questions, but he seemed to know more about the place than you did.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning to have a proper look, then we can negotiate.”

After that, he pointed you to a local supply shop, where you bought items you could use in the meantime, including some sturdy brooms, a pair of gloves, a few rags, and a bucket. You debated getting bleach but settled for lemon cleaner and optimism.

By the time you made your way back up the winding road to the mansion, your arms were aching from the weight of the supplies. But there was something satisfying about the ache, the breeze, and the faint scent of damp earth left by the storm.

You were surprised to see a motorbike parked outside the gates. The rain from the night before had washed the dust off the path, and the sun lit up the gravel as you stepped through the front doors of the mansion again.

Inside, the sound of hammering echoed faintly through the halls.

You followed it to the study, where the fireplace was. Sunghoon was crouched beside a wooden table, sleeves pushed up, hair damp at the temples. He held a hammer in one hand and was steadying a broken leg with the other, completely focused.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps. “Hey,” he said, straightening. “You’re back.”

You blinked. “You’re here?”

“So are you,” he said, setting the hammer down gently. “I thought you’d left for good.”

“I thought you left,” you replied, stepping inside.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Just went out to grab some food. When I came back, you weren’t here.”

You looked around. A few chairs had been repaired. One of the broken shelves stood straighter than before. He’d clearly been busy.

“You’ve been fixing things?” you asked.

He nodded. “I had time. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to help the place along a little. The woman at the real estate office said I could come by if I wanted.”

You raised a brow. “You went to the real estate office?”

“Yeah. She was friendly.” He looked sheepish, then smiled. “She said no one was ever interested in the place.”

You smiled back. “Well… someone is.”

He paused. “You?”

You nodded. He let out a short breath, like he hadn’t expected that. Then he gave a small, thoughtful smile. “Then maybe it’s good I didn’t leave.”

You tilted your head. “Why is that?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna need extra hands around here.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, no thanks. I don’t need a man bossing me around my own property.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that.” Sunghoon laughed. “I’m an architect, you see. I know my way around structures. If you’re planning to restore the place… I could help.”

You studied him. He didn’t seem to be lying. “…I don’t know how much I can pay you,” you said.

“Well, you fed and dressed me last night, so I’m basically alive because of you.”

That made you snort. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Just a little,” he replied, laughing. “But I’m serious. If you don’t mind having me around… I’m happy to help. That’s all.”

You were quiet for a moment, then reached into your bag and pulled out a broom. “Alright, then. Since you’re so eager… how about we start with the floors?”

He took the broom from you with a smile. “Sure.”

The first few days were chaotic in the most exciting way. You had dust in your lungs. Paint flakes in your hair. And the occasional clatter of tools or startled yelp when someone stepped on a loose board made the once eerily quiet place into a rowdy construction site. 

Jean-Luc’s team of local carpenters moved in and out with efficiency, restoring what could be saved and gutting what couldn’t. 

You did what you could afford. No grand hotel transformation just yet because your savings wouldn’t allow it, but enough to make the place safe, clean, and standing. You patched up what you could and left the heavy lifting to people who actually knew what they were doing. Sunghoon floated somewhere between both worlds, neither a hired worker nor idle guest.

He showed the carpenters the original layout you’d uncovered, and offered suggestions they actually listened to. You noticed the way they nodded when he spoke, how they looked to him when unsure.

One day, when the particularly exquisite wooden double doors leading to a grand ballroom broke down, everyone said your idea of putting them back in place wasn’t possible. The broken hinges had chipped a piece off one of the two doors, making it hard to put it back.

“We can repurpose the other one. Use it to replace the library door. Then maybe forgo the doors and keep the ballroom open?” Sunghoon suggested, tilting his head as he examined the doorway. He turned to you. “What do you think?”

“You’re full of solutions, aren’t you?” you said, only half-teasing.

He shrugged. “Comes with the degree.”

The architect thing came up again and again—not because he bragged, but because he made it quite useful. He knew how to brace the weakened staircase, how to check for mold behind plaster, and how to tell the difference between salvageable and unsafe. And when you asked how he knew all this labor stuff when he was supposed to be an architect, he always said, “It comes with the job.”

Together, you made progress. Slow, sweaty, stubborn progress.

You’d sweep out a room while he cleared debris. He’d rig up temporary lighting while you picked tile samples you couldn’t afford yet. Some afternoons, you’d sit together on the back steps, drinking orange juice from the orchard behind the house. 

Other times, when your arms were too tired to scrub anything else, he’d ask, “Want to get out of here for a bit?” And somehow, you always did.

You rode behind him on the motorbike, hands wrapped around his waist, wind whipping at your sleeves. The roads curved sharply along the cliffs, opening into views of the sea that looked almost too blue to be real. You dipped your toes in hidden coves, ate greasy fish sandwiches by the pier, and once spent a full hour watching an old man play the accordion in the town square.

Sometimes he pointed things out—a crumbling lighthouse, a fig tree blooming near the bend—and you found yourself asking about the island, even though you knew he was as new to the island as you were.

The nights were quieter. Sometimes you cooked, sometimes you didn’t. Once, when the electricity went out, you shared a bowl of fruit by candlelight and listened to the wind sweep through the shutters. He told you about a vineyard resort project he’d worked on in Nice. You told him how you’d found this place by accident a few years ago on a trip you were never supposed to take.

Opening up to him was oddly easy for someone like you who liked to keep to herself and not let people in. He was easy to be around. Charismatic without trying. Quiet, but never cold.

You soon noticed how he always let you talk first. How he’d fix something for you without being asked to, or wipe his shoes before stepping inside even if the floors were already filthy.

The house slowly took shape. And so did whatever this was between you.

Jean-Luc’s crew was just wrapping up for the day when you stepped out, putting on your jacket and smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You’d taken the time to pick it out, simple, soft blue, not too fancy, but it was much more sophisticated than your usual work shirts and sun-stained jeans.

Jean spotted you instantly. “Ah,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag and giving you a once-over. “That dress is new.”

You gave him a look. “I had this dress for years.”

He grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You dressed up nicely for your date.”

“It’s not a date,” you said, out of habit more than conviction. “We’re just eating out because I didn’t wanna cook.”

The guys had heard Sunghoon earlier in the day when he invited you to eat at the pub in town. He did it because you complained about being too tired to make food, but Jean and his crew decided it was open to interpretation.

“Mm-hmm.” He raised a brow. “Sure. Too tired to cook, but not too tired to wear parfum, eh?” he added, glancing at his crew, who all started whistling.

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. Their teasing had become a daily ritual ever since they started working in the house. You’d learned about Jean’s nosy nature from the get-go, but were surprised at first when you saw it firsthand. He’d asked you almost everything there was to know about you, from your education, your parents, and your decision to move into a foreign land and buy a haunted mansion.

Still, he didn’t pry too much and wasn’t annoying, so you took it all in stride. And as for his assumption that there was something going on between you and Sunghoon, well, you didn’t think much of it. If Sunghoon knew or was clueless that he was being shipped with you, you wouldn’t know because you never really talked about it.

“How about I hitch a ride to town?” you asked, already getting into their truck. “Would be a waste walking downhill in this dress, don’t you think?”

“It would be an honor to deliver you to your prince, mademoiselle.”

By the time you stepped out at the curb near the pub, the sun had dipped low, gleaming orange and gold across the sea. You caught your reflection briefly in the window and frowned. It was a nice dress. But why did you take the time to look pretty? You’d even put on lipstick, and for what? A casual dinner?

It’s just dinner! Right?

Or is it? You shook the thought away before you could overthink it.

Inside, the pub was lively but cozy, with fairy lights strung on wooden beams, a small local band playing mellow jazz near the back. Sunghoon was already seated at a corner table, nursing a glass of something amber. He looked up when you walked in and smiled.

“Wow,” he said, standing as you approached. “You look…”

He paused, and the way he searched for a word made you feel self-conscious. You hid your nervousness behind a smirk. “Weird? Disproportionate? Wicked with a hint of witchcraft and sorcery?”

He laughed. “Beautiful. Definitely beautiful.”

You smiled, sliding into the chair opposite him. “Thanks.”

He looked good, too. He’d shaved. Maybe even styled his hair. A waitress came by, dropped off menus, and you both skimmed through them, ordering a round of food that was heavier than you needed but comforting all the same. The band was playing a soft instrumental, and you leaned back in your seat, letting the atmosphere settle.

Sunghoon had been at the house every day this past week, but it occurred to you now how little you knew about his nights. He didn’t stay there, not even once. He always left just before dusk, riding off on that old motorbike. You never asked where he went, but vaguely assumed he was probably resting in his room at the inn. You were curious, but it didn’t matter much.

Until now.

Tonight, he was different. Still warm, still easy to talk to, but something in the air felt a little off-script. The way his eyes gleamed, the way he smiled when you caught him looking. It made you nervous and giddy at the same time.

“Didn’t take you for a dress person,” he said, sipping his drink.

You raised a brow. “And what kind of person did you take me for?”

He tilted his head like he was thinking of the answer. “Sawdust. Paint stains. And boots.”

You scoffed. “So… a disaster?”

“I didn’t say that.” His smile widened. “I like disasters. They’re more fun to fix.”

You narrowed your eyes, half-laughing. “Did you just call me a fixer-upper?”

“Well, no…” he trailed off, then blinked like he’d surprised himself. “Wait, did I? Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—you're actually kind of perfect.”

You laughed under your breath. “Okay, Charmer. Slow down.”

He leaned in, elbows on the table. “You’re blushing. I think you’re charmed.”

“It would take more than that to sweep me off my feet, Hoon,” you said, taking a slow sip of your drink. You smiled at him as you placed your glass back down. “But you’re on the right track.”

“Am I?” he asked, grinning, canines and dimples on full display. “Good to know. I’ll try harder then.”

He didn’t usually talk like this. You didn’t either, not with him. But neither of you stopped.

When the food came, the conversation didn’t stop either. It slipped in with the wine, with the melodic music in the background, with the occasional brush of his knee against yours beneath the table.

“You really didn’t have to dress up,” he said at one point, glancing at you over his fork.

“I didn’t,” you said. “This is me on a regular day. You should see me on a real date.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Am I not getting the real date version?”

“That depends. Is this a date?”

His brows lifted slightly, as if surprised you said it out loud. But his answer came quickly.

“I don’t know.” He smiled. “You tell me.”’

You sighed, feigning frustration. “Ugh, no. Wrong answer.”

Sunghoon winced, propped an elbow on the table, and buried his face in his hand. “Crap. Can I try again?”

“Nope,” you teased, giggling behind your glass.

The flirting stopped by dessert, and you fell into a conversation about the house and its grand architecture. Sunghoon talked about the dating of the design and the timelessness of it. At some point, you’d told him your plans of converting it into a hotel. It would take time since money was obviously a huge factor to consider, but you laid out your renovation plans, your vision, and the whole dream behind the project.

“For now, it’s just a dream,” you said, smiling as you stirred an olive in your drink. “But the first step was buying the place, and that’s a box ticked in my list.”

“That’s actually a big start.”

“Right?” you chimed, eyes gleaming. “I still have a long way to go, but it is something, right?”

“It is,” he replied, a smile gracing his lips as he watched you.

You kept talking, hands moving animatedly as you described the lounge you envisioned, the garden terrace, the way the morning sun would hit the breakfast room just right. And Sunghoon just watched you.

At first, you didn’t notice, too caught up in your own excitement. But then you glanced at him and caught the way he was looking at you—soft and focused, like he wasn’t listening at all but watching.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, leaned back, and shrugged with a small grin. “Like what?”

“Like that,” you repeated, heat creeping to your cheeks. “I know you know what I mean.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes glinting under the dim pub lights. “No reason. I just… I’m just really proud of you.”

Your pulse raced at the way he said it. Like he meant it, and the affection in his voice wasn’t a figment of your imagination. You looked down at your drink. “Well. Thanks.”

He tilted his head. “That made you nervous.”

“No, it didn’t.”

He laughed under his breath. “You always get defensive when someone compliments you. It’s cute.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling now. “And you’re acting really out of character tonight. What’s up with you?”

“Sunghoon straightened up in his seat, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, a little too casually

Before you could say anything, he flagged down the server, asking for a pen and paper. A few minutes later, the order sheet was in front of him, along with your full attention.

“Alright,” he said, uncapping the pen. “Show me what you see.”

“What I see?”

“For your dream hotel,” he replied, beaming. “I’ll do a free sketch for you since you came here looking all pretty tonight.”

You laughed at first, but took him up on his offer. You walked him through it—the courtyard, the check-in desk, the sunlit breakfast room. He listened closely, nodding along, his hand gliding over the paper with precision. He added soft curves where you imagined sharp lines, windows where there were none, and little alcoves you hadn’t even thought of.

“This is where I’d put the courtyard,” you said, tapping the center.

“With some trees?” he asked. “A fountain?”

“Exactly,” you said. “But not a flashy one. Just charming and pretty.”

He sketched it in. You leaned over the table to get a better look, your shoulder brushing his. He didn’t pull away. You didn’t either.

When he finished, he slid the paper toward you. “It’s rough, but… this is what I see when you talk about it.”

You stared at the sketch, warmth blooming in your chest. “It’s kind of perfect.”

“You’re kind of perfect,” he said, and this time, he didn’t soften it with a laugh or a tease. 

Your heart thudded. He was looking at you like that again—like you were the only one in the room, like it would hurt him to peel his eyes away, like he wanted to just stare at you as much as he could.

“So… what now?” you asked, one hand hugging yourself. You felt nervous under his gaze, and not in a bad way.

“I should drive you back, but…” he paused, leaning a little closer. “Do you want to take a walk before we call it a night?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Outside, the air was cool and the streets mostly empty. The band’s music faded behind you as you walked side by side, a little closer than usual, not talking much. His hand brushed yours once, then again—until he finally just reached for it and laced your fingers together.

When you turned the corner and saw his bike down the road, he looked at you once with a smile before letting go of your hand.

“Will you be alright?” he asked as he mounted his bike and handed you one of the helmets. “You’re in a dress.”

“Yeah. I can manage,” you said, letting him help you put the helmet on.

His hand lingered on your jaw even after he’d fastened the helmet in. For a second, you thought he was gonna kiss you, but he just took a deep breath and turned back to his bike.

The ride was cool and quiet. You held onto him as usual, arms wrapped around his torso, balancing yourself behind him, making sure you didn’t fall. For some reason, despite the considerable distance of the town from your mansion, the drive ended too quickly. 

You stopped in front of the gates but as you handed him his helmet back, something heavy settled in your chest. You didn’t want the night to end.

Neither did he, apparently. You could tell by the way he just sat there on his bike, staring at you and not saying anything but not moving to leave either.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked quietly after a minute.

He didn’t answer at first, just looked at you as if he was looking for any hint of doubt on your face.

Then, with a smile, he said, “I would love to if that’s alright with you.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t need to. Because all the overthinking, the second-guessing, the usual mental tug-of-war you went through whenever something felt too close and too good just stopped.

There was only the cool night air, the sound of crickets in the distance, and Sunghoon—  at you with that steady gaze of his, like he’d wait forever for your answer if he had to.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and kissed him. And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting for this all night.

His hands came to your waist, holding you. One of them slid up your back, pulling you in a little closer. You felt him smile into it and that was the moment your knees nearly gave out.

Because it was soft and sweet and beautiful and just so so melting.

When you finally pulled back, breath slightly uneven, he didn’t let go of you. “Is that a ‘yes’?” he whispered teasingly.

You giggled, eyes still closed. “That’s a yes.”

He kissed you once more. Urgently this time, like he couldn’t help himself, before reaching past you to unlock the gate.

Inside, the house was quiet, the lights were dim. You didn’t bother flicking them on. His hand found yours as you kicked your shoes off by the door, and you led him through the dim hallway like it was instinct. 

You weren’t rushing, pausing every now and then at some corner to kiss and embrace each other like you couldn’t get enough.

In your room, you both paused not from hesitation, but awe. Sunghoon looked around the once lifeless space that now felt lived-in and warm. And then his gaze returned to you, and it softened, like you were the most beautiful part of the room.

“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly, holding your hands.

“A little,” you admitted, stepping close. “But not the bad kind of nervous.”

He smiled, reached up and cupped your face in both hands, drawing you in again. The kiss this time was different. Slower, surer. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the way his breath hitched when your fingers brushed the back of his neck.

His touch was careful and tender, like he was asking permission with every move. You helped him out of his jacket, then reached behind yourself to pull the zipper of your dress down, but his hands stopped you gently.

“Let me,” he murmured.

You turned, and his fingers found the zipper. You felt the brush of his knuckles against your spine, the drag of fabric slipping from your shoulders. When you turned back to face him, he just stood there for a second, eyes roaming slowly over you.

“God,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

He didn’t say it like he was trying to seduce you. He said it like he meant it. Like he’d never meant anything more.

You reached out, pulled him back to you, mouths meeting again as your hands slid down his stomach to the front of his jeans. He hissed when you pressed your palm to the bulge there, already hard for you. “Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. “Please don’t tease.”

“Sorry,” you whispered, grinning.

He picked you up gently and carried you to the bed. The sheets were cool beneath you, and the room warm around you. You pulled him down with you, mouths meeting again. His kisses grew deeper, needier, as he settled between your legs, grinding slow against your clothed sex.

You could feel him through the layers, thick and hard, and it made your body pulse with want. He slipped a hand down between your thighs, pressing the heel of his palm against your core. You moaned, soft and breathy, hips tilting up to meet him.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, his lips grazing your throat. “Just from kissing me?”

“Don’t get cocky,” you mumbled, but your voice cracked on the end.

He smiled against your skin, then kissed down your body—between your breasts, your navel, lower—until he reached the edge of your panties. He looked up at you then, waiting.

You nodded.

He pulled them off slowly and settled between your thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The first stroke of his tongue made your back arch off the bed.

He took his time, licking deep, sucking hard until you were gasping his name. One arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you open, the other hand slid up to lace your fingers together on the sheets. You came like that—shaking, eyes squeezed shut, hand clinging to his—his mouth still on you, working you through it.

When he kissed back up your body, you were trembling. “You good?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded again. “Please.”

“Condoms?”

You shook your head. “I’m on the pill.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, and then positioned himself between your legs, his jaw tight like he was holding himself back. He slid into you languidly, lubricated by your own cum and his saliva.

He sank in slowly, with a deep, ragged breath, forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

You felt full, stretched in the best way. Your arms wrapped around his back, fingernails grazing his skin as he started to move—shallow at first, then deeper, rolling his hips in smooth, deliberate thrusts that made your toes curl.

He kept whispering your name, like he couldn’t stop himself. Kept asking if you were okay, if it felt good, if he should go slower—and every time, your only answer was to hold him closer.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t frantic. It was deep. Hot. And overwhelming in the most delightful way.

You kissed through it, tangled in sweat and soft moans and the sound of skin meeting skin. Your second orgasm built slowly, until he shifted your hips up just right, and you cried out, gripping his back as you came again.

He followed not long after, burying his face in your neck with a choked sound, holding you so tightly you could hardly breathe—and you didn’t want to, not if it meant letting go.

He stayed inside you for a moment after, catching his breath, lips brushing your shoulder. Then he pulled out gently and lay beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms again.

No one spoke for a while. You didn’t need to.

His fingers traced soft shapes of your back as your breathing slowed. Your cheek rested against his chest, where you could feel his heartbeat still thudding fast.

“I really like you,” he said eventually, voice low, almost shy.

You closed your eyes. “I know.” And you did. “I like you too.”

The next morning, Sunghoon made coffee while you stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair messy, wearing only his oversized shirt from the night before. He’d found the beans in your pantry, ground them by hand, and hummed under his breath while the moka pot hissed on the stove. When he handed you a cup, it was with a kiss to your temple and a sleepy smile you wanted to keep in your pocket forever.

He didn’t leave that day. And the day after that. And then again the next. It wasn’t even a conversation—it just happened. One minute, he was supposed to return to his little room at the inn. The next, his toothbrush was on your sink and his boots sat neatly next to yours by the door.

“I guess I live here now,” he said with a shrug one evening, holding up a bundle of clean clothes he’d brought over.

You tried to act unbothered, but your chest felt light and strange and full. “I guess you do,” you replied.

Days spilled into each other like honey, slow and golden.

You worked the orange orchard together, side by side under the sun. He taught you how to check the fruits for ripeness, how to prune gently, how to tell if the bees were happy. You teased him for being too serious about it. He teased you for wearing perfume to pick fruit. He stole kisses in the shade of the trees, juice sticky on your fingers, the scent of citrus clinging to your skin.

“You’ve got a bit on your mouth,” he’d say, only to lean in and lick it off with a grin that made you drop the basket you were carrying.

Sometimes you ended up lying in the grass instead of working. Talking about the past, the future. Tracing invisible lines on each other’s arms. Learning the things that didn’t come up in early conversations—how he hated raisins, how you cried watching documentaries, how neither of you had felt like this in a long, long time.

Nights were warm. He’d light a fire when it got cold and pull you into his lap while you ate dinner on the couch. The two of you would read—him with his architectural journals, you with whatever novel you’d found at the local shop. Your legs tangled. His hand on your thigh. You’d fall asleep with your cheek on his chest more often than not, waking up only when he carried you to bed.

He made love to you like he was discovering something new each time. Slow. Intentional. Always watching your face like it told him a secret he didn’t want to forget. There were times he didn’t say a word, just kissed you like he meant it, like he needed it, like he’d been waiting to do it forever.

Sometimes it was lazy. Sometimes passionate. Sometimes soft, with laughter in between. One time, he brought oranges into the shower, peeled them as water ran down both your backs, fed you slices from his fingers before pressing you up against the glass.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” you told him one night, your voice quiet in the dark.

He rolled over to face you, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Me neither.”

You explored the island on foot and by his bike, visited hidden beaches and ate at local tavernas where he introduced you as his “partner”—not girlfriend, not roommate, just something simple and solid and true.

He drew plans for your hotel idea, left them pinned up on your fridge, updated them with sticky notes that said things like “maybe French doors here?” or “do you like this arch style?”

You found yourself setting the table for two without thinking. Buying his favorite snacks when you went into town. Pulling his shirts from the laundry and holding them to your chest like a fool.

There was a routine now. A tenderness. A life. And it felt like forever.

One day, you were sitting on the dock just past the cove, legs dangling over the edge, fishing rods in hand and an old bottle of white wine between you. Neither of you knew much about fishing, but Sunghoon said that was part of the fun.

You’d caught nothing. He’d caught seaweed. Twice.

“Okay, but it looked like a fish,” he said defensively, flicking the green tangle off his line. “For a second.”

You laughed, tipping your head back as the breeze brushed your cheeks. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed like this with someone other than your best friends. He looked over at you, half smiling, the way he always did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

A peaceful quiet settled between you for a minute. Then you broke it.

“I’ve pictured this place for years,” you said softly. “Not this exact dock, or this exact sunset… but the idea of it. Of being somewhere like this.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond right away. He just turned his head to listen.

“I’d imagine buying a house on some forgotten island, fixing it up myself, turning it into a little bed and breakfast or a hotel. Starting something that was just mine. A place to breathe. A place to stay.”

You swallowed, not nervous, just careful. “And I was always alone in that picture. I wasn’t lonely, I was content. I thought that’s what I wanted.” You looked at him. “And then I met you.”

His eyes stayed on you, steady. Patient.

“And now when I picture it again… I see you. Just—there. Beside me. Part of it.”

You gave a small shrug, cheeks warm. “I know it sounds crazy. We haven’t known each other long, and there’s still a lot I don’t know about you, and maybe this is too fast, but… I was wondering if you’d like to be in that picture. For real. If you’d want to try building something together.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. He just set down his fishing rod, then reached for your hand, fingers lacing between yours.

“Doesn’t sound crazy to me at all,” he said quietly.

You looked at him. He looked at you. And in that silence, something deep and certain was decided between you. Llike two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

The fish still weren’t biting. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

That night, you lay tangled together in bed, skin still warm from the day’s sun and each other’s touch. The windows were open, and the sound of the waves slamming against the cliff below was oddly soothing despite its violence. Sunghoon’s arm lay heavy across your waist, fingers lazily stroking your bare stomach. It was quiet, the kind of silence that usually felt safe with him.

“I have to tell you something,” he said quietly.

You turned slightly to face him. “What is it?”

“I love you.”

You giggled, closing your eyes and nuzzling your nose back on his chest. “Okay, Lover Boy. I heard you.”

“And I’m engaged to someone else,” he added, making you force your eyes open.

At first, you didn’t react. The words didn’t quite register in your head. You blinked up at him, waiting for a punchline. But he just looked back at you, his eyes open and serious.

“What?”

“It’s not what it sounds like,” he said quickly, propping himself up. “It’s arranged. My family—back home—they… they set it up. I didn’t choose it. I barely know her. I’ve met her maybe three times. I don’t have feelings for her.”

Something cold seeped into your chest. You pulled away from him. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“I—I didn’t know how. I didn’t think it mattered at first. But then everything with us…” He reached for you, but you slapped his hand away. “I should’ve told you sooner. I know.”

You sat up, dragging the sheet around yourself. “You didn’t think it mattered? Are you hearing yourself?”

“I didn’t plan any of this,” he said, sitting up too. “I was just here for a little break. I didn’t plan to meet you and fall for you.”

You laughed bitterly. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t stand there and talk about falling for me like you didn’t lie by omission every single day. You let me build a whole dream around you. Around us. And you were promised to someone else this whole time?”

“It’s not real—”

“It’s real enough,” you snapped. “I don’t care if you love her or not. I don’t care if it’s just paper. You’re someone else’s, Sunghoon.”

He looked like he’d been punched. “I don’t want it! I choose you.”

“No. You don’t get to choose! You knew this would happen and you let it happen anyway.” Your voice broke then. You didn’t mean for it to, but it came out in a tremble. “Get out.”

He froze. “Please… Don’t do this.”

“Go. Just get the fuck out! Please,” you said, turning away and moving to the corner of the room.

You buried your face in your hands and sobbed, shoulder trembling, voice breaking. You could hear the soft sounds of Sunghoon’s footsteps approaching you, then his hand on your shoulder but you swatted it away.

“Just leave, Hoon!”

He left. And he never came back.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. You’d kept your eyes closed through most of the night, but your mind never let you rest. You could still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, the weight of his words sitting heavy on your chest.

“And I’m engaged to someone else.”

The sun had fully risen and the ocean looked far too cheerful for how you felt. You opened the door to see Amy’s familiar grin and Lea’s arms already opening for a hug. They were glowing with excitement, sunglasses in their hair, bags slung over their shoulders, and not even an ounce of awareness that your world had collapsed less than twelve hours ago.

“There she is!” Lea beamed, pulling you into a tight squeeze. “God, it smells like citrus and freedom out here. I’m never leaving.”

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Amy said with a teasing frown. “Don’t tell me you and Lover Boy were up all night doing—”

You let out a soft laugh—more exhale than amusement—and stepped aside to let them in.

The massive house felt too full suddenly. Their voices bounced off the walls, light and warm. They talked about the flight, the heat, the funny guy at customs. You listened. Smiled when appropriate. Nodded at all the right times.

It wasn’t until you’d served them fresh juice on the patio that Amy tilted her head and said, “So where is he? You were going to introduce us, right? We were ready for the whole ‘meet the boyfriend’ thing.”

You looked down at your glass, then out at the sea. “He’s not here anymore,” you said quietly. “We’re done.”

Both of them froze. “What?” Amy asked, gently.

“He’s engaged to someone else. Back home. Doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

You didn’t look at them, didn’t want to see the sympathy you knew was coming.

Lea reached across the table and touched your hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed, unwilling to get into the details but wanted to share. “It’s really nothing. We were having a good time and I thought I’m in love with him. Now that he’s gone, I think it was just the moment, you know what I mean?”

Lea tilted her head, looking at you in confusion, but Amy beside her nodded in understanding. “Totally get it. I mean, two beautiful people together in a beautiful island? I’d think I’m in love too,” said Amy.

Lea shook her head. “No. It was serious when you told us about it on the phone. You sounded so…sure.”

“No, darling.” Amy tapped Lea’s cheek gently. “It was the weather. You have no idea how easy it is to mistake good vibes with being in love.”

They argued about it for a while, but they didn’t press. They didn’t ask for more than what you were willing to divulge. They simply shifted the conversation, as if by instinct, pulling you back into safer waters.

But even as they talked about their plans—about beach days and wine nights and helping you with the orchard—you couldn’t help but glance at the seat across from you. The one that had been his just yesterday.

It was supposed to be good day. You were gonna introduce him to Amy and Lea, your best friends, your true family. But that was a bust. And now it was just you again.

But at least you weren’t alone.

The week that followed blurred into a sun-soaked montage of tequila shots, sandy hair, and late-night laughter. With Amy and Lea around, it was impossible to sit still for too long. They pulled you out of the house, out of your head, and out of the quiet grief you hadn’t yet figured out how to deal with.

Amy dragged you away from the village and into the other side of the island where the beaches were packed with tourists, loud music, and overpriced mojitos. You danced barefoot in the sand, lip-synced into beer bottles, flirted with strangers you had no intention of remembering. You let the lights and noise and sea carry you for days—numbed and glowing all at once.

Amy flirted with every fine European men who so much as looked her way. Lea got into a tipsy argument with a street performer about astrology. You laughed so hard you nearly cried.

It didn’t make the pain disappear. But for a little while, it drowned it out.

And then, one afternoon, as you lay on a beach towel by the docks, the sand warm beneath you, skin glowing, a little drunk on Aperol spritz and good company, the sun suddenly vanished from your face.

You blinked up at the abrupt shadow.

And found a man holding an umbrella over your head like a knight with absolutely no armor, just absurd confidence and expensive taste. Linen shirt, half-buttoned. Sunglasses pushed up into dark brown hair. Smirk painted across his face like it had been there since birth.

“Hi there,” he greeted casually, his voice ringing with a familiarity that hit straight in your chest.

You pulled your own sunglasses down your nose and squinted up at him. “What are you doing here, Jay?”

He chuckled lightly. “It’s good to see you too.”

Amy and Lea looked between the two of you like they’d accidentally stepped into a scene from a movie they hadn’t seen the beginning of.

“No, seriously.” You sat up slowly, brushing sand off your legs. “What are you doing here?”

“Official business is concluded, so I’m heading home. But I figured I’d drop anchor for a bit.” He lowered the umbrella handle toward you. “And maybe see a friendly face.”

You blinked at him again, mouth parting slightly. This wasn’t just some coincidence. Jay was here. Jay, with his yacht and smirk and maddening presence, had found you again.

“I knew it was weird when you said we’d be seeing each other again,” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He grinned wider. “Miss me?”

“In your dreams,” you replied, standing up. “How long has it been?”

“Oh, just thirty-three days, give or take,” he shrugged, closing the umbrella. “It’s not like I was counting the days till I see you again,” he added with a grin.

Of course. That was the Jay you knew. Shamelessly flirty, smooth about it, and tries to talk you in sleeping with him every chance he gets. You rolled your eyes and turned to your friends, both still looking clueless. “Oh, these are my girls, Amy and Lea.”

“Hi,” said Lea.

“Lovely to meet you,” said Amy, offering a hand to Jay. “I’ve heard nothing about you,” she added, glancing knowingly at you.

You gave her an apologetic scrunch of your nose.

“Ladies, I’d hate to disturb you, but,” Jay nodded toward the water, past the dock where his boat was glistening under the sun. “How would you like some cocktails on a boat?”

You chuckled at his blatant attempt at impressing your girls. Amy perked up immediately. “A boat? That boat?” she asked, pointing at Jay’s yacht.

“Yes, Ames,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes at Jay. “Did I mention he’s got a yacht?”

Lea was already grabbing her tote. “Let’s go before he changes his mind.”

You shook your head, laughing as Jay offered you a hand up like he was inviting you to a gala. Dramatic, as always. You didn’t take it, but you did follow him, the three of you trailing after him barefoot across the sun-warmed dock.

