⋮ ⌗ ┆概要⨾ pearl bite restores the smiles of vampires and humans alike, folks travelling nationwide to attain results from the man and myth himself, park sunghoon. running a successful dental practice isn't easy, long hours invested and feeding schedules sidelined. luckily for him, you've never been one to forget.
朴成训 𝔁 𝒻 .ᐟ读者 ── 5.6k
explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、heavy mentions of blood & biting/feeding (sunghoon feeds from the reader during sex)、condescending dom!sunghoon、sub!reader、established relationship、hints of brat & brat tamer dynamics、degradation/humiliation、vaginal fingering、handjob、semi public sex、exhibitionism、breath play、unprotected sex (don't do this)、creampie、hints of pain kink、hung!hoon、size & bulge kink、slight praise & crying、reference to marking/beard burn、an attempt at some fluff and angst..petnames used: perfect/sweet girl、princess.⌇ℳ.list
⋮ ⌗ ┆便条⨾ so...how about them vampire brand drops? 😁 the teasers released so far feel really fun but are so polished and align so well wih enha's vampire concept! their creative team always has my heart. they definitely have my heart for this concept alone, which...i wrote because my other wips were mocking me 😭 perhaps imposter syndrome will give me a break the next time i visit them, but for now, enjoy this corner of my brain :3 haven't written about vampires before, so a lot of creative freedom is taken here! let your imagination run free and as always, much loveeee! <333
Downtown is abuzz, springtime bringing out lifeforms in their fullest, humans on a leisurely stroll and vampires in their element, nightfall cast to upheave the sluggishness of day, canines bared and timeless beauty arresting. On the way to your destination, a concrete jungle of scaffolding and pets on leashes, you stop at an intersection. Cars zoom, traffic lights ticking down until they turn green again. The road, a blur of cars would usually have your attention, if not for the huge billboard plastered above the pizzeria and jazz bar just ahead.
Pearl Bite: A bloodless white, a perfect smile.
Your own faux canines show, tongue run beneath their point as your eyes dazzle at the advert. Specifically, the creator and model for Pearl Bite ─ your one and only boyfriend.
College sweethearts, Sunghoon describes your romance as a sneaky attack on your behalf, nothing but his passion on his mind, only to be derailed. The brilliance of your smile, the heartiness of your laugh, your endless glow he couldn't shy away from. The next century is meant to build upon his newly-found interest in dentistry, open his own practice with amassed generational wealth and give back to his community. His initial plan only accounts for vampires, at the mercy of many cycled conversations of blood-stained fangs and how there's no vampire-equivalent for teeth-whitening. Then he meets you, unknowingly opens himself up more to the human experience, recognizes how they can differ vastly from his own, yet share so many similarities.
You're the most selfless person he knows, a long-line of people served before you're last in line. Amongst the juggle of others' needs and aspirations, yours kind of included somewhere, he learns you're a product of everything you've ever loved and suffered from too. In the months passing too quick for his liking - still toeing the line of friendship(ish) - you bare yourself to him in the late night diner you work at.
The one he walks you home from, drinks the shitty coffee because you've brewed it. The things vampires do for love.
In a dim corner booth, your chin perches on your folded arms, fingers drumming against a table you're yet to clean and are honestly too tired to at this point. It's been non-stop shifts packed into a never-ending semester, and whilst your job's meant to supplement your means of living, it also serves another purpose.
"I owe my mom everything," you start, the bat of your lashes turning Sunghoon into a statue, knowing what's to come yet unsure. Uncertain how to proceed. "No matter how little we had to our name, she always made sure I was taken care of. That if one of us was happy, it was always me,"
Your nose twitches, eyes glossy with a sigh coming from trembling lips. A vague crack sounds in his chest.
He wishes his hand had the kind of warmth you'd lean into.
"Losing her best friend, and in a way, losing me ─ has brought her to her knees," your fingers drum, pupils shaking as you will your tears to only exist before your waterline. "I'm doing as much as I can, but there's only so much to do from across the country. I can't check in on her and the house between lectures, I can't pay for anything medical other than some lousy insurance, I can't transfer that weight to myself,"
"Because at least then, it wouldn't be her burden to bear."
The welled emotions in your chest demand you to straighten, more space for lungs to expand and when stray tears fall, you can only exhale, elbows propped to the table to wipe them away. Your hand falls to the surface in perfect timing, searing skin meeting a cool, steady palm. You're just as still as him, the thump of your heart felt in Sunghoon's fingertips, all the way through to his ears ringing with its race. Only empathy occupies him, remnants of a life before immortality tethering you two together by more than held hands, the quiet compassion he delivers sticking with you forever.
Time has since passed, that corner booth a bittersweet memory. In spite of long-carried pain, you and your mom see brighter days ─ graduation, your first adult job, the return of her smile. Depression has a way of mystifying the future ahead of you, the present clouded in miserable, inescapable grey clouds. To push on takes all the more effort, so things start to give ─ sleep, appetite and the wither of everything else. While she's managed to pick herself up by the aid of you and others, your mom still holds a keepsake she'd rather do without. A dimmed smile you're doing your best to help restore. But in a household where annual doctor's trips are rare, the luxury doesn't come easy. And by the time you're examining what other expenses to cut back on, Sunghoon pitches his latest project.
Pearl Bite, for humans and vampires alike.
Endless trials, modifications, moulds that have bitten the dust and brave participants that bring his dream into fruition. Only now, his dream accounts for not only you, but your mother. Additional modules and clinicals to fit in the study of human teeth, revitalizing the last part of a past your mother is moving forward from. And when everything's said and done, your mother instinctively cowers from the mirror before she weeps, holding onto Sunghoon with a life force as gratitude soaks into his white coat. In the corner, his eyes find you, the water-lined tears in your eyes like then, now reflecting the kind of appreciation and love he knows is priceless.
Pearl Bite takes off, his humble practice fighting to accommodate for the onslaught of patients he tries helping. People come from far and wide, all with a story that picks at their nails and prompts reluctance when it comes time for Sunghoon's inspection. Overbites, plaque, shaven-down fangs, blood stains ─ the list goes on. However, their reluctance is all but forgotten once he commits himself to their well-being, a sigh of relief filling his mask before he hands over what feels like a magic mirror, sorrow turning into happiness. One practice isn't enough, not for endless clients, or aspiring dentists with the same aspirations. Multiple dot themselves across the country, his time split between sights he flies to (your stomach still drops whenever both your feet leave the ground). He has a line of products, an alternative solution for those he cannot meet and to no surprise, it takes off. You climb your own career ladder, finding something just as meaningful and building your life together with the man who saved yours and your mother's smile.
His practice bustles as it always does, a mixture of clients flipping through magazines or sharing stories in the waiting room. To his assistance, you wave, your presence always welcome when your schedules align. In the hall leading to his office, your head nods at more waiting patients, smile brimmed in manner with a glance at the clock.
It's feeding time.
A flutter in your chest disturbs the peace you've maintained for the day's majority, current sparked as your palm meets the door handle of his office, shallowly pulled to the side only to let yourself in. No one occupies the dental unit, spotlight tucked away with the space sterilised and clean, its sleek hues of white, grey and muted baby blue burrowing comfort in your chest. Attempts to slow the rabbit Sunghoon hears, a heartbeat so attuned to he forgoes his inventory count and goes to filter back into the main room, surprise alight in his eyes as he's urged back.
"I didn't know you were coming," his voice carries the sentiment, the half-hearted draw of his inventory's door schemed behind you.
Innocence brims in your smile nonetheless, arms strung around him as his hands fall to your waist, steady and firm.
"You forgot your dinner."
"Dinner?" a lone eyebrow raises, the slope of his nose in full view as his head turns to the mini fridge metres away. "I should have enough blood bags for─"
Your nails rake through his nape hairs once and for all, stepping back before you haul yourself on the counter space he'd been working so diligently on, showcasing the dinner he's seemingly left behind.
You.
No one would bat an eyelash at the length of your skirt, a conservative length if not for an extra long stride ─ the cross of your legs ─ where skin reveals itself, blemishing with incessant teeth marks, beard burn and a mouth pulling into a disbelieving smile as you reveal yourself to him, making sure to crane your neck enough to hint at the location of his last feed.
"So," mischief lives in the lines of your smirk, your own canines peeking through in an ask. "Will you finish what you started?"
With centuries spent living amongst vampires and humans, you'd think Sunghoon would have some know-how. Predict the patterns humans have made of themselves, ingrained in wired DNA passed down from generation to generation. Yet, you always seem to surprise him. Bring the disbelieving and amused laughter out his huffing chest, his proximity drawn closer as his hands staple on either side of your thighs, skirt material bunched in your lap, goosebump-riddled from the arctic temperature of his office.
His eyes burn with a dial of lust, iris colouring into a wine hue before his pupils swallows the field whole, gaze flickered between your eyes and lips.
"This is risky," he notes, nosing along your jaw. The instinct to give your neck away wears him down more than you'll know. "Anyone could come in and see us. Hear us,"
He deserts the raised skin trail he's created from slight grazes alone, satisfaction on his lips as he creates space to marvel at the mess you're boiling down to.
"But that's what gets you off, right?" his fangs show, his grin too amused and cocky to shield them, his head tilted to only emphasis his point. "Just can't keep your pretty moans to yourself."
Air fills your lungs through a nasal inhale, chest slumping with a gulp audible to your own ears. You'd waltzed in here first, you can't lose control just yet.
You bring yourself closer to the counter's edge, skirt riding up further to expose hints of lace, knowing it'll do nothing but torment him. Taunt him as his canine and lower teeth toy with an inner piece of his check, restraint tested.
"Come on, you haven't fed in days," he's standing straighter, hands off the counter. He's close enough though, the perfect distance for your leg to hook at his lower back and draw him in, your hand waiting before his length eventually throbs in your palm, your grin a work of sin as you peer up at him with dark magic eyes. "I know you're hungry."
Control is commanded, and to some extent, Sunghoon submits. Lets you carry out your charade, allows the concept of power to exist in your frame of mind. However, deep down, you both know. Undeterred, Sunghoon lets you palm his growing erection, smirking like it doesn't turn him on. Like he doesn't give your hand one grind, starved for friction.
His hand raises to outline the shell of your ear with his fingertip, pleased with the shiver erupting down your spine.
"Funny how blood and sex are so intertwined," he leads, voice husky as his eyes fall to yours again, standing their ground. "For you, especially."
It's meant to be a call out. In some measure, you suffer from its consequences, prickly skin and heated cheeks. However, you've been with Sunghoon long enough to quit playing shy. You plan to spend eternity with him too, it's only natural you reward him with your honesty.
"It's another layer of intimacy," the sweetness of your words juxtapose your actions, palm firm against his shaft as your thumb glides over his tip in sweet, torturous motions, smile stretching at the waver of his breath. You cock your head, a call for attention. "Wouldn't you agree?"
He's close like this now, shuffled to you in a tighter circle of your hooked legs, the column of his throat licked. The grain of stubble against your tongue hums your pleasure into his skin, his own mirrored sound coming when your teeth nibble on the teased skin.