Amy nudged your arm discreetly. “Who is he?” she whispered.

Lea leaned in on your other side. “He’s hot.”

“Hotter than the fucking sun,” Amy added.

You smirked, keeping your eyes ahead. “He’s just someone I met a while back. He helped me out when I first got stranded here.”

Amy gasped softly. “That’s the boat guy? You never said he looked like that.”

“I barely said anything,” you muttered.

“Exactly,” Lea said. “Suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. Jay was ahead now, glancing back to make sure you were all still following. He tossed you a wink and kept walking.

Amy nudged you again, lower this time. “Okay but for real—are we allowed to flirt with him or is that off-limits?”

You gave her a look. “Behave.”

“Not a no,” she sing-songed.

You sighed dramatically. “He’s a player. If you can handle someone like him, then go ahead.”

They both exchanged a knowing glance. Amy shook her head. “Yeah, no. It’s pretty obvious he came all the way here to see you, specifically.”

You had a small yacht party, just the four of you, plus Manu, Jay’s crew member-slash-silent bartender who somehow knew exactly when to top up a drink or disappear entirely. There were expensive bottles, platters of seafood and fruit laid out by the excellent Sofia, and music drifting softly through the deck speakers. You laughed, drank, danced barefoot under string lights, and watched the sun dip into the sea.

By the time night fell properly, Lea had passed out on one of the long couches, clutching a throw pillow like a lifeline. Amy had disappeared below deck with Manu about thirty minutes ago and hadn’t been seen since.

Which left you, barefoot at the railing, half a drink in hand, ocean breeze blowing your hair, talking to Jay.

“Today, you became Amy and Lea’s favorite person,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him. He was leaning beside you, one arm braced casually against the rail.

He gave a lazy shrug, that usual smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “As I should be. I did try my best. Although my main guest of honor’s a little harder to impress.”

You chuckled, but didn’t say anything.

He chuckled too, eyes glinting as he looked at you for a long moment. “You look different,” he said. “Not in a bad way. Just… different. Your eyes don’t shine like they did when we met.”

The sudden comment caught you off guard. He smiled and added, “Must’ve been hard for you after I left.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you turned back toward the dark water. “Not at all,” you said. “But… a lot’s happened since then. Been kind of a rough patch lately. Don’t really wanna talk about it. I’ll just bore you.”

He didn’t press. Just nodded, like he understood. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “But for what it’s worth—I know you’ll be fine. You’re the strong, independent type. You don’t need anyone.”

You smiled faintly, touched by the unexpected sincerity.

Then, with perfect Jay timing, he tilted his head and said, “How was it? Am I sweeping you off your feet? Are you considering checking out my suite now?”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Wow. Very subtle, Jay,” you said flatly.

He grinned, shrugging with fake innocence. “Can’t be too forward. You might think I’m desperate to have sex with you.”

That made you laugh, and he watched you with a fond smile on his lips. After a beat, you handed him your empty glass and said, “Lead the way, then.”

He blinked once. Then let out a short breath of disbelief, like he was laughing at his own luck.

“Damn,” he said, cocking his head. “Didn’t think you’d actually bite.”

You raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. “So? Lead the way.”

Jay paused. The smirk was still there, but it faltered a little. He avoided your gaze, then he leaned back just slightly, voice dropping lower.

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Can’t mess around with drunk girls. Bad karma.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Still not gonna happen.”

You tilted your head. “That’s your excuse?”

He gave you a crooked grin, but he wasn’t meeting your eyes anymore. “It’s called principle, thanks. I’m being a gentleman for once, but don’t get used to it.”

You stared at him, trying not to laugh at his face. He was flustered. Jay, king of confidence, was caught off guard. He probably hadn’t expected you to actually call him on his bullshit. And now he was scrambling, all cool exterior but twitchy tells.

“Wow,” you teased, enjoying his struggle. “You’re not as smooth as I thought.”

“Well, whatever,” he deadpanned. “I’m gonna go make sure no one’s thrown themselves off the side of the boat.”

And with that, he turned and walked away. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head. Score one for you.

The next day was supposed to be a group outing. Jay had invited all three of you on his boat again, planning a full day of sightseeing, drinks, and whatever else the ocean had in store.

But that morning, when you stepped out in your swimsuit and cover-up, your hair still damp from the shower, Amy and Lea were both lounging on the patio, coffee mugs in hand and suspiciously smug looks on their faces.

“What are you guys doing? We have to go,” you said matter-of-factly.

Amy hummed as she shook her head. “You’re going alone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You need this, girl,” Lea said simply. “He’s hot. You’re heartbroken. And we’re tired of watching you mope.”

You scoffed indignantly. “I did not mope. When did I—”

“Go,” they said in unison.

So you did.

Jay greeted you with a grin as you boarded his boat, wind tousling his hair and sunglasses perched cockily on his nose.

“No entourage today?” he asked, helping you aboard.

“They bailed,” you said.

He smiled, clearly pleased. “Smart girls.”

The day unfolded like something out of a travel magazine. The sky was endless blue, the sea even more so. He took you to hidden coves and quiet stretches of beach, pointing out rocky cliffs and ancient ruins. You swam in the clearest water you’d ever seen, laughed until your stomach hurt, shared cold drinks and warm glances.

By late afternoon, you were stretched out beside him on the deck, towel beneath you, the sun dipping lower in the sky.

Jay turned his head toward you, that lazy smirk still in place. “I would really be heartbroken once you leave my boat, but I guess it’s worth it if it’s you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Romantic.”

He chuckled. “I can be, if that’s what you’re into.”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him, lying on his side, head propped on one hand, salt still glistening on his chest and sunglasses perched perfectly on his nose.

“I’ve been dying to be alone with you,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look away. “And now that you are?”

He gave a half-shrug, his smile softening. “Now I’m trying not to fuck it up.”

You smiled, leaned in just a little, and said, “Then don’t.”

It was all the permission he needed. With one swift motion, he hovered over you, his body blocking the sun as he looked down at you.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Are you?” you asked back, challenging him. “Or are you gonna get all flustered and adorable for me again?” you added, fingers tracing the curve of his abs.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game here, sweetheart,” he challenged.

“So what? Too hot for you?”

Jay smirked, visibly impressed. His eyes flicked to your lips then briefly back to your eyes before diving in to kiss you. It was warm, salty, sun-drenched. His hand was confident when it landed on your waist, rubbing, feeling. Yours curled into his damp hair as the boat rocked gently beneath you, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Below deck, the second the door shut behind you, Jay had you pressed against it.

He kissed you deep, dirty, all tongue and teeth, his hands greedy as they found your waist and pulled you closer. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the seawater still drying in patches along his chest, the faint taste of liquor on his tongue. You reached down, tugged on the waistband of his shorts, and he laughed into your mouth.

“Impatient, are we?” he murmured, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth.

You kissed him hard, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he groaned low in his throat as his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you to the bed like you weighed nothing. Your bare legs locked around his hips. Your thighs met the warm sheets and you gasped against his mouth when he bit your lip.

“God, I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day,” he muttered, kissing down your jaw, his hands roaming greedily over your sides. “You're so goddamn sexy when you tease me.”

You tugged at his hair. “When did I do that?”

He smirked into your neck. “You obviously had no idea, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you feel very, very sorry about it.”

His lips were on you again before the words even registered. Kissing you deep, kissing you slow, until you were squirming beneath him. His hand slid up your thigh, pushed the fabric of your swimsuit aside, and his thumb brushed where you were already soaked.

“Wet and excited,” he muttered. “Just the way I like it.”

“Jay, stop talking and get on it,” you panted, hips chasing his hand.

Jay grinned. “Alright, since you asked nicely.”

You shot him a glare, but it melted fast when he dropped to his knees. Pulled your bottoms off with one fluid motion and threw them somewhere behind him. 

You tipped your head back the moment his mouth touched you, one hand bracing on the counter, the other tugging at his hair again. “Jay—fuck—”

He moaned into you, rough and obscene, like he wanted you to know just how much he was enjoying it. The room was filled with wet, messy sounds, your breathy gasps echoing above it all. You gripped his hair, trying to stay still, but your body had a mind of its own, hips rocking up into his face.

“I can’t—” you choked out, thighs trembling. You came embarrassingly fast, clenching hard around nothing as you gasped his name.

Jay stood and kissed you, still tasting like you, and his hands were already pushing his shorts down. You reached for him, touched him, and he hissed in approval.

“Come here,” he growled, and then you were being turned, hands braced against the mattress, his chest pressing against your back. He slid inside you with a groan so guttural it made your toes curl.

The stretch stole your breath. “Oh, fuck—Jay—”

“God, you feel unreal,” he breathed against your shoulder, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise while the other slipped between your thighs again. “You gonna take it like a good girl or do you want to tell me what to do?”

You tried. You really tried. But every time you opened your mouth, he hit something inside you that made your thoughts scatter.

“Uh-huh,” he chuckled darkly. “That’s what I thought.”

The pace turned relentless. Fast and deep, the sounds of your bodies slapping together echoing off the cabin walls, your breathy moans mixing with his filthy praise. He told you how good you felt, how gorgeous you looked, how he’d been dreaming about this since the day he met you. You cursed, clutched the sheets, back arching, completely unraveling beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, pulling out and flipping you around.

He hovered above you, kissed you slow again, positioning himself between your legs. “You wanna ride me?” he asked, teasing.

You nodded, lips brushing his jaw. “Yeah. I do.”

He rolled onto his back immediately, hands behind his head. “Be my guest.”

It didn’t last long. You straddled him, sank down slowly, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “Jesus Christ—”

You tried to find a rhythm, something steady, but the way he felt inside you—thick, deep, rubbing every spot perfectly—made it impossible. Especially with the way he kept watching you, mouthing filth between clenched teeth, hips bucking up to meet yours.

“You’re so fucking tight—shit—look at you,” he groaned. “If you can only see yourself right now.”

His hands gripped your ass, helping you move, but then he sat up, mouth finding your collarbone, your shoulder, and suddenly he was thrusting up into you, hard and fast, stealing every ounce of composure you had left.

You clung to him, moaning shamelessly as he fucked you from below, his voice rough in your ear. “That’s it, baby. Come on.”

You did, again, harder than before—crying out as you clenched down around him, lightheaded and spiraling in euphoria.

Jay swore under his breath, then flipped you onto your back in one fluid motion. “One more,” he rasped, driving back into you, not giving you time to catch your breath. “You’ve got one more in you, don’t you?”

You didn’t even answer. Just held on tight, nails digging into his back as he slammed into you, rough, messy, perfect. He kissed you through it, swore again when he felt you start to come undone, and then with one final thrust, he spilled into you, gasping your name against your mouth.

The silence after was satisfying. Heavy with heat and broken by his occasional grunts and your panting. You stayed tangled, sweaty and half-laughing, while he buried his face in your neck and caught his breath.

“Well,” he said eventually, voice hoarse. “I’m amazing, aren’t I?”

That made you laugh. “You’re alright.”

He laughed and kissed your shoulder. “Okay, liar,” he quipped before rolling onto the bed beside you.

You said goodbye to Jay at the dock, the same spot he’d first said goodbye to you after taking you to this place. He helped your friends load their bags onto his yacht, cracked a joke about how he wasn’t running a taxi service, and kissed you once—quick and easy, no lingering promises. You smiled at him, genuine and grateful, and then he was gone, taking the laughter and chaos and comfort with him.

And just like that, you were alone.

You hadn’t truly been alone since you arrived in France. Jake had been with you in Paris on your first day, cute and shy. Sunghoon was on this island the day you got here, charming and kind, offering you help and himself. When he left, your friends arrived with wine and sunhats, and then Jay swept in like a storm, all noise and heat. But now the house was truly empty. You hadn’t expected the silence to feel so loud.

For a while, you didn’t do much. You walked around barefoot, let the days pass lazily, ate too much fruit, and stared at the ocean. You were scared, not of the house, not of the work ahead, but of the loneliness. You’d never admitted that before. But there it was, pressing into your chest like it intended to suffocate you.

Still, you carried on.

Since you didn’t have the finances to convert the mansion into a guesthouse yet, you found work in town. Mornings were spent in a café near the harbor, brewing coffee and scribbling names on cups that always got smudged. Tourists liked you, maybe because you smiled even when you were tired, or maybe because you looked like a tourist yourself if one would take away the uniform and the beret.

At night, you waited tables at corner street restaurant, where the wine was relatively pricey and the seafood never disappointed. The hours were long, but the pay was fair, and the staff became familiar. You didn’t tell them much about yourself, just that you were from a small village a few miles away and saving up for something big.

You kept working on your plans when you got home—sketching interior designs, tallying costs, researching permits and licensing. Some nights you fell asleep with your laptop still open on your stomach. Other nights you walked down to the beach alone, letting the cool sand soothe your body and mind.

It wasn’t a glamorous life. But it was good.

And slowly, you started to feel less fragile. You didn’t miss Sunghoon, not exactly. What you missed was the closeness, the feeling of someone else’s warmth in the bed beside you, the distraction from your thoughts. But you were proud of yourself too. You were building something. Even if it wasn’t a hotel yet, even if it was just a new version of yourself.

Two months passed like that.

Work, sleep, plan, repeat. The days folded into each other like pages in a worn book—some soft and golden, others heavy with fatigue. You had slipped into a routine without realizing it. Maybe that’s why you didn’t notice at first.

Your period was late.

It didn’t hit you until one morning at the café, when the espresso machine was hissing in the background and a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. You brushed it off, blaming the heat. But the feeling stayed until you had to leave because you couldn’t take it anymore without throwing up. 

And then came the other things. The tenderness, the fatigue, the strange aversion to the smell of coffee that made your coworkers laugh but made your stomach turn.

You tried not to spiral. Maybe it was stress. You’d read that stress could delay periods. You'd been busy and tired. But still, something gnawed at you. So you had to check. 

On afternoon, after your shift ended early, you walked into a clinic two towns over, where no one knew your name. You filled out the form with shaky hands and let the nurse lead you through the halls, your heart racing in your chest.

And then came the results that were impossible to misunderstand.

You were pregnant.

When you stepped back outside, the world was too bright, the sound of cicadas were roaring in your ears. You sat on a bench just outside the building, phone clutched in your hand but no one to call.

Because now came the real question: Who? Which one?

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought of it. The possibility had been there, but hearing the confirmation made it real. And now your mind spiraled through the summer like a montage, playing back every moment, every night, every touch.

Jake. Sunghoon. Jay.

You weren’t reckless. It wasn’t about that. You had been careful—or at least you thought you had. But the lines blurred in your memory now, and all you were left with was the truth.

You were carrying a child, and you didn’t know who the father was.

You sat there for a long time. Just breathing. A little girl passed by holding her mother’s hand, chattering about ice cream. A breeze lifted your hair. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed.

And you were still sitting. Still not sure what came next. But that night, you knew you needed to call Amy and Lea.

“This is why I always tell you to wrap it up,” Amy said immediately.

Neither of them knew what to say at first. You didn’t blame them. It wasn’t exactly news you could prepare them for.

“The raw way might be toe-curling, head-spinningly amazing,” Amy went on, “but it’s not worth it if it’s gonna get you knocked up out of wedlock.”

Lea scoffed audibly on the other line. “Shut up, Ames. You’re the one who always said condoms are cock-blockers and everyone should experience the ‘sheer delight’ of raw sex at least once.”

“I meant once, not—” Amy cut herself off. “Okay, never mind. We’re not talking about me.”

“You’re literally always talking about you.”

“Lea.”

“Sorry, sorry. Focus,” Lea said, clearing her throat. “So who do you think is the father?”

“Park Jay?” Amy ventured.

“Or Park Sunghoon,” Lea added. “You did say he was hot and brooding and emotionally intense, right? That sounds like potent baby-daddy energy.”

“Mm,” Amy mused. “But Jay has the boat and the abs. I’m leaning Jay.”

“Oh my god. It doesn’t matter. They’re both Parks, our baby will get the same surname regardless of who the father is,” Lea said excitedly.

You sighed. “Guys.”

“Don’t ‘guys’ us,” Amy said. “You invited us into the drama, now let us live in it.”

“Okay, but there’s someone else…”

They both went quiet. “...Don’t tell me you slept with someone else after Jay left?” Amy finally said.

You winced. “Actually, it was before. I met a guy name Jake Sim in Paris. Before coming to Corsica. Things happened.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then both of them erupted in squeals. 

“Three guys in just one summer?” Amy shrieked.

Lea was laughing. “You are an icon. How does it feel to be the main character of an erotic French film?”

“I feel nauseous,” you muttered.

“Pregnancy symptom,” Amy deadpanned.

“I’m serious,” you said, running a hand over your face. “What if it was Jake and I was just insane this whole time? Like, genuinely hormonal and insane. What if that’s why I got so swept up with Sunghoon? I couldn’t keep my hands off him. Maybe I was already pregnant then. Maybe I wasn’t even in love—just horny and mental.”

“Hormones do make you horny,” Amy said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to fall in lust under the influence of progesterone.”

“No, girl. You cried over him,” Lea reminded gently. “And you don’t really cry over guys unless it’s real.”

“Yeah, but pregnant women are crazy women. How would I know what’s real and what’s not?” you whispered. “I just thought it was love but then it wasn’t. It was just me being reckless and careless and—”

“Babe,” Amy cut in. “I know what you’re doing. You’re denying that it was real. Even if it was love and even if it wasn’t, you’re allowed to have feelings. You don’t need to justify your heartbreak to anyone. Especially not to yourself.”

You were quiet for a second. “Thanks, Ames.”

Amy added, “And I still say it’s Jay. Sunghoon probably pulls out. He sounds like a good guy. Good guys pull out.”

“Oh my god,” Lea said, cracking up. “On that note, I’m hanging up before Amy gives this baby a horoscope reading.”

“Wait, I totally should—”

Click. You stared at your phone, smiling faintly.

And then you weren’t smiling. You were just sitting again, alone in your big bedroom. A child growing inside you. A thousand things left to figure out. But at least you had friends who made you laugh along the way.

You didn’t know what to do at first. The test had been positive, the signs were there, but your thoughts had scattered into every direction at once. You considered everything—your finances, your future. Your pride.

The sheer humiliation of having to call any of the three men, let alone all of them. What would you even say? That you had a summer full of crap decisions and now needed help guessing which one was the father?

No. Just the idea made you shrink into yourself.

You kept the secret close to your chest, rolling it over and over, sleepless nights spent making pro and con lists in your head. You had reasons—dozens of them—for why you couldn’t keep the baby. And everytime you came close to making the call, to booking the appointment, something stopped you.

And then it was too late to even consider it.

You gave birth to a healthy baby girl in a cool winter night, with the help of kind women in the village who knew what to do. They guided you through labor with gentle hands and wisdom, and when you finally held your daughter in your arms, all the noise in your head quieted down.

Your daughter was perfect. Warm and pink and wailing, with one little fist curled around your finger.

You named her together. Amy and Lea had flown in as quickly as they could, flustered and crying and loud as ever, and from that moment on, the baby was theirs too. Theirs and the village’s, because it really did take a village to raise a child. The baker who always snuck pastries into her bag. Old man Jean-Luc who carved a cradle. The innkeeper who watched the baby when you picked up extra shifts.

The little girl grew into a sweet, curious child with wide eyes and smart wit. Everyone said she looked just like you. You were near-twins, people would say, shaking their heads fondly. 

“She’s your spitting image. Her dad’s genes didn’t even try!”

You raised your daughter with love. You taught her to be soft with the world but never small. To be good but not naive. To be strong but not unkind.

Meanwhile, you built the bed and breakfast from the ground up—slowly, with scraped knees and secondhand furniture, but with pride. It was small but beautiful. Cozy but polished. Tourists came, then returned, drawn by the warmth of the place and the magic of the island.

It wasn’t always easy—there were long nights, missed opportunities, tired tears—but it was yours. And you were happy.

Not the kind of happy that came with a man’s hands around your waist or whispered promises in the dark. The kind that looked like laughter over breakfast, like sun-dried sheets, like a child’s muddy footprints on a kitchen floor.

You didn’t need a man, and neither did your daughter. You had built a life of your own and it was enough.

“Mommy! Someone’s here!” your daughter called from the front door.

You had two hours left before guests would arrive for her birthday party. You were in the kitchen icing cupcakes when the doorbell rang, so you called out for her to answer it, assuming it was a parent dropping off a gift early—or Amy and Lea showing up with something too big to carry alone.

“I’ll be right out!” you called, wiping your hands on a dish towel as you jogged toward the front, hair tied up in a bun, frosting smudged on your arm. “Who is it, honey?”

You froze the moment you saw who she was staring at.

Standing on your porch were three men you hadn’t seen in years.

Jake, in a navy blue suit and tie, holding a bouquet of flowers. Jay, sunglasses perched on his head, casual as ever but visibly hesitant. And Sunghoon, his expression unreadable, eyes flicking from your face to the hand you’d unconsciously placed on your daughter’s shoulder.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Then you let out a stunned, almost exasperated laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

[the end... or is it?]

[intromortal]

⭑ INCH BY INCH ⸻ park sunghoon

you have a boyfriend gifted with a pornstar cock, but he refuses to use it on you, too scared he'll end up hurting you. so your best shot is to devise a plan to get him to crumble, and even if things don't unfold quite as expected, what matters is the result anyway... right?

starring ⋆ f!reader x park sunghoon, besties!jaykewon

this work contains ⋆ smut ⋆ minors so not interact ⋆ barely any plot, way too much smut, sunghoon being diabolically hung, my extremely poor attempts at humor, established relationship, nasty nasty shit... brat tamer sunghoon, alcohol consumption, implied driving under the influence, jealousy, slut shaming (not from hoon), a tiny bit of violence, blood, size & bulge kink, fingering, dry humping, slight degradation, partially clothed sex, a freaky voice message, edging & overstim, oral (f!red), mutual masturbation, lube, squirting, unprotected sex ⸻ rules m.list

length ⋆ one shot ⸻ 23.6k words

⭑ NIA ⸻ i'm in pain and my period is abt to start ANDD antibiotics fucked my stomach up so if you see typos no you don't. anyways. big fat cock. who agrees!! shoutout to my homies vivi and stella for putting up with my ass and deactivation threats anytime i write anything ever!!! and for having read this before anyone else

Having a dick so big multiple people suggest you make a career out of it isn't half as nice as it sounds, Sunghoon would know that better than anyone.

Even before getting any experience, he'd been aware of just how comically large his dick was. He'd known ever since he had to go out of his way to search for porn with ‘massive cock!’ in the title for it to look anything like his, and even then he often found himself thinking they had to be exaggerating a bit for the sake of clicks.

Turns out, the comparison with real life average sizes is even more ridiculous.

He knows it sounds silly, there are hordes of men out there that would pay good money to swap places with him—his dear friend Jake being the first in line.

Sunghoon still cringes when he remembers the first time he'd oh so innocently asked Jake for his opinion on the matter. Truthfully, all he wanted to hear from his bleached blonde friend was some reassurance, maybe how it was all in his head, or how at the end of the day the right person would love and appreciate every part of him no matter what, or whatever you tell people in situations like these. His first mistake was believing Jake out of all his friends would do the most tactful thing.

“That thing’s like—fucking huge!” Jake shrieked, grabbing Sunghoon’s phone out of his hands, every protest falling on deaf ears. “There’s no fucking way, man.”

“It’s not that b—” Sunghoon tries to speak, but Jake stops him before he even gets a sentence in, calling Jay’s name at the top of his lungs. 

“What are you—”

“WHAT,” Jay yells back from the kitchen, over the deafening sound of the food processor in use, annoyed by Jake’s continuous interruptions that day. Of which at least four were to show him some nasty looking recipe he found on tiktok.

“You gotta come take a look at this!”

At the time, Sunghoon was still vaguely uncomfortable around Jay. He was nice enough, and he was a great roommate, so there was that at least. It was a good trade off because the other option was staying at the way too crowded shitty dorms, and he liked the privacy that this deal got him. He wasn't always on board with it, Jake had to talk him into it when high school ended, but he swore him and Jay would be the bestest of friends if only he could let his reservations behind for a little, at least give him a chance.

Sunghoon moved away halfway through the second year of high school, and for a while it felt like Jay had swapped places with him and taken the life he was supposed to live for himself. First his best friend, Jake. Then the girl of his dreams, the one he never found the courage to confess to, you.

Thing is, while Sunghoon could recognize Jay had done absolutely nothing wrong to him per se, he still felt betrayed by him in a way. Truly it was just envy.

The food processor comes to an abrupt halt, and all that can be heard from the other room is a deep sigh, followed by the sound of dragged footsteps as their tall friend walks into the messy—in the way only college boys living spaces can be—living room with resignation. “Fine. But this better have nothing to do with Cheetos or tacos.” 

“Much better.” Jake winks at him, nudging Sunghoon’s hands away with his elbow, the younger hissing in pain. “Behold,” he turns the phone towards an unassuming Jay, aware of the fact he's about to change the older's view of Sunghoon forever.“Sunghoon’s monster of a cock.”

Jay’s hands stop on his apron, (the ridiculous one with a bodybuilder torso and cheetah boxers Jungwon got him for a secret Santa) and his mouth hangs open for a second too long, before he comes back to his senses and notices how Sunghoon slumps back on the couch, cheeks burning red. Jay swats the phone out of Jake’s hand. “What the fuck is your problem, dude.”

“What? I’m just saying it’s way larger than average!”

“He’s uncomfortable.” Jay says, going back to drying his hands on the apron. “Leave him be.”

This only makes Sunghoon’s cheeks redder, his ears a bright pink too. Jake scoffs, eyeing him suspiciously. “Sure. I’m sure having a porn star cock must be so mortifying. Who even complains about stuff like this?” he snickers before making his voice a pitch higher. “‘Poor me! My dick’s too heavy! What will I do!”

“Oh my god,” Sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, pulling the ends a bit. “It is not that big.” He looks at Jay for support, expecting him to disagree with Jake.

Jay’s gaze falters to his pants for a split second. His mouth twists but he remains silent.

“Not you too.” Sunghoon's hands now hold his face as he sinks into the cushions further, legs spreading. “Just say what you wanna say.”

“I mean…” Jay gestures towards Sunghoon's crotch. “I suspected you were big but… that’s crazy, man.”

“It’s not that cra—”

“Yes it is! You’ve got a fucking gas storage tank in your pants and you wanna sit here and tell us it’s not crazy?” Jake says, exasperated by that point. “And stop playing dumb. It’s big. That’s good. I’m sure the ladies go crazy over it. Or the gentlemen. Or whoever it is you fuck.” He kisses his teeth, muttering under his breath. “Lucky bastard.”

“Jake’s right, Hoon. I don’t know why you're so… negative about it. It's a good thing."

“I wouldn’t know,” Sunghoon mutters under breath, more to himself than to the guys, but it’s still loud enough for them to catch it.

“Oh? Then whenever the time comes, you’ll see how much they’ll love it,” Jay says.

"I'm just worried." Sunghoon tries his best to avoid both sets of eyes staring intently at him. "What… what if I end up hurting someone?"

Jake coos, then moves closer to Sunghoon on the couch, his breath fanning over his ear as he whispers, “Always so concerned about other people. Aren't you such a cutie pie?”

The boys weren't exactly wrong, but with big dick come great responsibilities—as Jake said. Yup, roll your eyes at him, not Sunghoon. He's innocent—like having to finger and eat out your partners for what feels like an eternity before even trying to push the tip in, which is not exactly the best situation to be in as a virgin. Current Sunghoon thinks that's the best part, but it took a while to get here.

Sunghoon has always been a very patient man though, a gentle giant in every sense of the phrase. The last thing he would ever want to do is inflict pain accidentally on another human being.

When he got his first actual girlfriend, he'd been so nervous and honestly quite scared to have sex with her. So he got on Google whenever he had free time to study ways to make it as comfortable as possible, watching all kinds of video explanations or reading through feminine pleasure blogs written by women for women specifically, because that's where Jay told him the good stuff was at.

By the time he got to actually have sex with her, his mind was so overwhelmed by all this information that he essentially forgot how to even think. It was anything but romantic, so deeply embarrassing Sunghoon still cringes even after all this time when his mind betrays him and reminds him of it while trying to fall asleep at night.

And then, to add insult to injury, his girlfriend cheated on him and left him for this guy she'd only just met, because 'it might not be as big, but at least he knows how to use it'.

Heartbroken and with an hurt ego, Sunghoon did that thing all boys do when their first relationship doesn't work out: hit the gym and promise themselves they're never gonna fall in love ever again.

That second part ended up failing, because from the moment you showed up at his doorstep to visit (your now ex boyfriend, but a beloved friend nonetheless) Jay and Jake, five different bags around you, with eyes as big as saucers and staring at him like he had invaded his own apartment, all the feelings younger Sunghoon had for you hit him like a brick to his nape all over again.

You two dating came as a shock to everyone around you, mostly because while you were aware of Park Sunghoon's existence and vice versa, you'd never given it too much thought. You remembered him as the scrawny kid with the cute moles from math that you used to always catch staring. He was often around Jungwon because they were neighbors, but was way too shy to even say hi to you. That, and he was also always around Jake—who you were not exactly fond of, given his reputation—so you steered clear of him when you could manage to.

Then, when the third year of high school started, you stopped seeing him around, and Jungwon told you he had moved away to follow his dad's business. You wouldn't admit it at the time but the hallways seemed duller than usual for a few days, but that probably was also due to Jake not being as loud and energetic with his best friend gone.

Last year of high school, you went on a few dates with Jay from history class, and while he was the closest you have ever thought a man to be perfect, you both agreed you worked better as friends than anything more. Usually that means 'you're cool but I'm gonna try my best to not have to say hi to you if I see you around', but Jay is so wonderful, you actually kept in touch and became quite close, even if platonically.

By the time the year ended, you had a very tight group of friends consisting of yourself, Jungwon, Jay, and even Jake—who, for the record, isn't nearly as bad as all the crazy rumors make him out to be. It saddened you that it took so long to find your group, but you were grateful you had one nonetheless, a lot of people never get that luxury, so you weren't about to let a little graduation get in between you all. You spent a good five days consoling Jake that no, no one was going anywhere and yes, you will all be best friends for life.

But then college started, and it became difficult to stay in touch because Jay and Jake had to move. Jake reassured you that you and Jungwon would be more than welcome to visit and stay over at their apartment—which you found funny because that is technically not Jake's apartment at all, at least not until Hoon moved in too and the three of them started sharing the costs, but he has a way of making every place he steps foot in his, like he's meant to be there, so Jay let it slide.

So the first thing you did when you finally had some free time was getting on the cheapest flight available to go visit your friends. Heavy luggage in hand and stained sweatpants on, you were dumbfounded when the one who opened the door for you was none other than Park Sunghoon, and not Jay like you expected.

He was no longer the shy kid you remembered him to be, and he had grown nicely into his features, his hair now a jet back instead of the brown you were accustomed to see. Over those two weeks you realized that while you have know Sunghoon all your life, you had never really seen him, and it made you want to go back in time and hand a little paper note to the shy boy always staring at you during class.

Your head sinks further into your pillow with a whine, the case enveloping it sporting gray spots of wetness, where your tears and drool had accumulated over the last torturous half an hour Sunghoon spent fucking you open with his fingers. You don't know what he means, because you feel like you could take his entire fist by now, that's how wet you are. If your pillowcase is such a mess, you don't even wanna think about what your bed sheets look like.

"I can– take you," you protest, breath hitching mid sentence at a particularly deep curl of his fingers inside you.

"Yeah?" Sunghoon quirks an eyebrow at you, moving his thumb to suddenly hover over your clit. It's not a full touch, nor does he really move it from there, but just the expectation of it has your walls involuntary flutter around his digits. A wicked grin overtakes his face, in a way you think it would clash with his prince-like features. But it looks right at home on him, the canines poking out only adding to his devilish charm.

"Then what's this? Gripping me even tighter," he says against your lips again, like he can't pick between kissing you or speaking, like anything he does he needs to do it with your taste on his mouth. He shakes his head, pouting at you before you get the chance to retort. "Squeeze me this tight when I'm inside you, and I'll believe you're trying to push me out, baby."