"Hmph," he groans, losing focus. Losing to you. "I do, but my mind can't help but wonder,"
Further words peaks your interest, Sunghoon's hand settling across your neck, face further away as he handles you for his viewing pleasure. His other set of knuckles push his glasses up his nose bridge, chin lifted as he looks at you through low eyes, the quiet but hard thump of your pulse meeting the pad of his thumb.
"If it's the euphoric high you're starved for," Sunghoon's thumb moves over the tender skin, thump gaining traction as you attempt withstanding his complete read of you. "Or maybe it's the slight pain,"
Through the time you've known Sunghoon, you've only ever known him to be humble. No matter what feat he reaches, trait or skill he posses and displays, he'll pretend as if it's not his own. Won't gloat, won't brag ─ except for times like these.
When he's got you right where he wants, his fangs pinpoint on your skin between the fan of his thumb, your heartbeat the equivalent of being chased.
You hear his smirk first before you see it, space created again as his eyes cannot be without your sight for too long.
"Which one is it?"
The hand that'd been palming him arrests the counter's edge, knuckles burning white in an act of self-restraint. Control you're being frayed to abandon, a harsh run of your tongue on the back of your teeth as your other leg hooks behind him, nowhere to hide as your hip roll to meet his, a grind you see chipping away at him.
Pressure adds to the grasp on your neck ─ a test to you too.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
Again, that almost incredulous yet amused chuckle meets your ears, this time more mocking as Sunghoon's tongue pokes his inner cheek, his eyes bleeding over with an intensity you've only been anticipating.
"I'll find out either way," one corner of his lip lifts, small but all-knowing. "Spread your legs."
The last thing you'll do is indulge him, even if your body aches for him in the worst way ─ bone deep, lust sinking in your body like an anchor. You're already pressed against him, the friction of few layers a blessing in disguise for someone as insatiable as you are. This, you can do with. The same can't be said for Sunghoon, who in the questioning look he gives you, your smile extends ─ a slice of heaven and a lot of hell.
"What's with the attitude?" he chuckles, one last squeeze against the sides of your neck to make you squeak. The departures paves the way for his impatience, enough strength to pry your crossed ankles apart. "Didn't you want this all along? Treated the way you are in my office because you couldn't wait?"
You can't compete against an immortal, his strength bending your body to his will, thighs braced against the arctic counter top. Spread to his liking.
"Ah, that's why," it's the second time in such little time you've heard him smirk, a more evil moon crescent shape to his eyes as he marvels between your legs. Specifically, the wetness that's soaked through the flimsy fabric. "It's okay, I want you just as much."
A gentle kiss is pressed to your forehead, because your ego has its' moments, bruising like a peach. You could huff, turn away from the supposed affection he gives you, but he's quicker. A peck to the tip of your nose and happiness in the light chuckle he does afterwards.
Then, when you're looking at him again, albeit reluctantly, he smiles regardless. Cups your cheeks, holding you as if porcelain and kisses you. Soft and pillowy, lingering to savour the simple press of flesh, a slow and sweet swirl back into desire. Melting in his cold grasp, you move in patterns known to each other, the audacity to start pulling away breathing a snicker between your lips, his smile against your lips after he's chased them, your own introduced moments later.
He picks you apart in the most delicate way, undoing you with adoring kisses and assured hands, consuming you with every breath he steals, hands of desperation hinging themselves against his arms. Sunghoon kisses you as if it's your last, with deeper meaning coming from the lifetimes he's lived, your bottom lip between his teeth as he tugs gently.
A move applicable to everyone. Doing its worst to you.
While other teeth tease, his fangs threaten, a harsher skim against the flesh your breath hitches at, a swipe of his tongue meant to soothe, only to fuel the fire burning in you.
While his hands no longer cradle your face, he kisses you without fault. Pouring affection into the tender overlap of lips, the only thing you manage to do is lift your hips as his hands tug your panties down your legs, tucked away in his back pocket as a souvenir. If you weren't so dazed, you'd make fun of him, like when you'd felt his cock kick when you'd started kissing, the venture of your tongue making him sigh a stuttered breath.
Smacked lips and laboured breaths no longer only occupy the office/closet space, abundance of slick lapped up on the span of two fingers, the most piled on Sunghoon's fingertips as they tease your entrance, thumb doing slow circles against your clit.
Fingers carding through his hair, your breath stutters in his mouth. Whines and huffed whimpers bleed into his kiss-stained lips as his fingers push in with no resistance, welcomed as your walls conform to their shape. He stretches you with the scissors of his fingers, the stretch simmering with a touch of discomfort, grinding down to blooming pleasure as you yield, his fingers 'curl pushed into the spot making you see stars.
"Think I'll give your thighs a break," Sunghoon whispers, your tongue dipped into the curve of his lips. "All those hickeys and beard burn can't be good for you ─ too much friction,"
"N-not enough," you wail, running feverishly hot and without any care, bucking your hips helplessly. "Want ─ more."
"I've made you such a greedy thing, haven't I?" he murmurs, humming at all the sounds you reward him with ─ vulnerable moans, sloppy kisses you try giving but it's no use. You're gone, in too deep to realise the moment you'd walked into his office, your fate had been sealed.
Other points deserve attention, is Sunghoon's thought process as he leaves your lips with one last slow kiss, saliva strung between your quivering lips before he peppers his way down your chin, up the curve of your jaw and stops right below your earlobe. You know where he'll go next and it sends a buzz through your every cell, makes you tremble and shake. And before your brain can catch up to the signs, Sunghoon knows too.
Hears the chaos of your heart, the disarray of your pulse and plays along.
"Haven't even got to your neck and you're leaking all over my fingers," he muses, a peck smacked onto the dipped skin before his teeth catch onto the fleshy part, a fang punctured close to where your lone piercing is. An automatic response is relayed by your body. "Squeezing my fingers for all their worth, huh?"
Lolled to the side, a partial part in purpose but the other because your head's swarmed in haziness, twice its weight from Sunghoon consuming you, his non-beating heart having the decency to not prolong your long-awaited ask. He descends, inches but makes his way with the tread of his teeth down your neck column.
"What happened to that little attitude of yours, sweet girl?" he asks, the squelch and twitch of your body unearthing a rarity in condescending nature. "Did I fingerfuck it out of you, hm? You wanna be my good girl now?"
You nod hard enough to feel the jumble of your brain, cut up into pieces and free-floating in your zero-gravity headspace.
"You know nods won't do," he's there. The exact spot he feeds from, and it's maddening. The release of adrenaline, the rabbit chase your heart does, nails scraping into marble.
He noses along the mark, a momentary pause noting how gone he is for you too, intoxicated at the mere scent of your blood before everything crumbles, his willpower the only thing standing as he pries away, looking you in your eyes as he says,
"Let me hear you say it, princess."
"I'll─I'll be good," the words slosh in your mouth, lips pressed to muffle your desperate squeaks. "I just─just let me come please?"
"I'm no animal," dark laughter licks up your spine, stuck in its slouch as Sunghoon's rhythm picks up, fingertips knocking deepest in you, your jaw pried open in silent surprise. "I couldn't deprive you if I tried."
"Come on, sweet girl," he comes closer, fresh linen scent engulfing you as a kiss lays upon your temple. "The quicker you let go, the faster you get my cock."
The quicker he'll feed.
The mere thought is almost like magic, contracting your walls in an impossible squeeze as the coil in your stomach sizzles at the tips of your toes, shooting up to burst through every avenue ─ every pore ─ of your body. Detonating right in the palm of his hand, he kisses your wails away until they subside, fingers working you until you're twitchy and overly sensitive, glossy eyed yet itching to unbutton his slacks.
"Impatience will get you hurt," is his later comment, letting you mess with the buckle of his belt, metallic clashes resonating through the room. Dripping more slick onto his office counter. "So rushed when you'll struggle taking me."
The last notch of his zipper sounds louder than the rest, your head snapped in his direction. "Now, that you can't mock me for,"
Your eyes drop down to the heavy bulge imprinting through his briefs and slacks, hoping his eyes follow along.
"I take your literal monster cock like a champ, thank you."
"Give or take."
You kiss your teeth, knowing better but still cursing at him in your head.
"Whatever," your eyes roll, pushing enough of his waistband down to get your hand around his cock. Barely, but it's not of the essence. What is is the need his tip heats with, generous precome beaded in his slit your thumbs runs over. A hiss releases in spite of his efforts, met with the cockiness of your grin. "You're the one who needs me here,"
"Blood bags only taste so good," you drawl, pulling him out to get a better handle of his length. Head ducked to dribble spit on his skin as makeshift lube, enveloped by your palm in a mixture with precome as your hand comes up and twists up his veined shaft. Now it's his turn for braced hands on the counter's edge, his grip strong enough to snap the marble in two. The thought ignites lightning in your stomach.
Your mouth gets the chance for payback ─ hovering over the shell of his pointed one, a lapsed breath released in the anticipation of your words. The slow, tight jerk of your hand. "And none can get you off, so…"
A huff of defeat ─ still humoured ─ sounds past your shoulder, Sunghoon's back muscles flexing through the white coat ruffling as he pushes off the table, hair slicked back back as his fingers run through dark strands, his pale features accented with a pretty rosy tint.
Lips swollen with kisses. Skin glittering in the low light.
"You're annoying," his hands swats away yours, his focal point you as your figure reflects in the honey sweet hue of his eyes. "I love you."
"Love you t─ah!"
Sunghoon had knocked your knees further apart, lined himself with your entrance and now, starts to slide his length in. Ever since your last orgasm, you'd hinged on his counter for the moment his cock would stretch you out, but even if your eyes blindly followed his shifts, you'd got lost in his confession. The sheer honesty and sincerity brimming in his eyes as he said so, his last words to you before you reconnect again as one.
A frantic hand jumps to secure yourself on one plane of his shoulder, a sharp inhale sucking in all frigid air of his office into your shaken lungs, the bitten back moan he lets slip flooding the glide of his length, inches sparingly used. Yet the thought of being split open remains alive and well.
"You're good, you can take it."
It's one of his sentences that doesn't reek of condescension, the kind of sugary encouragement you can't help but want to do your best for, relying on your practiced methods of breathing and trying to relax. Except to accommodate to his size, you're gripping and adjusting, depleting his ability to be gentle with you. In the adjustments you make, one sentence lurks in the misty halls of his mind as he only gives as much as you can take, a hand and grazed-thumb on your hip to ground you.
"What I'd do to stuff your hole full of me right now…"
Luckily, he doesn't have to do anything. Living up to your words, the inches continue to disappear, the sorest sight for his centuries-vision filled eyes, shoulders coming down in relief with a mouth ajar. Your hand's over the lower half of your stomach, not exposed by your shirt, but Sunghoon knows.
You feel him there.
"Remind me," he huffs, stalling for your adjustment, the stretch as delicious as it is a dance around torture. "You take what like a champ?"
Sunghoon gets a kick out of it, this you already know. Somehow, it still makes your jaw tick, the weight cramped in you, making friends with your lower stomach is colossal, enough for an eye twitch and a sharp head turn in his direction.
"Your cock," every word spoken has a letter with a centre part, the disapproving head shake you do continued as your hips shift, leaking tip grinding up into the spongy spot you keen at. "Now move, before I fuck you."
Sunghoon's sorely mistaken. Painfully hard, yet he still continues ─ cat and mouse game too good to give up.
"All bark, no bite," he muses, eyes in false moon crescent, hips pulling back to offload the fill of your entrance. "Leave that to the real vampire, huh?"
Of course he'd leave you with that. Provide you some relief before he eases back into you again, grin shit-eating but eyes attentive, making sure this is pleasurable for you, to which it becomes. Accommodation is never easy, no matter how frequently you fuck, but he makes every grit of your teeth worth it. Falls into slow deep breaths you unknowingly follow and unwind with, moves his cock in and out at any pace you're comfortable with kisses you through it all, praises seared into the skin his lips meet.
A tempo builds, meek whimpers whispered into the hollow of his neck now barely contained moans. Your arms form a loose circle around his shoulders, the groans and whines he saves for your ears swirling a sickening pit of lust in your stomach.
"If only─hmph," you struggle, nails pressing into the fabric of his coat. "You put your mouth to better, fuck ─ use."
Past your ear, his laugh is bright. "You're bewitched,"
The smack of his pelvis against the back of your thighs teases your own teeth into his shoulder, whimpers releasing instead.
"Are my fangs all I'm good for?"
Turns out, you have your own timing. Comedic timing, it seems, because when you pry from him, mourning the loss of his cool skin, your eyes peer down between your legs. At the cock he uses with you as priority, a simmered sensation you unwind to, wetness drenching his length as the faint bulge of his tip makes itself known.
"You're good for other things too."
"Unbelievable," you hear your partner laugh, light and breathy because he's so fine-tuned to the human experience, large hands setting themselves up firm against your hips. "Now, if you will, let me do for what I'm good for."
Like you've always known him to be, he prides himself on his craft, making good of his word as he starts pistoning into you, the grind of his pelvis notching against your clit to make you squeal, his shoulders fastened to as the back of your thighs echo with your indecency. You're choking on moans, trying to keep noise to a minimal, but how can you when your vampire boyfriend knows you best? Knows what angle generates current in your body, what pace has you doubling over, holding him because the building pleasure is too immense for how contained your body feels? Knows when to flip the switch with you, the grounding presence you need or the kind that presses you into the ground.
"My perfect girl," he murmurs, a soothing hand cascading down the back of your head. "I'll never get over how good you feel."
He isn't the former for long, sheep's skin shed when your eyes start glossing over, legs hooked round his waist with your toes curled, tears of ecstasy saturating his coat's shoulder. How can he when you're basically offering yourself to him, enough distance created for your hands to support you from behind, neck craned for his taking.
"Is this what you're into?" he asks, the outline of his body unfair under layers of clothing as his cock stuffs you full. "Do you fantasize about being feed on because you feed off the pleasure and pain?"
You could consider his question, answer truthfully wherever it lies. However, you're a bit preoccupied. The one or two things he's good for working against you, reducing you to a worthless pile of mush, the same matter made of your brain, melted and spilling out your ears, hearing stifled.
"Answer me."
Your throat works, suddenly so dry with a swallow for saliva to quench some thirst, vision fuzzy as you fight off the impending doom.
Not now, not yet.
"Yes," you respond. "I'm into it because─"
He notches himself with a particular force, one you do a withered whimper at, pupils shaking as they blow over your iris' ring.
"Because it's with you," your hand's on his jaw, holding him firm as you add on. "I have a you fetish."
"Fuck," there's a hitch in Sunghoon's thrusts, a slight hiccup when he disintegrates at your words, head hung only to come back up with the brightest smile on his face. The one you could spend eternity looking at. "You're such a tease."
"A pretty, sloppy, needy─" emphasis in his stupidly seductive tone matches with the brute of his thrusts, concentrated and attuned to what'll make you break. "─tease."
Against your forehead, his own falls, a kiss shared as his low body temperature attempts to dial back yours, the coil in your stomach too hot for you to function.
"Good thing you're close because I am too," he nods, one last kiss before he asks. "Do I have the honours?"
It's one of the easiest yes' you'll utter.
"Always."
What you could compare the initial seconds of Sunghoon feeding from you to is a piercing. The clamminess of your palms, an escalated heart rate even if you'd mentally prepared for the moment and eyes incapable of focusing. To gain it back, your only function boils down to managing your breaths as anticipation itches beneath your skin.
Then, it happens.
A momentary flicker of pain, sharpened enamel piercing through skin and sinking, nestling where no vitals are endangered. It's minor, so minor it's forgotten the second after it's felt, the burst of euphoria incomprehensible. Words fail to explain the phenomenon, amounting to a standard you're on a constant chase for, bewitched as Sunghoon so lovingly puts it, him just the same ─ if not worse off ─ as he shamelessly moans at the taste, the vague waft of blood's metallic scent replaced with the blanket of his linen scent.
Blood and sex are so intertwined, mentioned previously by Sunghoon. And while he'd said this in response to you, the words ring truest for him, a broken moan vibrating into your skin as his hips start rutting, erratic as he surges towards his orgasm. His priority forever and always, he wedges his hand between your bodies, your clit played with to bring you to a similar pace, something like come coating your walls as you squeeze his cock one last time, a cry from your lips before you come undone.
Eventually, he relents, having had his fill with a pry he holds your body up for, still dazed from the aphrodisiac-like remedy in his venom to seal your skin together. When the world stops moving in separate circles, you catch sight of his fangs, coated in the rich crimson of your blood, only having the energy for a lazy smile before he sorts you two out. An eventual knock echoes at his door, Sunghoon spitting the last of Pearl Bite toothpaste out his mouth, fangs like brand new as you two feign normalcy.
Like he hadn't fed from you, or how his vampire-equivalent to come isn't leaking between your crossed thighs.
Just another day at Sunghoon's practice.
thank you for reading! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated.ᐟ ᰔ
to join my taglist, please fill out this form! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-
⋮ ⌗ ┆概要⨾ pearl bite restores the smiles of vampires and humans alike, folks travelling nationwide to attain results from the man and myth himself, park sunghoon. running a successful dental practice isn't easy, long hours invested and feeding schedules sidelined. luckily for him, you've never been one to forget.
朴成训 𝔁 𝒻 .ᐟ读者 ── 5.6k
explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、heavy mentions of blood & biting/feeding (sunghoon feeds from the reader during sex)、condescending dom!sunghoon、sub!reader、established relationship、hints of brat & brat tamer dynamics、degradation/humiliation、vaginal fingering、handjob、semi public sex、exhibitionism、breath play、unprotected sex (don't do this)、creampie、hints of pain kink、hung!hoon、size & bulge kink、slight praise & crying、reference to marking/beard burn、an attempt at some fluff and angst..petnames used: perfect/sweet girl、princess.⌇ℳ.list
⋮ ⌗ ┆便条⨾ so...how about them vampire brand drops? 😁 the teasers released so far feel really fun but are so polished and align so well wih enha's vampire concept! their creative team always has my heart. they definitely have my heart for this concept alone, which...i wrote because my other wips were mocking me 😭 perhaps imposter syndrome will give me a break the next time i visit them, but for now, enjoy this corner of my brain :3 haven't written about vampires before, so a lot of creative freedom is taken here! let your imagination run free and as always, much loveeee! <333
Downtown is abuzz, springtime bringing out lifeforms in their fullest, humans on a leisurely stroll and vampires in their element, nightfall cast to upheave the sluggishness of day, canines bared and timeless beauty arresting. On the way to your destination, a concrete jungle of scaffolding and pets on leashes, you stop at an intersection. Cars zoom, traffic lights ticking down until they turn green again. The road, a blur of cars would usually have your attention, if not for the huge billboard plastered above the pizzeria and jazz bar just ahead.
Pearl Bite: A bloodless white, a perfect smile.
Your own faux canines show, tongue run beneath their point as your eyes dazzle at the advert. Specifically, the creator and model for Pearl Bite ─ your one and only boyfriend.
College sweethearts, Sunghoon describes your romance as a sneaky attack on your behalf, nothing but his passion on his mind, only to be derailed. The brilliance of your smile, the heartiness of your laugh, your endless glow he couldn't shy away from. The next century is meant to build upon his newly-found interest in dentistry, open his own practice with amassed generational wealth and give back to his community. His initial plan only accounts for vampires, at the mercy of many cycled conversations of blood-stained fangs and how there's no vampire-equivalent for teeth-whitening. Then he meets you, unknowingly opens himself up more to the human experience, recognizes how they can differ vastly from his own, yet share so many similarities.
You're the most selfless person he knows, a long-line of people served before you're last in line. Amongst the juggle of others' needs and aspirations, yours kind of included somewhere, he learns you're a product of everything you've ever loved and suffered from too. In the months passing too quick for his liking - still toeing the line of friendship(ish) - you bare yourself to him in the late night diner you work at.
The one he walks you home from, drinks the shitty coffee because you've brewed it. The things vampires do for love.
In a dim corner booth, your chin perches on your folded arms, fingers drumming against a table you're yet to clean and are honestly too tired to at this point. It's been non-stop shifts packed into a never-ending semester, and whilst your job's meant to supplement your means of living, it also serves another purpose.
"I owe my mom everything," you start, the bat of your lashes turning Sunghoon into a statue, knowing what's to come yet unsure. Uncertain how to proceed. "No matter how little we had to our name, she always made sure I was taken care of. That if one of us was happy, it was always me,"
Your nose twitches, eyes glossy with a sigh coming from trembling lips. A vague crack sounds in his chest.
He wishes his hand had the kind of warmth you'd lean into.
"Losing her best friend, and in a way, losing me ─ has brought her to her knees," your fingers drum, pupils shaking as you will your tears to only exist before your waterline. "I'm doing as much as I can, but there's only so much to do from across the country. I can't check in on her and the house between lectures, I can't pay for anything medical other than some lousy insurance, I can't transfer that weight to myself,"
"Because at least then, it wouldn't be her burden to bear."
The welled emotions in your chest demand you to straighten, more space for lungs to expand and when stray tears fall, you can only exhale, elbows propped to the table to wipe them away. Your hand falls to the surface in perfect timing, searing skin meeting a cool, steady palm. You're just as still as him, the thump of your heart felt in Sunghoon's fingertips, all the way through to his ears ringing with its race. Only empathy occupies him, remnants of a life before immortality tethering you two together by more than held hands, the quiet compassion he delivers sticking with you forever.