The press of his length against your thigh doesn't help, and when your eyes roll to the back of your head, half the reason is the new spot he's now reaching making you see stars, the other is your frustration with him. You know he's huge, and you know he cares about your comfort above all, but a little sting as he bottoms out inside you would be a hundred times better than the 'prep' he's subjecting you to. It took so long to even get here, and now he plans on making you wait even more? You have half the idea to push him off of you and get on top of him, take what's yours. If he's not gonna believe you can take him, you might as well just show him.

Of course, that wouldn't work, because Sunghoon is infinitely stronger than you are and the only thing you would accomplish is looking stupid thrashing under him as he keeps you pinned down. Probably with one arm only too, to really get his point across.

"Add another finger then." There's a certain bark in your tone that makes him chuckle. That's all it is: bark and no bite. You can do nothing but demand, and demand, and demand again, but if he's not willing to give it to you, there is close to nothing you can do about it. And it makes Sunghoon's cock twitch against the slick skin of your thighs. He loves knowing he has you at his mercy.

"Woah!" he gasps, and the fake surprise only irritates you further. Or at least that's what you tell yourself, because Sunghoon doesn't miss the way you clench around his fingers whenever he talks to you like this. "Missy, you're so bratty today… where are your manners?"

The retort is ready on your tongue, but the words mold into a surprised hiss when he actually prods your hole with a third digit, feeling around for a way to slowly ease it into you. You fear it won't be as easy as you hoped, but you also don't want to back down now that he's giving in.

"Just put it in." You angle your hips to give Sunghoon easier access.

"Easy there." He leans back on his knees, and you hate how you're so needy. Even when he's still so close, fingers pumping in and out of you at a torturous pace, you crave for every inch of your body to be touched by his, for your breaths to mingle for as long as possible. You wonder how it's possible to miss someone who's right in front of you, but your heart yearns to hear the rhythmic beat of his own against your chest all the same.

You don't get to dwell on it too long, because the sensation of something wet dribbling right where Sunghoon's fingers meet you rips you out of your thoughts.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize what's happening, but when it sinks in, your mouth slowly hangs open in a moan, eyes closed to relish the feeling.

"You like that?" Sunghoon asks, and for once you can't bring yourself to care about the cockiness in his tone. In fact, it's the last thing you could care about—not when his digits are working to spread his spit all over you, and his third finger is slowly making its way inside you right next to the others. It's a tight fit, and Sunghoon can't really move his fingers like he wishes to, but it'll do for now. He can always do it over and over again until you're ready, as long as you keep making those faces for him. "Look at you," he continues. "You were so demanding earlier, now you're falling apart and I'm barely just getting started."

You clench around him hard, body all tensed up as you accommodate the sudden change in thickness.

Sunghoon bends down again when he notices you're not easing up, trailing his way back up your body with pecks, giving you a few on your lips once he reaches your face. "Does it burn, baby?" he asks, the playful edge in his tone from earlier completely gone, smoothed down to the usual soft timbre you love so much. "Do you want me to take it out? I'll make you cum with two fingers, it's okay."

You shake your head. The stretch does burn, but you also want to prove to him that you can take him.

"You sure?" The murmur vibrates against your ear, the sound of his voice close enough to have you arching your back, pushing your stomach against his harder figure. If you had any sort of reservation about continuing, it's totally gone now. His insistence to make you comfortable always ignites pure want in you.

You nod, but your eyes are still screwed shut because of the burn, so it's not enough for Sunghoon to let go yet.

He slows down his movements, trying to help you out, but the whine you let out is enough to let him know you actually want what he's giving you and more. Still, he needs to hear it. "Use your big girl words, I know you can."

"Wanna keep going."

"Aaand?"

"Please, Hoon." You know you're far gone when you don't even care about how whiny you sound, you would get onto your knees and beg if he asked you to right then. You would want to forget about it right after, but still, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Thankfully, your boyfriend is very nice to you, so 'please and thank you's are enough to keep him satiated, at least for now.

"Good girl."

The praise goes straight to your cunt, further tightening the grip you have on his fingers. Sunghoon is flattered, but that's not what you need in that moment. So he reminds you.

"Take deep breaths, baby. It's only gonna hurt more if you don't ease up."

"Hoon, want more."

"I know baby, I know. But it'll feel better if you stop tensing up. Here, follow my breaths and let go." He kisses both of your shut eyelids. "Eyes on me, pretty. Okay?"

You obey him like it's second nature, but when you open your eyes and you're met with the downright angelic sight of your boyfriend, black strands of hair framing his face and his chain dangling slightly from his neck, you don't understand how you're supposed to calm down. He starts taking deep breaths, ones you try your best to mirror. And despite what you thought, the focus on your chest rising and falling and the warmth in Sunghoon's eyes does make the stretch a lot better. You were enjoying yourself before too, all things considered. Now it's different, you're struggling to keep your sounds in, and any other time you would be mortified by how much wetness is seeping out of your cunt, but Sunghoon's presence is relaxing in a way no one else's has ever been for you.

The more you explore each other's bodies, the more you start to think that maybe, just maybe, there is not a single thing you could do with Sunghoon that you would ever regret. The safety of a judgment free zone with someone who obviously cares deeply for you makes the experience so much better than you could have ever imagined. What other people did to you, no matter how pleasurable, just didn't measure up to what Sunghoon does with you. And you haven't even gone all the way in.

"Theeere we go, see how much better it feels when you're not being a brat?"

Sunghoon is careful with you, watching your every reaction and studying your expressions so he can learn exactly what makes crumble and what brings you closer to the edge, what makes you forget you have to breathe and when to pause so he can drag your pleasure out for as long as he wants, for as long as you can handle. His cock is rock hard, casually rutting against you from time to time. You have half a mind to reach into his boxers and help him out, but you're not sure you could do a good enough job at it, not when he's starting to bend the tips of his fingers to reach right where you need him.

You can feel yourself getting closer, so you grab his wrists—whether to stop him or push him further, you don't know yourself. What you do know, is that just fingers have never felt this good before, and if you had the choice to feel like this forever, you would take it.

The sudden grip doesn't deter Sunghoon, it encourages him instead. His movements are faster, deeper, but still just as precise. It's like he already knows the ins and outs of what brings you pleasure. "Gonna come all over my hand, baby? I know you're close."

You nod desperately, throat too raw and dry to produce sounds more complex than little whines—which Sunghoon finds adorable, he can't wait to find out what sounds you make when he's splitting you open on his cock. He coos, and that alone almost makes you cum. Almost, because what really does you in is his thumb moving to finally circle your clit, really touch it.

Your body tenses up again when your vision goes a searing white, but Sunghoon's other hand finds your thighs right away to prevent you from caging his hands between your legs. He worked hard to make you cum, so you're not gonna take the sight of your fluttering pussy away from him, not when he has rightfully earned it.

"You did so well," he says, his hand caressing the skin of your inner thigh as a reminder to relax your muscles, his thumb slowing down its movement on your clit as your walls flutter around his digits at longer intervals each time.

You eventually even out your breathing, your vision still a little fuzzy, but you feel lighter and content. Once Sunghoon is sure you're okay, he pulls you in for a sweet kiss, like he wasn't just rearranging your guts with his fingers alone moments ago.

"Perfect, you're so perfect," he whispers between kisses, landing a wet smack on your nose when you scrunch it in response. "You're always gorgeous but this—fuck, you're beautiful." He keeps kissing you, each kiss waking up a different butterfly in your stomach. You feel giddy like you haven't ever since you were a kid running through the meadow on a spring evening. You giggle when he reaches the valley of your breasts, and run your fingertips through his hair, his head resting on your chest.

"I love you," Sunghoon whispers, and for the first time in your life you know those words to be true, no hidden intention behind them, no cruel joke waiting for you at the end of the line. It feels right when they're coming out of Sunghoon's mouth.

"I know, I love you t—what are you doing." It's much more of an accusation rather than a question, because you see the little wicked glint in his eyes as he resumes kissing his way down your body—first down your navel, then between your thighs.

"Showing you how much I love you, duh." He spreads your legs as open as he can get them before you start protesting again. "Besides, I haven't gotten a taste yet."

You should stop him, because suddenly you're reminded of how he still hasn't come yet, and you would feel bad to neglect him. The look in his eyes though—needy, almost feral— keeps you pinned right in your spot. "What… about you?"

Sunghoon looks at you, genuinely confused. "What about me?"

"Yeah, I should be… helping you out." You glance down at him, and the wet patch on his boxers makes you clench around nothing. Had you not witnessed first hand how messy Sunghoon can get, you would assume he cummed already. Knowing that's only pre though, makes saliva flood into your mouth at the mere thought of your boyfriend's cock pumping load after load down your throat. Screw 'not hurting' you, you would be happy gagging and choking endlessly around him if it meant you got a tiny little taste.

"Oh baby, but you are helping me out. Just lay back and let me." Sunghoon pops two of his fingers in his mouth, tasting the residues of you high still lingering on his skin, rich and divine on his tongue. "So good, now let me get a real taste."

He trails his wet fingers up your body, relishing in the way you shiver under his touch when he brushes over your nipples. He grabs your face once he reaches it, and forces you to look at him. "Wanting to please me… aren’t you such a generous girl? So, so good for me. So eager to please, you’re so cute.” He doesn't miss how your lip twitches in response to his words, and how your hand slides between your thighs and how they close around it. “But, I'm still not done.”

“But—”

“Shhh,” he silences you right away. He parts your lips with his thumb, and your response to it is immediate, sucking on it without needing to be told what to do. You swirl your tongue around his finger eagerly, as if trying to show him what he is missing by not letting you take his cock out his pants. “See? So perfect for me. Such a pretty and obedient girl, am I right?” 

You nod subconsciously, like he has you under a spell, ready to comply with anything he asks out of you. Maybe he does.

“I know that’s right.” Sunghoon takes the thumb out of your mouth, coating your lips with your own spit as he caresses them with it. “Then do what you’re told and lay back. I can fuck you another time. Now spread those legs for me mkay? Yeah, just like that. So much we can do in the meantime."

"I just don't get why he won't stick it in me."

"You have such a way with words."

You throw a fry at your best friend, only to get more irritated when he catches it midair with his mouth. Jungwon chews it loudly with his mouth open—because he knows it annoys you to death—then washes it down with his coconut milkshake that he won't let you get a sip of because 'using the same straw as me counts as cheating now that you're dating Sunghoon'.

"Okay but why? You're a man. What's the thought process behind this? Tell me."

"Girl, it's your boyfriend. You tell me."

"What if he doesn't fine me att—" A fry hits you right on your forehead, and it's like the impact activates your brain cells, because of course Sunghoon finds you attractive, that is not the problem.

"Now, let's be honest with ourselves please. None of that shit."

Your back hits the bed with a soft thud, arms spread out as you stare at the very familiar ceiling of your room. A sight you've been taking in quite often recently, while trying to come up with a plan to get Sunghoon to dick you down good.

Jungwon shoves a fist of fries in his mouth, barely chewing before speaking again. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."

You roll onto your side, facing the blonde little gremlin occupying the space next to you. "It's a big deal because— why is your ass on my pillow. Jungwon get—"

He silences you by feeding you a handful of fries from the container on his lap. "You were saying?"

You gulp them down quickly before replying, because you're civilized enough to do so, unlike someone else. "We've done it all, and I know he's scared of hurting me, but I can also tell he's holding back. I'm ready– I've been ready. It's just… whenever I think it's gonna happen he pulls back so suddenly, like he's restraining himself."

"Mhh… you've talked to him about this, right?" Jungwon looks at you in a way that feels entirely too judgmental, like skipping the communication part is something you do often enough for it to be a pattern. Something he needs to check off of a list before he gives you more advice.

He's not completely wrong. As in, at one point in your life you had made an habit out of assuming people's thoughts and intentions, but that is in the past. And those people are not your Park Sunghoon.

The polaroids messily scattered on the wall above your desk, like someone had dropped them and they'd defied gravity to stay there, glimmer as the sun starts its golden descent into the horizon. Old, more ruined around the edges ones you took right after Jungwon got you a polaroid camera with his very first salary from working at an ice cream shop over the summer. Pictures of sunsets and dumb words carved into sandy beaches, of thumbs digging into teenager Jungwon's dimples. Newer, glossier ones that you took when Sunghoon gifted you a new camera, after the one Jungwon got you finally broke down after years. You'd cried so hard that day, because it had felt like growing up.

The charger is still hidden under all the mess of receipts in your comforter's drawer, you still hope one day the pink sticker covered camera will turn on if you charge it long enough.

But some things are meant to stay in the past, and better ones are always hiding behind the corner, ready to come your way.

You aren't the young girl with the pink polaroid camera anymore, just like you're not the girl that is scared to voice her thoughts and troubles any longer.

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"Won, he just tells me I need more prep. I've had plenty of that, trust me. Like, he's spent the last month using this toy on—"

"Okay, okay I get it. I trust you, spare me the details."

"—Point is, I'm more than ready. I know it's gonna be uncomfortable and a bit painful at first, he's like… so huge it's—"

"I get it."

"—but that's a given with how big he is. I think it's just… him being nervous, really."

"Have you… tried to, uhm. Take charge? Maybe you calling the shots would make it easier for him to let loose." Jungwon looks down on his lap as he plays with the rings adorning his fingers. You wouldn't say he has ever been particularly shy per se, not when it comes to discussing your sexual life, even in heavy detail. He was the boy your mother made you take a bath with after a whole day of rolling around in dirt as a kid, because his wasn't around a lot of the time. The same boy who has seen you toothless and with horrible haircuts, who has seen all your embarrassing phases. Talking to Jungwon was much more akin to talking to yourself rather than venting to a diary, because he stored secrets in his heart that you would never be comfortable writing down on paper. Except he also calls you a dumbass when he needs to.

It's been a little different ever since you started dating Sunghoon freshly out of college, but you imagine it can't be helped since Jungwon is also very close to him.

You take a deep breath, shoulders slumping with the motion. Yeah, like that would ever work. "He doesn't give up dominance ever, really. I have tried a few times but…" you trail off, thoughts suddenly plagued with images of Sunghoon putting you back in your place instantly whenever you tried to take charge. You have already given it some thought, a lot of thought, actually. What wouldn't you do to have Sunghoon under you and at your mercy, so responsive to every touch, perhaps even tied down. Yeah, you're gonna have to bring it up more seriously to him, maybe then he would let you—

"Are you seriously fantasizing about dominating your boyfriend right in front of my cheddar fries?"

But you're gonna continue that thought another time.

"Let's see then…" Jungwon continues, evidently determined to find a solution to your problem. "Maybe act out? Would that work? Mhhh… I don't know, you're already very annoying day to day and he puts up with that…so."

Jungwon genuinely looks like he is putting so much thought into it, somehow it makes it more offensive.

"Yeah. And who grew up next to him? You. Exactly. You trained his patience, if anything," you retort, but Jungwon doesn't even give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it, because you both know that you do love to be a nuisance to your boyfriend whenever you get the chance.

"Wait." Jungwon perks up after a seconds of deep thought, making the plushies on your bed fall on the floor, but the situation is so dire that you don't scold him. Instead, you cast a hopeful glance in his direction. Please let his brain cells work for once in his life.

"Isn't Hoon like, terribly jealous every time someone brings up that time you and Jay dated in high school?"

The cogs in your brain turn, and if someone was to walk into the room at that moment they would be able to smell the fumes coming out of your and Jungwon's head.

Jungwon continues, though he doesn't need to, because you have caught what he is hinting to already. "You need him to snap? What better reason to if not some good ol' jealousy. Am I right?"

But of course he is, that little gremlin genius.

"And, it just happens that a few high school acquaintances are organizing a get together soon. You know people will bring up you and Jay, just drag Hoon along. It's fate."

"Have I ever told you that you're my bestest friend ever and that I owe you my life, Won?"

Your plan is not working out as expected.

Getting everyone on board took you and Jungwon some time, but they all eventually agreed to come along. Sunghoon himself was the one with the most reservations, since he moved away halfway through high school and he missed a good chunk of it. Most importantly, he missed how you and the others became friends in the first place, so he's always been a little bitter about it.

Calling it a plan was an overstatement. You wore a skimpy little outfit, black miniskirt and sheer thighs, and bet on someone bringing up how you and Jay used to date in front of Sunghoon. You hoped that would make him jealous enough to grab you and drag you home, maybe teach you a lesson that you would inevitably learn nothing from.

Instead, you get sulky Sunghoon with a beer in his hand, looking at you like a kicked puppy as you and Jay make conversation with your old acquaintances. It doesn't help that Jungwon refuses to pick up his phone so you two can come up with something quick to stir the night towards your desired outcome.

The call goes into voicemail again, and you sigh for the hundredth time that night as you end it and open up his chat to type in another text.

"No answer yet?" Jay asks, smoothing his pink dress shirt. He's always the classier looking guy in the room, no matter where he goes, but the hue of pink he chose for the night makes him stand out further in the sea of swarming bodies.

You shake your head. You're in a quieter corner, away from the thumping speakers, but your throat is sore after all the screaming you did over the deafening music. You thought you would get used to the volume when a few of the people at the reunion suggested moving to a club across the street to end the night with a bang, just like the old times, but it somehow got progressively worse instead.

From your side, Jake puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles to catch someone's attention, and when it doesn't work, Jay laughs at him.

"Sunghoon looks bored, I think we should call it a night," Jay says.

"Bored? He looks like he's gonna murder the next poor soul that steps too close to Y\N," Jake takes a swing of the drink he's holding, something that looks like aged whiskey. Very much unlike anything Jake would order. He hisses after the liquid burns his throat, even when diluted by the melted ice. "Jay, my man, your taste is so ass."

You give the interaction a half hearted laugh. Despite your original plan, you hate seeing Sunghoon so uncomfortable, especially when you know he only came along to make you happy. He insists he doesn't belong surrounded by people who pretend to remember who he is and keep bringing up stuff that happened in the past expecting a glint of recognition from him. You tell him there are multiple people with a similar experience to his even when they attended all years, you tell him he belongs anywhere as long as you and the other guys are there. He tells you those are the people that don't get invited to these sort of events.

"It's getting late anyway, maybe we should just go," you say, checking your notification bar for any sign of life from Jungwon. Still nothing.

"I'll go get Won." Jake throws back the remaining drink, scrunching his eyes and hissing at the bitter taste he still isn't accustomed to.

You take a second to scan your surroundings, and the swaying mass of sweaty bodies makes you nauseous. You used to love getting rocked back and forth by the music, uncaring for a single thing in the world if not the overwhelming love you felt for everyone and everything around you when alcohol buzzed through your system. When you were younger, it felt like ibuprofen for your soul. Now, it only amplifies the hurt in your chest when you think about how heavy this night must have been for your boyfriend.

Before you can make your way to him, someone grabs your attention.

"Jay! And you over there, it's been a while."

You instinctively turn towards the loud voice, finding a vaguely familiar face cockily grinning in your direction.

"She has a name." Jay takes a deep breath and gives you a look, his jaw tense, and that alone is enough to let you know right away the guy in front of you is nothing but trouble.

The guy continues as if you weren't even there to listen to the conversation. A ghost. "Doesn't matter, being your girlfriend is all she was known for back then." He takes a swing of his beer, taste as bitter as his voice. He's very obviously drunk out of his mind, words slurring and step unsteady, but his words annoy you anyway.

"Excuse m—" you try to interject, but he speaks right over you.

"You two back together?"

Jay looks like he's seconds away from punching him, but you simply shake your head no. "Oh! No, and I'm not single actually. My boyfriend's here—" you turn around to look for Sunghoon where you last saw him, and beam when you find him right as he walks up to you. His shoulders relax just the tiniest bit when he notices how relieved you look when you meet his gaze, the way you reserve that look to him only, the way you light up as soon as you spot him. "There he is! Perfect timing, baby."

Sunghoon slides a hand around your waist possessively, placing a soft kiss to your temple to really get the point across. "I was looking for you."

Truth is, he wasn't. He had his eyes on you the entire time, but you were playing with your rings and kept readjusting your clothes as the conversation was unfolding, and Jay looked uneasy too, so he figured nothing good was being said.

"Yeah, sorry! Just catching up with friends from back in the day. Y'know, reminiscing and stuff. Have you seen Won around?" You want to diffuse the situation before the idiot in front of you says anything he might regret. You want Hoon to be a little jealous, not for him to get you all kicked out of a party because someone decided to run their mouth a little too much. Your hand finds his exposed biceps, and it looks like he made the right choice by stepping in, because now that he is all up in your space, you're visibly more comfortable.

Sunghoon shakes his head. Last time he caught a sight of Jungwon in the crowded space was when the night had barely started, and he wore a cowboy hat as he shoved his tongue down some girl's throat. Good for him. "He's probably… catching up with acquaintances too."

You look like you are about to say something, but the nameless guy interrupts you before you get a single word out. It gives Sunghoon all the more reason to dislike him, even before he listens to what he has to says. "And you are? I don't recall seeing you around."

"Oh! Hoon just moved to a different school halfway through high school, but we're all friends," Jay replies instead, familiar with his best friend's feelings about his high school years.

"Then why is he here?"

Sunghoon's jaw clenches. You squeeze his arm as if to remind him you are next to him, and he melts instantly into your touch.

"I'm here because my girl and my friends are. Now if you'd be so kind, we are trying to have a nice night, and you're interfering with that." Sunghoon turns around, holding you against his chest as he starts to make his way to the bar to grab another beer.

"Yeah? You know your friend and your girl used to fuck? Maybe they still do."

Sunghoon was raised to be a patient man. One that counts to ten before reacting, a man who wouldn't even hurt a fly. So it must be the alcohol fueling his actions, because before he realizes what he is doing, he grabs the guy by his shirt, knuckles white as a ghost making the material wrinkle in his hold. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Sunghoon knows he is being provoked, but not even Jay trying to step between them can do anything to calm his anger, not when the poor bastard spits on his shirt, then says something that he really shouldn't have.

"I mean look at her." The man laughs, and it's bitter, filled with something more sinister than mere disgust. It's envy. "Are you surprised? She's dressed like a whore."

Sunghoon moves before you have the time to grab him, right fist colliding with so much force against the man's face, his lip breaks on contact. He wobbles a bit, hit taking him by surprise, but he just gathers the blood dripping inside his mouth and spits it by Sunghoon's feet.

"Hey! Hey." Jay grabs the guy's arm, roughly yanking him back as a crowd of people starts to notice the commotion, heading to take a look at what's happening, a few bodyguards included.

"So tough," the man starts a laughs interrupted by winching when his broken lip curls too much. "Take that out on your so called friend—"

Your voice drowns out the rest of the sentence. "Baby, please."

Sunghoon looks at you, and for a second you doubt he sees you. There's so much anger in his eyes, like he wants nothing more than to rip the little bitch in front of him to pieces. They're almost unfamiliar in a way that send shivers down your spine. You hate the fact that you can't tell if it's fear or lust. But the storm behind his gaze clears out for a second when he sees the alarm on your pretty face, just the one you need. "I wanna go home."

No matter the anger coursing through Sunghoon's bloodstream like venom, thick black poison inciting him to turn back and finish the job, his conscience always prioritizes your well being and what you want. So when you take his hand a make a beeline for the exit, he follows without a single complaint.

The car ride back home is uncomfortably silent.

Sunghoon doesn't hum the random tune playing on the radio like he usually does, he doesn't hold your thigh nor does he even spare you a glance, and you start worrying he might be mad at you.

The words said about you earlier sting, but they don't hold a candle next to Sunghoon's silence. You want to speak up, fill the void that is so uncharacteristically awkward, but the words die in your throat the second you try to push them out.

A ding! followed by your phone screen lighting up signals a new notification, and you swipe through your phone to find out if Jungwon has finally made his existence known.

It's a text from Jay. You notice how Sunghoon's eyes dart to your phone for a split second before going back to focusing on the road ahead, his jaw twitching under the street lights.

00:27 AM. Jongie <3: You guys made it home yet?

00:28 AM. you: not yet, you? did you find the others?

Last thing you heard as you dragged Sunghoon out of the club was Jay arguing with both the still nameless guy and two bodyguards who had been notified of commotion next to the bar. Your main goal was to get your boyfriend the hell out of there before he broke someone's face in, but now that you're away from the mess and the dizziness from the alcohol has started to die down, leaving your muscles and bones tired, you worry for your friends too.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Heading back now, Jake texted me he found Won.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Wasted, ofc. But apparently Jake's taking care of him now.

00:31 AM. you: don't know if i like the sound of that. will they ever let us back in there?

00:33 AM. Jongie <3: Yeah no chance, Won won't be happy when he finds out.

00:35 AM. you: how did him and jake even get home?

You lock your phone for good after Jay confirms Jake mumbled something about a really nice girl with a great rack driving them home, deciding you'll deal with their bullshit another day, when you're completely sober and not worried about what your unusually silent boyfriend might be thinking.

Just in time for Sunghoon to pull into his driveway. He doesn't remind you to take your bag with you as he always does, he doesn't wait for you to be out of the car before heading straight towards his front door. Truth be told, you're more shocked he didn't just drop you off at your own apartment because now you're really sure he must be upset with you.

It's dumb, really. What that guy said is anything but your fault. But your panicked mind makes up scenarios in which Sunghoon knows you wanted to make him jealous, wanted to get a reaction out of him for something as silly as getting him to properly fuck you. It convinces you he has every right to be upset.

His hand twitches in pain for a second while unlocking the door, dried blood—both his and not—staining his pristine knuckles, and it only aids in making you feel worse. You follow him through the entrance, and he waits for you to walk inside before locking the door for the night. It's now or never.

It takes all the courage you can find within yourself to speak, and still your voice comes out uneven, shaky, things your voice has never been when talking to Park Sunghoon. "I'm really, really sorry."

He turns back to you like you just said the most shocking sentence he's ever heard in his life, and he quickly grabs you by your hips when he notices just how scared you look. He quickly realizes you must've mistaken his silent attempt at calming down his anger at the situation for coldness towards you for some reason, and his heart breaks a little at the thought of having made you doubt yourself. When he answers, it's the softest you've ever heard him. "What for, pretty girl?"

Tears well in your eyes when you fail to find the words. You're sorry for so many things, you don't even know where to start. You're sorry for dragging him somewhere he didn't even wanna be in the first place, sorry for taking advantage of his kindness for your own benefit, you're sorry his knuckles are raw and bloodied just because he had to defend you. Above all, you're sorry for being so damn selfish.

Sunghoon carefully caresses your face with his clean hand, so none of that bastard's blood goes anywhere near your pretty features. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip like it's second nature, silently waiting for you to say what's on your mind. He searches your gaze, but you're too busy trying to not burst into tears right there in front of him, so he lowers his hand to your jaw and gently angles your head upwards.

His eyes are kind and warm, no hint of the searing coldness they held mere minutes ago. "None of what happened today is your fault," he speaks slowly, sincerely. He makes sure every single word leaving his lips is loud and clear, no room for misunderstanding or doubt. Sunghoon is smart, he knows you like no one ever has put in the effort to. "I'm sorry if I made you doubt yourself back there, I should've said something. I'm sorry." He sounds secure and confident in what he's saying, but the little unsteady breath and the sharp swallow that come right after betray him. His hand slightly trembles on your skin, and it makes your heart sink even more.

Something else to add to the list. You're also sorry for making Sunghoon feel guilty over your emotions when he never did anything wrong to begin with.

You still struggle to speak, especially when Sunghoon is looking into your eyes as one would towards the light shining through the water surface after holding their breath in far too long, like it means being able to breathe again. There's a devotion in him you've never seen, something actors on a stage cannot replicate, something you don't think words to describe it have been spoken out yet. Something purely unique to you and him.

When your words fail you, you show him your own devotion in a different way.

There's a medication kit Sunghoon got forever ago solely to patch up Jake and Won whenever their Jake and Won antics get them hurt (very often, comically often). Never in your life would you have imagined Sunghoon to be on the receiving end of the care, but here you are.

Sunghoon follows you wordlessly to the couch, giving no protest when you point to sit down while you take your spot next to him.

The saline stings as you carefully clean the wound, but Sunghoon makes no show of it. You finally have a reason to look at somethings else other than his eyes as you gather your thoughts, but he doesn't lose sight of the frown deepening on your face.

Sunghoon watches you intently through his now messy bangs as you hold his bigger hand in yours as if it were made out of the most precious, frail glass. His fingers are way thicker than yours are, but you brush against his knuckles with the cotton just as softly as he kisses your forehead seconds before you let yourself be taken by slumber in his arms every night. He sees all the expressions fluttering on your face, he gives you the time he knows you need. He knows there's something you need to get off your chest.

When the blood stains the cotton instead of his skin, you speak up, "Does it hurt?"

Sunghoon hums in disagreement, the sound dry in his throat. You press into the raw skin a little harder, earning a low hiss from him. "Don't lie to me. We don't lie to each other."

"We don't, but you're hiding something from me." He stops before continuing, his voice a mere whisper, "what's wrong?"

"You got hurt because of me."

"That's not—"

"Yes you did." And once the river of words tumbling out of your mouth starts, it can't be stopped any longer. "I know how you feel about high school and—"

"It's not that—"

"But it is. I don't care if it was five years ago or ten or fifteen, I know you feel a certain way about it and don't lie to me to spare my feelings because it makes me only feel worse. You feel a way about it and I still went out of my way to take advantage of it for such a stupid reason and now I feel like a fucking idiot. And it also got you hurt."

"Baby," Sunghoon says after a moment of quiet, only filled by your heavy breathing. "Hey."

You busy yourself by grabbing the gauze in the little med kit next to you, but you make the mistake of glancing at him for a second, and the little smile dancing on his lips keeps your eyes glued to the sight.

"It's only a few scratches. What's all this really about?"

"I just… fuck, I'm never living this down." You stretch the white bandage over Sunghoon's wound, wrapping it a few times to fully secure it. You take a deep breath, buying yourself more time by inspecting your boyfriend's fingers like they're the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life. He playfully taps his index against your palm. It makes you smile despite your best efforts not to. "I just wanted to make you jealous."

You say it so quietly even Sunghoon, barely inches away from you, almost misses it. Almost, because you hear the teasing in his tone loud and clear. "Jealous?"

Cat's out of the bag anyway, so you might as well explain yourself. "Before you say anything, Won gave me the idea."

"Of course."

"I just, y'know. Best friend stuff," you say, as if it's the answer to everything.

"Best friend stuff… as in?" Sunghoon keeps prodding, and the faint smile you hear as he speaks without having to take a look at him simultaneously makes you want to grin and roll your eyes at him. You bite your inner cheek instead.

"As in… complaining about my boyfriend…"

"Oh, you must have so much to complain about."

"Well, for starters, my boyfriend doesn't want to fuck me—"

Sunghoon erupts in a fits of boyish giggles when he finally figures out what's going on, delighted to see how embarrassed you are by this whole ordeal. He grabs you by your hips and sits you right on top of his lap so suddenly you let out a little shriek of surprise. "Trust me, your boyfriend would love nothing more than to fuck you through the mattress."

Your hands rest on his shoulders, and you lower your chest against his, noses brushing each other. "Then what's stopping him?"

Sunghoon's warm breath tickles your lips when he whispers, "Maybe he thinks your pretty little pussy can't take it yet."

A warm feeling travels through your body, settling into your lower abdomen, and just when you think he's gonna kiss you, he pulls back and rests his back on the cushion behind him, sinking further into the soft couch and pulling you down with him.

"Hoon—"

"Mh-mh. You haven't told me what Won's idea was yet."

"You know it." You raise your hand to playfully hit his chest, but he's faster than you are and catches your wrist midway with his injured hand.

"I don't know a damn thing," Sunghoon says as he brings his lips to the back of your hand, letting them brush gently against your soft skin before placing a small peck. "Go on, enlighten me."

You pout, but Sunghoon's set on making you talk, and even though you're stubborn and embarrassed, you know he won't let it go until he's satisfied with your response.