Time has since passed, that corner booth a bittersweet memory. In spite of long-carried pain, you and your mom see brighter days ─ graduation, your first adult job, the return of her smile. Depression has a way of mystifying the future ahead of you, the present clouded in miserable, inescapable grey clouds. To push on takes all the more effort, so things start to give ─ sleep, appetite and the wither of everything else. While she's managed to pick herself up by the aid of you and others, your mom still holds a keepsake she'd rather do without. A dimmed smile you're doing your best to help restore. But in a household where annual doctor's trips are rare, the luxury doesn't come easy. And by the time you're examining what other expenses to cut back on, Sunghoon pitches his latest project.
Pearl Bite, for humans and vampires alike.
Endless trials, modifications, moulds that have bitten the dust and brave participants that bring his dream into fruition. Only now, his dream accounts for not only you, but your mother. Additional modules and clinicals to fit in the study of human teeth, revitalizing the last part of a past your mother is moving forward from. And when everything's said and done, your mother instinctively cowers from the mirror before she weeps, holding onto Sunghoon with a life force as gratitude soaks into his white coat. In the corner, his eyes find you, the water-lined tears in your eyes like then, now reflecting the kind of appreciation and love he knows is priceless.
Pearl Bite takes off, his humble practice fighting to accommodate for the onslaught of patients he tries helping. People come from far and wide, all with a story that picks at their nails and prompts reluctance when it comes time for Sunghoon's inspection. Overbites, plaque, shaven-down fangs, blood stains ─ the list goes on. However, their reluctance is all but forgotten once he commits himself to their well-being, a sigh of relief filling his mask before he hands over what feels like a magic mirror, sorrow turning into happiness. One practice isn't enough, not for endless clients, or aspiring dentists with the same aspirations. Multiple dot themselves across the country, his time split between sights he flies to (your stomach still drops whenever both your feet leave the ground). He has a line of products, an alternative solution for those he cannot meet and to no surprise, it takes off. You climb your own career ladder, finding something just as meaningful and building your life together with the man who saved yours and your mother's smile.
His practice bustles as it always does, a mixture of clients flipping through magazines or sharing stories in the waiting room. To his assistance, you wave, your presence always welcome when your schedules align. In the hall leading to his office, your head nods at more waiting patients, smile brimmed in manner with a glance at the clock.
It's feeding time.
A flutter in your chest disturbs the peace you've maintained for the day's majority, current sparked as your palm meets the door handle of his office, shallowly pulled to the side only to let yourself in. No one occupies the dental unit, spotlight tucked away with the space sterilised and clean, its sleek hues of white, grey and muted baby blue burrowing comfort in your chest. Attempts to slow the rabbit Sunghoon hears, a heartbeat so attuned to he forgoes his inventory count and goes to filter back into the main room, surprise alight in his eyes as he's urged back.
"I didn't know you were coming," his voice carries the sentiment, the half-hearted draw of his inventory's door schemed behind you.
Innocence brims in your smile nonetheless, arms strung around him as his hands fall to your waist, steady and firm.
"You forgot your dinner."
"Dinner?" a lone eyebrow raises, the slope of his nose in full view as his head turns to the mini fridge metres away. "I should have enough blood bags for─"
Your nails rake through his nape hairs once and for all, stepping back before you haul yourself on the counter space he'd been working so diligently on, showcasing the dinner he's seemingly left behind.
You.
No one would bat an eyelash at the length of your skirt, a conservative length if not for an extra long stride ─ the cross of your legs ─ where skin reveals itself, blemishing with incessant teeth marks, beard burn and a mouth pulling into a disbelieving smile as you reveal yourself to him, making sure to crane your neck enough to hint at the location of his last feed.
"So," mischief lives in the lines of your smirk, your own canines peeking through in an ask. "Will you finish what you started?"
With centuries spent living amongst vampires and humans, you'd think Sunghoon would have some know-how. Predict the patterns humans have made of themselves, ingrained in wired DNA passed down from generation to generation. Yet, you always seem to surprise him. Bring the disbelieving and amused laughter out his huffing chest, his proximity drawn closer as his hands staple on either side of your thighs, skirt material bunched in your lap, goosebump-riddled from the arctic temperature of his office.
His eyes burn with a dial of lust, iris colouring into a wine hue before his pupils swallows the field whole, gaze flickered between your eyes and lips.
"This is risky," he notes, nosing along your jaw. The instinct to give your neck away wears him down more than you'll know. "Anyone could come in and see us. Hear us,"
He deserts the raised skin trail he's created from slight grazes alone, satisfaction on his lips as he creates space to marvel at the mess you're boiling down to.
"But that's what gets you off, right?" his fangs show, his grin too amused and cocky to shield them, his head tilted to only emphasis his point. "Just can't keep your pretty moans to yourself."
Air fills your lungs through a nasal inhale, chest slumping with a gulp audible to your own ears. You'd waltzed in here first, you can't lose control just yet.
You bring yourself closer to the counter's edge, skirt riding up further to expose hints of lace, knowing it'll do nothing but torment him. Taunt him as his canine and lower teeth toy with an inner piece of his check, restraint tested.
"Come on, you haven't fed in days," he's standing straighter, hands off the counter. He's close enough though, the perfect distance for your leg to hook at his lower back and draw him in, your hand waiting before his length eventually throbs in your palm, your grin a work of sin as you peer up at him with dark magic eyes. "I know you're hungry."
Control is commanded, and to some extent, Sunghoon submits. Lets you carry out your charade, allows the concept of power to exist in your frame of mind. However, deep down, you both know. Undeterred, Sunghoon lets you palm his growing erection, smirking like it doesn't turn him on. Like he doesn't give your hand one grind, starved for friction.
His hand raises to outline the shell of your ear with his fingertip, pleased with the shiver erupting down your spine.
"Funny how blood and sex are so intertwined," he leads, voice husky as his eyes fall to yours again, standing their ground. "For you, especially."
It's meant to be a call out. In some measure, you suffer from its consequences, prickly skin and heated cheeks. However, you've been with Sunghoon long enough to quit playing shy. You plan to spend eternity with him too, it's only natural you reward him with your honesty.
"It's another layer of intimacy," the sweetness of your words juxtapose your actions, palm firm against his shaft as your thumb glides over his tip in sweet, torturous motions, smile stretching at the waver of his breath. You cock your head, a call for attention. "Wouldn't you agree?"
He's close like this now, shuffled to you in a tighter circle of your hooked legs, the column of his throat licked. The grain of stubble against your tongue hums your pleasure into his skin, his own mirrored sound coming when your teeth nibble on the teased skin.
"Hmph," he groans, losing focus. Losing to you. "I do, but my mind can't help but wonder,"
Further words peaks your interest, Sunghoon's hand settling across your neck, face further away as he handles you for his viewing pleasure. His other set of knuckles push his glasses up his nose bridge, chin lifted as he looks at you through low eyes, the quiet but hard thump of your pulse meeting the pad of his thumb.
"If it's the euphoric high you're starved for," Sunghoon's thumb moves over the tender skin, thump gaining traction as you attempt withstanding his complete read of you. "Or maybe it's the slight pain,"
Through the time you've known Sunghoon, you've only ever known him to be humble. No matter what feat he reaches, trait or skill he posses and displays, he'll pretend as if it's not his own. Won't gloat, won't brag ─ except for times like these.
When he's got you right where he wants, his fangs pinpoint on your skin between the fan of his thumb, your heartbeat the equivalent of being chased.
You hear his smirk first before you see it, space created again as his eyes cannot be without your sight for too long.
"Which one is it?"
The hand that'd been palming him arrests the counter's edge, knuckles burning white in an act of self-restraint. Control you're being frayed to abandon, a harsh run of your tongue on the back of your teeth as your other leg hooks behind him, nowhere to hide as your hip roll to meet his, a grind you see chipping away at him.
Pressure adds to the grasp on your neck ─ a test to you too.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
Again, that almost incredulous yet amused chuckle meets your ears, this time more mocking as Sunghoon's tongue pokes his inner cheek, his eyes bleeding over with an intensity you've only been anticipating.
"I'll find out either way," one corner of his lip lifts, small but all-knowing. "Spread your legs."
The last thing you'll do is indulge him, even if your body aches for him in the worst way ─ bone deep, lust sinking in your body like an anchor. You're already pressed against him, the friction of few layers a blessing in disguise for someone as insatiable as you are. This, you can do with. The same can't be said for Sunghoon, who in the questioning look he gives you, your smile extends ─ a slice of heaven and a lot of hell.
"What's with the attitude?" he chuckles, one last squeeze against the sides of your neck to make you squeak. The departures paves the way for his impatience, enough strength to pry your crossed ankles apart. "Didn't you want this all along? Treated the way you are in my office because you couldn't wait?"
You can't compete against an immortal, his strength bending your body to his will, thighs braced against the arctic counter top. Spread to his liking.
"Ah, that's why," it's the second time in such little time you've heard him smirk, a more evil moon crescent shape to his eyes as he marvels between your legs. Specifically, the wetness that's soaked through the flimsy fabric. "It's okay, I want you just as much."
A gentle kiss is pressed to your forehead, because your ego has its' moments, bruising like a peach. You could huff, turn away from the supposed affection he gives you, but he's quicker. A peck to the tip of your nose and happiness in the light chuckle he does afterwards.
Then, when you're looking at him again, albeit reluctantly, he smiles regardless. Cups your cheeks, holding you as if porcelain and kisses you. Soft and pillowy, lingering to savour the simple press of flesh, a slow and sweet swirl back into desire. Melting in his cold grasp, you move in patterns known to each other, the audacity to start pulling away breathing a snicker between your lips, his smile against your lips after he's chased them, your own introduced moments later.
He picks you apart in the most delicate way, undoing you with adoring kisses and assured hands, consuming you with every breath he steals, hands of desperation hinging themselves against his arms. Sunghoon kisses you as if it's your last, with deeper meaning coming from the lifetimes he's lived, your bottom lip between his teeth as he tugs gently.
A move applicable to everyone. Doing its worst to you.
While other teeth tease, his fangs threaten, a harsher skim against the flesh your breath hitches at, a swipe of his tongue meant to soothe, only to fuel the fire burning in you.
While his hands no longer cradle your face, he kisses you without fault. Pouring affection into the tender overlap of lips, the only thing you manage to do is lift your hips as his hands tug your panties down your legs, tucked away in his back pocket as a souvenir. If you weren't so dazed, you'd make fun of him, like when you'd felt his cock kick when you'd started kissing, the venture of your tongue making him sigh a stuttered breath.
Smacked lips and laboured breaths no longer only occupy the office/closet space, abundance of slick lapped up on the span of two fingers, the most piled on Sunghoon's fingertips as they tease your entrance, thumb doing slow circles against your clit.
Fingers carding through his hair, your breath stutters in his mouth. Whines and huffed whimpers bleed into his kiss-stained lips as his fingers push in with no resistance, welcomed as your walls conform to their shape. He stretches you with the scissors of his fingers, the stretch simmering with a touch of discomfort, grinding down to blooming pleasure as you yield, his fingers 'curl pushed into the spot making you see stars.
"Think I'll give your thighs a break," Sunghoon whispers, your tongue dipped into the curve of his lips. "All those hickeys and beard burn can't be good for you ─ too much friction,"
"N-not enough," you wail, running feverishly hot and without any care, bucking your hips helplessly. "Want ─ more."
"I've made you such a greedy thing, haven't I?" he murmurs, humming at all the sounds you reward him with ─ vulnerable moans, sloppy kisses you try giving but it's no use. You're gone, in too deep to realise the moment you'd walked into his office, your fate had been sealed.
Other points deserve attention, is Sunghoon's thought process as he leaves your lips with one last slow kiss, saliva strung between your quivering lips before he peppers his way down your chin, up the curve of your jaw and stops right below your earlobe. You know where he'll go next and it sends a buzz through your every cell, makes you tremble and shake. And before your brain can catch up to the signs, Sunghoon knows too.
Hears the chaos of your heart, the disarray of your pulse and plays along.
"Haven't even got to your neck and you're leaking all over my fingers," he muses, a peck smacked onto the dipped skin before his teeth catch onto the fleshy part, a fang punctured close to where your lone piercing is. An automatic response is relayed by your body. "Squeezing my fingers for all their worth, huh?"
Lolled to the side, a partial part in purpose but the other because your head's swarmed in haziness, twice its weight from Sunghoon consuming you, his non-beating heart having the decency to not prolong your long-awaited ask. He descends, inches but makes his way with the tread of his teeth down your neck column.
"What happened to that little attitude of yours, sweet girl?" he asks, the squelch and twitch of your body unearthing a rarity in condescending nature. "Did I fingerfuck it out of you, hm? You wanna be my good girl now?"
You nod hard enough to feel the jumble of your brain, cut up into pieces and free-floating in your zero-gravity headspace.
"You know nods won't do," he's there. The exact spot he feeds from, and it's maddening. The release of adrenaline, the rabbit chase your heart does, nails scraping into marble.
He noses along the mark, a momentary pause noting how gone he is for you too, intoxicated at the mere scent of your blood before everything crumbles, his willpower the only thing standing as he pries away, looking you in your eyes as he says,
"Let me hear you say it, princess."
"I'll─I'll be good," the words slosh in your mouth, lips pressed to muffle your desperate squeaks. "I just─just let me come please?"
"I'm no animal," dark laughter licks up your spine, stuck in its slouch as Sunghoon's rhythm picks up, fingertips knocking deepest in you, your jaw pried open in silent surprise. "I couldn't deprive you if I tried."
"Come on, sweet girl," he comes closer, fresh linen scent engulfing you as a kiss lays upon your temple. "The quicker you let go, the faster you get my cock."
The quicker he'll feed.
The mere thought is almost like magic, contracting your walls in an impossible squeeze as the coil in your stomach sizzles at the tips of your toes, shooting up to burst through every avenue ─ every pore ─ of your body. Detonating right in the palm of his hand, he kisses your wails away until they subside, fingers working you until you're twitchy and overly sensitive, glossy eyed yet itching to unbutton his slacks.
"Impatience will get you hurt," is his later comment, letting you mess with the buckle of his belt, metallic clashes resonating through the room. Dripping more slick onto his office counter. "So rushed when you'll struggle taking me."
The last notch of his zipper sounds louder than the rest, your head snapped in his direction. "Now, that you can't mock me for,"
Your eyes drop down to the heavy bulge imprinting through his briefs and slacks, hoping his eyes follow along.
"I take your literal monster cock like a champ, thank you."
"Give or take."
You kiss your teeth, knowing better but still cursing at him in your head.
"Whatever," your eyes roll, pushing enough of his waistband down to get your hand around his cock. Barely, but it's not of the essence. What is is the need his tip heats with, generous precome beaded in his slit your thumbs runs over. A hiss releases in spite of his efforts, met with the cockiness of your grin. "You're the one who needs me here,"
"Blood bags only taste so good," you drawl, pulling him out to get a better handle of his length. Head ducked to dribble spit on his skin as makeshift lube, enveloped by your palm in a mixture with precome as your hand comes up and twists up his veined shaft. Now it's his turn for braced hands on the counter's edge, his grip strong enough to snap the marble in two. The thought ignites lightning in your stomach.
Your mouth gets the chance for payback ─ hovering over the shell of his pointed one, a lapsed breath released in the anticipation of your words. The slow, tight jerk of your hand. "And none can get you off, so…"
A huff of defeat ─ still humoured ─ sounds past your shoulder, Sunghoon's back muscles flexing through the white coat ruffling as he pushes off the table, hair slicked back back as his fingers run through dark strands, his pale features accented with a pretty rosy tint.
Lips swollen with kisses. Skin glittering in the low light.
"You're annoying," his hands swats away yours, his focal point you as your figure reflects in the honey sweet hue of his eyes. "I love you."
"Love you t─ah!"
Sunghoon had knocked your knees further apart, lined himself with your entrance and now, starts to slide his length in. Ever since your last orgasm, you'd hinged on his counter for the moment his cock would stretch you out, but even if your eyes blindly followed his shifts, you'd got lost in his confession. The sheer honesty and sincerity brimming in his eyes as he said so, his last words to you before you reconnect again as one.
A frantic hand jumps to secure yourself on one plane of his shoulder, a sharp inhale sucking in all frigid air of his office into your shaken lungs, the bitten back moan he lets slip flooding the glide of his length, inches sparingly used. Yet the thought of being split open remains alive and well.
"You're good, you can take it."
It's one of his sentences that doesn't reek of condescension, the kind of sugary encouragement you can't help but want to do your best for, relying on your practiced methods of breathing and trying to relax. Except to accommodate to his size, you're gripping and adjusting, depleting his ability to be gentle with you. In the adjustments you make, one sentence lurks in the misty halls of his mind as he only gives as much as you can take, a hand and grazed-thumb on your hip to ground you.
"What I'd do to stuff your hole full of me right now…"
Luckily, he doesn't have to do anything. Living up to your words, the inches continue to disappear, the sorest sight for his centuries-vision filled eyes, shoulders coming down in relief with a mouth ajar. Your hand's over the lower half of your stomach, not exposed by your shirt, but Sunghoon knows.
You feel him there.
"Remind me," he huffs, stalling for your adjustment, the stretch as delicious as it is a dance around torture. "You take what like a champ?"
Sunghoon gets a kick out of it, this you already know. Somehow, it still makes your jaw tick, the weight cramped in you, making friends with your lower stomach is colossal, enough for an eye twitch and a sharp head turn in his direction.
"Your cock," every word spoken has a letter with a centre part, the disapproving head shake you do continued as your hips shift, leaking tip grinding up into the spongy spot you keen at. "Now move, before I fuck you."
Sunghoon's sorely mistaken. Painfully hard, yet he still continues ─ cat and mouse game too good to give up.
"All bark, no bite," he muses, eyes in false moon crescent, hips pulling back to offload the fill of your entrance. "Leave that to the real vampire, huh?"
Of course he'd leave you with that. Provide you some relief before he eases back into you again, grin shit-eating but eyes attentive, making sure this is pleasurable for you, to which it becomes. Accommodation is never easy, no matter how frequently you fuck, but he makes every grit of your teeth worth it. Falls into slow deep breaths you unknowingly follow and unwind with, moves his cock in and out at any pace you're comfortable with kisses you through it all, praises seared into the skin his lips meet.
A tempo builds, meek whimpers whispered into the hollow of his neck now barely contained moans. Your arms form a loose circle around his shoulders, the groans and whines he saves for your ears swirling a sickening pit of lust in your stomach.
"If only─hmph," you struggle, nails pressing into the fabric of his coat. "You put your mouth to better, fuck ─ use."
Past your ear, his laugh is bright. "You're bewitched,"
The smack of his pelvis against the back of your thighs teases your own teeth into his shoulder, whimpers releasing instead.
"Are my fangs all I'm good for?"
Turns out, you have your own timing. Comedic timing, it seems, because when you pry from him, mourning the loss of his cool skin, your eyes peer down between your legs. At the cock he uses with you as priority, a simmered sensation you unwind to, wetness drenching his length as the faint bulge of his tip makes itself known.
"You're good for other things too."
"Unbelievable," you hear your partner laugh, light and breathy because he's so fine-tuned to the human experience, large hands setting themselves up firm against your hips. "Now, if you will, let me do for what I'm good for."
Like you've always known him to be, he prides himself on his craft, making good of his word as he starts pistoning into you, the grind of his pelvis notching against your clit to make you squeal, his shoulders fastened to as the back of your thighs echo with your indecency. You're choking on moans, trying to keep noise to a minimal, but how can you when your vampire boyfriend knows you best? Knows what angle generates current in your body, what pace has you doubling over, holding him because the building pleasure is too immense for how contained your body feels? Knows when to flip the switch with you, the grounding presence you need or the kind that presses you into the ground.
"My perfect girl," he murmurs, a soothing hand cascading down the back of your head. "I'll never get over how good you feel."
He isn't the former for long, sheep's skin shed when your eyes start glossing over, legs hooked round his waist with your toes curled, tears of ecstasy saturating his coat's shoulder. How can he when you're basically offering yourself to him, enough distance created for your hands to support you from behind, neck craned for his taking.
"Is this what you're into?" he asks, the outline of his body unfair under layers of clothing as his cock stuffs you full. "Do you fantasize about being feed on because you feed off the pleasure and pain?"
You could consider his question, answer truthfully wherever it lies. However, you're a bit preoccupied. The one or two things he's good for working against you, reducing you to a worthless pile of mush, the same matter made of your brain, melted and spilling out your ears, hearing stifled.
"Answer me."
Your throat works, suddenly so dry with a swallow for saliva to quench some thirst, vision fuzzy as you fight off the impending doom.
Not now, not yet.
"Yes," you respond. "I'm into it because─"
He notches himself with a particular force, one you do a withered whimper at, pupils shaking as they blow over your iris' ring.
"Because it's with you," your hand's on his jaw, holding him firm as you add on. "I have a you fetish."
"Fuck," there's a hitch in Sunghoon's thrusts, a slight hiccup when he disintegrates at your words, head hung only to come back up with the brightest smile on his face. The one you could spend eternity looking at. "You're such a tease."
"A pretty, sloppy, needy─" emphasis in his stupidly seductive tone matches with the brute of his thrusts, concentrated and attuned to what'll make you break. "─tease."
Against your forehead, his own falls, a kiss shared as his low body temperature attempts to dial back yours, the coil in your stomach too hot for you to function.
"Good thing you're close because I am too," he nods, one last kiss before he asks. "Do I have the honours?"
It's one of the easiest yes' you'll utter.
"Always."
What you could compare the initial seconds of Sunghoon feeding from you to is a piercing. The clamminess of your palms, an escalated heart rate even if you'd mentally prepared for the moment and eyes incapable of focusing. To gain it back, your only function boils down to managing your breaths as anticipation itches beneath your skin.
Then, it happens.