And, the slowly growing hardness under your exposed panties, combined with the residuals of alcohol still buzzing through your system are making it hard for you to stand your ground. Not when Sunghoon looks as good as he does with his bangs messily covering his eyes, and fitted short sleeve highlighting his hard chest underneath the cotton. Unfortunately for you.

You move on his lap, adjusting your position so you can feel more of him through the thin material covering you. You crave the harsh coarseness of his jeans on you, for the heat seeping out of him to envelope you fully. You're on top of him, thighs straddling his, yet you feel the invisible push to be even closer. As close as you physically can be.

Sunghoon sees the hunger in your eyes, he has all this time. He too is barely hanging on by a thread, and the self restraint he's miraculously managed to keep until now is dwindling by the second. All the times you've begged for him, all the times he's fucked your pretty pussy open with different toys, bigger and thicker each time. All the times he's had to take cold showers after seeing the raw need for him to claim you fully reflected in your eyes, even after coaxing orgasm after of orgasm out of you. You're so insatiable, but he might be even worse. Once he gives in, he doesn't think he'll be able to let you go ever.

Sunghoon knows you've felt ready for a long time, and even if he thinks you could use more getting used to bigger sizes before he allows himself to finally sink into you, the temptation gnaws at him all the same.

He just needs a little confirmation.

"Tell me, what was this master plan of yours?" he speaks with his mouth pressed to your palm, softly running his nose down to your wrist, allowing himself to bask in the warmness of the scent you chose for the night.

"Won's, not mine."

"That you willingly agreed to."

"I just… wanted to make you jealous." You finally admit, avoiding Sunghoon's gaze at all costs.

"How so? Wearing this tiny little dress?" His voice is lower, more dangerous. He slides his free hand to grab a handful of your barely covered ass, the skirt having ridden up to your waist almost completely. "You know I like it when the attention's on you. They can look all they want, you're mine." The movement causes you to jerk up against his crotch, earning a low grunt from the man beneath you.

"Tell me, baby," Sunghoon rocks you slowly against his hard bulge, caging his bottom lip between his teeth as he takes in your needy and embarrassed form. "How did you plan to make me jealous? Why?"

Your hand slides down his chest and dips under the thin shirt before caressing just over the waistband of his underwear peeking out of the dark jeans. "I thought it would be a smart idea to drag you along to the get together, and I guess I hoped someone would bring me and Jay up. I know how you feel about it and I wanted to use it to my advantage, but I also didn't consider how you'd feel surrounded by strangers reminding you of all the time you and the guys lost. All the time we lost. You came to make me happy and I was being selfish the entire time. You even got hurt because of me—"

"Not because of you. He should be thankful you were there to stop me or I would've broken his ugly face in."

"Still. I'm so sorry. It was childish."

A beat passes without either of you saying anything, and you twitch uncomfortably in his lap.

"Why?"

Your lip trembles, and your heart sinks at the thought of having angered your angel of a boyfriend. Tears well up in your eyes before you even attempt to explain yourself, but Sunghoon gently angles your chin toward him until you're met with his gaze. It's intense, darker than you've ever seen in all your time knowing him. He searches your face for something, and you realize it's not anger casting shadows behind his eyes. It's pure, unfiltered lust.

"Why did you want me jealous?" His voice is raw, like it pains him to produce a single sound, like whatever you answer him with is the honey that will soothe it.

You twitch again, and this time you're not scared, but your insides twist all the same. He rest heavy and hot under you, and you don't know how you'll handle another rejection if that's what this is leading to.

"I wanted you to fuck me, really fuck me. I hoped it would be enough to push you to the breaking point, Sunghoon.“ You swallow hard, and the saliva in your mouth feels thicker than usual. Maybe it is, maybe you're just more aware of all the sensations within your body. "I need you to break."

It's all Sunghoon needs to hear.

He lurches forward to capture your lips with his, harsh and messy, like an animal that has finally broken out of the restraint keeping it chained. His hands roam all over your body, eager to explore every single inch as if it's the first time he ever does.

You reciprocate him with just as much hunger behind every movement, hands slipping from his body to his hair to pull his head back. You grind your hips against his, moves deliberately slow compared to the feverish kiss. "I need you. I don't wanna wait anymore."

Sunghoon moans into your mouth when you release his hair, and he doubles his efforts, sliding his fingers through the wide gaps of the fishnets covering your thighs, big palms fully working you on top of his bulge.

"You want it so bad, baby?" He says between open mouthed kisses, full lips raw and red from the fight with yours. "I'm gonna give it all to you."

Uncaring for the mess of knocked over stuff you two leave in your wake, from Sunghoon's keys loudly hitting the ground to your heels abandoned somewhere on the carpet, you make your way to his room without ever letting go of each other. All around you is just background noise and things you'll think of later, the only thing that seems to matter is to get in bed and get rid of all the pent up frustration clouding your minds.

The door shuts closed and soon your back hits the bed with a soft thud, Sunghoon's hands heavy on your hips and mouth hot on your neck as he carves a wet path on your sensitive skin, caging you between his hard chest and the mattress. He wraps your leg around his middle, and when your cores touch again, you both sigh in relief.

You've spent all this time on the cusp of finally getting something more, waiting—albeit not so patiently on your part—for the right moment, and now that you both know you're just moments away from it, seconds seem to stretch out into hours and even the slightest teasing feels unbearable.

That's what you think, at least. Because Sunghoon is nothing but a tease at heart, and he has very different plans in store for you.

You take advantage of the little moment of pause to undress yourself, but Sunghoon stops you as soon as he notices what you're trying to do.

"Keep it on," he murmurs along your neck, feeling your pulse quicken right under his full lips. He kisses along your collarbones, to your shoulder, exactly where the strap of your dress rests. His teeth graze the material, and he draws back slightly before letting it snap back into place, the slight sting making you jump just the tiniest bit in his hold. "You wanted to make me jealous in this? Then I'll fuck you in it." He mouths his way back up, until he reaches your ear, teeth gently biting right where he knows it makes shivers spread all over your body. "Next time you wear it, my cock is all you'll be able to think about."

You can't hide the way your body reacts to his words, thighs pressing together from the sheer excitement.

Sunghoon toys with the strings of your fishnets, and for a moment you think you should take them off, but he just rips a hole through them, allowing his hand to finally slide underneath them and grab your ass as harshly as he wants. "These were getting on my nerves."

"I can take them—"

Sunghoon silences you with a kiss, slower than the previous one, calculated and meticulous but every bit as passionate. His teeth sink into your bottom lip until you gasp against his mouth, his tongue gently licking away at your lip to soothe the sting. He pulls your core closer to his, unabashedly moaning into your mouth as he ruts his hips into yours.

The tights start to frustrate you the more he works himself against your panties. You want to be closer, you need to feel him push against you completely, and they're in the way. So once again, you try to rid yourself of them.

Sunghoon keeps you still. "These stay on until I tell you to take them off." His tone is commanding, but not abrasive, muffled by your skin. "Understood?"

You barely nod when suddenly he's bending you at his will like you're his to drag around as he pleases, and while usually you would've fought back just for the sake of it, you play nice this time, doing anything to not have him changes his mind and leave you hanging once again.

He sets you on your knees, facing the headboard of his king sized bed, a sturdy and thick thing, wood carved with elegant loops and twirls all around the edges. They gleam and cast shadows alike when Sunghoon reaches over you to turn on the bedside lamp.

The same hand steadies your hip as he lowers himself onto you, pressing his chest to your back and littering kisses from your temple to your neck. "Aren't you such a cute little thing?" he whispers into your ear, chucking when he feels you shudder under his weight. "So needy and desperate, making up plans just to have my cock in your tight pussy." He's so big, so warm. So strong. It makes your knees weak, and you would crumble on the soft mattress if not for his large hand keeping you still. "Should've just come to me right away, should've begged for my cock like the good girl I know you can be." His other hand starts to travel down your body, and your thighs instinctively spread open to accommodate him.

Pride blooms in Sunghoon's heart. You're so pliant for him, sweetly allowing him to touch you all over, your body responding so well to his slightest touch, to his softest word. The trust you have in him makes his cock harder in his pants, but he's always been a patient man. A man that enjoys taking his time playing with his meal before sinking his teeth into it.

That, and you still have a lesson to learn. "But you've been bad, so bad." He bites your earlobe as his fingers hook onto one of the little holes in your tights, right over your throbbing core, so needy and ready to be claimed by him. You hear a loud rip before you realize what's going on.

His fingers immediately find your panties, slick and stuck to your drooling lips, and he starts touching you over them like all the teasing he's subjected you to until then isn't enough to satisfy him. "You'll make it up to me, yeah? You'll make me proud and happy." He licks along the shell of your ear, and your thighs shake, spreading open once more to coax him into touching you better. "I'll only fuck you when I'm satisfied with how sorry you are."

"Hoon—"

"Don't worry, baby." His fingers dip under the fabric, finally really touching you for the first time that night. He slides two fingers between your lips to coat them in your juices as he keeps talking to you in a tone that almost seems belittling, the pout in his voice too heavy and pronounced for it to be honest. "I'll make it worth it. All the time we waited will be worth it. I just have to get you nice and ready, dripping for me."

You have half a mind to turn around and fight him, because you don't understand how you could physically get wetter even if you wanted to be patient and take it. "I'm already wet," you say, and it comes out a little harsher than you intend for it to.

"Look at you," Sunghoon mocks you, the bite in your response only making him chuckle lowly in your ear, the vibrations from the sound make wetness pool on his digits, much to his amusement. "Can't keep the brattiness in check even when you should feel sorry. How can I take your apologies seriously?"

You open your mouth to answer, but his fingers pinch your clit before you get a single word out, replaced by a shriek that sounds something right in between pleasure and pain.

"Less talking." Sunghoon doesn't stop or lessen his touch on your poor sensitive bundle of nerves. Instead, he rolls it between his fingers, coaxing loud moans out of you with every single movement. "More of this."

The bed creaks under Sunghoon's knees as he detaches from your already quivering form and gets up to grab something. You complain with a little whine at the sudden loss, but just a quick glance in his direction tells you to stay still and be patient.

"Where's your phone?" Sunghoon asks. It sounds a lot more like an order.

"My… huh? My phone?"

"Your phone. Where is it?"

You gawk at him for a second, still in the same position despite the dull ache in your knees slowly but surely setting in, your mouth agape as you try to rack your brain for an explanation as to why the fuck Sunghoon needs your phone since he doesn't seem to be planning on offering you one. "In my bag. On the couch, I think."

It's only a few seconds before your boyfriend returns with your phone in his hand, and throws it carelessly on the bed next to you. He returns to his previous position, the warmth radiating from his body soothing you even when you don't know what to expect next.

You'd be lying if you said you don't enjoy this stricter version of your ever so loving and doting boyfriend, thighs clenching at the thought of the danger lurking behind his sweet demeanor.

"Unlock your phone and open Jay's chat." Sunghoon's calm facade is completely gone, replaced by pure fire.

"What?"

"You heard me." His grip on your thighs tightens, possessive and angry. "You're gonna open Jay's chat and record while I fuck your pussy with my fingers, and you'll have him hear how good I make you feel."

You're breathless, adrenaline pumping through your system and ears ringing at the thought of doing something so obscene, with one of your best friends on the other end of it no less. "Hoon, Jay didn't have anything to do with this… we shouldn't—"

"I don't care." Sunghoon bites your neck, sharp canines poking you just enough to elicit a gasp out of you. "You'll do as I say and tell him you won't ever go back."

He sounds so possessive, so unlike any version of him you have experienced, and just this little taste has you obsessed. You love the soft spoken, big sweetheart he always is, and you love the sleeping beast hidden just beneath the surface too. You love the anticipation of what's to come, not knowing which side of Sunghoon you're gonna get.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the phone, his is sure and steady as it makes its descent down to your wet pussy again. Sunghoon takes his time, letting his fingers ghost on your thighs for a little before sliding the panties off of you. You hear him moan behind you, and you're glad you don't get to see what you suspect is him licking off the wetness off the fabric he just rid you of. That would be way too much for you in the moment, you think.

The Jongie <3 contact in your favorites section seems so silly now that you're mere seconds away from letting him hear how your boyfriend fucks you, so you take a few deep breaths in preparation. As if sensing your hesitation, Sunghoon quickly places a gentle kiss to your temple, and just like that, he's back to his caring self. "You said you're sorry, baby. You should show me, but you don't have to."

You press the voice message recording button moments later, heart thrumming loudly in your ears as you slide your finger up so it keeps recording hands free.

"Such a brave girl. So, so good for me." Sunghoon praises you, and it soothes some of the anxiety you feel, his tone thick and sweet as honey, you barely recognize it as the same one that was giving you harsh commands earlier.

The downright filthy sound of Sunghoon's digits spreading your pussy lips open has you cowering in embarrassment, but your boyfriend doesn't care. He needs Jay to hear how absolutely soaked you are. He wastes no time, pushing in three fingers inside you.

Your mouth is hung open in a silent moan, eyebrows knit together and eyes closed, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden sensation. It stings, even when you're so wet it's dripping down your thighs by now, but his fingers are so long and thick the initial stretch is always uncomfortable, despite all the training.

Sunghoon doesn't like that, so he gives you no time, no warning, and just starts pumping in and out of you, curling the tips just like he does when you're about to cum and need the tiniest push. He's unfair, so unfair, because how are you supposed to keep your sounds down like you planned to when he's finger fucking you like it's his life mission to have you come undone in record time?

You don't know if it's an ego thing, or he just wants to make your punishment that much harder. It must be both, because within seconds you're moaning and gasping out in pleasure for him and Jay so beautifully, really putting on a show for the both of them. But it's so hard to focus and remember what you're supposed to say, and the longer the voice message is, the more mortified you'll be in the morning.

For now, satisfying Sunghoon's thirst for punishment and placating the jealousy you yourself caused is your top priority. You'll think about the consequences another time.

"Aren't you gonna say hi? Where are your manners?" Sunghoon's mouth drops to your ear, the movement of his fingers inside of your cunt relentless and not giving you a single second to breathe properly. It doesn't matter to him, how much harder he's making for you to accomplish your task. He basks in it, even. He's proud of how just his fingers are enough to turn you dumb with pleasure.

"I—mh," you try your best to muffle the moans cascading from your lips, to no avail. Even if you managed to do so, the incredibly loud squelching noises in the background would betray you.

"Need a hand?" he laughs dryly, and you feel the faint presence of a fourth finger next to the other three, waiting to slide in and stretch you open further.

"Hoon!" you gasp in surprise.

"That's right, baby. That's who you belong to. Tell Jay."

"I—I belong to—Hoon! I can't!"

His fourth digit keeps prodding around to find a possible entrance, but you're already so full you think any more would actually break you. "How do you plan to let me fuck you, then?"

He's teasing you. You both know you can and you will. It's just a matter of taking it slowly. His finger is suddenly not trying to inch inside you anymore, despite how lost you both are in the moment, your comfort comes first always. It just means Sunghoon will find another way.

He speaks lowly against your ear, but it's enough for your phone to pick it up clearly, "Once I'll split you open on my cock like you've been begging for, nothing else will ever satisfy you. No one else will. Once I claim your little hole, it's mine. Jay's seen how big I am. He knows it too. Tell him whose pussy I'm about to split open."

"Mine." You gasp at a particularly harsh thrust.

"No. Mine." The sheer command in his voice makes you clench even more around his fingers, as if the fit isn't already tight enough. "Try again."

"Yours! It's yours."

"Good fucking girl." He moans against you, his hot breath rising goose bumps all over your skin. "Tell him you'll never go back to him," he adds after a moment, quieter.

The pace he is fingering you at slows down just enough so you can actually get a coherent sentence out, and you're silently grateful for this little show of mercifulness on Sunghoon's part. If not for this, the voice mail would probably end up being an hour long.

"I'll never—mh. Go back to you."

"Good. So good. Now tell him how happy you are with me, happier than you ever were with him. Tell him you love me," he rasps, high on the reassurance you're providing him. High on how obedient you are for him.

"Love Hoon so much, I love him. I love him so so much. Hoon, please." You're a mess, dripping down onto the bedsheets and clamping around his fingers so hard any more would probably cut Sunghoon's blood flow. The more you grip him, the wider you spread your thighs to accommodate him, like you're silently begging for him to be harsher. He has half a mind to fulfill your body's wordless plea.

"Look at you, spreading your pretty legs for me. You like it when I talk to you like this? Does it make your little pussy wetter?"

You're so tight, so wet, and Sunghoon is so impossibly hard. He could cum right there just thinking about how good you'll feel wrapped around him, walls convulsing and milking him for all he's worth with every orgasm he gives you. For every orgasm you bless him with.

A sight for sore eyes, one Jay will never see nor hear. Because as soon as he can sense you climbing up your high, getting so close, your walls fluttering against his curled up digits in preparation and juices plentifully seeping out of you, he grabs your phone and ends the recording himself.

Sunghoon moves, and suddenly you miss the weight of his chest pressing into your back, but the pace of his fingers inside you slows down again. You wail as you feel the climax you were so close to dissipate, and suddenly you feel like invisible ropes are keeping your front tied to the bed. Your back gives in under the pressure, arching in ways that should be uncomfortable but it's the only outlet other than the plentiful sounds being pushed out of you your body has to ground itself in the midst of all the pleasure.

The loneliness your heart feels whenever he deprives you of his body heat for as much as a few seconds has tiny broken sobs and whines lurch out of your throat, but like every single time, Sunghoon is there to soothe you. "I know, baby, I know. Just let me help you feel good. Yeah?"

Even when you're supposedly being punished, he can't help but go a little easy on you, his gorgeous angel. His spoiled baby. But it's okay, because you did such a good job, listened and obeyed to his every command.

Sunghoon's warm breath tickles the skin of your bottom, and his nose brushes up from your mid thigh to your ass, giving you a playful yet gentle bite on the plushy skin. Air gets stuck in your throat in anticipation, but like every single thing he does, he takes his time in savoring all the moments leading up to finally get your sweet taste to coat his tongue like he's craved for this entire time.

You're twitchy and so responsive in his hold, and Sunghoon is enamored with the sight of your fluttering walls trying their best to suck his thick digits in even more. Greedy little cunt for a spoiled little girl. A perfect match.

He watches intently how you react to every single thrust of his fingers inside you, how your knees shake and body flops forward when he bends the tips in just the right direction when you least expect it. He pushes in deeper, and deeper, until you're gushing on his palm, your essence dripping down his wrist and a few droplets down to his elbow too. He registers your every moan, every beg for more, imprints all your sounds in his memory like they're the dearest ones he's ever made.

Sunghoon remembers all your reactions from times you'd consider unimportant, from the little moan when you first bite into anything he's cooked—whether you really like it not—to the way your leg bounces when following the rhythm of a song you said you despised because they played it on the radio too often, to the way your eyebrow twitches when he mentions a name you haven't heard before.

When you catch him with that sweet look in his eyes, staring at you with a toothy grin and canines peeking out, it's because he's watching you and storing everything in his mind, no matter how mundane, no matter how dumb, no matter how silly. It's a no brainer he'd do this in times like these too, even when he's witnessed you come undone under his gaze plenty of times, he doesn't want to miss a single one.

It's not really about learning what brings you pleasure faster and what prolongs it, he's familiar with all of that already, Sunghoon just happens to really enjoy watching you, even if you think it's the most embarrassing thing in the world.

So he does exactly that, inspects you carefully as he keeps fucking you open with his fingers, taking guesses about how hard or deep he should make his pumps, pride blooming in his chest—and cock throbbing in his pants—when you react exactly like he expects. While usually he watches you with a lovesick smile, the grin on his face and fiery glint behind his eyes are different now, hungrier and needier, but every bit as obsessed.

Because that's exactly what Sunghoon is, deeply and unashamedly obsessed with you.

He builds your orgasm up again, brick by brick, flick of his wrist by flick of his wrist, until you're quivering and shaking and begging him to not take it away this time.

"Please," you moan, hand clenching onto the bedsheets beside you so hard you'll be shocked if by the end there won't be a hole ripped in them. "I'm so close."

Sunghoon notices how you hold onto your orgasm, waiting for his approval. It makes his hips twitch forward involuntary, eager to please and eager to give you anything you want. "I got you baby, let go. Let me hear the pretty sounds you make when you cum for me."

It's all it takes for the coil in your stomach to completely snap, and the second your warm walls flutter around Sunghoon's fingers for the first time, you feel a sense of emptiness that lasts only a moment, before you're full again. It's not as thick, shorter but so much wetter, and through the thick fog clouding your mind as your body is overtaken by uncontrollable shivers spreading from your core to every extremity of your body, you realize he just replaced his fingers with his tongue.

Another lightning strike shoots right through you, head to feet, as Sunghoon keeps fucking you through your orgasm with his tongue. You're still fluttering around it and releasing all of your juices right into his awaiting mouth when the ringing in your ears slowly fades, replaced by the downright obscene sounds of Sunghoon slurping up all he can get out of you. It's messy and nasty, the lower half of his face completely coated in your essence but he doesn't care. He wants more.

He moans into your pussy like he's the one being pleasured, and once that single second of bliss between fully coming down from an orgasm and overstimulation setting in goes by, he pulls you in closer when you start moving too much. You're still too sensitive, but if Sunghoon thinks you're greedy, you have to realize he's even worse. Feeling the dull throbbing of your walls as you come around his tongue one time just isn't enough. If it were up to him, he'd have you wet his mouth again and again until you physically can't withstand any more. Until you're barely coherent and slipping into a peaceful sleep, completely tired out.

Sunghoon grabs a handful of your ass with his still dripping hand as he licks a stripe down from your hole into your lips, spreading them open with his tongue to find your clit, throbbing and raw from your previous orgasm. He rolls it between his lips, toys with it with his tongue, uncaring for the way your body pushes away from his mouth. After all the begging you did, you have no business running from it, if you ask him.

"Stay still," he growls into you, both of his hands tied together on your lower back as he fully pushes you down on the mattress with his strength, leaving you nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He nuzzles his face into you, enveloping all he can get with his warm mouth, sighing and groaning contently with every bit of wetness you gush right on his tongue.

He explores every inch of you, every nook and cranny he can get into, cleaning you up with each lick and wetting you even more with every other. "So fucking good," he moans into you, dragging you back against him when you think you can't physically be closer, when the tip of his nose pushes into your hole and when the only way he has to breathe is through his mouth which is full of you. He pants and gasps against your cunt so much you fear he might suffocate himself just to not come up for air a single time.

Your own face is pushed against the bed, mouth biting down on the cotton fabric beneath you to ground yourself in the immense cloud of pleasure Sunghoon is giving you. He's so lost in your taste he doesn't even remind you to not muffle your sounds, the only thing in his mind is to have you come undone on his mouth once more.

Sunghoon knows he's close to his goal when your little pained whines start turning into longer, more drawn out moans, when you stop running away from his tongue and instead start thrusting yourself back into his hold, back into his mouth. All your senses are ablaze, nerve endings lit and confused but so pleased at the same time. You yourself don't know when the it stopped hurting and became that dull, impending feeling of almost there to something more that both maddens you and keeps you hooked, but you roll your hips anyway in search of just the little nudge in the right direction your body violently craves.

Like always, Sunghoon knows exactly what you need.

"Go on, baby. Touch your little clit for me." His voice is full and rich of that low gravel you barely get to hear, but that has tingles run down your body when you do. "Help me make you cum." Sunghoon lets his tongue run back up from your clit to your slit again, inching closer to your throbbing hole as you let a hand sneak under your body to your pussy, immediately finding your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You're so drenched by now you don't need to wet your hand before drawing circles all over it, dragging it in all the directions you know have your toes curl. Sunghoon likes it messy though, so he gathers a glob of spit and loudly releases it on your cunt, the position making it dribble down right where your hand is working to bring you closer to your peak.

The onslaught of wetness pooling down only adds to the already embarrassingly loud noises coming from your cunt, and you're so wet, your own fingers slip a few times. It doesn't help that your arm shakes under you even when pinned down by your entire body weight when Sunghoon shoves his entire tongue down your hole again, using both of his hands on your lower back to move you so you're fucking his muscle as if it were a toy. His nose drags on your perineum with every movement of your bottom half against his face, and under any other circumstance you'd be mortified, but Sunghoon has a way of soothing you in the most embarrassing situations without really having to do anything but be there with you, like nothing matters in the grand scheme of things when his body is heating yours.

You speed your movements up to match the pace he sets, and with every thrust of his tongue combined with every flick of your wrist, you feel the band in your lower tummy stretch and warm up, until your sight turns searing white and warmth envelops your body from your core to all your limbs in rhythmic waves, first every other second, and then gradually slowing down.

You release on Sunghoon's tongue, and he wastes no time, gulping down all he can manage to, moaning into your heat like he's tasting the most divine nectar. You can't see it as you're busy catching your breath and slowing down your heartbeat as the rush of pleasure dissipates into a calmer buzzing felt all over your body, but Sunghoon's eyebrows crease in the middle, his eyes closed as he commits the taste of your cum to his memory, right beside all the indecent bits of you he treasures in his mind.

Sunghoon pulls his tongue out of you, already missing the way you flutter against it when you come undone, and leaves a trail of pecks all over your bottom, first on the plush of your ass still kept up by his strong hold despite you having completely given up on keeping yourself upright long ago, then all over your thighs, switching from one to the other as he runs a reassuring hand all over your skin, wordlessly soothing you. His palms are big and thick on your thighs as he moves to wrap his hands to the front, steadying you one last time to capture your clit in a gentle suckle, just enough to have your body convulse in overstimulation, but too tired and spent to fight back.

He pulls off of you with a pop after hollowing his cheeks around it one last time. "Did so good for me, baby. You're so perfect."

Without Sunghoon's hands keeping you up, you slump on the bed, completely this time, groaning when the burn in your lower body fully sets in now that you can move it again. It's dull and persistent, and especially fiery right where Sunghoon's hands stayed locked for most of it.

"You okay, pretty? Was I too rough?" He sounds concerned when you take longer than usual to regain your strength, his hands immediately roaming all over your body to massage any sore spot. His touch is light like a breeze but welcome like the sun on a spring day, warming up all the knots in your muscles. The dangerous edge seems to have completely evaporated, only leaving your sweet boyfriend behind. In the moment, it's exactly what you need.

You give him a vague sound of approval in response, but you know it's not enough for him when he gently maneuvers your body around to face him, holding you so carefully one would think him scared of damaging you.

The warm light shining from the night stand casts shadows on his face, but the slight concern etched on his features is bright as day. It's an intimate moment, and you'd giggle because of the sheer difference in his behavior if you had the energy to do so. Instead, you reach for his hand. The same hand that held a bruising grip on you just moments before, the same hand that hit the man who disrespected you.

Sunghoon returns you touch right away, locking your fingers with his as if second nature. You place a featherlight kiss on them, allowing your lips to linger on his salty skin as you speak. "I'm great. Perfect even." It comes out a little raspy, like you haven't fully caught your breath yet, but it's a start.

"Yeah. You are."

"And you? You doing okay?"

Sunghoon gifts you one of his cannot-possibly-contain-it smiles, the ones where he looks down for a split second as his eyes crinkle and somehow smile wider than his lips do. Your favorite kind of Sunghoon Smiles you'd say in the moment, though if you were to compile a list they would all be in the number one spot.

"Perfect, even."

"Hey, that's my line—" you start, but Sunghoon finishes your sentence for you.

"—Don't steal it."

You hum, the taste of skin still on your lips as you bask in the moment for a little, neither of you daring to break the peaceful quiet that wraps like a fuzzy blanket around you. Sunghoon flinches just the tiniest bit when your fingers graze the bandaged scratches, making you ease up your hold on his hand. He immediately squeezes yours to tell you it's okay.

"You know," you say after you let the silence linger for a few more seconds, only your heartbeats and shallow breaths filling the air in the dimly lit room. "You look really hot when you're mad."

Fits of giggles pour in the almost nonexistent space between you—first Sunghoon's, yours following suit.

"I must look super hot when I'm jealous then," he says with that teasing edge in his tone you're all too familiar with. He dips down to catch your lips in a slow kiss, suckling on your bottom lip gently, the corners of his mouth still raised. He hasn't stopped smiling once.

"Absolutely," you say before Sunghoon pecks you again, and then keeps doing it as you try to continue. "And when you're happy—" another peck. "And when you're bored." Another peck. "And when you're—sorry if I say this but you look like a cute kicked puppy—sad.

"So you're gonna keep finding ways to make me jealous, I assume."

It's not meant to be a jab, you know he's being playful. But it stings you just in the right way, and suddenly you're in the passenger seat of Sunghoon's black Bentley again, worrying about having hurt his feelings past redemption.

Like all things you, Sunghoon catches it right away.

"Hey there, it's okay. I'm not upset, baby." Sunghoon's hands are secure around your hips, his thumb running soothing circles on your skin while your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer because it's simply never enough.

"You should be. You're too nice."

Sunghoon presses his lips on your fluttering lashes. "You being a little brat is nothing new. I think I know how to handle you pretty well, don't I?" His breath, minty but also vaguely bitter from the beer still, warms your cheekbone. Sunghoon's proximity to you is intoxicating in ways no amount of alcohol could ever be, and you hate beer, but god, what wouldn't you do to taste it off of his lips for the rest of your life.

Whoever is up there must be gracious because your prayers are answered the very next second, with Sunghoon ghosting his lips on yours, looking at you with tenfold the intensity and fire from earlier, like someone drenched the space behind his eyes with gasoline and lit it up without you noticing it. The switch is so sudden, and by now you should be used to this, but you don't think you ever will. Not when your boyfriend is looking at you like he might devour you whole any moment, and you'd let him. You'd love to let him.

"Act out all you want," Sunghoon says, voice dripping in possessiveness, right against your awaiting mouth. You want to swallow every last bit of it. "Go out there in short little skirts barely covering your ass. Make up all the silly plans you want, even ones where Jay's involved. Let everyone get a good look at you because that's all they'll ever fucking get." His hand reaches for your inner thigh, then folds it to give himself better access. His bulge is heavy and hard against your bare core, the weight of it enough to have you shiver and mewl, but when Sunghoon starts grinding his hips into yours, the noises spill out of you like you have no control over them. "At the end of the night, after you've had your fun, you'll always come back to me. In my bed, soaking my pants with your little pussy because you only get wet like this for me."

It's embarrassing how fast you feel like you could come again, but Sunghoon's hard thickness slides so perfectly over your folds even through the fabric, and the harshness of his jeans catches your clit every so often in such a delicious way. His pants are soaked through in your essence, both of you moaning and panting in each other's mouths so messily you don't even know if it could be classifies as a kiss or a mere exchange of spit.

"You're mine," Sunghoon rasps, like his life depends on it. He fumbles with his pants, depriving you of the mouth watering friction. You make a few noises of complaints, but his teeth are quick to sink into your bottom lip to silence them. "A spoiled little brat. But mine."

The heaviness of him finds your dripping core again, this time so much warmer, only his underwear separating your most sensitive parts from touching. It's the closest you've ever been to feeling his cock on you, and it's overwhelming. Electricity shocks run through your body when he starts moving his pelvis against you, completely coating the already damp material with the mix of your arousal and release. He's not unaffected—his own precum shows up right where the little slit in his tip is, the fabric of the boxers a darker shade of gray there.

"Mine to love, mine to discipline, mine to train. Mine." You don't know wether the hoarseness coming from his throat is due to the anything but proper activity you two are partaking in or simply the raw need for you to really let his words sink in, but the effect it has on you is clear. The proof is right where your cores meet.

You tentatively roll your hips into his, movements emboldening when you earn a few low grunts from him.

"This pussy is gonna be mine too now. Mine to worship and please. Mine to fuck open like she never has been before. I'm gonna ruin you for everyone else. You want that, right?"

You nod frantically, your hips running after Sunghoon's in a relentless chase, like they have a mind of their own.

"Say it. Say you want me to ruin your little hole."

"Ruin it—Hoon, please."