A momentary flicker of pain, sharpened enamel piercing through skin and sinking, nestling where no vitals are endangered. It's minor, so minor it's forgotten the second after it's felt, the burst of euphoria incomprehensible. Words fail to explain the phenomenon, amounting to a standard you're on a constant chase for, bewitched as Sunghoon so lovingly puts it, him just the same ─ if not worse off ─ as he shamelessly moans at the taste, the vague waft of blood's metallic scent replaced with the blanket of his linen scent.
Blood and sex are so intertwined, mentioned previously by Sunghoon. And while he'd said this in response to you, the words ring truest for him, a broken moan vibrating into your skin as his hips start rutting, erratic as he surges towards his orgasm. His priority forever and always, he wedges his hand between your bodies, your clit played with to bring you to a similar pace, something like come coating your walls as you squeeze his cock one last time, a cry from your lips before you come undone.
Eventually, he relents, having had his fill with a pry he holds your body up for, still dazed from the aphrodisiac-like remedy in his venom to seal your skin together. When the world stops moving in separate circles, you catch sight of his fangs, coated in the rich crimson of your blood, only having the energy for a lazy smile before he sorts you two out. An eventual knock echoes at his door, Sunghoon spitting the last of Pearl Bite toothpaste out his mouth, fangs like brand new as you two feign normalcy.
Like he hadn't fed from you, or how his vampire-equivalent to come isn't leaking between your crossed thighs.
Just another day at Sunghoon's practice.
thank you for reading! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated.ᐟ ᰔ
to join my taglist, please fill out this form! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-
𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍⠀ ✶ you hold it for him while he pees but things get out of hand . . .
𝔀𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit sexual content ⋮ 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ✿ mommy kink ˒ piss kink ˒ dirty talk ˒ praise kink ˒ edging ˒ cum swallowing ˒ very clingy jake ˒ sub jake don’t like? don’t read.
Everytime Jake wants to pee, he’ll squeeze his legs together and try to hold it in because he can’t bear being away from you for 2 seconds.
The two of you are on his couch, the TV flickering across the living room; your legs are draped over his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulders while your fingers idly trace slow circles along the nape of his neck. Jake’s head rests against your chest, his warm breath ghosting over the fabric of your shirt with every contented sigh. He’s been like this all evening— clingy, needy, pressing himself closer every chance he gets, as if the slightest distance might make him cry.
The movie plays on, but his attention has long since drifted; you can feel the subtle tension building in his body, the way his thighs press together just a little tighter than before.
“Y/n…” he murmurs after a long stretch of silence, voice small and shy against your skin. His cheeks are already flushed, that pretty pink that always spreads when he’s fighting his own desperation. “I… I need to go. But I don’t wanna move. Can’t I just stay right here with you?”
You smile softly, threading your fingers through his hair and giving it a gentle tug. “Poor baby. You’ve been squirming for the last twenty minutes. Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom. I’ll go with u so you’re not alone.”
Jake’s eyes light up with relief and he nods quickly, letting you help him up from the couch. His movements are careful as you guide him down the short hallway to his bathroom. The tile is cool under your bare feet, and he clings to your side the whole way, one arm looped around your waist like he might topple over without the contact.
Inside the bathroom, Jake stands in front of the toilet, shifting from foot to foot, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You step in close behind him, pressing your body against his back, your arms wrapping around his middle. “Let me help, baby. You’re too worked up to do it yourself, aren’t you?”
He whimpers softly in agreement, nodding as you reach around and carefully unbutton his pants. The zipper slides down with a quiet rasp, and you ease his underwear down just enough to free him. Jake’s already half-hard from the anticipation, his cock warm and heavy in your palm as you cup him gently. He’s sooo sensitive— twitching at the first brush of your fingers. You guide him forward, aiming the head toward the bowl.
“Go ahead, baby.”
Jake exhales shakily, burying his face into the crook of your neck the moment the first trickle starts. You can feel the heat of it pulsing through his cock in your hand, the subtle vibrations as his bladder empties. His belly, exposed as he shyly lifts the hem of his shirt with trembling fingers, rises and falls with each ragged breath. The skin there is soft and smooth, muscles fluttering under your other hand as you stroke slow, lazy circles over his abdomen.
“That’s it… good boy,” you praise in a low, soothing murmur, your lips brushing his ear. Your fingers wrap more firmly around his shaft, stroking ever so slowly from base to tip in time with the flow. The wetness makes everything slick— his own warm piss coating your palm just enough to ease the glide. Jake moans into your neck, the sound muffled and needy, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Look at you, letting mommy hold it while you pee. You’re so pretty like this, all desperate and trusting.”
He hardens fully in your grasp, the stream continuing even as his cock swells thicker nd heavier. The contrast is delicious—the way his body fights between relief and building arousal. You keep stroking, slow, thumb occasionally teasing the underside of the head. Jake’s knees tremble; he presses harder against you, face buried deeper, inhaling your scent like it’s the only thing grounding him.
Then you press your thumb firmly over his slit, right as another spurt tries to escape. Jake gasps sharply, body jolting. “M-Mommy..” The pressure makes the flow stutter, a few warm drops escaping around your thumb and trickling over your fingers, down his shaft. His cock throbs hard against the pad of your thumb, trapped and denied for a blissful second.
“Shh, hold it inside for me, baby,” you coo, voice soft but commanding. You cup his balls with your other hand, feeling them draw up tight and full, warm and heavy in your palm. You roll them gently, massaging as you keep the thumb pressed. “Mommy wants you to stop now. Can you do that for me? Be a good boy and hold it all in.”
Jake whines, high and broken, trying so hard. His belly tenses under your hand, the muscles contracting as he squeezes. The stream cuts off abruptly—but not perfectly. A few erratic spurts escape, splashing against the rim of the bowl and onto the floor in warm, glistening droplets. His face burns hotter against your neck, embarrassed and overwhelmed, but he keeps pushing, muscles straining.
“Hold it,” you repeat firmly, stroking his shaft again in long, praising glides. “That’s my sweet boy. You’re doing so well.. clenching so tight for Mommy even though it’s hard. Feel how full you still are? All that warm piss trapped inside because I told you to. You love when Mommy controls it, don’t you?”
He nods frantically, whimpering, “Yes—yes, Mommy. Feels… feels so good. Can’t… can’t stop it all—” Another small leak dribbles over your fingers, hot and slick, but he fights it back with a full-body shudder. His cock is rock hard now, flushed dark and leaking precum that mixes with the remnants of piss. You keep cupping his balls, squeezing them rhythmically, feeling them pulse with the effort.
“Such a good, obedient puppy,” you murmur, kissing along his jaw, nipping softly at his earlobe. Your hand never stops its slow, torturous stroking—up and down the slick length, twisting gently at the head. “You’re making such a pretty mess for me, but you’re trying so hard to hold it. I’m so proud of you. Let a little more out if you need to, but only when Mommy says. Understand?”
Jake’s breathing is ragged, hot puffs against your skin. His belly keeps fluttering, contracting and relaxing as waves of desperation roll through him. You praise him endlessly—soft whispers of “perfect boy,” “Mommy’s favorite,” “so needy and sweet”—while you edge him right there, thumb playing over his slit again to tease another tiny, denied spurt.
Time stretches. Minutes pass nd you let him release a few more controlled streams when he begs so prettily, each one accompanied by your stroking and praise, until he’s trembling on the edge of orgasm and total surrender. His legs shake, balls tight in your palm, cock throbbing wildly.
“Mommy… please,” he gasps finally, voice wrecked. “I—I’m gonna—”
You smile against his hair, squeezing his balls just right. “Cum for me, baby. Let it all go while Mommy holds you.”
He shatters —thick ropes of cum mixing with the last warm leaks of piss, spilling over your fingers and into the bowl in messy bursts. Jake clings to you like you’re his whole world, moaning your name between broken “thank you’s,” body spent.
synopsis: you're moving into your college apartment when a handsome guy helps you with your heavy boxes on the stairs. He turns out to be Jay, your older neighbor — a lawyer who quickly becomes part of your new life. He listens to you ramble for hours but never offers much about himself, and you tell yourself it's fine, that everyone has boundaries. Being with him feels too right to question, so you let yourself fall anyway, completely lost in him and blind to what's right in front of you until it's too late.
includes: student!reader x lawyer!jay, age gap (not specified), neighbors to lovers (?), lots of domestic fluff mixed with rough sex, slow-burn buildup before the smut, explicit sexual content (mdni), big dick jay, size kink (emphasis on thickness, length, belly bulge, stretching, etc.), cockwarning, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, praise kink, multiple orgasms, spitting in mouth, overstimulation, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, riding, missionary, spooning sex, car sex, doggy, spanking (punishment), manhandling, dirty talk, nipple play, soft dom!jay, brief mean dom jay, aftercare, pet names (princess & baby).
wc: 19.2k ─ a/n: ngl i'm so insecure about this... it took me forever to finish because i was running out of creativity and kept giving up, but i finally did it! really hope you guys like it anyways. i'd really appreciate any feedback! happy reading <33
comment here to join the tag list! .𝜗𝜚 ݁˖
You have been waiting for this moment for months, even years. You are finally moving out. It is because of college, but still, it is a new beginning far from home — a brand-new chapter in your own space. A mix of excitement and nervousness settles in your chest, because living alone requires a lot of responsibility, and you are not sure if you are ready to handle it all.
For the past five minutes, you have been staring at the mountain of boxes crammed into the trunk and backseat of your car like a game of Tetris. You are wondering how you are going to carry so many boxes up to the third floor where your apartment is. With a deep breath, you finally grab one of the boxes, and immediately stagger under its weight.
"Maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience" reads the sign taped to the elevator doors.
Drops of sweat form on your temples, down the back of your neck, and pool on your spine, making your shirt stick to your skin. Of course it would be hot as hell on the day of your move, and of course the elevator wouldn't be working — talk about lucky.
You take another deep breath, hug the box against your chest, and begin climbing the stairs slowly, careful not to lose your balance.
Your arms are trembling and your breathing is almost as heavy as the box by the time you finally reach the first floor, forcing you to set it down for a moment to rest. But just as you pick it up again, mentally preparing for the next flight of stairs, the sound of footsteps coming down from above catches you off guard.
A man is coming down the stairs. He’s tall, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms. His jaw is sharp — probably sharper than any knife you’ve ever seen. He looks so put-together that you suddenly feel embarrassed by your sweaty face and disheveled state.
Seeing you, he stops immediately, his eyebrows furrowing with mild concern. "Whoa. Let me help you with that." His voice is low and smooth, the kind of voice that sends a shiver down your spine before you can stop it.
You blush, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. "Oh, you don’t have to. I can manage—"
"I insist," he replies gently, waiting with his hands hovering, giving you the choice. You let him take the box, and the relief is immediate — your arms practically sing in gratitude. He lifts it as if it weighs nothing, cradling it against his chest with just one arm — the same box you were struggling to carry with both. "I’m Jay, by the way."
You quickly wipe the sweat from your forehead and try to fix your hair because you want to look at least a little presentable for the incredibly good-looking man helping you. "Thank you so much. I’m y/n. I’m moving in today, to apartment 3B."