His hips falter when he hears just how desperate you sound, his eyebrows scrunched up in the middle and you can tell he's biting down on his tongue to ground himself. It only encourages you.

You reach for his boxers, wrapping your hand around the outline of his bulge and trying to contain your facial expressions at the reminder of just how ridiculously large he is. You squeeze it with your palm, his eyelids fluttering closed and his chest heaving from your touch alone. You try not to think too much about how outrageously wet the fabric is, all thanks to you. "Please, I need to feel you inside," you beg, arms pushing your tits—now basically spilling out of your dress—together and looking up at him with the most innocent doe eyed expression you can muster up.

Sunghoon's jaw leaps, and you feel like under a microscope as he watches you. "Little minx you are." He reaches for the first drawer of his night stand, rummaging though it quickly before pulling a tiny bottle out of it. It's lube.

"I don't need—"

Sunghoon silences you by spitting right on your pussy, your complaint turning into a whimper at the contact. "You do, baby. You need all the help you can get." Complaining more will get you nowhere but tucked into bed, still needy, horny and with a wet pussy, so you decide to play your cards cleverly and let him do his thing.

You paw at his boxers, fingers dipping into the waistband and trying to tug them down to get to the prize hidden behind. You spread your legs open even more as Sunghoon rips a larger hole into your tights, the veins running down his arms slightly bulging from the effort.

The sudden coldness of the lube dripping down on your puffy folds surprises you enough to rip a little yelp out of you, and Sunghoon's wide palms find their rightful place on your thighs, pushing them against your hips and lower stomach. He takes a good look at your cunt, spreading you open to his liking and leaving no inch of your skin hidden from his sight. "Such a pretty pussy." Your joints still ache and burn from all the exertion they already endured, but Sunghoon's words are like a soothing balm for your body and mind. "Prettiest cunt in the whole fucking world, all wet and ready for me to fuck."

You finally manage to free his cock fully, despite his filthy words sending waves of weakness through your body, and immediately wrap your palm around the middle, mouth watering when your thumb doesn't reach your other fingers. Not only is it way longer than average, it's also thick beyond comprehension, perfectly curved to hit all the right spots in you and so fucking veiny you can feel more slick pour out of you in anticipation. You quite literally cannot stop gawking at it, trying to move your hand up to his tip, just as thick if not thicker than the base, and you gulp as you watch beads of semi transparent liquid pour out of it.

"What is it, baby?" Sunghoon asks, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tries to not buck his hips into your hand. "We can stop if you want."

"No!" Your grip around him tightens, earning a gasp and a shallow thrust from him. Your thumb swipes over the head to spread his need all over, making it easier for you to slowly jerk him off. "Please," you add, quieter, afraid he might take the opportunity away from you.

The sight of you laying down so prettily with your much smaller hand enveloping his length, has all the blood in Sunghoon's body rush straight to his groin. He could cum at any moment, just from having you right in front of him like this, but he's set on making it worth the wait.

"You're so fucking hot like this." His hand finds your cunt again, fingers spreading your folds open so he can take a good look at the sensitive bud he loves so much, finding it so swollen he wishes to just bend down and suck on it again.

Once the lube fully coats his digits, he brings them down to your hole again, prodding it just enough to make sure it's slick with the cold essence. He squirts more of it right onto his cock while you keep fisting him as best as you can, spreading the lube all over it until all that can be heard in the room is the loud squelching noises and both of your heavy pants and low groans. His fingers keep rubbing your folds, coaxing more of your own arousal out of you, the feeling so distracting the pace you set on his cock falters a bit. To compensate, you add your other hand too, milking him with both at the same time.

"Fuck yeah, just like that," Sunghoon moans, and he looks divine above you with his lip caught between his teeth, gaze flickering from where his hips have started fucking into your fists, to where his fingers are playing with your pussy, like he cannot decide which view is best.

His cock throbs in your hands every time your hold tightens or your movements get faster, and you're stuck watching every reaction. His chest heaves, sometimes he looks like he forgets to breathe and then he has to make up for it. His cheeks are flushed, and when you notice how his bangs are sticking to his forehead because of the sweat accumulating on his hairline, you suspect he might be close.

"Gonna come?" you ask, battling your lashes at him, hoping he'll do just that from your hands alone. That's enough to wake him from his daze, and you almost regret asking when he breaks free from your hold and stops playing with your pussy.

The disappointment is short lived, because without wasting any time, Sunghoon brings your legs close together around his cock and sets both of your feet on one of his shoulders. He fucks your thighs just like that, with slow thrusts, making sure to slide his cock between your folds and let you feel every single vein running down his length. "You'd love that wouldn't you? Me coming all over your pussy. You're so fucking messy."

The shirt still covering his torso leaves close to nothing to the imagination now, clinging to every ridge of his abs and chest because of the sweat, and you're basically drooling at the sight. The feeling of Sunghoon's cock between your thighs and on your cunt is too much for you already, clit throbbing with need every time his tip catches on it, balls pushing against your hole every now and then, but you make the mistake of looking down when his thrusts get faster, and the view you're met with has you absolutely obsessed.

The head of Sunghoon's cock peeks out from your thighs every time his hips move forward, red and leaking so fucking much on your lower tummy it looks like he's cumming all over you already. But then it just keeps going, reaching close to your belly button, and when his head rests right on it, your mouth goes slack. It's one thing to see how big he is normally, but to have it compared directly against you, it makes the room spin in circles and your body feel even weaker. You need him inside you now.

"You like the view, baby? That's how deep I'm gonna be inside you, how deep I'll be fucking you," Sunghoon laughs, a little manically, and you hate how much it turns you on, like you need to be any more than you already are. "You'll feel me riiight here." He stops his thrusts to tap his cock on your stomach, the sounds of the tiny slaps reverberating through the room. "All up in your guts."

You gasp out his name when his hips go back to working his cock between your thighs, in an attempt to get his attention, but he already knows what you want.

"I know, baby. I know. Just a little more I promise." His gaze flicks up to meet yours, watching you intently for any sign of discomfort, any indication that you might want to stop. He knows it's unlikely—Hell, he's sure you were about to beg him to fuck you for the nth time that night just now—but he needs you to be absolutely sure. The weight on his chest, the slightest hint of uneasiness looming over him despite all the excitement fades in the background when all he finds on your face is pure lust, unfiltered need for him.

The pace slows down a little, and Sunghoon keeps eye contact with you as he speaks with his full lips brushing the skin of your ankle, giving you a few kisses there to ease up any anxiety you might feel. "Are you sure, pretty? We can wait a bit more. We don't have to—"

"Hoon. For the love of God just put it in or i might actually die within the next two minutes."

An amused wheeze tickles your skin, followed by a gentle nibble right where his lips kissed you. He rests your legs back down while he still kneels on the bed "Alright, alright."

He's spent all this time preparing you, telling you to take it slow for your own well being, but as you watch the way his eyes hesitantly shift focus around your body, you think maybe he's not the one ready yet. "Hoon?" you catch his attention, voice meek but it's like music to his ears, always.

Sunghoon hums in acknowledgement, but he looks deep in thought. His thumb follows the ridge of your jaw to your chin, then swipes over it a few times as if to encourage you to continue.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Had a change of heart? Weren't you just about to die a few seconds ago?"

"I'm asking you."

He exhales, then bends down to place a soft kiss right on your parted lips. "Of course I'm sure. I'm just…" He trails off, but you already know what he's thinking.

"You won't hurt me," you say, keeping eye contact to really get the point across. "Besides, even if you did. I'd enjoy it a bit."

The corner of his lips lift up, and you know you've finally cracked through him. "I suppose you would."

His elbow rests by your head, while his other hand grabs his cock and gives it a few pumps in preparation—not that he needs it, Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever been this goddamn hard in his entire life. "Give me a few taps anywhere if you want me to stop, if it helps you can bite me when it hurts." He positions himself, hand still guiding his tip to your leaking entrance, but doesn't push in just yet. "Where should I cum?"

You're about to lose your mind, hips slowly rolling against his tip to try to coax it inside of you and he's still talking instead of doing something about it. "Huh?"

"Where do you want my cum baby? You won't be able to talk when I'm fucking you."

The sheer seriousness in his tone has shivers run down your spine, but you don't dwell on it too long. "Inside. Anywhere you want just please—Oh my god."

The sting of his tip slowly pushing in stops you from finishing your sentence. It's a mild discomfort for now, but the feeling of it stretching you open is better than any of the toys you and Sunghoon experimented with could've ever provided. He's just getting started, but your mouth is already ajar, and more wetness seeps out of you when your boyfriend rewards you with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard.

"God, it's like she's begging me to slam all the way in." His thumb swipes over your clit in circular motions to help you ease up so the first few inches aren't too harsh on your poor drooling pussy, and even though the tip isn't even the entire way in, the sight of his cock slowly disappearing inside your heat quickly shoots up to his favorite spot. "Deep breaths baby, remember what I taught you—No, don't tense up, it's okay. You've got this."

Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head, pleasure and discomfort blending into one slowly as he waits for you to adjust. How are you supposed to not clench around him when he's encouraging you like this? It's beyond you.

Your hand shoots to grab Sunghoon's muscular biceps when he starts moving again, and he stills right away, waiting with bated breath for the taps to come.

They don't.

"Is it all in yet?" you ask, because truly, you feel so fucking full already, fuller than you have ever been. But the amused look on Sunghoon's face tells you exactly what you need to know.

"I mean." He moves a little more, and the burning—even if eased up a bit by all the juices and lube coating both of you—resumes. "A little more than the tip is."

"The tip?"

"The tip." Sunghoon thrusts out gently before pushing in again, both of you moaning at the same time. "I can fuck you with just that, it's enough to make you come harder than you ever have." He doesn't wait for you to tell him what to do, opting to give you shallow thrusts to test the waters, his thumb never parting from your clit.

The way you shudder and the little sweet sounds you make because of his tip alone has his stomach knot in all kinds of ways and his cock leap and throb so much it fucking hurts. Sunghoon would want nothing more than to shove it in and claim you fully, mold your pussy around his girth so perfectly no one else would ever be able to give you a cock half as good as his—like he would let that happen in the first place.

You're writhing under him, legs kicking a little when he feels the slide in and out slowly get more comfortable and slippier. That doesn't mean you're not clenching around him so hard he could cum at any given moment, but for your own pleasure—and his, really. He wants to shoot his load as deep as he possibly can—he tries to hold off to the best of his capabilities.

But fuck if it's not the hardest thing he's ever tried to do.

He almost breaks when your own hand reaches down for the one working on your pussy, smaller palm attempting to cover the back of his and to coax it into moving faster. There's a bit of drool on the corner of your lips, and you look so wrecked already, Sunghoon hates how a shiver runs down his spine at the mere thought of how you'll look like when he's balls deep inside you. "Hoon—fuck. I want more."

He coos at you, pretending he's not a wreck himself, pretending the thread thin sliver of sanity he has left isn't the only thing preventing him to fold your legs all the way up to your chest and fuck you into oblivion, but the arm next to your head shakes with restraint, and the knuckles on his fist are ghostly white by now, even if you're too blissed out to pay attention. His voice is shaky, uneven, but his words are careful and patient, even when you'd rather them not be. "We gotta get your pretty parts used to it first baby, come like this just once, it's only the last stretch."

Your whines turn into moans when his movements on your clit fasten and his tip nudges inside you a little deeper, just enough to momentarily satisfy your craving for more.

"Aren't you a greedy little thing," Sunghoon rasps, holding back his own impending orgasm with all his strength, beads of sweat now rolling down his neck deliciously, and you kinda wish you could bend forward and lick them off of him. "Asking for more, and more, and more after the stunt you pulled today. My pretty baby," his thumb pushes more forcefully on your bud, making it hurt so good for a second as you adjust to the pressure, then giving you harsher drags, meant to have you come undone and quivering under him in no time. "So desperate for cock you just had to go ahead and try to make me jealous. You like it when I'm jealous?"

You gasp, nodding frantically as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach tighten more and more, an embarrassing amount of slick pouring out of you and running downwards.

"You're so fucking lucky this is the first time we do this," his voice is rough, an octave lower than usual. "Or I would've bent you over and fucked you so silly the second we got home without stretching your pretty pussy open. But I'm so kind. Thank me for it."

You clench hard around him at his words, toes bending because you don't know what else to do with all the pleasure coursing through you, and he gives a gorgeous deep groan in response. "I'm gonna—"

"Then thank me for it."

You come around him hard, harder than you ever have, thank you's pouring out of your lips like a broken prayer, entire body shaking head to toe from the intense orgasm. The buzz in your ears persists for a while as you try to come down from it, and you can see but it feels like you can't, like your brain isn't registering any of the images your eyes capture. Bright, static, dark spots, so many things at once. It feels like you blacked out for a second even if you didn't, all your senses dulled to make space for all the other sensations your climax provides.

When you slowly start to regain power over them, you're met with the sight of Sunghoon panting like a dog, eyes closed and fist wrapped around his cock, the head poking out and redder than you've ever seen it, looking like he just ran a fucking marathon. Somehow, he managed not to cum. He was so close though, so close he had to pull out the second your walls started to involuntary flutter around him or he would've been done for.

The tight black shirt is still clinging to him like a second skin, and the first coherent thought of yours after the fog around brain clears is to get him out of it as soon as you can. You tug at the hem, still panting and blood buzzing from the release. "Off."

Sunghoon doesn't answer you with words, but he rips the shirt off his torso, throwing it somewhere on the floor behind him. His hands are shaky as they travel from your waist to your hips, then reaching your thighs, spreading you open further in front of him and allowing him to take a look at the big mess you—both of you, really—made. Sunghoon's cock is rock hard, tip oozing enough precum to make all the prep you've endured so far pointless. (Not really, you know better than that.)

Sunghoon goes back to nudging his tip on your hole, just holding it there without pushing in quite yet, casting a last questioning glance your way because he needs the reassurance that you're okay with this one last time before he fully commits.

When you nod, he slowly eases himself back into you with a low moan accompanying the motion, this time his gaze holding yours. The face you make as his tip stretches you open makes it a hundred times harder for him to keep his chill, wanting nothing more than to say fuck it and pound you stupid like you've been begging him to do ever since things first got handsy between you two.

The burn isn't nearly as bad as it was the first time, leaving space for so much more pleasure to course right through you, and you can't help the relieved sigh that leaves you when his tip is fully back inside you again, like it's a need for you to be filled by it. And Sunghoon sees that. He sees the fire in your eyes, the greediness slowly pooling behind those pupils he loves so much, how your hips look for his even if taking any more in hurts.

His hips jerk forward more than he intends them to, but he can't help it, not when you're looking at him like he's the prey. More of your wetness coats him, and both of you loudly moan into the night.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," Sunghoon whines, actual tears filling his waterline because he can't believe how much you're gripping him, pussy fluttering around his girth with every little bit he pushes forward, welcoming him like no one has ever done. "Tightest little pussy ever."

The hold on your thighs is bruising, but it helps you stay at least a little grounded so you wouldn't have it any other way. Whenever you think you're too full and cannot possibly take anymore, you feel a little more of Sunghoon's cock slide in you, so you get on your elbows with what little strength you have left and take a look for yourself. He's barely halfway in, and the burning sensation is starting to set in again. It hurts, but it hurts so good, you need more and you need less at the same time.

"Yeah, that's right, angel. Watch how your greedy needy cunt swallows me." Sunghoon's eyebrows are creased, sweat now not only dripping from his scalp, but little droplets constellating his broad chest, following the paths preset by his sculpted physique, all the way down to his vline. A mouthwatering sight.

"So full," you sigh, eyes never leaving from where you're connected, clit throbbing the more he fucks his cock into you, begging for a lick of attention.

"You'll be so much fuller. Can you behave and handle that for me, mhh?"

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding along to his words and sneaking down your hand to play with your clit when you come to the conclusion that Sunghoon's hands are way too busy gripping your plushy skin like his sanity depends on it.

"Smart girl," he praises.

The wetter you become, the easier and more pleasurable the slide is. Sunghoon watches you for any sign of unbearable discomfort, slowing down when you bite your tongue or picking his speed back up when you bless him with those precious needy whines of yours. "You're doing so well, my gorgeous girl. So fucking amazing, making me feel so good already, God, you're perfect."

His words of encouragement play a big part in easing the pain for you, soothing you enough to make it easier for you to not tense up when his cock nudges a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. Your hand flies to your lower belly and you swear you feel him right there, so much deeper than you've ever had anyone—or anything—be.

"There we go," Sunghoon puffs out like he's been holding himself back from breathing this entire time, his pelvis grinding against your folds deliberately. And you finally realize he's all the way in for the first time ever. "Squeezin' me so tight, are you scared I'll run away?" He pulls back a bit before fully thrusting inside again, the curve of his cock aiding in making him hit all the right spots you could've never reached yourself. "No fucking chance. Not after I've got a taste of this. Gonna fuck your pretty pussy open every fucking night, until I've trained her to take me in without any complaints."

He sets a slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm you just yet, then adds, in a softer tone, "Does it hurt too bad, baby?"

If he keeps the back and forth up for much longer, you're gonna end up getting whiplash. But between groans and higher pitches sounds, you manage to answer him. "Any more and you would've popped me like a balloon."

Sunghoon giggles as he bends down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, hands finally loosening his grip on your legs and traveling all over your body. "You begged, and begged and—"

"I'm not complaining, am I?" you ask, breaking the kiss and resting your forehead on his, the saliva string connecting you two shining under the warm light of the lamp. "Harder."

Sunghoon complies instantly, speeding up his movements and giving you actual thrusts instead of the messy mix of grinding and nudges he'd taken a liking to. His hot, wet mouth finds your neck, too greedy and selfish, in desperate need of hearing the beautiful sounds you make instead of swallowing them down. His tongue skates over your pulse point, a shiver traveling down your entire body when he gives you the lightest nibble right there before licking it up again in apology.

"I can still taste you in my mouth." His breath tickles the wet skin of your neck, your front arching into his when goosebumps appear all over your exposed arms. "Always want to—mh, taste it. You'll let me eat your pretty pussy again after you gush on my cock?"

Even if you want to reply, you really can't, not when the pace he's drilling into you at is knocking the air out of your lungs, and the bolder his movements get, the more you understand why he asked where he should cum before even staring. You want to look at him, take in every expression on his beautiful face, but the pleasure is too much to handle and the only thing that seems to help is closing your eyes and letting them roll back into your skull.

Your lips are raw from all the biting, and you're so incredibly thankful when Sunghoon's hand swats yours away from your clit to replace it, allowing you to sink your fingers into his broad shoulders, clawing at them with every languid thrust he gives you. He feels so perfect, filling you up to the brim and then some more, stretching you out so fucking good you suspect you won't ever be able to scratch the itch if not with his cock.

"I'm in love with this fucking pussy, baby," he moans, loud and unapologetic, making his way with open mouthed kisses down your neck, then following the line of your clavicle, only to dip down between the valley of your breasts. Your tits have spilled out of the tiny little dress due to bouncing around with every precise thrust Sunghoon gave you, and your nipples are perky and hard, begging for his attention right in his face.

"And your tits, fuck. So pretty, I'm gonna eat you right up." He licks a stripe on one of your hardened buds before enveloping it fully between his lips and sucking on it lightly, sighing contently into it when you push your tits on his face further, loud whines spilling out of you.

The very familiar band in your tummy starts to tighten again the more he works on your nipples and clit at the same time, thrusts never once faltering. All of your senses are heightened to such a degree you don't even know what to do with yourself anymore if not lay under Sunghoon and let him absolutely ravage you, not a single thought but 'feels so good' crossing your mind. But it's fast, too fast, and you want it to last for longer, want Sunghoon to keep fucking you for hours until the only word you remember is his name.

You try to push his hand away from your clit, only earning a reprimanding yet gentle bite on your nipple, a warning. "I c-can't."

"Can't what, pretty girl?" He rolls your nipple between his lips, lapping away the tingling sensation the nibble left on it that has you jolt in his hold. "Use your words."

You throw your head back in frustration, feeling the impending climax approach you once again, the nth that night. "Don't want it to end," you gasp, using up all the strength left in you form a coherent sentence.

Sunghoon coos at you. Fucking coos at you only to deepen the strokes of his cock inside you, angling his hips to reach even deeper. "Cum for me baby, I'll just keep fucking you."

Your thighs shake as they wrap around his waist to pull him closer, his hips switching to grinding his cock into you instead of thrusting it, the fat tip poking the most delicious sensitive parts of your heat. You gasp and wheeze, claw and scratch and draw blood from his skin but it never hinders or stops his strokes. You clench around him time and time again, wrapping around his cock so nicely Sunghoon can feel his own orgasm build up in the pit of his stomach.

You come around him with a silent scream, every single part of your body twitching under him as he keeps fucking into you, now chasing his own high. He still takes a moment to watch you and how beautiful you look at the highest of your peak, eyes glazed over and mouth hung open, sweaty skin glistening so beautifully he wishes to be a painter and capture it forever. It's a sight he's never gonna grow accustomed to, and it has his stomach twist in knots. "That's it baby, so fucking gorgeous, keep cumming for me like that, milking my cock so well."

Even in the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body looks for his, hips rolling into his as if to silently ask for him to cum inside you, now that your voice has completely failed you.

"Just a bit more. We're almost there, my perfect little baby, so good for me," Sunghoon is babbling too by now, so damn enamored with the sight of you trying to keep your twitching under control even though you're still cumming around him and teetering on overstimulation so he can fully savor his own high. "The most perfect angel girl ever. I love you so fucking much."

Your head is light and Sunghoon's words reach you as if in slow motion, muffled by your own blood buzzing in your ears. You're completely drenched, and the bedding underneath you is too, but neither of you can bring yourselves to care. The slide is not painful anymore, and everything feels so warm and slippery, you never want it to end.

The image of Sunghoon still grinding and fucking his cock into you, his pace now reduced to a desperate mess and nowhere near as precise as it was, clears up slowly as your ears stop ringing, but your pleasure never does. You don't know if you're still cumming or if Sunghoon fucking you just feels this good you can't tell the difference, but you feel like you're on cloud nine and lighter than you've ever been.

Sunghoon's torso is completely glistening, and you feel some of that slick coat your skin too when he bends your legs into you, folding you against the bed and hitting even deeper inside you.

You're a moaning mess as he pistons his dick inside your heat, dragging perfectly against your gummy walls. You look down and see a bulge poke your lower tummy with each deep stroke of his. The sight alone is enough to have you on the edge again, but it feels different this time, like you cannot possibly contain what's about to happen.

"Hoon—"

"Shh," he silences you, hair a sweaty mess and dripping all over your figure. The squelching sounds of his skin slapping against yours, connected by white strips of slick on both of your thighs get even louder when his pace gets faster, the hand that played with your clit suddenly pushing down on the bulging of your stomach. "Give it all to me, soak my fucking dick—fuck, I'm gonna cum baby, gonna cum so deep inside you."

You cannot stop the dam from breaking, juices shooting out of you so suddenly you're taken aback too, coating his entire lower abdomen in it. Your cunt throbs around him so hard, almost like it's trying to push his cock out of you. You can't think of anything, cannot fathom anything that's not Sunghoon, and his perfect cock, and how good you feel, going completely limp on the bed.

He moans louder than you at the sight of your wetness drenching the bed and his cock. "Fuck, take it all baby. I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm—"

His hips stutter one final time against you, burying his cock deep inside you and shooting his seed in multiple thick spurts as deep as he possibly can, filling you up perfectly. He dips down to catch your mouth in a messy kiss, panting into your mouth even as you two are still both trying to catch your breath from your orgasms, but your lips on his are all the oxygen he needs.

"I love you," you whisper into the kiss, your words finally having found the way out of your throat again.

Sunghoon hums, his body weakened and tired but still hovering above you instead of slumping on you. "I love you more." He gives you a sweet peck like he wasn't just putting you through the matters moments ago. "You were perfect, baby. Did so amazing." He lets his body go beside you on the bed, dragging you between his arms and grimacing when the wet mess you made on the covers touches the back of his body. "A rag won't be enough."

You smile, weak but content. "And who's fault is that?"

Sunghoon pretends to think about it, but from the look on his face you can tell the answer is ready on his tongue. "I think it might be yours for being too hot I couldn't help myself."

You swat your hand on his chest, but there's no force behind the gesture.

"Aaand for making me jealous."

A groan leaves your lips, your arms coming up to cover your face. "How am i gonna ever face Jay again after this."

Sunghoon's chest vibrates against your skin. "You'll think about that after I clean you up."

You make a low noise of complaint, rolling over to push yourself on top of your boyfriend's body, hands resting on his toned chest as you reach for his huge cock and slowly sink yourself onto it, head thrown back in pleasure even if it's not fully hard anymore. Sunghoon's breath catches in his throat as he watches you lower yourself against him again, your head finding refuge on his shoulder. "Later."

You stay like that for a while, breaths slowly synchronizing in the peaceful quiet, Sunghoon's cock comfortably nested in your heat while his fingers lazily ghost over the entire expanse of your back. You could fall asleep at any moment, but you raise your head one more time to look at your boyfriend, his half lidded eyes meeting yours instantly. "You did not strike me as the type of guy to edge himself that much."

"Just go to sleep."

BONUS

You roll over to tentatively search Sunghoon's bedside table, ignoring the sound of the lube bottle hitting the floor, until the cold screen of your phone meets your spread hand.

Sunghoon is snoring lightly behind you, his nose nuzzled against your nape, and you hope to not wake him up as you unlock your phone. You recoil when the light that feels like a million suns momentarily blinds you, but even that is not enough to discourage you from completing the life-or-death task ahead of you.

You open up messages—promptly ignoring Jay's "never do this shit again. you two are nasty."— and click on Jungwon's chat, not wasting time to watch the several unloaded video files sitting in it (you can easily recognize the blonde silhouette of Jake's hair in half of them, so you're free to assume it's nothing of particular importance anyway) to type a quick text.

05:34 AM. You: mission accomplished ;p (cancel the hiking thing we planned for next week unless you carry me yourself. your girl can't walk)

Shockingly enough, he replies within the minute.

05:35 AM. twin: you shameless being (a whole week is crazy)

05:37 AM. twin: whatever, but I'm dragging you out for brunch so you figure out your means of transportation yourself. we need to catch up

05:38 AM. You: crazy night for both of us i assume

05:38 AM. twin: oh you have no idea

[fairyofshampgyu]

☆ Captive Royalty !

genre: crack, royalty au, fantasy au, smut, fluff

pairing: sub prince ! beomgyu x dom afab poor reader ?

synopsis: desperate times call for desperate measures…so you kidnap the prince of the kingdom and he turns out to be more of a handful than you expected.

warnings: kidnapping !! sub beomgyu, dom reader, beomgyu gets drugged, slight knife play, bondage, ropes, degrading, choking, riding, creampie, hand job, kinda dollification, overstimulation, hair pulling, orgasm denial, finger sucking ? (this sounds really dark from the warnings but it’s kinda unserious and silly and consensual)

word count: 4.6k

Prince beomgyu lets out a long, theatrical sigh, wandering aimlessly and weaving through the bushes and trees of the mystic forest a few metres away from the castle, needing a break from his duties even for just a second of reprieve. The air smelled of damp earth and fragrant wildflowers. Butterflies flitted their pretty wings lazily around him as he stepped over a cluster of bluebell flowers on the mossy floor, where mushrooms were also scattered of all different shapes and colours.

As he ventured deeper into the forest, vines and ivy curled around the tall tree trunks, practically moving and alive, shaking loose pink petals off the branches and falling atop beomgyu’s long hair instead.

He stops when he comes across a small, crystalline pond tucked away, watching as purple dragonflies hover over the surface, lily pads and petals floating on top and, beneath the clear water, koi fishes whose colourful scales practically glowed, swimming and flicking their tails elegantly. Beomgyu stood there for a moment, captivated by the tranquility of the scene. For a small second, it was as if he could finally forget everything.

But then, he mutters to himself, scowling. “I swear to the gods, hate the court, hate those stupid advisors. I hate them all.” Prince beomgyu kicks a pebble rather aggressively into the pond in his frustration.

A tiny fairy emerges out of the water, angrily screaming, hovering and pointing, coming very close to his face high pitched in a language he cannot understand, then vanishes in a puff of glitter.

Beomgyu stares blankly, then merely shrugs.

Instead, he takes a look back at the ethereal scenery, the forest nothing short of enchanted. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head back, basking in the golden sunrays peeking through the canopy, inhaling deeply.

But his moment of peace is abruptly interrupted when he feels a cold, sharp blade pressing against his throat.

Beomgyu’s breath catches, eyes snapping open to meet a much less aesthetic view: A dagger, pressed very intimately underneath his jaw and already practically digging into his adam’s apple, “What the fu-”

“Don’t move.” Came the voice behind him.

Oh my god. He’s going to die. This is where prince beomgyu begins to panic, immediately stripping himself of his jewellery and any valuables, tossing them onto the grass, hastily. “Here! Take it! Take all of it! Please! Just not my face! I’m too handsome to die!”

You stare at him, baffled beneath the mask you were wearing, almost forgetting to keep the dagger steadily pointed at him.

“I’m not robbing you.” You say flatly. “I’m taking taking something far more valuable...”

There was a moment of silence as he looks at you cluelessly.

Then he gasps. “You’re taking my hair?!”

“I’m kidnapping you.” Tightening your grip on the dagger, you roll your eyes, grabbing the cloth from your bag, shoving it over his nose and mouth, drugging him.

“Mmfph!” The prince protests, flailing but then his eyes roll back and his limbs go limp, simply falling unconscious.

You warily eyed up the prince who now sat unconsciously tied to a chair in your cottage, head lolling to one side.

Surprisingly, it was much easier kidnapping the prince of the kingdom than you had imagined. He didn’t put up much of a fight, nor were there any guards around him, or any witnesses at all. Quite underwhelming really.

But at least everything was going even smoother than planned, you’d even written the ransom letter and had already sent it off to the king. Now you just had to wait and soon it would all be yours.

You study the prince’s face. You’d never seen him before, too preoccupied and shut away in your cottage in solitude. You didn’t care for them. Besides, what have the royals done for you other than tax you and steal all your money? Why were they even praised anyway? They just sat around doing nothing really. It was practically their fault for your situation right now.

Other than that, the prince was almost achingly pretty. He had quite handsome features, long, thick eyelashes that practically kissed his naturally flushed cheeks, perfectly round, plump lips, messy bangs falling effortlessly over his brows. His regal attire, though a little dirtied from the abduction, still extravagant, embroidered with gold thread and intricate patterns. He looked dainty and fragile all tied up. The prince reminded you of a doll.

A quiet groan breaks the silence and your staring. The prince stirs, lashes fluttering before his pretty eyes slowly blink open, dazed. He takes in his surroundings, strangely without much alarm, gaze sweeping across the decrepit interior of your cottage before landing blankly on your black cat perched menacingly on the window sill. They have a tense, silent stare off before his eyes make their way to you, looking you up and down since he hadn’t seen your face properly before, eyes raking over your figure with a brow raised. He looked almost…amused?

You supposed you didn’t cut the most terrifying figure. No scary scars, no missing eye or other limbs. Just plain clothes, a dagger at your hip, and an unimpressed expression.

The prince speaks up. “Are you part of a rebellion? Do you want to overthrow the monarchy?”

“No.”

He lazily grins, eyes trailing down to the ropes binding him. “Hmm. Then this is… a little provocative, don’t you think?”

“The hell.” You furrow your brows at a loss of words. “No! Ransom. This is for ransom! ”

“Ah.”

“You’re the prince. Your face is probably worth more than my entire life. When your daddy finds out his beloved son has been captured, I’m sure he’ll give me all the money I ask and you’ll go back to your fancy castle.” You lean back, sighing, just imagining how much gold you’ll accumulate soon, “Don’t worry, your kingdom will pay good money to have you back.”

The prince snorts. “Will they?”

You frown. “…Yes?”

He gives you a pitiful look, “I hate to say it but I think they’ll be more relieved than horrified I’m gone, to be completely honest.”