Jay’s expression softens, and a warm smile spreads across his face. "3B? That’s interesting. I live right next door, in 3A." He nods toward the stairs. "Looks like we’re neighbors." He gestures ahead. "After you."
You both climb the remaining stairs together and your heart still pounding. You can’t tell if it’s from the physical effort earlier or from his company. Because of the nerves, the words start tumbling out before you can stop them.
"I’m starting college this week. I got accepted and everything, and I was so excited when I found this apartment. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, so I’m really thrilled… but also kind of terrified? Like, what if I get lost on campus? What if my classes are way harder than I expected? I brought way too much stuff, I’m kind of attached to my things, you know?" You let out a breathless laugh. "Sorry, I’m probably talking too much. I get really chatty when I’m nervous."
Jay glances at you as you walk, the box still balanced effortlessly in his arms. He doesn’t look annoyed — in fact, he seems amused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re not talking too much. It’s a big change, but you’re doing great."
You bite your lower lip, watching him as you climb. There is something intriguing about him that sparks your curiosity. "And you? Are you a student too, or…?"
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I’ve already graduated. I work at a company downtown." He says it casually, offering no further details — which only makes you even more curious.
You reach the landing of the second floor and have to stop to catch your breath, while Jay doesn’t even seem slightly winded — it’s honestly impressive. "My parents helped me pack my bags, but they’re hours away now. It’s exciting, though. New city, new people. I just hope I don’t ruin everything."
"You won’t," Jay says gently. "Everyone feels like that at the beginning. The nervousness is normal. Besides, you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll find your rhythm." He sets the box down carefully in front of your door. "Ready for another round?"
The words hit you like a spark. "Ready for another round." And before you can help it, your mind immediately drifts, imagining Jay on top of you, his strong body pressing you into the mattress, that same low voice murmuring the question against your neck while his hands pinned your wrists above your head. Heat flooded your face and settled lower in your belly.
You quickly shake your head, trying to push the thought away, desperately hoping your blush isn't too obvious. "Yes, let's do it."
He carries the rest of the boxes for you, going up and down the stairs multiple times. Meanwhile, you keep rambling nonstop about what you are studying, where you are from, and how you are feeling about this new phase of your life. He listens as if he genuinely cares, and even though you can’t quite place the age difference between you two, you feel surprisingly comfortable with him.
When the last box finally makes it through the door, you stand in the hallway with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Jay. Honestly. I don’t know what I would have done without you."
"Glad I could help. Moving is a big step. If you need anything else, I’m right next door." With that, he returns to his own apartment, leaving you surrounded by a sea of boxes that will clearly take hours to unpack.
A few days pass. You unpack — not everything, just the most important things. Your first classes are overwhelming. You get lost twice, accidentally walk into the wrong lecture hall, and sit through an entire lecture on quantum physics before realizing your mistake. But as embarrassing as it was, that mistake ended up leading you to a guy named Jake, who turned out to be incredibly nice and cute.
Now you are standing outside Jay’s door with a plate of cupcakes in your hands, ready to properly thank him for helping you with the move. The thing is, you can’t really bake; you tried making the cupcakes yourself but ended up burning the batch, so you had to go to the bakery on the corner to buy a box of them instead. They look a bit too professional, but since he doesn't know about your complete lack of kitchen skills, you're confident he won't suspect a thing — especially since you took them out of the box and arranged them nicely on a plate just to be extra safe.
You knock on his door, your heart pounding hard in your chest. He opens it a moment later, and his face lights up when he sees you. "Hey, neighbor," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "How are classes going?"
"Good," you reply, pushing the plate forward with a little too much force. "Great, actually. I only got lost twice today, which is an improvement." Your smile widens. "I brought these for you. For helping me with the move. I made them myself."
He looks at the cupcakes, then back at you, this time raising an eyebrow. "You made these?"
"Yes," you say, nodding firmly with your chin held high, trying to look confident. "From scratch. All by myself. I’m pretty good at baking."
He picks up one of the cupcakes and examines it, narrowing his eyes as he brings it closer to his face. You feel your determination starting to crumble.
"Really?" he asks with a smile, clearly testing how long you will keep up the lie. "From scratch?"
You hold his gaze for three whole seconds before you look away in embarrassment. Your shoulders drop and your face turns as red as a tomato. "Okay, fine. I bought them at the bakery on the corner. I took them out of the box so you would think I’m a functional adult who knows how to bake." You laugh at yourself. "I tried making them the other day, Jay. I set off the smoke alarm. I’m a danger to this entire building."
He throws his head back and laughs — not mocking you, but with a genuine, warm laugh that makes you feel less embarrassed about pretending you had baked the cupcakes. "Oh my God, you actually burned them?"
"I once burned noodles. I’m a total disaster in the kitchen."
He steps aside, still smiling, and gestures for you to come in. "Alright, come in. I’ll split one of these ‘homemade’ cupcakes with you. It’s the least I can do for someone who put so much effort into the task."
Your mom’s voice whispers in the back of your mind: "Don’t talk to strangers and definitely don’t go into their apartments, sweetheart." But is he really a stranger? He is your neighbor who carried all your boxes without complaining, and the way he stands there holding the plate of cupcakes with that smile makes you not hesitate at all.
You follow him inside. He leads you to the kitchen, grabs two small plates, and carefully unwraps a vanilla cupcake, splitting it in half before sliding one piece toward you.
"Have a seat," he says, pointing to the stool by the kitchen island.
"So, you mentioned you work downtown? What exactly do you do?" you ask as you sit down.
"I’m a lawyer," he replies, taking a bite of his half and nodding in approval. "Good choice of bakery, by the way."
You laugh, biting into yours. "A lawyer. That makes a lot of sense. You have this… I don’t know how to say it without sounding weird, but you have this organized vibe. Like you’re really good at arguing without even raising your voice."
His smile widens. "People have definitely told me that before that I have a ‘courtroom voice.’ It’s just my normal voice, only lower and slower. People tend to listen when you don’t yell."
"You’ll have to show me someday. If I ever get in legal trouble, I’ll know exactly who to call."
"Please don’t get in legal trouble. But if you do, I’m your guy."
The conversation flows just as easily as it did on moving day, and before you know it, you’re venting about your annoying professor, how massive the campus is, and all the times you’ve already managed to get lost. Between all the talking, the cupcakes completely disappear, leaving the coffee he made to sit cold and barely touched in your mug. There’s just something about him that instantly puts you at ease.
Despite the age gap, he never talks down to you or makes you feel small, which makes talking to him completely effortless. It’s just so comforting to have someone around who listens to you with that much care and attention — especially when he happens to be incredibly good-looking, leaving you totally hooked since the very first day.
As he walks you to the door when you finally get up to leave, he snatches a pen and a post-it note to scribble something down. Before you know it, he’s pressing the paper into your palm, his fingers brushing lightly against yours and sending a sudden warmth to your cheeks as he says, "Here’s my number, in case you ever need anything."
"Thank you," you say, smiling a little too wide.
He nods. "Anytime. Seriously. Don’t be a stranger."
────────
The grocery bags dig painfully into your fingers as you stand in the lobby, staring at the elevator doors that are still under maintenance. You look at them as if a miracle might happen — maybe if you stare for one more second, God will take pity and finally fix it. Nothing happens, of course, which makes you let out a long sigh of frustration. It has been days since you moved in and the elevator is still not working.
Your arms already hurt from carrying way too many bags. You definitely should have made two trips, but stubbornness won.
Reaching the second floor is pure torture; your arms are burning, those plastic handles are digging right into your palms, and the bags keep swinging awkwardly against your legs. Trying to stop and adjust your grip only makes things worse, to the point where you're seriously considering just sitting right there on the stairs and crying.
You finally collapse against the wall at the third-floor landing, letting the bags slide to the floor just to catch your breath. Right then, the door to 3A clicks open and Jay steps out — perfectly dressed for work with that annoyingly handsome lawyer look that instantly makes your stomach do a little flip.
He sees you immediately. For a second, his eyes take in the whole scene — your flushed face, the many overloaded bags, and the way you are leaning against the wall breathing heavily. A light, amused laugh escapes him. It is not mocking, just genuinely entertained, as if he expected nothing less from you.
"Carrying heavy stuff again?" he asks, walking toward you. "You really don’t learn, do you?"
Before you can even open your mouth to protest, he is already reaching for the bags, picking them all up at once as if they weigh absolutely nothing. His strong arms support the weight so effortlessly that his biceps press against the fabric of his dress shirt, making it completely impossible for you not to stare.
He turns and walks toward your door, carrying everything like it is nothing.
At your doorstep, Jay sets all the bags down carefully against the wall and turns to face you. His expression is calm, almost unreadable, but there is something more in it. You understand it the moment he starts speaking in a gently scolding tone. "You really shouldn’t carry so much at once," he says, crossing his arms. "It’s not safe and it’s clearly too heavy for you. Make two or three trips next time. Look at your hands, they’re all red. You were hurting yourself. Why? Because you’re way too stubborn, huh?"
You glance down at your palms, and they are red where the plastic handles dug in. "I was fine," you say, though even you do not believe it. "I almost made it."
"Don’t be stubborn."
"You sound exactly like my dad," you reply, crossing your arms to mimic him. "He’s always telling me I’m too stubborn for my own good."
Jay’s lips curve into a small smile. "Because you really are," he says with so much certainty that you cannot even argue back. "I’m serious. Next time, make multiple trips or just text me. I’d rather help than watch you struggle like that."
There is a protective tone in his voice that makes your cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and something else stirring low in your stomach. He is lecturing you like a child, but somehow it sounds kind of hot coming from him.
Then he glances at the grocery bags again. Now that the scolding is over, he seems to actually pay attention to what is inside them. He picks one up and looks inside — it is full of frozen meals, instant noodles, ultra-processed food, and canned goods. "Look, I know you’re in college now, but that doesn’t mean you have to live on processed food. It’s quick, sure, but you need real fresh stuff, not just things that come out of a can. Eating like this long-term isn’t good for you. You could get sick."
You blink, caught off guard by the extra lecture. He is fully in dad-mode now, and there is something strangely attractive about how seriously he takes it, like he is genuinely worried about you. "Okay, okay. I get it… I already told you I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I just grabbed whatever is easiest so I don’t starve."
Jay’s expression softens a little. "I’m not trying to scold you. I just know how easy it is to fall into bad habits when you’re living on your own for the first time." He pauses and adds in a gentler voice, "If you ever need help in the kitchen, you know where to find me. I’m not exactly a chef, but I know how to make real meals."
Your mind wanders again because you can’t help it — you picture him in your kitchen, standing right behind you while teaching you how to cook, his hands guiding yours, the warmth of his body against your back…
"I’ll try to do better, I swear. Thanks for helping again. I think I owe you something now. How about brownies as a thank you this time?"
Jay shakes his head, chuckling softly. "You don’t owe me anything. Just be more careful next time." He glances at the heavy bags one more time. "Need help carrying these inside?"