You cross your arms in confusement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” He says, shifting in his restraints, “that my father finds me to be an insufferable disappointment. If you think he’s going to shell out a fortune to get me back, you’re sorely mistaken. No one in that castle can stand me, too much of a ‘troublemaker’ or something apparently.”

You stare at him. “You’re joking.”

“Wish I was.” The prince replies cheerfully. “You should have kidnapped my brother Prince Huening Kai instead. They would have had a heart attack. If you’d taken him, they’d probably have sent an entire army after you by now.”

“I wasn’t even aware there were two of you.”

“Five actually.” He adds, “Maybe you should have done some research before kidnapping royalty.”

You roll your eyes, “Well, which one are you then?”

“Prince Beomgyu!” He beams, grinning widely, looking proud and smug, his expression entirely too relaxed for someone tied to a chair in a stranger’s cottage.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as you were beginning to think.

It had been days.

And absolutely nothing.

No guards barging down your door, no royal army marching through the forest, no frantic messenger bird clawing at your window with a desperate letter from the king, promising to give you all the money in the land for his poor son back.

Just pure silence.

You were starting to think either something happened to your messenger bird on the way or gods forbid, they really, truly didn’t want him back.

“I told you.” Beomgyu’s voice was maddeningly smug from where he was still bound to the chair. “Face it. They don’t want me back.”

You put a hand to your hip. “You’re lucky I haven’t gagged you.”

“Oh?” The prince raises a brow, smirking.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Gods. You’re disturbed.” You turn away to check the kettle heating by the fire. You were going to need tea. Lots of it.

You take a tea cup in your hand, pouring the earthy, floral brew that you had foraged from the forest, steam rising in swirls and you bring it to your mouth to drink. The warmth seeping through your fingers and into your chest, making you slightly more calmed about this whole maddening situation. Beomgyu’s eyes are on you the entire time. You supposed you could give him some too. “Here. Have some tea.”

“Can’t exactly help myself, can I?”

You huff, rolling your eyes, walking over to him, bringing a cup to his soft lips for him to sip and he looks up at you with a teasing glint in his eyes almost like he’s heavily enjoying that you’re doing this for him.

He swallows, furrowing his brows and smacking his lips together, savouring the taste. “Ooh Peasant tea. I like this. It’s very different to how all of my many chefs have made it for me.”

You cross your arms, nodding in approval, “It’s the best. Practically survive on it.”

He seems amused by your love for tea, nodding, sipping some more until he’s finished and you place the cup back on your counter.

You study him intently, intrigued. “So, why were you sulking around so much by the pond, kicking rocks at fairies before I—well, pointed a dagger at your throat.” There’s no easy way to describe the situation.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to! How was I supposed to know there was a fairy there?” Beomgyu protests, finding it humorous. “But, they’re forcing me to marry some princess from some other kingdom. I don’t even know her. I don’t want to get married at all.” He grimaces, staring at the ground with furrowed brows. “I hate being a prince. I have no freedom or say in anything. It’s so suffocating. I must act in a certain way, all these duties, now marriage. I don’t want any of it.” Beomgyu looks uncharacteristically and genuinely upset about it, the most sad you’ve seen him, and that’s you holding him captive.

You blink, then almost laugh. “Wow. Poor you. You really have the worst life. Must be so hard having all your meals cooked and servants at your beck and call, sleeping in a massive bed with silk sheets. In a castle. Truly.”

The prince furrows his brows at your mocking tone. “You don’t get it. It’s not all that great, you know.”

Your scoff, crossing your arms. “No, I get it. you’re incredibly privileged for those to be your only problems.”

He sulks at you, shrugging. “I guess so. I’d still rather have your life though, a peaceful, mundane, peasant life.”

You give him a flat look, nearly amused at his comical, out of touch words. “It’s far from peaceful. I’m incredibly in debt at the moment and owe money to lots of people, scary people I can’t even begin to repay. I’m doing this because I need the ransom money. You wouldn’t last a day in the real world.”

“I would!” He heavily pouts at you, taking offence. It’s almost endearing. “Anyway honestly, being held hostage has been much better than any day at the castle.”

You shake your head at the prince, sighing.

Beomgyu talked. A lot. About the castle gossip, about the ridiculous scandals of the court, all their carefully polished lies sold to the commoners, about all his other brothers, Prince Yeonjun’s scandalous new affair.

You were very entertained, the tea you make, since it seems to be one of the only things he likes, and these conversations weirdly happening regularly.

“I swear to every god in existence.” Beomgyu had said, with all the endearing dramatic flair of someone telling ghost stories with a candle, “Prince Yeonjun was caught HALF NAKED, sneaking out of the royal astrologer’s tower.”

“No way.” You gaped, sipping on your tea.

He grins, victorious, revelling in your shocked expression. “Swear on my crown. I don’t even know why I’m the one they call troublesome.”

Somewhere along the way, you’d begun to like having beomgyu around, in a way that both irritated and intrigued you.

He was for sure a bratty prince, complaining endlessly about almost everything, the chair, food, the ropes digging into his skin (you had tied them more gently), dramatically whining about a small splinter he got because of the chair (you actually took it out for him and gave him a bandage).

But…for all his whining, very strange comments, and being a royal pain in the ass, (and though you wouldn’t admit it aloud), the strange companionship he offered, despite the messed up predicament, was starting to feel…maybe comforting? when you’d had nothing in the past but your cat, living alone in your cottage.

He’d become company. Real company. It had been so long since you’d had that.

You had one thing in common, you both hated your realities and wanted to get away. And you could, if this damn king would send you the ransom money and come collect his son. You’re honestly astonished. Would they even come for him? What were you supposed to do with him if they never come?

“Ughh.” Beomgyu groans dramatically, wiggling his tied hands pathetically. “I’m suffering.” He says with such an exaggerated pout it was almost impressive.

You turn around to look at him, wondering what it was now.

“My bangs are all in my eyes. I can’t see anything and I can’t move them away.” He blinks at you. Then, very deliberately, batts his lashes, those ridiculously long, doll-like lashes. “You kidnapped me.” Beomgyu says pointedly, deadpan. “The least you could do is brush my hair out of my eyes. Basic courtesy.”

You raise a brow. The audacity. But with a long sigh and contemplation, you wandered over, standing before him. He blinks up at you, the brown strands of his hair over his eye, genuinely a little pathetic and silly looking.

You brush your fingers through his messy strands gently, absentmindedly. His hair was so soft. His pretty brown eyes locked with yours, eyes following your face, unblinking, unusually quiet for once. Close.

And gods, was he pretty.

Your touch lingered longer than probably necessary, tucking the last of his bangs behind his ear, fingertips brushing against his warm skin. You swear the tips of his ears were pinker than usual too.

You finally step back, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest, you could only scowl at him.

Your kidnapping had been, by all accounts, a complete and utter failure. It had not been the most fearsome hostage situation either, your intimidation tactics quite lacklustre, no violence, no torturing, and no damn money.

Even your cat had gotten used to him by now, seemingly liking him, curling up often in his lap, purring contently and napping. And worst of all, You were getting used to him too.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting a warm orange glow in your small cottage. The evening had settled in, quiet and still, except for the rhythmic, repetitive sound of your knife chopping into carrots on the cutting board for a stew.

“Well,” Beomgyu drawls from his usual spot, arms bound behind his back and chair, voice cutting through through the ambience. “you know. You’re not exactly what I expected.”

“Why, disappointed?” Your eyes don’t leave the cutting board, still chopping and unfazed.

His lips quirk into a lazy grin. “Hardly.”

That makes you pause mid-slicing the vegetables, turning around with an incredulous look, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Perhaps. You’re easy on the eyes.” The fire flickers and reflects in beomgyu’s deep brown as you as you stare at him and you catch mischievous glint in them too.

“I’ve quite literally kidnapped you.” You fold your arms.

He shrugs in his restraints, “I know you won’t hurt me. You haven’t tortured me once. Not even a little.”

A slow smile makes its way across your lips, brow raising at what you hear, amused. Instead, you reach for your dagger, making your way towards beomgyu and his gaze follows your every movement.

“Oh?” You slowly flick some of the locks of his soft hair out his face with the sharp tip of the dagger, his breath catching in his throat at that, eyes slightly widening. Then you trace the blade leisurely along his cheek, the prince shivering at the feeling of the steel on his skin. “How are you so sure?” Beomgyu swallows, breath hitching almost looking scared for a second, but then he smirks, thrilled, eyes never leaving yours and yours never leaving his. The two of you locked in a stare now, the eye contact, quite intense.

“You like me.” Beomgyu simply grins impossibly wider.

“Like you?” You echo, sceptically, scoffing at his words. With deliberate slowness, you trace the dagger across his jawline, advancing down his pretty neck, pressing the sharp edge down a little hard—not enough to cut but enough for him to feel it and dip into his soft flesh, his skin prickling up and chest rising and falling, all tensed in anticipation. “Are you sure you don’t like me?”

You point at the now growing tent in his pants that was too hard to ignore. A violent red flush creeps over his cheeks, embarrassed as you cast a deliberate, judging glance downwards with an arched brow. How incredibly absurd. You’re pointing a knife at him and he’s getting turned on.

He purses his lips together for a second, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows but then he runs his mouth again, voice a little breathless, but he grins regardless, “What are you going to do about it?”

Where on earth does he gain this confidence from?

“Leave you. That’s disgusting.” You say, pulling your dagger away in theatrical repulse and moving away from him.

Beomgyu instantly splutters in panic, thrashing helplessly against his bonds, pathetically pleading, eyes wide. “B-but! Wait! Please. It hurts!”

You smile, satisfied, stepping closer to him once again. That’s more like it. “Why should I?”

He just looks up at you so severely desperate, so pitiful. Your eyes flicker down to his slightly wobbly lips and then back up at his panicked eyes. And as if drawn by some invisible force, definitely not of your own doing, you grab and tug at one of the ropes, impulsively leaning down to kiss him, he kisses back instantly, fervently, surging forward and leaning into the kiss as much as his bindings would allow, lips crashing together, all heated and messy, needy and sloppy, beomgyu whines softly into your mouth and gods help you, it does things to you. You bite down on his plump lower lip until he gasps, shoving your tongue down his, dominating the kiss and he just lets you.

You then pull away, he still tries to chase your mouth back even when you pull away but you move to his throat, trailing your lips down his neck, ghosting over, he tilts his head back obediently, warm breath sending him shivering before you bite and suck harshly.

“Please.” He pants, delirious, so worked up already, eyes squeezed shut. “Touch me. Please.”

How could you refute? He squirms in his chair when you begin to palm him through his pants, already embarrassingly hard, gasping so loudly, jaw going slack just from that. Beomgyu bucks helplessly into your touch as you continue to teasingly grind your palm, kissing and sucking on his neck again, he’s all just needy whines and whimpers, pleas falling from his lips for a little more.

You love his reactions and the pathetic noises he makes, so worked up from a little friction on his clothed dick. You want more of it, you want to break the pretty little prince. You sit in his lap, unzipping his pants before him, cock just as pretty as every other part of him, leaky, wet and red, you brush your thumb over his cute tip, spreading the precum teasingly slow, watching his face.

“Oh…” Beomgyu looks down himself, brows knitting together, shuddering and groaning softly.

The sound when you wrap your hand around his cock and glide your hand up and down is impossibly loud over the crackling of the fire in your cottage, sticky and squelchy and the prince already seems far gone from the slow pumping, unraveling at the first stroke, pupils blown wide, glossy lips parted. How dirty.

“Did you seriously get hard from your captor threatening you with a dagger? You’re fucking sick, beomgyu.” You ridicule him in a faux saccharine tone, hand pumping his dick faster, twisting around the tip that he’s panting now, his head dropping forward, resting and falling on your shoulder, you bring your other hand to stroke at his hair. You can tell he’s close, moaning out prettily.

He still manages to bite back though like the brat he is so clearly he’s not that much of a mess you like you want him to be, he lifts his head back to look at you. “You’re the one who kidnapped me. You’re sick.”

“Fine then. If I’m so sick, I’ll stop.” You still your movements on his dick, pulling your hand away. He wails, loudly crying at that, trying so hard to move, pulling uselessly at the ropes to chase your hand but he can’t.

“No! Please. I’ll die.” There he goes being so dramatic again, tears brimming in his panicked doe brown eyes, hyperventilating. The fact that this is the most distressed he’s gotten being kidnapped is honestly concerning. “Please,” He rasps, wrecked, dazed “fuck me.”

You cruelly laugh at the sight, tutting. “Such crude words coming from a prince...”

He just whines frustratedly in response, exasperatedly frowning like he’s having a tantrum.

“Aw. What a poor little prince.” You mockingly coo at him, stroking his cheek but he leans into it anyway, yearning for more, wanting any sort of touch from you now, you drag your teeth against the lobe of his cute pink ear licking, goading him. He shivers at that, sucking in his breath.

“You’re torturing me!” Beomgyu comically pouts.

“I thought you said I wasn’t torturing you at all.”

“Well now you are. You’re killing me. I’m going to die.”

“This is what you call torturing?” You chuckle incredulously.

“Yeah. Fuck me now.” Beomgyu looks like he might combust if you so much as deny him another second, his cock twitching in the open air, painfully red and glistening. You haven’t touched him in what? Seconds? But it feels like an eternity to him. “Just…please—”

You don’t even wait to hear more of his insufferable begging, you lift your skirt and hips up, pushing your panties to the side and sinking down on his dick unceremoniously, it nearly knocks the wind out of him, gasping sharply, mouth hanging open.

“Holy shit.” He groans. “You’re, oh my god—”

Beomgyu throws his head back, practically going cross eyed at the feeling of your warm tight pussy around him. You start to bounce on his cock continuously, riding him and holding onto his shoulders roughly to stabilise yourself., beomgyu moaning shamelessly loud, high pitched and strangled like a girl, dumb and dazed, drooling onto you at the feeling of your pussy.

You bring your hand to his cheek, kissing beomgyu hard, hands tangling in his long hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he sinfully and filthily moans into your mouth. Then he pulls away.

“Choke me.” Beomgyu licks his swollen lips, looking at you sexily, eyes half lidded.

“You’re perverted.” But your hands wrap around the column of his delicate, pretty neck, now marked and mauled. Beomgyu exhales a shaky breath like it was all he wanted.

“Ah…harder.” Beomgyu gulps, pretty Adam’s apple moving as he does so.

You squeeze harder around his neck and he hisses, furrowing his brows, face scrunching up gorgeously, a pretty vein in his neck popping out. His eyes roll to the back of his head, gasping for air, letting out breathy noises, face and neck flushed, you press down just a little more, still bouncing on his cock, deliberately clenching around him. You feel him twitching inside you and then he cums, whole body convulsing, spilling his load inside your pussy.

But you don’t stop, bringing your hand to his shoulders roughly again, digging your nails into him, fucking him through it. He whimpers painfully, straining against the ropes, but he can only helplessly take whatever you give him.

“stop!—ah! too much, too sensitive…” Beomgyu sniffles and sobs, gasping at the overstimulation, babbling incoherently.

“No it’s not. You were begging to be fucked, now it’s too much for you?” You tighten your grip on his shoulders.

He’s about to whine and complain but you take two of your fingers, stuffing them in his mouth to shut him up, he sorrowfully sucks on them like a slut instead, moaning around them whorishly, gazing up at you with teary watery eyes and his pretty wet swollen lips. Gods. Just looking at the state of him, pretty, writhing, helplessly tied up, it’s making you go insane. He still looks like a doll, face red and rosy, dolly lashes thick fluttering and clumped together with tears, soft hair now all messy, bangs damp and all sweaty. A wrecked, cracked porcelain doll, your doll, yours to ruin and play with. He looks divine. What a whore of a prince.

You bounce on his dick mercilessly, riding him faster and faster and faster to get yourself to reach your high too, bringing your finger to your clit, rubbing. One final look at beomgyu’s face, pitiful doe eyes and sucking on your fingers and that does it, cumming around his twitching dick. With a muffled scream and sob, beomgyu’s cumming again, looking like he’s going to pass out, spurting and shooting more of his warm and sticky white ropes of cum into you, cumming so much, it’s all creamy, completely milking him dry, his whole body shaking beneath you and his chest is heaving like a drowning man, gasping for air.

Only then do you reach for your dagger again, slicing the rope, slithering to the ground. Beomgyu falls forwards instantly, collapsing into your arms, gripping and clinging to you, trembling like a leaf, hands roaming all over you and hugging you tight, the first time he could actually touch you. And beomgyu kisses you so desperately over and over, like he’s starved, hands shaking, clutching your clothes, you keeping his cheeks feeling equally starved.

But your kissing is interrupted by a messenger bird throwing a scroll with an unmistakable royal crest through your window. You get up to read it:

An armed procession will arrive by nightfall to collect our Prince Beomgyu in exchange for the agreed ransom.

— His Majesty, the King.

“Are you…going to return me back then?” Beomgyu says quietly, like he already knows the answer and is fearing it, his shoulders are slumped, already looking miserable and like a devastated puppy, thinking about having to return back to living in the castle.

You think for a moment. You fold the scroll neatly, setting in on the table. “No.”

Beomgyu blinks, “No?”

You smirk. “I’m taking something far more valuable.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen, and then stars. His eyes practically lighting up, sparkling, you could practically see his tail wagging if he had one.

You both start giggling like idiots.

By the time the army reaches your cottage that evening, it is already abandoned.

And somewhere, gods only knows where, you’re running hand in hand through the forest, longe gone, cat tucked under one arm, and just enough tea packed to last the journey.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: do not ask what this is 😭 I know it makes zero sense but thats kinda the point it was just supposed to be unhinged unserious crack smut 😍🫶

[cinnamon-won]

30

Time goes so fucking fast. One minute I wrote my first enha fic on here, the next it’s somehow been two years since I started this blog??

I had so many like hopes to build this blog and write frequently because it feel like less pressure than Wattpad or ao3, I could take requests easily and also write much shorter stuff since it’s all based on quick thoughts.

But somehow it’s been two years and I didn’t do as much as I hoped lmao

Am I sad about it? No not really. At the end of the day she’s a hobby but what I AM sad about is all the thoughts rotting in my drafts because I keep wanting to “perfect” them lol

Don’t know what that means, but if you see some spam posts, thats just me finally posting everything I’ve been keeping in my drafts for the past year !!

[fairyofshampgyu]

Now Live ! Stream: 9

Genre: camboy au, college au, smut, crack, ongoing series

Paring: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)

Warnings: emotional distress and regret following a consensual sexual encounter, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, top! gyu, crying, hand job, dry humping, tit sucking, nipple play, possessiveness, overstimulation, use of butt plug, spanking, dacryphilia, strap sucking, beomgyu wears lip gloss, praise, degrading, use of pet names, dollification, choking, slut shaming,

Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he goes to the same uni as you, is even in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?

Word count: 8.4k

You feel sick.

you've been pacing around your dorm relentlessly for 20 minutes now, gnawing at your fingernails, because right now, at this exact moment, beomgyu was streaming. Without you.

And not just without you, but with one of the biggest camgirls in the community: Winter01.

You tried to remain unbothered, unfazed, unaffected, at least, that’s how you acted when, beomgyu, unsure and sheepish, had asked you whether he should go for it. It made sense, she had specifically reached out only to beomgyu and had asked to collab, and that was a great opportunity since she was so well known. If he appeared on her channel, then you’d both gain more popularity and traction on your channel too and make even more money. He should totally go for it. It made perfect, rational sense. It shouldn't feel this serious. it's just a stream. Just a collab.

Except, the thought of beomgyu doing a stream with someone else, being fucked by someone else, someone else making him feel good…it just made this nasty, terrible, inexplainable feeling occur within you. That’s what you do with him. That’s your thing. No one else has ever touched him on stream, not ever, not until now.

You collapse onto your desk chair in frustration, only to shoot up a second later. You stand back up. You open your laptop. You close it. You go back to the tab of the website. You close that too. The endless back and forth, making you go insane.

The notification still glows at the top of your laptop screen like a slap to the face.

@Angel313 is now live with @Winter01 !

You battled with yourself, conflicting thoughts on whether you should click on the stream, see what’s going on. Because, a part of you was dying to know. What was she doing with him? Did he like it? Did the viewers like it? Were there even more views than normal? What if it becomes super trending? Was she better than you at fucking beomgyu? What if beomgyu likes her way more than you? It was genuinely eating away at you from the inside.

But at the same time, you didn’t want to see. It’s best to not know at all. What you can’t see can’t hurt you, ignorance is bliss, you know, all that stuff. Because once you click on the stream, there’s no going back. Did you really want to see all that? You could remain peacefully unaware, let the imagination torment you with glimpses only in your mind, not in high definition, in real time.

But, maybe it’s best to know actually.

Maybe the not knowing is worse. What if she’s touching beomgyu the way he likes? What if he likes it better? At least you’ll know and then you can be prepared if he decides he wants to switch partners and toss you aside because winter was way better.

But can you blame him? Winter is beautiful. And she’s popular for a reason. Even you’re familiar with her, you’ve watched some of her streams before. She’s good at what she does. You like her too. What if it does go viral? What if they have insane chemistry and the chat explodes and people beg for more and they're all like ''holy shit, this is the best collab ever" and they make so much money and everyone likes them both together so much and they collab even more in the future and then he just starts streaming with her altogether instead because she’s so much better? She is a professional camgirl, you were just a viewer, a fan for a faceless pretty camboy named angel313. Do you even know what you’re doing?

You suck in a breath. Alas, the curiosity gets the better of you though, and hesitantly, you click on the stream. It loads slowly and you can hear the imaginary countdown in your head, body buzzing with dread at what you might see.

You get what you went searching for. You’d opened the pandora’s box.

You see it as soon as it loads—Winter’s pretty manicured hand wrapped around beomgyu’s flushed cock, pumping him up and down as he stiffly sat on her pink gamer chair, she’s whispering things you can’t decipher, giggling and she looks so pretty, glossed lips brushing over his reddened ears, you see beomgyu who looks like he’s freaking out over all of this, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, embarrassed, cheeks all pink, shaking slightly, biting his lip. Then you hear it. His voice. He lets out a small quiet, shy whimper and a "P-please...!" That does it.

You switch the stream off instantly, slamming your laptop screen down like it had burned you. You don’t want to see anymore. You wished you hadn’t seen at all, but it’s too late to unsee, the image now fully engrained in your head. You feel even more sick than you did before.

Curiosity really does the kill cat, you guess.

You hate how your chest aches. And it feels far too much like the feeling of heartbreak for your liking. Which is dumb. Why did you care so much anyway? In the past when you didn’t know who Angel was, you would have absolutely loved to watch him get fucked on camera by someone else. He only ever used to do solo streams. Hell, if you knew it was Winter, you probably would have been even more overjoyed and excited to watch your favourite pretty camboy get ruined by another pretty camgirl. You probably would have lost your mind. A small part of you almost misses back when you were just a viewer, when you didn't know Choi Beomgyu, the supposed campus fuckboy was Angel313. When you used to just watch him unknowingly through a screen.

Your nerves are tripled as you wait and brace yourself for beomgyu to return.

You don’t know exactly what you expected when Beomgyu finally walks through the door, but it wasn’t this.

He’s quiet. Too quiet. No grinning, smug from ear to ear, enthusiastic and blushing. No giddy, boastful oversharing of how amazing everything was, like you’d thought. Like what he usually does when he finds something exciting or funny about his day and rambles about it to you for so long with shiny eyes because he can never really contain his emotions when he feels happy and it's always endearing and he always kind of resembles a puppy when he’s like that. Beomgyu doesn’t even meet your eyes.

You get off your bed with wide eyes immediately at the sight of him, standing straight in anticipation way too quickly. Your heart is hammering in your chest, all the questions you wanted to ask blowing up in your mind, but getting jumbled and stuck in your throat.

What was it like?

How did it go?

Was she good?

Do you want to stream with her again?

“Beomgyu.” You start frantically, “How did it—?”

But before you can finish the question, he wraps his arms around you. Tightly. Practically collapsing against you. He presses his entire body into you, hugging you like he’s desperate to melt into your skin and he buries his head deep into your shoulder.

You gasp and freeze, deeply confused, and brows furrowed. Beomgyu is tense, his breath is warm but shaky against your bare neck. Still, your arms move slowly, hugging him back. You hold him, gently at first, then a little tighter. That seems to ease him slightly. His shoulders loosen a fraction. But his grip on you stays firm.

“...Gyu?” you ask, quieter, softer now.

He doesn't answer. You try to pull back slightly to look at him, but he just clings tighter, arms winding more secure around your waist and burying his face impossibly deeper into your shoulder and neck, shakily inhaling and exhaling.

“Hey…what’s wrong? Did something happen?” You run your hand gently up and down his back. Could it be winter? Maybe something happened?

“No.” Beomgyu mumbles finally as if he could read your mind, voice muffled against your hoodie. “She was…really nice, actually. Nothing happened.”

You blink at him, even more lost. “Then…?”

Beomgyu sighs. “I don’t know. It just- It didn’t…feel right.”

He pulls back from your shoulder, facing you now and you see how glossy his brown eyes had become. He looks at you like he’s trying to explain something he doesn’t quite understand himself, like he can’t figure why it’s having such an affect on him either. “Thought it would be like all the other streams, but it didn’t feel the same. At all. I don’t know, maybe I’m being dramatic. But it made me feel... weird. Not like, bad. Just…sort of, empty? Dissociated? I couldn’t stop thinking about—” Beomgyu pauses, eyes squeezing shut for a second before opening again, unsure. “It-it wasn’t…” Beomgyu sighs again. “It wasn’t you.”

Beomgyu frowns at you with a pout, bottom lip almost wobbling as his mouth becomes heavily downturned, and then he hides his face into your shoulder once more, gripping onto you harder.

That stuns you into silence.

It wasn’t you.

“Sorry. It’s weird, I know.”

“It’s not.” You say firmly. You cup the side of his face without thinking, brushing your thumb over the soft skin beneath his eye. He leans into it immediately, almost instinctively, eyes fluttering shut, relieved.

Beomgyu continues to hug you silently in that spot for a while. After a long, moment, he gently nudges you backwards guiding you to the bed and lowering both of you down onto it. He flops on top of you, his cheek pressed right against your chest as if you’re his pillow, arms wound tightly around your waist, cuddling you. A content sigh escapes him when you start slowly carding your fingers through his soft hair, stroking through the strands. His body is warm and so are is slow breaths against your skin, legs tangled with yours and he’s soo clingy.

You don’t know how long you just lie there. But you wouldn’t have been able to get up even if you wanted. You’d attempted to get up earlier to go to the bathroom, but beomgyu hadn’t let you, furrowing his brows in offence and whining annoyed at you loudly, refusing and clinging to you somehow even more.

Despite him restricting you from pissing—it was quite sweet, the way he was acting right now, wanting to be close to you the whole time and latching his limbs onto you like an octopus that won’t let go, making your heart flutter.

And then, after what felt like hours, he moves. Beomgyu slowly lifts his head from your chest, eyes fluttering open and he blinks at you. His gaze roams your face, slow and searching, and his hand comes up, delicately brushing some hair away from your face. There’s something quietly desperate in the way he looks at you. And then he leans down, soft lips grazing yours and he kisses you.

It starts slow at first, his lips moving against yours gently. He pulls away a little, gazing at you again, then he surges forward, kissing you deeper this time, hands moving to cup your face. His lips are plush and hot, moving with increasing fervour, breath hitching as he starts to get needier as time goes on. His tongue slips past your lips and he groans softly into your mouth, kissing you deeper, messier, more desperately like he’s been starved of it.

His hands trail down, grabbing at your waist, your hips, pushing himself even closer to you until there’s no kind of space left between you. His eyes are half lidded by now, lips so swollen and parted. One hand pushes your hoodie up, exposing your tits, lips kissing the space in between your breasts, then kissing all over your chest eagerly and brushing his mouth over the expanse. And then his pouty lips wrap around your nipple, hand groping and kneading the other, moaning at that.

You gasp as he continues to suck your tits blissfully, flicking and swirling his tongue harshly around your nipple that has you squirming, mouthing at you hungrily. He’s drooling and your chest and his lips are all shiny and slick with spit and drool. Then he switches to the other nipple. You feel him humping you by now, rocking his hips against yours, muffled desperate whines eliciting from his stuffed mouth, continuing to rut against you like a dumb, dirty dog.

He looks up at you innocently through his pretty lashes and doe brown eyes, plump lips still latched and wrapped around your tits, sound of him avidly sucking and slurping and moaning, evident around your dorm. He finally lets go with a wet pop, so drooly and messy and then he kisses you again, sloppily making out all wet, still humping you, breath ragged, eyes half lidded.

“I need you.” Beomgyu says when he pulls away from your lips, looking at you so intensely, so gravely. He sounds so wrecked. And he’s not just turned on, although that’s apparent too, but so wrecked and frenzied and needy already. “Pleaseee. I need to be closer to you. Wanna feel you. Please, I wanna fuck you so bad right now, I can’t” He sounds like he’s going to cry. “Let me, let me, baby, please…” He keeps kissing you between every plea, your mouth, your neck, your collarbone, any part of you he can kiss.

You let him because after everything that’s happened today, you want him just as badly, you’re just as desperate for beomgyu. His hands are already fumbling to rid you of your clothes and then his own, desperate and shaky and clumsy with urgency.

You stroke him a few times his cock twitching in your palm as he lets out a broken, pretty moan, “You want it that badly, hmm?”

Beomgyu nods frantically, his hips twitching forward like he can’t help himself, pupils dilating just from thinking about it.

You laugh, “You're so needy.” You bring his dick closer to you, dragging his tip through your slick folds, moving yourself against him, watching the way beomgyu’s face scrunches up, and then beomgyu does too, sliding his cock against your folds up and down until you say he can fuck you.

“Y/n…” He whines, “please, please. Can I be inside?” Beomgyu begs and implores, like not being inside of you right now is the most unbearable thing ever possible for him, like it physically hurts him, shaking and trembling just at the feeling of his wet dick sliding on your folds.

“Go on, baby.”

Beomgyu does not need to be told twice, he wastes no time, lining himself up and burying his swollen fat tip and the rest of his length t the hilt inside your warm, wet pussy. “O-oh, god…” Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut, not even being able to open them, he throws his head back, pathetically moaning out long and loud, gasping for breath, trying to calm himself down, he could cum already.

Just as he starts to move, you stop him with a palm to his chest. You suddenly get an idea, “Wait, gyu.” He stops, whining in confusion, just blinking at you, too dazed.

You bring your phone out and start a stream, filming beomgyu. There wasn’t supposed to be a stream but you feel the urge. You want everyone to see, you want them to know at the end of the day, he’s yours, feeling possessive. You want them to see how he acts when he’s with you.

All the comments are flooded with talk of the stream beomgyu had done with winter previously, but the general consensus seemed to be that most were confused and asking of your relationship with beomgyu, some also debating on who they liked seeing beomgyu more with.

@angelsfav: Wait so you guys aren’t dating ????

@luuvsubs: I always thought they were dating. From their dynamic and everything they did and acted, it seemed like they were.

@31333_fan: seeing angel’s dynamic with two different partners was really interesting and stark haha. I like both so much ! 🩷

@ilovewiinter: I preferred angel and winter. She’s my favourite camgirl!

@freakyyes : winter >>> sorry not sorry 😋

@heartgel: Nahhh he has so much more chemistry with who he usually streams with. He’s wayy more into this 😭 look at him 🫠

“Are we dating?” you repeat to the screen. “No. We’re not.”

You place the phone on your table so they can properly see you both. Beomgyu really doesnt care about anything at all at the moment, he just wants to fuck you. You tell him he can start again and beomgyu begins to move.

Beomgyu fucks into you slowly at first, trying to control himself with desperate, restrained, shaky rolls of his hips like he wants to feel everything, every inch of you, eyes focused and obsessed, entranced with the lewd sight of your pussy slowly swallowing him in. He moans every time he bottoms out, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slack and cute, deep, breathy little cries. You can’t tell if he’s going so slow, moving like this and holding back because he’s waiting for permission, to tell him he can go faster, or he’s desperately trying to savour it, but you want more.

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper into you and hands sliding up his back, clutching at the muscles there, moving and rolling your own hips to meet his as well, guiding him to fuck into you more. Beomgyu yelps, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head at that, a choked moan slipping past his lips, hands placed on the mattress on either side of you, faltering, “S-sshit...!” 

"Does it feel good, puppy?" You coo at him, one of your hands coming to tangle and caress his messy, long hair, loving how he's already falling apart because of you.

Beomgyu nods like a brainless baby, eyelids drooping with pleasure, slurring his words, his tiny lisp becoming slightly more evident, drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth, watching your tits deliciously jiggle with every thrust, "Ss-so goood-ughh. Pussy feels s’ good, so perfect...mmm-ah."

It’s not long until beomgyu completely loses himself in the feeling of you, his thrusts quickly building up in speed, slamming his hips harder and deeper, erratically. “Wanna be inside you forever…wanna be—ahh this close t’you all thetime...” Beomgyu is just blabbering random shit by now, deliriously slamming his cock into your now soaked pussy repeatedly. Beomgyu holds onto you tightly, face falling into the crook of your neck, utterly wrecked, his drool all on your neck now, his moans and groans spilling into your ear.

“Yeah? You’re all mine aren’t you?” You coax him, your own eyes glazed up at this point, your puppy fucking you so well, such a good boy.

Beomgyu’s hands scramble for yours blindly and desperately, interlacing your fingers together, squeezing hard, holding your hands and refusing to let go. He’s still clinging so close to you like a lifeline, like he can’t bear not to, like he wants to dissolve into you completely, all so sticky and hot, you hold onto him tightly too.

“Yeah. Yours. ‘m yours…” He lifts his head from your neck, bringing his forehead to yours, looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Only I can make you feel this good right?” So maybe you are trying to stroke your own ego a bit by now, but you need him to say it, need everyone else to hear it too.

Beomgyu nods and hums, giving you a dreamy look, pathetically whimpering and whining, face contorted in overwhelming bliss, “mmh. Only you.” He squeezes your hand tight at that, nuzzling his nose with yours, forehead still touching yours, peppering sweet kisses all over your face. Your heart feels like it might give out.

Your pussy clenches tightly around him and beomgyu looks genuinely so far gone, so dumbed out, so fucked out from your pussy, his face the most debauched you’ve seen him, groaning, “baby…ah ‘m so close” Beomgyu’s cock plows into you so sloppily, squelchy wet slaps of skin when he fucks your hole feverishly and uncoordinated, continuous strangled moans leaving his mouth by now.

Beomgyu is so incredibly sweaty, messy hair wet and falling into his half lidded eyes, sweat dripping down his sharp jaw, nose and forehead, you’re probably just the same too, if not worse. But beomgyu just looks so good and so hot, so sweaty and so sexy. The sweat makes his whole body glow and shine under the dim light, and god, does he truly look like an angel right now. It’s ironic, so on-the-nose. Angel313. His username. It’s unfair how unreal, how ethereal beomgyu looks.

And beomgyu is so loud, unable to contain his noises of pleasure, he should probably keep it down but you don’t want him to, you adore hearing the sounds he makes because of you. The moans loud and relentless, tumbling out of him uncontrollably, reverberating around the room as well as the slick sounds of his cock moving inside you.

He’s shaking with the effort not to cum too soon, not to fall apart so fast that it embarrasses him. But it’s useless. You know him way too well by now, you’d watched all his streams before, streamed with him too much by now to know exactly when he’s close even when he tries not to, you know what makes him twitch, what makes his eyes roll back, what makes that pretty, loud mouth of his go slack and dumb.

“Cum for me, pretty angel. Show them how good you are for me.”

One of his hands goes down to your pretty folds, thumbing over your clit fast, rubbing in frantic little circles, desperate to have you cumming on his cock too, the other still interlocked with yours needily. Beomgyu ruts into you helplessly like a wild, panting dog, slamming his stuttering hips relentlessly with yours.

“I-I’m gonna c-cum—“ He chokes and stutters out. You bring your hand to thumb at his sensitive nipples, playing with the buds harshly and that brings him to the edge, “F-fuck, baby I-I’m cummingg I’m cumming…!” Beomgyu wails, crying out, he feels his orgasm build in his stomach and so do you, both of you letting go and cumming together, so intense, it almost feels spiritual.

You grab his face, smacking your lips with his, kissing him and swallowing down his moans so hungrily, kissing so deep it steals the air from both your lungs but neither of you pull away, his forehead still rests softly against yours, his sweat sweat dripping onto you. You feel so much of beomgyu’s hot, sticky cum spilling into you continuously, completely milking him and his body jerks, shaking violently. Beomgyu cums so hard he genuinely sees stars, just feeling pure ecstasy and fully, utterly spent.

When you both genuinely need to breathe, you pull away, lips parting with a wet, thin pull, a sllippery, slivery string of saliva still connecting your swollen mouths. Your breaths are ragged, chests heaving against each other, your skin damp and flushed. You reach out blindly, fingers fumbling over the desk until you finally manage to end the stream with a click, not really bothering to look at the donations or comments.

“Holy fuck…” Beomgyu shuts his eyes, breathing out, holding onto both of your hands.

“Quite literally.” You pant, dazed.

You both giggle at that, lightheaded, beomgyu shaking his head with a breathless laugh, grinning tiredly at you, forehead dropping to yours once more.

Beomgyu starts to pull out but you stop him, “keep fucking me, beomie. Isn’t that what you wanted? Said you want to stay in my pussy forever hmm?” Your voice teasing, brushing his sweaty bangs out his face, grinning wickedly. But he doesn’t complain.

“Y-yeah.” Beomgyu just nods, moaning weakly, already fucking and stuffing his cum back into you again with gasped whimpers and whines and wincing of overstimulation, trembling. You really don’t know how long you guys go at it for, all blurry and dizzy, just remembering beomgyu’s loud cries of your name and cumming again and again and again, clutching and grasping onto you.

Beomgyu🪽: did you want to hang out? me, tae and kai are gonna play tekken !! 😋

Y/n🎷: nah can’t sorry. I’m REVISING in the library with a friend. 🤓📚Which YOU should be doing too btw…🤨🧐🫵

Beomgyu🪽: but can’t you just come? Can’t you do that later? I need to beat you in tekken again. 👉👈 And I don’t need to revise, I’m naturally talented in mewsik >_< 🎤🎸🎶

Y/n🎷: what kind of spelling is that. Tell Kai he should be revising rn too wtf it’s literally exam season

Beomgyu🪽: Kai said you’re a neek. Are you really not coming ??☹️☹️🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Y/n 🎷: I’m literally at the library rn, no.

Beomgyu 🪽: who are you with anyway? Music practice room guy?

Y/n 🎷: yeah

Beomgyu🪽: cool, have fun revising.

Beomgyu’s stomach twists. He scowls at your message for a little longer, fingers lingering on the keyboard like he wants to type something else but then he doesn’t. With a little too much force, he places his phone on the table face-down, knitting his eyebrows in a frown, arms crossed, grumbling to himself.

He kinda hates that you’re not coming over. He kinda really hates that you’re hanging out with that other guy instead of him too. Do you not like his company anymore or something?

He really, really wanted to see you today. He’d even gotten extra snacks for you, the ones he knows are your favourite and cleared the space on the floor so you could sit next to him. He didn’t think you wouldn’t come. Is he being dramatic right now? You’re just studying in the library, it’s probably what he should be doing too. But, you’ve never said no to hanging out ever before…you’d still come, just for a bit even if you didn’t want to.

Well, at least he still gets to see you today, because there is a stream later tonight.

“What? Y/n’s not coming?” Taehyun asks from where he sits, crosslegged on beomgyu’s bed, controller in hand, starting the game.

“No.” Beomgyu sulks, sounding very much like a kicked puppy. “They’re too busy studying with this guy they met in the music practice rooms. They’re always hanging out with him lately…” The last part is said with so much bitterness in his voice, muttering and complaining.

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “Do you know who this guy is?”

“No.”

“Have you asked?” Huening Kai chimes in, sat on the floor, back slumped against the bed a controller also in his hand and munching on a packet of crisps.

“No.” Beomgyu huffs. “Anyway. As I was about to say before, I’ve had a really, really big revelation, something highly important.”

Kai gasps, eyes wide. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m not a fucking seahorse.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “I was going to say…” He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales dramatically and finally declares, “I think…I like y/n more than IU.”

They’re both silent for a second but neither of them seem particularly shocked to hear that. Then, kai resumes munching on the crisps loudly again, unfazed.

“That’s your big revelation?” Taehyun asks, incredulously.

Beomgyu takes offence. “I think it’s really shocking. Why are you not shocked? I’ve liked IU since I was nine! She’s my first love.”

Huening Kai gasps dramatically, mocking him. “Even more than Park Boyoung?!”

Beomgyu hesitates. He takes a moment to really think, deeply in thought, as if that was the hardest question he’s ever had to answer, like those moralistic ‘would you rather change the track to the baby or kill 5 people’ dilemmas. “Possibly… yes.”

“Okay wait, no.” Kai sits up, “This is serious.”

“I was saying this was serious before! So, like what should I do? Do you guys think I’m going insane? I’m going insane. I’ve lost it.” Beomgyu grabs a fistful of his own hair, pulling at it and groaning. “I feel like…i feel like the tragic second male lead in a kdrama right now who like, watches the main couple get together in the rain with an umbrella in his hand, smiling even though he’s dying inside.” He doesn’t know exactly when it happened but after he came back from doing that stream with winter, it all became so very clear to him, suddenly crashing down on him. He thinks it’s been happening for a while. And it’s very serious.

“No, I think it was just inevitable from the start.” Taehyun replies calmly, eyes focused on the menu screen, clicking a few buttons, “I think it’s hard not to catch feelings given your situation. It makes sense. I’m pretty sure y/n likes you too.”

“Just tell them bro.” Huening Kai adds, his mouth disgustingly full of crisps as he spoke.

Beomgyu’s head shot up. “Tell them? Ew. Gross. No. I’m not doing that.” He comes closer to where Kai sat, reaching for a crisp in the bag himself, eating it with a pout. “They don’t even like me. They like him. That annoying practice room guy, whoever he is. Ugh, whatever. Maybe I’m just getting really confused because of the nature of what we do. Maybe, I don’t even like y/n. Yeah…yeah.” Beomgyu nods conspicuously, agreeing with himself with narrowed eyes, stroking his chin slowly like an old, beared man, except, he doesn’t have a beard.

“You’re so full of shit.” Taehyun throws a pillow aggressively at beomgyu’s head.

“Oww!”

Taehyun and Kai exchange a pointed look, shaking their heads, maybe it wasn’t going to happen sooner than they both were beginning to think.

Beomgyu huffs in defence, “Say if I did, even I did…tell them. It could jeopardise everything! We’re supposed to be professional partners. If I say something and it gets weird between us, what then?” His chest tightens a little at the thought. You could stop streaming with him, what was he supposed to do then? Continue solo again, find someone else? He already knows now he wouldn’t want to be streaming with anyone else if it wasn’t you. And if he went solo, it’d be boring again, he’d get less money. But it wasn’t even about the streaming anymore, he’d gotten so close to you in a matter of a few months. You’d become such an important person, a staple in his life so naturally, that he couldn’t remember what it was even like before you had entered it. He wants to be close to you all the time. Days without you are weird now. When you’re not around, he’s always missing you. He’d rather it stay how it is now than not have you in his life at all. So no, he’s not going to risk it.

“You should at least find out who this guy is.” Kai yawns, tossing the bag of crisps to the side, taking the controller in both his hands, ready to play now.

“Why?” Beomgyu asks suspiciously.

“To see if he’s way hotter than you.”

Beomgyu gasps, scandalised, beginning to spiral. “What if he is?”

You sat hunched in the computer lab of the library, all your notes and books and manuscript paper sprawled madly on the desk as you desperately tried to learn about advanced music theory and Schenkerian analysis, you have no idea how kai and beomgyu aren’t stressed out right now, your head beginning to hurt as you sat besides haechan who was also studying, a lot more calmly than you.

The library and computer lab was pretty packed and alive since it was exam season, being able to see other stressed out uni students fighting the same losing battle, and groups of friends who were gossiping about their latest traumatic situationship of the semester—very entertaining to eavesdrop on, though distracting as you were supposed to be revising, both you and haechan giggling at the outrageous things you hear.

Haechan glances at what you’re attempting to revise at the minute and pitifully shakes his head at your screen, “Man, I’m so glad I didn’t pick Music.”

You groan, head on the desk, “I can’t do it.”

“Wanna go for a walk around campus instead?” Haechan offers.

You laugh, “you know what, yeah.” Both of you leaving all your possessions on the desk with blind trust, wandering out the library into the late afternoon sun.

Before the walk properly began, you both made a detour to the campus cafe, purchasing a drink to cheer you up a bit more. You think you deserve a little sweet treat, having been at wits end to warrant one.

You laugh and walk around with haechan, drinks in hand and sipping on them, the campus golden and bathed in soft amber light, a pleasant breeze that wasn’t too hot or too cold. The cherry blossom trees lining the main path had all burst into full bloom by now, their pretty pink petals littering the ground you walked on, falling elegantly. Some students were already sitting on the grass, chatting away like it was summer already. It was so peaceful to see, and a great breath of fresh air from studying in the library.

You stop to stare at the cherry blossom trees, pointing excitedly, because no matter how many springs have come and how many cherry blossom trees bloomed when the time came every year, it never failed to always leave you in awe at just how beautiful they are. “Look at them. It’s so pretty!”

Haechan nods in agreement. The temptation of taking a picture overcomes you and you bring out your phone, taking a few shots of the cherry blossoms and the sunset behind, then holding your phone out to show him, proudly.

He leans closer, squinting at your screen, smiling. “Okayy, photographer. You should post those.”

PING !!

Suddenly, you get an extremely loud buzz on your phone.

@Angel313 going live soon !!

Shit.

The notification lights up your entire screen so obnoxiously.

You freeze for a second, trying not to visibly freak out or act suspiciously, yanking your phone away from him and fumbling to switch it off, putting it back in your pocket.

Obviously haechan saw it too, you saw how his eyebrows had creased in slight intrigue. But it’s not like it’s some promiscuous username, it wasn’t like it screamed ‘porn!’ it could be anything for all he knows. How would he know that was a camboy, that could literally be a youtuber, gamer or anything else? Yeah, It’s really not that deep, he wouldn’t think it was deep.

He doesn’t say anything about it, which means he probably didn’t think much of it, he just continues casually walking and talking again, changing the subject and you’re very thankful he never asks. Your heart still thudding in your ears for the rest of the stroll.

Beomgyu sat pliantly beside you on the bed, legs folded, hands resting in his lap, eyes following your movements with curiosity, your hand was on his chin, tilting it up, the other intimately applying coats of your lip gloss slowly onto his lips.

“Ow. It burns! What the fuck.” Beomgyu furrows his brows, hissing. He could feel the tingling sensation on his lips right now and it was deeply uncomfortable.

You chuckle, amused. “Yeah, it’s a plumping lip gloss. And it doesn’t even burn that much. Why are you being so dramatic?” Dragging the applicator across his bottom lip in a deliberate motion.

Beomgyu wrinkles his nose. “Whatever that means.”

You roll your eyes, deadpan. “It’s in the name. It plumps your lips.”

“Well it feels really weird.”

“It’s alright, it’ll go away.” You, apply one more coat then pull back, looking satisfied. You take the phone in your hand, filming beomgyu’s lips up close, “Look at the pretty doll.” Needless to say, the chat is blowing up at the sight of angel in lip gloss, the comments lighting up with strings of hearts and emojis.

ANGEL IS TOO PRETTY WTF JDJDJ

LOOK AT THOSE LIPS ?!? 😩 he has the prettiest lips ever

RUIN HIM PLEASE 💕

You’d even done beomgyu’s hair, putting it into a half up poinytail and adding one of your clips in his hair.

Beomgyu looks so good with your lip gloss on, his lips tinted, glittery, sparkly and even plumper than they usually were. He looked so kissable. God, you wanted to kiss him immediately, ruin him, wreck him. But you stop yourself, you were going to ruin him in a different way.

“On your knees, pretty.” Your voice sweet but commanding. Beomgyu does what he’s told and moves immediately, dropping from the bed without hesitation. His knees hit the floor with a soft thud, looking up at you with his sparky brown, innocent, doe eyes, thick doll lashes fluttering like butterfly wings as he looks up at you.

You bring the strap you were wearing to his mouth, tapping his lips with it a few times, watching the strings of the thick sticky gloss connect to the top of the strap.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

Beomgyu slowly opens his mouth wider, still not breaking eye contact with you. You slowly push the silicone into beomgyu’s pretty mouth. He begins to suck soft and slow without even being told, rocking his head, wrapping his shiny lips around it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you murmur at the sight, hand stroking over his cheek, “So pretty for me, babe.”

He moans at that, spurring him on, looking up at you desperately. Beomgyu’s hands move to eagerly hold onto your hips, but you swat them away, “No touching.” Beomgyu whines in protest but keeps his hands on his lap instead, balled into fists to stop himself from touching you. His poor dick, hard and leaking in his pants by now.

Beomgyu is so into it by now, focused, bobbing his head earnestly, trying to take more, wanting to please you like he’s really making you feel good as if it’s actually your real body, moaning loudly around the strap. When beomgyu moves further on the faux cock, the harness begins to bump against your clit and you try chasing the sensation by pushing more of your strap down beomgyu’s throat, grasping onto his hair and little ponytail to guide him more harshly. He softly gags, tears springing in his eyes as it hits the back of his throat but he doesn’t stop.

“God, you’re so hot like this pretty doll face, taking my cock so well.” You moan from the feeling of it hitting your clit but also at how pathetic beomgyu looks right now.

"Mmph—mmmghd.” Beomgyu garbles and moans around the silicone in response, drool slobbering all on his chin and wet mouth, spit mixed with the gloss, creating a slick shiny mess on his mouth and the toy, teary, pleading puppy eyes blinking up at you.

But you continue to ignore his gags, forcing him to deepthroat the strap, hands roughly pulling at his hair.

You then bring his face all the way down to the base of the dildo, his nose pressing into your lower abdomen and you hold him there. His body shakes, wide panicked eyes, muffled chokes and cries. But you still keep him there. There’s tears streaming down his face, helpless, cheeks hollowed.

After a while, you let go, he pulls himself completely off and splutters as thick strings of drool connect his lips and chin to the tip of the dildo. Beomgyu gasps for air, choking and coughing and crying, wiping at his chin.

You bring him up, seeing how you’d ruined the pretty doll, his cute hairstyle now all messy, clip half loose and slipping from his bangs, eyes glassy, lashes prettily clumped with tears, tears stream still evident on his rosy cheeks, his lips utterly wrecked, puffy, red, slick and wet and swollen, lip gloss and spit all around and smeared. It’s gorgeous.

You kiss him before he can even properly catch his breath, not giving him that much time for air but he melts into it, kissing you back desperately as if you were the air he needs to breathe, spit and gloss smearing onto your own mouth, all tongue and sloppy, whimpering in your mouth.

Pushing him onto the bed, you straddle him as he lays with breathless anticipation underneath you. You’d agreed to peg him today and he’d sucked your strap so well, with such dedication, being so good, you wanted to give it to him already, wanted to make him feel so good.

You throw his shirt off him, pierced belly comes into view. That iconic little hello kitty charm glinting at you from his navel, rising and falling with every shaky inhale as his tummy trembles underneath your touch. Placing your hand on his tiny waist, you marvel at how he is beneath you. You kiss him everywhere, down his neck, chest, tummy, marking him, sucking soft hickeys as he lets out soft little whines, tugging at the sheets.

You move further down, leaving him in his underwear, spreading his legs apart, kissing the soft unblemished skin of his pretty plush thighs, sucking his inner thighs as his breath hitches, so sensitive there, biting, licking, covering, littering and painting them in purpley and pink splotches. Beomgyu squirms and shivers, restless as your mouth gets so close, too close to his aching, hard cock but not enough. “Pleasee.” He’s breathless, legs spreading even wide for you, “just—touch me, already.” Beomgyu whines and pouts. “You’re teasing me. I’m dying over here.”

You roll your eyes but tug his underwear down and it’s like he suddenly remembers something, panicked, horrified. He shuts his legs, hands instantly flying to cover the area. Beomgyu is blushing furiously, face and ears flushed, his cheeks blooming a pretty shade of pink, pinker than the cherry blossoms you’d seen earlier today. He avoids your gaze, looking anywhere but you, so incredibly embarrassed, so shy.

That’s weird. Beomgyu was rarely ever this shy anymore. He hadn’t got this embarrassed since the first time he streamed in front of you.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, opening his legs and pulling his hands away nonetheless.

That’s when you see it— a pretty little bedazzled heart shaped, pink gem, resting snugly in beomgyu’s hole, catching the light like treasure in a chest. What the hell.

You’d never seen it before and it was driving you crazy, in a good and bad way.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, dramatically, scandalised. “You whore! Have you been wearing this all day?”

“N-no! Just a few hours before you came!” Beomgyu squeaks and splutters, face buried in his hands, trying to explain himself as if he’d committed some atrocious, heinous crime. “Couldn’t help myself…and, and—I missed you.” Beomgyu mumbles, sulky, “You didn’t even come today! Too busy with that guy.” He suddenly furrows his brows at you, glaring, indignant, petulant, as if it was your fault.

You gape at him. “You couldn’t even wait? Didn’t ask me, didn’t even tell me, touching yourself without me there…you brat.” You spit out and tut, shaking your head at him. In hindsight, it wasn’t even that bad. You just wanted any kind of excuse to punish him now. In fact, you’re almost salivating at the sight of beomgyu wearing a pretty pink jewelled butt plug.

He lets out an offended noise, protesting. “I just warmed up a little. I was being…” He almost laughs, playing coy, then looks back up at you innocently, “…proactive.”

“You were being an impatient whore.”

Your eyes drag slowly over to the plug again, taking in how pink and sparkly it is, how snug it looks, how his cute tiny hole must’ve adjusted to it, gently stretched and waiting for you, squirming for hours. God. Beomgyu looked so good with it. It suited him so well.

Beomgyu studies your face, searching your eyes and his face slowly turns into a satisfied grin, regaining some of that usual bratty confidence. “You love it. I know you do.”

You ignore him, watching the screen on the phone, turning to the live chat, smiling cryptically. “What do guys think? Should we still fuck him? Or should we punish him?”

Beomgyu’s smug little smirk falters instantly replaced with a dreaded look. But the chat is already flooding in.

Punish him.

Spank him till he cries >_< 🌸

Slap him until he’s really sorry ! Make sure you don’t fuck him at all.

You grin. Almost everyone says to punish him, that he deserved a spanking instead.

Beomgyu’s eyes widen, shaking his head devastated, mortified. “No.” His voice breaks, “Don’t listen to them—please. Please fuck me.”

“They’re saying you should get spanked instead.” You shrug as if it’s all out of your control.

Beomgyu whines again, more pathetic this time, distressed, trying to bring your hand to his dick, grinding up against your hand. “Please—please, baby, I need it so bad, I-i’ve been good-”

You swat your hand away in disgust. Instead, You grip his face roughly, forcing him to look at you, “Do you want to get punished even more?”

Beomgyu recoils like a dejected helpless puppy, knowing he can’t do anything anymore. He slowly flips over onto his stomach and you bend him over your lap.

“You guys are evil.” Beomgyu comically mutters bitterly, casting a betrayed glare at the camera to the viewers before turning it on you. “And you—you’re so mean.” He pouts but accepts his fate.

SLAP !

Beomgyu opens his mouth to say more but his words dissolve into a loud, startled moan as your palm lands on the curve of his small ass with a sharp, echoing smack.

SLAP !

You strike again, spanking beomgyu continuously as he sucks in air loudly, biting his lip, gasping, back arching, trying to hold in the desperate pained whimpers, dick twitching uncontrollably with every smack, thighs quivering.

You spank him again, impossible harder this time, each hit ringing out obscenely, his cheeks painfully reddened and crimson and burning. Sight so pretty with his ass marked and red and the sparkly pink gem nuzzled in between. Your handprint is evident on his ass by now and beomgyu begins to let out muffled cries at your unrelenting slaps, his cock hurting so bad and leaking, rubbing against your thigh from your smacks, smearing his precum there.

“B-baby! Please! S-stop, please fuck me!” Beomgyu mewls and shudders as you still strike him violently, “I-it hurts!” You’re not sure whether he’s talking about his dick or his ass.

“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to be a needy little slut without permission.” You spank his angry scarlet skin again.

Slap !

Beomgyu full on sobs, tears spilling freely from his eyes, hiccuping, wailing loudly, legs thrashing and shaking his head, “S-sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m s-sorry!”

You gently knead the sore flesh of his ass, then let your fingers toy and play with the plug, slowly, teasingly, you ease it out until the widest part stretches him, then pushing it back in his pretty hole with a wet pop, taking it out and thrusting it fully back in his hole, doing that over and over again, fucking him with the little toy, moving it around in circles.

“Ah-ahh—fuck- baby—” Beomgyu gasps, and jolts at the little pleasure, desperate for anything. He lets out the loudest whorish, slutty moans, mewling high pitched, eyes half lidded. He’s such a terrible, weepy mess.

"Baby...you're so pretty like this,” you coo, sweetly, still continuing with your ministrations of moving the jewelled butt plug around in his ass, grinding it in circles and spanking him raw, “you’re such a slutty whore.”

“O-only for- ah! you.” Beomgyu weeps.

You giggle. “Not for your viewers? You’re so ungrateful, angel.”

“Can I cum? Please, please, please. I’ve been good. Pleaseplease” Beomgyu moans.

“Should we let the poor puppy cum?” You glance at the screen, checking what they’re saying, “…sorry baby, they’re saying no.” You tell beomgyu pitifully, feeling slightly sorry for him.

Beomgyu shakes his head wildly, whole body wracked with sobs, shedding so many tears, heart broken. “No! no no no ! I can’t-”

But he doesn’t even listen, it becomes too much and he can’t hold it in, doesn’t even care, in fact, he’s annoyed at you and viewers for being so cruel to him, defiant. The slapping and playing with his hole and the small rubs against his poor cock makes him lose it, spurting and splattering helpless thick hot creamy copious amount of cum all on your thighs as he shudders, whole body convulsing, still crying and sniffling, his pretty legs trembling delicately like a baby deer.

You blink at him. “Did you just cum anyway?You’re so disobedient!”

Beomgyu whimpers, nervous. And there goes the endless punishments beomgyu receives.

You give beomgyu the best aftercare you can after that, praising him and promising to actually peg him next time.

He doesn’t let go of you, insisting on you both showering together, holding onto each other as the warm water sprays on you both, steam rising around, beomgyu groans at the sensation, head looking dramatically on your shoulder, his hair all damp and the bangs attractively in his eyes as he clings to you even when you try to massage his scalp with shampoo, head hiding in your neck, kissing your shoulders and neck soft and tender, making your heart flutter.

Both of you now lay in his bed and you cuddle him, skin still warm and clean from the shower, wrapping your arm around him, bringing him close your side as you play with his damp hair, whispering sweet things in his hair as he sleepily hums, snuggling closer.

Then beomgyu speaks up suddenly, “Hey,” his voice low and soft.

You tilt your head to look at him. “Hmm?”

Beomgyu shifts to face you, head propped up on his elbow, brows slightly furrowed. “Who is he?”

You blink, confused. “What? Who?”

“Music practice room guy.”

You raise your brow, then answer casually. “Oh, his name is Haechan.”

Beomgyu’s eyes suddenly widen, entire body tensed, getting up instantly, “Haechan?! As in cello playing Haechan?”

You sit up too, utterly confused by now and nod then remembering, “Oh yeah, he actually said he knew you.”

“Y/n.” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp, incredulous. “Do you even know—”

But a loud buzz cuts through the room. His phone screen lights up on the nightstand. Beomgyu frowns and picks it up.

Haechan: I know you’re a camboy, beomgyu. I always knew you were a fucking whore. Just wait until I tell everyone 🤣🤣.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️ At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: yipppiiieee !! It’s finally 😭😭 sorry if the smut is just really badly written and messy I was lowkey not there when writing it. Also there’s probably only one chapter left ! So tell me if there’s certain scenes or stuff you wanted reader and beomgyu to do in terms of sex 🤔 Also you maybe confused about the plot twist but there was kinda a poorly excused hint in one of the earlier chapters on who haechan could be and why 🤔 also someone tell me if I need to add more warnings idk what I missed 😭😭

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[cinnamon-won]

Might have accidentally read this without realising it’s the 9TH FUCKING PART

Was so good on its own but now I’ll definitely be going back to read all the parts 😭✋

[simpjaes]

dtf.― p.js , s.jy

Jake isn’t a fucking cuck, but damn if you don’t look good with Jay on you like that. Yes, Jay. His arch nemesis. The stupid toned-muscle, nice car driving, fat cock throbbing, pretty lips and seductive voice having, bitchass neighbor… or the one where jay is a super cocky rich neighbor who really, really doesn’t care if jake, your husband, knows how badly he wants to not just fuck you, but both of you. The only thing better than one brat to jay just so happens to be two brats.

PATREON REQUEST | MDNI

WORDCOUNT― 7.4k

PAIRING― sim jaeyun x afab reader (ft.neighbor brat tamer park jongseong)

CONTENT― neighbor au, husband jake, threesome, smut, jayke action, jay tops everyone, jake only tops you.

DISCLAIMER ― there is a lot of emphasis on jayke and the reader is cucking them. i got feral for a bit, pls forgive. 

NOTE― JAYKE GIRLIES RISE. p.s. Not entirely proof read, i struggled a lot writing a threesome this time, idk why ;-; pls forgive lil ol sj 

SMUT TAGS ― threesome, guy on guy action, anal fingering , pussy eating, cock sucking [jake throats him], overstimulation, jay is a bit more dominant but all three of them are practically a pile of jelly, raw grinding, double vaginal penetration, dick against dick stuff, some guiding/hair tugging [jake receiving], cream pie, squirting

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake stares through his living room window, knowing damn fucking well why his neighbor is outside pretending to pull weeds in his back garden right now. The fact that said neighbor is very aware that Jake is watching him? 

It’s pissing him off.

Jay, the cocky, toned torso, asshole is trying to push his buttons standing out there with his shirt off. He just knows it. Those smirks aren’t unnoticed. What’s worse is that those smirks are always directed at him, right before Jay’s eyes are all over you. Jake’s beloved, his fucking wife. 

The fact that the idiot next door thinks he’s really gonna do something is borderline psychotic. Being so open about it, so blatantly confident?

All he has to do is fucking ask, but no. He’s being sneaky. Jay flirts with you behind his back, the dude brings you the mail before he can even get outside to do it himself, he brings over extra groceries, he does this, he does that…all because he thinks he can like…have an affair with you or something?

An idiot, is what that guy is. A very, very attractive idiot. It’s not like you and Jake are against having fun with a third, it’s just the fact that Jay is sitting here like you’re some trophy to be won when you’ve already got a goddamn ring on your finger. What’s crazier is that if you were anyone other than you, and Jake was anyone other than him, Jay very well may have already been in a full-blown affair with the wife of whatever neighbor he’d have.

And so, Jake watches, he studies. He knows you’re out back with your book, half naked, specifically because you find it funny that, for once, your husband is jealous.

“You’re taking it personally, he’s just being nice.” You told him months ago. “Jake, Jake. Look what Jay brought over!” You had squealed with glee just last week, presenting him with a cute little row of macaroons. “Don’t be silly, he doesn’t check me out.” You have said at least a million times, knowing full well it’s a lie.

Both of you are very aware of the way you defend him for the sake of possibility.

Well then, what’s this? Jake argues in his head, watching Jay practically turn his head like the fucking exorcist to get an eye full of you lying out under that tree. At this point, Jay isn’t allowed to be a third. 

Trying to get his wife to cheat on him?! Hell no. 

And the weeks go by with this idea in Jake’s head. Now, he wakes up at the crack of dawn and waits for the mail. Now, he comes home with extra groceries neither of you need. Now, he mows the lawn perfectly, quicker than Jay mows his. 

He isn’t going to win you over this way, ever. Maybe, if Jay didn’t have such an ego, this would have been a lot more fun. 

Except, Jay kind of does win. Jake mows the lawn, suddenly Jay is planting flowers and offering to plant some for you. Jake checks the mail? Jay gives you coupons from his own stash just in case. Jake comes home with more groceries? Jay just brings you home cooked meals now. 

You’re aware of what’s happening, it’s only a matter of time before you let this guy get some. Hell, even Jake knows it. He doesn’t like it, but he knows you do.

It’s the fact that Jake knows the types of men you’re into. If this guy wasn’t so cocky, always trying to one up him, maybe he’d have told you to run along next door and have some fun. But it’s war now. 

Full blown war.

Even when you giggle at his anger after weeks upon weeks of petty activities. Trying to calm him down and butter him up, all “C’mon babe, ill even moan louder for you.” and “You’re probably bigger anyway, imagine putting him in his place by fucking me.”

The idea is…nice by this point, after all, how else can Jake win? Because he knows how to fuck his wife, and he’s very, very good at it. Jake won’t be the one inviting him in though, no. Nor will you.

If anything, the idea of embarrassing Jay, making him think he’s won the war by getting you to sleep with him only to realize Jake has been waiting for it to happen? 

Now that– that would be hilarious. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It takes the better part of six months for all of this turf war shit to come to a head. Jake almost laughs, watching Jay act like he’s in it for the long run. As if his wife hasn’t been giving him signals since he agreed to the little deal with you. 

“If we let Jay fuck you, you better tell him I’m better.” He had argued. Not at all hurt that you want to sleep with the guy, more hurt that it would demolish his ego to not be able to look Jay in the eye and show him how insignificant his role is. 

You nodded. And now, six months later with that fucking asshole next door constantly thinking he’s closing in on you, Jake senses the sin in the air. 

“Babe, it’s happening!” You had whisper-shouted quickly into the phone before hanging up.

Naturally, Jake was home in record speed, slamming through the front door and rushing to the bedroom. And there it is. Jay jumps back with wide eyes, cock hanging out of his pants as if he’s so guilty, as if this wasn’t his intention. You, smirking on the bed, completely nude, legs spread. 

Oh, you sure got his attention this time, and Jake eyes down both of you, trying so hard not to smile. 

“It’s not w-” Jay goes to explain himself, face going flushed and hair all fucked up as he stands awkwardly with his hands covering his cock.

Arguably, Jake kind of thinks he looks…well…he gets it. He’ll never admit it to you, nor to Jay, but he gets it. Jay  is pretty…he’s maybe even thicker than him too, and his body is toned and near pristine, oh…his mouth.

“It’s about fucking time.” Jake rolls his eyes more at himself than at the neighbor, already lifting his shirt off and flicking his eyes to you. “Was starting to think you really thought you could fuck my wife without me.” 

Jay is stunned at first, that’s kind of exactly what he was thinking. Yet– Oh, so the two of you are into this? He was starting to wonder why Jake never came over to kick his ass after consistently trying to get at you. Now he looks between you and your husband, eyes narrowed, smirk appearing. 

“Wait,” Jay says, ignoring the way you both can see his cock twitch with interest as he moves his hands away from whatever shame he was feigning. “You’re a fucking cuck? Honestly, I should have known.” 

So he still wants to be a cocky asshole about this?

“Oh, no. No, no.” Jake laughs, groping himself as he closes in on Jay. “You will be the one watching.” 

Jay rolls his eyes, nodding as if this is some sort of joke. 

“Right, right.” He nods, then looks at Jake, scanning his torso before arguing. 

“You don’t think it’s weird how wet she already is? I barely touched her–and you.” Jay glances down at Jake’s bulge now, watching how the man rubs against it. “You got hard looking at me, not her.”

Silence. 

Jay’s not embarrassed like he was supposed to be. Actually, he’s well aware that he’s right.

Jake stares at him, you stare at him, and he leans back, stretching his arms out before scratching the back of his head. 

“If I knew you both wanted me–” He breaks the silence, dropping his eyes to Jake’s bulge again, “maybe i’d have come for you first. Smooth out the friendship, then fuck your wife.” 

Why is Jake’s stomach bubbling?

And you. You’re just watching it unfold. Two very beautiful men standing in front of you, gripping their cocks, semi-arguing not just about fucking you, but….fucking each other? About who the cuck is when clearly, it’s you right now?

Oh, Jake’s gonna love him. You think he already does, actually, because you see the way his lip is quivering from here. He does that when he wants to pounce, when he wants to be kissed. You know him well enough, you see his interest, his attraction to the neighbor. All that petty competition turned him to mush within seconds of Jay not backing down. 

“Kiss him,” You mumble from the bed, tracing your fingers up and down your thigh. “Jakey, kiss him. He’s really good at it.”

The best part is, you expected Jake to be in one of his moods. When he’s aggressive, bruising with every touch and kiss, but this is…very unexpected. It’s the opposite actually. This is rare even for you to see your husband become docile, nearly submissive. To watch him act like this especially when you have a third in the room. He’s never given up his control when someone else is involved, unless of course, the third is a woman. 

The fact that it’s towards Jay is a bit more unexpected. They’ve been silently beating the shit out of each other through domestic acts for so long now, you can argue that Jay will probably hold this over his head forever if it continues. 

Toxic masculinity, all that. The competition between men can be very sexy on its own when it involves your body, but seeing your husband practically roll over and be vulnerable too? How lucky for both of you to have someone like Jay living just across the yard. 

You can see it in the neighbor’s eyes, someone who is not only willing to participate, but will participate, will take over, will not back down.

Jay’s won the war, but Jake doesn’t really care as much now that he’s seeing what you see in him. Hell, he didn’t even know the guy likes dudes, and the fact that he said he should have gone for him first? 

Jake is his type? 

Well, Jay is your type, and he’s your husband’s type, and you are their type. 

Isn’t this kind of…great?

“Yeah, kiss me.” Jay finally cuts into the silence, waiting for Jake to make his move, the one that will make him give in, the one that’ll essentially land him in the throne that reigns over both of you. 

How funny is it that Jake does lean in to kiss him? Jay watches, not at all closing his eyes despite watching Jake close his own. Probably to be passionate, probably to let his own desire take hold. Not quite yet though, Jay thinks. As he can feel Jake’s breath on his cheek, his eyes shoot to you and his hand shoots to the back of Jake’s hair. 

He pulls it, keeping eye contact with you as he now, pushes your husband down. He keeps Jake’s face close to his body, making sure he can feel his lips run all the way down, straight against his cock. He holds his head there for a moment, letting it twitch against Jake’s lips before he pushes him down further, sitting him on his knees. 

Doing that was strangely difficult though. He could tell Jake would’ve done it. Right here and now, leaving you, his own wife, neglected with her legs all spread out on the bed just to suck a cock? 

Thirsty. Both of you. Because don’t think for a second that Jay didn’t see how much you liked watching him do that either. Watching him control your husband. 

“Sit.” Jay says against Jake’s near-pout at the act of being dominated. “You’re going to sit there, and you’re going to watch.” 

Jake finally blinks up at him and the look kind of floors Jay a little bit by the time he finally lands his eyes back on him. Like, goddamn, he’s so, so fucking submissive looking when his eyes go all glassy like that. 

Arguably, Jay is already borderline lustfully obsessed with the idea of fucking you, but your husband? After meeting his glare for so long? There’s something so, so arousing watching him submit like this, all while you’re just lying there, smiling, loving it.

Jay holds back a short chuckle, catching his breath in his throat before he breaks his character even for a moment, showing how much he’s interested too. Gotta stay strong for now. 

“Understood?” He tilts his head instead, keeping that grip in Jake’s hair. 

Jake nods, now looking at you. Almost apologetically, but you smile at him with a short nod as well, spreading your legs even wider as Jay makes his way over. 

“Now,” Jay’s voice goes softer when he speaks to you, one palm landing on your inner thigh and the other against your cheek as he crawls over you. “Where were we?” 

Fuck, what a man. You nearly shiver at the touch alone, noting how he’s acting the exact same way as he was before Jake walked in. He’s not acting, he’s not putting on a show to try and one up your husband again, no. This is just…him. 

Maybe a bit rough around the edges, but he knows what he’s doing. He’s definitely gotten around, surely.

“Ah, right.” Jay mumbles with a smile, leaning down and letting his lips rest against your neck with a hot breath. “You wanted me to play with you for a little bit, didn’t you?” 

You nod again, feeling like if you speak right now, it’ll come out dry and raspy. You did want him to play with you, because if you didn’t ask for it, he may well have already been fucking you when Jake walked in. And that was against the rules. 

There had to be a way to hold Jay off. Especially because he was definitely rushing before. 

“When’s he coming home?” You recall him saying when he walked through your front door. Truly, he wouldn’t have walked in if you didn’t answer the door the way you did. 

Bra and panties, all done up like you were expecting him. He’s a little embarrassed at that though, because he instantly got hard at seeing you like that. Like it was specifically for him. He knew Jake was at work. Who else would it have been for?

He asked that without any indication of you actually seducing him though, it was all assumption. And he was right to assume because, well, he picked up your hints for months. Coming over for sugar wasn’t going to cut it anymore after seeing you open the door like that. You looked at him like that.

 He was going to fuck you this time. Months and months of distant flirting had nearly driven him insane by this point too. 

“He gets off work in about an hour but, let me use the bathroom first–” You had said in a hushed tone, full-on acting, role playing with a man who didn’t realize it was allowed. 

Then, you called your husband with the news as Jay was tearing his belt off on the other side of the bathroom door.

You also recall Jay demanding you take him to your bed when you had tried to go back to the living room. Probably to mark territory or something, and all you could do was comply. After all, your husband was already on his way and you could tell Jay knew he didn’t have a lot of time. He wanted to make it count, no matter how quick he had to be. After all, there was a look in his eye, one that made you feel like he knew it wouldn’t be the only time.

When Jake walked in, your neighbor already had his cock out, slapping it against your clit, grinding up against it, commenting on how pretty you are, how wet you’ve gotten for him, asking how much longer you’re going to make him wait, threatening to put it in and render you breathless– then the door opened, and now here you are. 

“Asked me to play with you, as if you weren’t the one playing games with me.” Jay whispers now, a little more aggressively. “No more rushing now, hm?” He adds, slapping his cock right against your clit again before pulling back. 

“In that case–” Down he goes, happy that he already pulled both that bra and the panties off of you before Jake even got home, nosing his way straight to your quivering pussy.

Before he lets you feel it though, he looks back, making sure Jake is watching, getting a full view of his half clothed ass before nodding. 

“Make yourself useful and get my pants off while I do this.” 

No eyes are on Jake as he does as he’s told. In fact, your eyes are rolling back and Jay’s are looking up at you, feeling Jake try and pull at his pants. His tongue, however, is already working wonders. Licking you up and licking you down, between each fold before sucking your clit in his mouth and making it all sensitive, throbbing. 

Jake does manage to get his pants off for him, and he stays in his place beside Jay now, waiting, watching. Occasionally his eyes glance down, seeing his neighbor’s heavy cock hang there, neglected, leaking little drops onto the bed. 

If Jake was smart about this, he probably wouldn’t be thinking about licking it up, yet here he is, surprising himself time and time again with this side of him. He really, really didn’t expect the situation to turn into this. If at all, he should be the one eating you out right now, he should be the one telling Jay to take off his pants. 

Jay should be the one thinking hard about licking cum up. He should be the one neglected. 

“Y’know,” Jay suddenly groans against you, voice vibrating your clit. “If she was mine, I wouldn’t share her.” He continues, going back in for another long and languid lick against your hole, waiting for you to moan, practically forcing one from your throat when he dips his tongue inside of you. 

And he continues that, closing his eyes this time and focusing on the taste, the feeling of what will soon be wrapped around his cock. It’s like heaven, kind of, having you like this while Jake just sits off to the side. He wonders what your husband must be thinking right now, if he’s into it or growing angry. 

 “Especially not with you.” He finally adds, leaning back from you and studying the mess he’s made so far before turning his head back to Jake. “Look at her, how could you just watch someone do this to her?” 

And, well, the look on Jake’s face kind of bruises his heart a little bit, softens him up. He’s still just blinking up at him, almost as if he’s waiting to be told he can come up from the floor, cock raging so hard in his pants. Jay shakes his head at himself before looking at you. 

“Then again, I probably wouldn’t share him either.” He says as he stands on his knees, presenting his cock to you, grabbing your hand and guiding it straight to him before addressing your husband again. “Come up here.”

Jake practically leaps onto the bed now, getting an eye full of how your hand barely wraps around the girth of this man, and he stares. And stares, and almost entirely forgets that he’s the husband in this situation, this is his room, his bed, and his wife. 

And Jay is his neighbor. His extremely, insufferable, sexy fucking neighbor. 

“Look at you.” Jay seethes as he fixes his posture tall and strong above you, lip tucked between his teeth briefly at the gentle grip you twist around the head of his cock. “Both of you.” He adds, now grabbing Jake by his hair again, this time pulling his face straight to his own.

“You still wanna kiss me?” He says now, Jake nodding instantly. 

You watch the way your husband leans in, almost moaning in relief when his lips meet Jay’s. It’s messy, extremely intimate to see up close like this. It turns you on somehow more to see Jake act the way you do when he’s left you neglected for a few minutes too long. Desperate, kind of argumentative with his pouting and moaning. 

Gripping Jay harder, you urge them on, watching their tongues reach the point of messy drooling, their chins wet, Jake probably tasting your pussy on Jay’s lips. And god, when Jay moans into it, probably due to the speed in which you’re now jerking him off, even you moan in response. 

There’s something about seeing him get into it, ignoring the fact that he’s appeared calm and collected this whole time. 

Yeah, he’s definitely getting into it. He grabs Jake’s hair harder, kisses him deeper when you circle your fist at the head of his cock, collecting the precum so you can slide back down to the base. And fuck, when you watch him now, reaching out, grabbing Jake through his pants? 

You whine, wanting more than just lying here watching.They’re so into it and you’re just…here witnessing it. You want them to kiss you too, you want them both on you, working you open, making you feel good too. But you’re briefly ignored in this moment as Jay starts rutting his hips, fucking your fist at a pace that makes it hard to jerk him off. 

And Jake…god, you knew you married him for a reason. Look at him, barely kissing back now, just slack jawed as Jay palms between his legs for him, licking into his mouth before moving down, kissing his neck, biting his shoulder. 

That’s it. You’re losing your damn mind right now, pulling your hand back and sitting yourself up on the bed. Jay doesn’t even flinch at the loss, and just kisses Jake harder to make up for it. 

 Your eyes stay glued to them as you now move yourself forward, poking and podding your husband first, who ignores you entirely because he’s, well, lost in it. Very into it. Still slack jawed, still reeling from finally being touched. 

You move your attention to Jay, poking and prodding him instead, and he pays attention. Grabbing your curious hand and pulling you roughly against him. You smile at the movement, understanding that he’s clearly still the one in control here, and whining for your husband may not be in the cards right at this moment. 

He’s just like you, you’re just like him. 

Just seconds later, you push back again, wanting to encourage more than this, wanting to see more, feel more. You start working Jake’s pants off and practically push Jay’s hand away from him, only now do they both pause, watching your hands pull out his cock. Still he moans at it, skin on skin, and you hold it there, looking up at him, glancing at Jay, then back down. 

“Stop leaving me out.” You mumble. 

Jake finally snaps out of it at that, lips feeling tingly as he watches you, guilt bubbling up that he lost it there for a second. Jay, on the other hand, is kind of reeling at how jealous the two of you get. Yet, still you’re both entirely into him as much as you are each other, it seems. 

It’s only natural that you’ll whine for Jake when he’s too busy kissing the man who is supposed to be on you right now, but no worries. None at all, Jay likes it. He understands. 

“Awh,” Jay coos, pushing his hips forward and bumping your hand with it, making sure the head of his cock meets Jake’s before continuing the act. Rutting again and again, messing your hand with the mix of precum and arousal. “Did he leave you out?” 

They both did, but something about the way Jay’s voice sounds when he asks, so soft yet still cocky. Charming, because even Jake nods at that before skewing his head to you, dragging his own hand down to hold it over yours before allowing Jay to slide his length into the tight space. 

You feel it when your husband leans in to kiss you now, as if he’s apologizing. Too worked up to say it, and can only act on his apology. Warm lips enveloping yours with a heated, near desperate kiss, then he starts immediately fucking up. You can feel it, the way their cocks meet and keep the mess of hands holding them together slick and wet for this. 

Jay is stuck watching this time, and he can’t decide on whether he should watch the way you manage to overpower Jake in the kiss, or the way you and your husband are both holding both cocks so tightly just so he can fuck up and against the under side of Jake’s. 

Jesus. All three of you have a bit of a pit in your stomach, especially when you manage to slip your hand out and allow Jake to control the mess in the middle as you, now, turn from Jake’s kiss with the intention of kissing Jay now.

Finally, you’re not left out, finally, there’s two cocks out in the open, rubbing against each other with a wet, pornographic sound.

“Oh, needy.” Jay comments when you kiss him just as harshly as you did Jake, you can feel his smirk on your lips but he quickly falls into the kiss too. And that’s when Jake absolutely loses it, finding you so pretty, both of you, so, so, so pretty like that when he’s feeling so good. 

And now, a small pause. You pull back for a breath and get a good look at both of them. Their attention is no longer on each other, it’s on you. Both pairs of eyes shining at you as they continue to jerk their weeping length off against one another, and suddenly, you’re shy. 

There’s a hunger in Jay’s eye, a need in Jake’s, and only now do you lay back again, spreading your legs open wide, and using your fingers to spread your pussy out the same way. 

“Jakey–” You call out to him, wiggling your hips and presenting it to him first, “look–”

Jay shivers when he looks first, seeing how much wetter you’ve become.

“Yeah, Jakey,” He echoes your words, grabbing him by the hair again since he seems to like that and guiding his face straight to your hole, “look at it.”

Being guided isn’t something Jake allows often, but he doesn’t mind so much now with his face being nuzzled into a cunt he knows so, so well by another man. Fuck, he barely was able to catch his breath before it was knocked out of him again. He licks out immediately anyway, and makes himself comfortable, hands and knees, lapping away like a happy little pup. 

Jay studies you closely when Jake does his thing, the way you lazily watch him, the way your chest rises and falls with deep, meaningful moans that shows he knows his way around your body, and he knows how to pleasure it. So, now he averts his eyes to Jake, his body, his waist, his ass.

He’s got so much to work with between the two of you. And so, he pushes Jake’s head into you further, roughly rubbing his nose into the mess, making you moan, and hoping he’s enjoying himself because he’s sure he might pull back when he–

Jake does pull back slightly, but that arch in his back doesn’t go unnoticed either. A saliva slicked finger pushes, circling his rim before pushing in. 

“Fuck–” Your husband groans with a shiver, his cheek against your clit, resting his head briefly there as if to prepare of the welcomed intrusion.

And it goes on like that for a bit longer than you had expected. All of this is happening in a way you weren’t expecting, actually. There’s a sense of control here, but it’s gentle, almost careful with intention. Somehow, Jay’s attention stays on Jake, maybe as a form of apology, or maybe to assert his dominance now that he, at the very least, has you where he wants you. 

Your eyes glisten at your neighbor, blinking at him as he pleasures both of you. He seems to be enjoying himself, looking back at you all while using Jake as an extension of himself, and of course, finger fucking him to the point Jake can’t stop rutting back against the pleasure.

Arguably, Jay may not know what exactly to do with all of holes willing to let him fuck them. But, also, none of you are short on time.

This can happen as many times as you want, hopefully. 

“Mhm, that’s right–” Jay groans now, nearly rolling his eyes at how tightly Jake’s ass hugs his single digit. He reaches around him now rather than guiding his head, holding his waist and leaning over him, aggressively fucking his finger in, finding his prostate in a near instant just to toy with it. 

“You ever heard him cry before?” Jay now averts his eyes to you with an amused tone. 

You shake your head, a mess at how fast Jake works his tongue on you through the pleasure, your hands now finding your way into his hair to rub his nose in it even more. 

“Ever see him cum untouched?” 

Another shake of your head. 

“No?” Jay smiles, tilting his fingers up, assaulting Jake’s prostate and within seconds, you note the way your husband starts writhing between your legs.

His tongue is sloppy, he’s moaning so loudly that he can barely catch his breath, and Jay immediately pulls his fingers out before aggressively lifting Jake up and away from you by his arms, letting you see the cum spurting out of him, sending tremors and shivers from his toes to the top of his head. 

“Oh–” You groan, squeezing your legs together at the image, watching Jake grow frustrated at his ruined orgasm despite the cum still dripping out of him. 

You’ve never seen him look so ruined, and the way Jay presents him to you so proudly kind of…well, he really did it. As if on command, making your husband both cum and cry. There’s clearly some things both of you could learn from Jay. 

“Now, stop neglecting her.” Jay’s tone comes out far more demanding now, ignoring the way Jake’s cock weeps with sensitivity now, once again guiding him, except this time, when Jake holds back as if to rest for a moment, Jay’s demands are directed at you. 

“Fuck him.” 

Well, who would say no to that? 

You take it upon yourself now to push your husband back, letting his head hang off the bed as Jay helps you lay him out, and instantly you sit. Grinding your bare, soaked pussy against his half-flaccid length. 

Jake does whine through it, shooting his hands up to you and not even knowing himself if he wants more, or if he needs you to slow down, or to stop entirely. His hands are frantic, breaths are uneven, his eyes going from wide open, to rolling back, to squeezing shut. 

He looks panicked, confused, stunned.

“Stop thinking,” Jay instructs him, whispering sweetly as he pulls himself off the bed to get a good look at the blood rushing to the top of Jake’s head as it hangs there. 

Your husband is kind of thankful, happy to be a bit mindless in this moment because suddenly, it does feel good, feeling someone so familiar sinking down on him all in one go. So wet, so warm, so his. It doesn’t seem so bad to let someone else think for him right now either.

He tries to lift his head to see you still, but he starts seeing lights, going a bit dizzy as you gently ride yourself on him. 

You are trying to adjust as he grows harder inside of you, stretching you open and giving you the fulfillment you’ve been needing since all of this started. You moan, trying to be compassionate about this, especially knowing he’s about to be toyed with even further, by both of you.

Jay nods at you with a smile, as if encouraging you to go faster, to take what you need from him. 

Then his eyes flick between both of you, cock in hand, he stands up slightly, aligning it perfectly with Jake’s lips. Poor guy is so dizzy he probably doesn’t even notice yet, but Jay communicates with you. That same cocky smirk, a raised right eyebrow, and a tilt of his head. 

He’s asking you for permission…to put it in?

“Yes, yes, yes.” You moan as you bounce and frantically nod your head, trying to regain breath at the sheer idea of it. “Baby,” You groan now, unsure if Jake can even hear you at this point. “Open your mouth.”

You can’t see his face, and god how you wish you could because of Jay’s reaction in particular. The way he taps his cock, pushing forward, probably sliding into his mouth now. It’s the way he holds both sides of Jake’s head when he does it, the way his eyes are laser focused, his abs flexing in silent pleasure, his slow release of a very faint moan.

Man, fuck, you’ve always wanted to see your husband suck someone off, but he never has. He’s only ever allowed it to happen to him, only ever made someone else suck him off.

“Oh, good boy,” Jay moans now at the feeling of Jake’s tongue frantically lapping, despite how crowded his mouth is becoming. And he throws his head back at the pleasure, now going to hold the bottom of Jake’s chin, tilting his head back further to angle the position, thrusting straight down his throat. “So, so good–”

Jay notes how he needs to just, like, shut the fuck up now. Even he, at this point, is losing it. This wasn’t something he actually thought Jake would let happen, yet…look at him. Fuck, look at you. Drinking up the image, eyes so dark and crazed that he’s using your husband like this–

That you’re both using Jake like this.

You’re bouncing, riding, chasing, staring off at him as if you’re some sort of feral animal happy to take what you can get Then, Jake, choking and gagging around him as he moans in pleasure at the same time, spit bubbling out at the sides of his mouth, dripping down and into his hair and he probably loses the ability to think at all if his hands are anything to go by.

Scratching at his own body, gripping the sheets, reaching out for something, for anyone to hold him through it.

All that blood split between his head and his cock…it’s so obvious, and you’re still chasing, getting enough but at the same time, knowing you can have more.

Something snaps in Jay as he watches you. He’s lot the plot a bit, taking a liking to Jake, seeing how far he can push the boundary just because he can, almost forgetting how fucking badly he’s wanted you. 

You. 

He hasn’t even fucked you yet, he seriously let Jake do it first? 

“Jesus,”  Jay groans out of frustration now, fucking into Jake’s throat one last time and holding it there as he stares forward at you. He ignores the choking sounds, the desperate searches for breath only because it feels, so, so fucking good.

 “Alright, alright.”

You’re a bit confused at the way Jay talks more to himself than at you or your husband, but you hear a sputter when he pulls back, walking to stand at the side of the bed and leaving Jake to deal with the aftermath of whatever lashing his throat just took in stride.

You pause your bouncing, watching him curiously.

“Scoot back a bit,” Jay says now, helping you scoot back, helping Jake get his head back on the bed so he can regain whatever humanity he has left in it. 

And then, Jay is positioning himself behind you, allowing you to essentially plant yourself back onto your husband before he’s forcing his own cock in alongside him. Without warning, without helping you stretch out more. 

You fall forward with a yelp, now just as breathless as Jake is when you hug against him tightly, burying your nose in his neck, feeling his heartbeat right against your lips there. 

“Jake,” You whisper as you desperately search for comfort, feeling Jay stretch you out. “Oh, fuck–”

Jake nods his head slightly, now willing to take whatever this guy is going to give to the two of you. After all, he’s taken the brunt of Jay’s attack by now, he’s sure you’ll love it as much as he does. So, he wraps his arms around you in a comforting way, essentially trapping you in place, whispering a short, breathless hum of, “feels so good baby, when you squeeze around us like that–”

That ignites you as you nuzzle further into your husband’s neck, unable to stop squeezing around them. It fucking hurts, it hurts so badly, but–

Fuck. Jake wants it. Jay wants it. 

You want it.

Jay watches the mess in front of him, the way you both writhe and cling as he makes room for himself, fucking roughly forward, sliding with intentional pushes to stretch you open just enough to fit all of him alongside Jake.

Seeing your cunt try and handle it, the way you grip, stretch, and instinctively try to push him out? It’s too much for you, but just right for all three of you, he thinks, as he makes eye contact with Jake and gets a drowsy nod. 

He watches the way Jake holds you tighter, forcing an arch too. Ugh, what a good man he is. 

“Yeah.” He moans, now picking up a rhythm as you both start moaning in near unison, “Hold her just like that for me.” 

And, well, you wanted to be fucked by them both but preferably not like this. At first anyway. You shock yourself when you call out, moaning so loudly it leaves a ringing in your ear. There’s rubbing up against something so sensitive inside of you, both cocks pulsing, stretching you beyond belief, and you…like it?

It feels good now. Too good.

Your moans come out as cries as Jay continues, and both men seem to be falling in love with the sound of it. So much so that, even Jake now ruts his hips up with a cheeky smile, encouraged by Jay’s praise to keep going, all so he can feel you squeeze, and squeeze, and try to push them out. 

And goddamn, does it feel good to have a cock rubbing against him in such a tight, wet little hole. Even Jay now starts whining with you.

Moaning, a mess, all fucking three of you. Finally, Jay has broken out of character, fucking forward fast, hard, near thoughless. It renders Jake unusable as he tenses up under you, holding you through it, babbling out filthy words of how full you must feel now that his cum is spilling out. 

“Feel that, baby?” He whines so quietly, and you do feel it. Arguably, so does Jay.  

You’re barely able to breathe through it, suddenly feeling fingers in your hair that pull you back. You can feel Jay’s chest breathing rigidly on your back, and now you both stare down at Jake.

He looks so lost in it, and yet still, Jay demands. 

Well, he pleads.

“Keep going,” Jay directs at Jake, well aware of his orgasm, slowing his hips to keep himself from cumming too,  and groping both of your tits to hold you in place. “Fuck up, faster, let me feel it.” He continues, now landing a sloppy, drooling bite against your shoulder. 

And you watch your husband, something igniting yet again in his eyes as he does just that, grabbing your hips and letting his hips rut up, freely. 

“Fuck yes,” Jay moans for him before biting against your neck now. “You gonna cum too?”

Okay, yeah, maybe Jay is trying to rush it now. He wants to be the last one to release, and if you don’t get there soon, he’s going to fucking embarrass himself. Thankfully, you nod frantically like a good little wife, dropping a hand down and simply pressing your clit before your legs start shaking. 

Both men feel it, the way you tense up, and they both put all of their energy into it. 

You hold your breath through the orgasm, never having felt so full like this. It just keeps coming, and coming until–oh. 

“Ahh–” Jake looks at you in surprise, lip now pulled between his teeth as he throws his head back again, dizzy, so fucking sensitive. His wife just fucking squirted. 

For the first time, you did it. After years and years of both of you trying to figure it out.

Jay doesn’t even know what to think about it, feeling you cum around him as Jake’s cock struggles to keep up through the pain, all around him and against him, the splash of wet pushing out against him, dripping down onto Jake. 

It’s so messy, so fucking dirty.

Holy fuck. He can’t, he can’t keep holding back.

You’re so sensitive when you fight through it, Jake even moreso, and Jay loves it as his hips demand an abusive pace. Pushing in, out, so deeply, so fucking hard inside of you, mixing around the mess of cum before–

The bruising grip on your hip tells you more than the twitching inside of you, and Jake practically starts crying in pain at the rawness of it all. Jay, shaking, releasing all of it with tight, jerking thrusts before finally, he slumps over you. Sandwiching you between both himself and your loving, exhausted, absolutely docile husband. 

Out of breath, out of fucking mind really, you don’t even move. 

You don’t clean up, hell, you don’t even open your eyes after that as you catch your breath between the tight mess of bodies.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

After that day, things kind of…changed. 

Jake is more needy. He’s still dominant for you when you need it, but it’s kind of a welcome change from time to time. Having him act all sweet and sloppy, as if he can no longer control it when the time is right and you’re looking particularly mean. 

Threesomes don’t take place quite as often these days though. With other people, anyway. As to be expected considering no one has ever actually participated quite like he did.

Jay has also become a bit more gentle too. Still openly getting his eyes on you every chance he gets, but Jake doesn’t mind near as much simply because he knows Jay checks him out too. The sexual tension is always felt between houses, and always satiated in one room or another. 

Once even on the back porch in the dead of the night, but still.

The time spent with Jay now is a lot less…um, erratic. Jay learns the two of you the same way you both learn him, and there have even been a few times since where Jake was the one toying with you both. 

Even a time where you were the one in control. 

It’s comfortable, fun, equal. To the point neither of you really look for a third anymore, after all, you’ve got the perfect match just across the yard, right?

Jay: hey jakey boy, come over, bring our wife

Jake waves his phone in front of your face. It’s been weeks since the last time the three of you played. In fact, Jay has been kind of flaky about it lately, responding too late to texts, or simply declining. 

Nevermind the fact that Jay always claims you as his wife too when things get, well, sexual. It’s not like he doesn’t do the same shit to Jake, calling him his husband, chuckling, being soft about it. It’s the fact that it had been weeks, both you and your husband were starting to feel a bit heartbroken about it, actually. 

And when two of you do go over, expecting lots of sex and even more questions about why Jay is being so weird lately, they’re hit with romance?  With dinner on the stove and candles on the fucking table? 

Jay wants in. 

Commitment.

Permanence.