You shake your head quickly. "I can handle it from here. I bet you’re busy, you look like you’re heading to work."
He checks the watch on his wrist. "Yeah, I have a meeting soon, but the offer stands anytime." Before turning to leave, he gives you one last firm look. "Take care of yourself."
After he leaves, you drag the bags inside, one half first and then the other, just like Jay suggested.
That night, you are sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you open your contacts. You saved Jay’s number, of course, but you have been telling yourself you don’t need to text him. It is an emergency-only number, but then you think about him carrying your groceries, the effortless way he took them from you, and the gentle scolding in his voice. Before you can overthink it, you are already typing a message to him.
────────
It is already past midnight and you have been staring at the same page of your textbook long enough for your vision to blur. Your brain has officially given up — it is impossible to absorb a single word more after hours of studying.
You are about to slam the book shut to take out your stress on it and drag yourself to bed when a soft knock sounds at the door. Your heart jumps slightly because you were not expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.
Another knock.
You get up slowly, stretching your sore muscles, and walk to the door. When you open it, Jay is standing there, looking different tonight without his formal work clothes and lawyer posture. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and is barefoot. He looks relaxed, holding a bottle of red wine — as if he made the sudden decision to knock on your door and came straight over without even putting shoes on.
"Hey," he says, his low voice making your stomach flip. His eyes scan over you, taking in your tired face, messy hair, and pajamas. Something in his expression softens.
"Hey," you reply softly, matching his tone.
"Hey," he repeats, then laughs when he realizes what he just did.
"Hey," you answer again, this time with a small smile. "You already said that."
"I know." He laughs again, shaking his head. "I just… it’s late."
"Very late."
"I know." He lifts the bottle slightly. "I bought this earlier today but… it’s no fun drinking alone."
You look at the wine, then back at him. The way he is standing there — messy hair, ridiculously handsome, and a little too soft — makes going back to bed suddenly seem like a very stupid choice. "Are you inviting me to drink with you?"
"I’m asking if you want to take a break. From everything."
The way he looks at you with those inviting eyes makes the decision easy, but you decide to tease him first. "I don’t usually drink with strangers."
"We’re not strangers," he says, his voice soft. Your teasing does not seem to faze him.
"We’re not exactly friends either," you reply, tilting your head and studying his reaction.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost lazy smile. "Then let’s change that."
You pretend to consider it for a moment, even though you were already fully committed the second you saw him at your door. "Mmm, okay. But let’s do it at your apartment. Mine is a mess."
His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Alright, whatever you want."
You grab your keys and follow him, also barefoot, to the door next to yours. His apartment is clean and organized as always, which makes the space feel strangely comforting. In the kitchen, he pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, his fingers brushing against yours for half a second and sending a spark through your body.
"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.
"Cheers," you repeat, gently clinking your glass against his.
You take a sip and let out a small, involuntary hum of appreciation — it is much better than you expected, probably the most expensive wine you have ever tasted. He gestures toward the living room. "Come on, let’s sit," he says, leading the way to the couch. You follow and settle onto his couch, trying to look more relaxed than you actually feel.
"This is nice," you say, taking another sip.
He sits on the other end of the couch — close enough to talk comfortably, but far enough to be polite. "It’s just wine." He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass.
"I mean relaxing… not thinking about classes for the first time."
He nods, understanding. "You think about classes a lot."
"It’s pretty much my entire life right now," you admit with an awkward little laugh, taking another sip.
"I remember going through that too. Everything revolving around exams, assignments, and exhausting responsibilities."
You tilt your head, studying him. "You make it sound like ancient history."
"Sometimes it feels like it." He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. "I still remember when I was in college. I used to think a bad grade would ruin everything." A dry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "There’s so much pressure."
Suddenly you find yourself wanting to know more about him, drawn by the experienced tone in his voice and posture. The wine is already loosening your tongue, so you ask. "How old are you, anyway?"
A small, playful smile appears on his lips. "I’m old enough."
You narrow your eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one you’re getting." He takes another sip.
"That’s annoying," you say, leaning forward slightly and resting your elbows on your knees.
"Maybe I am annoying." He shrugs, but there is a sparkle in his eyes that tells you he is enjoying this.
"You’re avoiding the question," you accuse, pointing a finger at him.
"I’m protecting my privacy."
"From what? Your neighbor?" You laugh, raising an eyebrow.
"Especially from my neighbor."
You pout, pretending to be hurt. "Fine. Keep your secrets."
"Everyone has secrets," he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.
"I don’t." You are not even sure why you say it. Maybe it is the wine, or the way he is looking at you right now.
"Everyone does." He holds his ground. "You have secrets too."
Your pulse quickens. "I don’t."
"Yes, you do."
You swallow hard. The air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you can’t quite name. You shift slightly on the sofa and notice how easy it would be to reach out and touch him. "So you have a lot of secrets, huh?" you ask, curious.
"Yes. Quite a few."
"Like what?" you press, wanting to see what he will give you.
"If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore." His lips curve into a slow, almost predatory smile.
"Touché." You raise your glass in an ironic toast, making him laugh.
A comfortable but heavy silence settles between you for a moment, thick with tension as you exchange glances and take slow sips. The wine is definitely doing its job — making your words come out slower, your laughter easier, and your body warmer.
"How old are you?" he asks, breaking the silence.
You blink, caught off guard. "Me?"
"Yes, you." He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You asked me, so I’m asking you back."
You smile, deciding to play his game. "I’m old enough."
A low, surprised laugh escapes him — rich and genuine. "That’s my line."
"I know." You take another sip to hide your smile.
"You stole my line."
You just shrug. "I borrowed it."
"That’s not how borrowing works."
"Yes, it is."
He laughs again. "You’re impossible."
"Am I? What else?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.
"You’re something," he says, his voice dropping again.
"What?" You are not sure what he means by that.
"I don’t know yet." He keeps his eyes fixed on you. "But I’m figuring it out."
You feel your cheeks heat up and take another sip of wine to try to hide your reaction. Jay, however, keeps watching you, and you can tell he noticed.
"You know what I’ve noticed?" By now your voice is a little slurred, so you have to be careful with the words that come out of your mouth.
"What?" His wine glass is almost empty. He sets it on the coffee table and turns all of his attention to you.
You lean back on the couch, turning to face him more directly. Your knee brushes against his thigh, but neither of you pulls away. "You don’t talk much about yourself."
He tilts his head, frowning slightly. "Don’t I?"
"No. You listen, but you don’t share. Like, you’re dodging right now. You give answers, but you don’t really answer."
"Well, I’m trying to protect myself," he says simply.
"Protect yourself from what?" You lean forward, genuinely curious now.
"From getting too attached." The words are honest, and you definitely were not expecting them.
You stare at him, your hand frozen halfway to taking another sip. "From what?"
"To you." His voice is almost a whisper, making your pulse race and your skin flush.
"Why would you get too attached to me?"
He stays silent for a moment, his eyes tracing over you as if he wants to memorize every detail. "Because it’s easy to get attached to you."
"No, it's not," you say, shaking your head as a small, incredulous laugh escapes you.
"It is." His voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "You just don’t see it."
You look away, feeling your entire body grow warmer. "You’re dodging again."
"I’m being honest." He leans forward slightly, and you can smell him now — a masculine scent mixed with the light sweetness of the wine.
You set your glass on the coffee table and turn to face him completely, the wine making you bolder. "You’re giving me half-answers. You’re telling me just enough to make me curious, but not enough."
He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. "What do you want to know?"
You hold his gaze. "Something real. Truly honest."
Silence stretches between you, thick with something heavy and suffocating that you can't quite name. Then he whispers, "I think you’re beautiful."
Your breath catches, and for a second you are not sure you heard him correctly. "That’s not—" you begin, but he interrupts you.
"It’s honest."
"You can’t just say that," your voice barely comes out as a whisper.
"I just did." His gaze doesn’t leave yours for even half a second.
"It’s too… direct."
"You asked for it." He says it simply, like it is the most natural thing in the world.
"You’re a tease," you say, not sure if you are complaining or not.
"Wait until you find out what else I am. You want to know me? Then make sure you’re ready."
You do not know what to say or what to do, so you look away, your face burning.
When he finally walks you to your door, you are a little unsteady on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle hand on your waist, and the touch is enough to send shivers through your body. "I’m fine," you murmur, even though you are swaying slightly.
"You’re drunk," he says, smiling at your messy state.
"I’m a little tipsy," you reply, giving him a blurry-eyed look.
"You’re drunk."
"It’s the same thing," you mutter dismissively.
"No, it’s not." He is looking at you with that warm, steady gaze that makes your knees feel weak.
You smile, light and tipsy. "Yes, it is."
At your door, you miss the lock twice. He laughs softly before helping you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For this, for the wine, the company, and everything."
His lips curve into a small, warm smile. "Good night, old enough.:
You smile again — you seem to always be smiling when he is around. "Good night, old man."
You step inside, close the door, and lean against it with your heart racing and your whole body warm from the wine and his words — still smiling like an idiot.
A few minutes later, you are curled up in bed when your phone buzz on the nightstand.
────────
You have been tossing and turning on the mattress for what feels like hours — shifting positions, turning to the other side, but nothing helps. You can’t fall asleep — you mind refuses to stop, racing with thoughts about exams, deadlines, and the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. You need air, you need to feel like you are not suffocating in that apartment, surrounded by boxes you haven't even had the time to unpack yet. There are several unfinished notes on your desk that constantly remind you that you are not doing enough, no matter how hard you try.
So you go up to the rooftop. The cool night air hits your face and lets you breathe again.
The city is an endless sea of lights — countless tiny glowing points in the darkness that remind you how small you really are. You sit on the old bench near the edge of the roof, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them like a shield.
Your thoughts slowly begin to calm as the minutes pass, and the knot in your chest loosens just a little.
Then the door creaks open behind you.
You turn quickly, your body instantly on alert and your heart racing. And there he is — Jay. He is wearing sweatpants and a black shirt, something about this casual, almost domestic look makes your heart skip a beat. He sees you immediately and stops. Surprise flashes across his face for a second before it turns into that familiar half-smile.
"Can’t sleep either?" His voice is low, almost intimate in a way that makes you shiver.
You shake your head. "I have too much on my mind right now…"
He nods as if he completely understands — and he really does. Walking toward you, he stops at a respectful distance before sitting on the bench beside you — close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, but not so close that he invades your personal space. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all." You shift over a little even though there is already enough space.
He leans back, looking up at the sky, which is beautiful tonight with a full moon and stars shining brightly. The silence stretches between you. He doesn’t force conversation; he simply sits there observing the sky and the city with you. The silence is not awkward — it is actually comforting, especially when you are with him.
"I can’t sleep," you admit, breaking the silence with words that slip out before you can stop them. "I try, but my brain just won’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I start thinking about all the things I have to do, all the things I haven’t done, and all the ways I’m probably going to mess everything up."
"What’s on your mind?" His voice is gentle and patient as always, showing that he is ready to listen.
"Everything." You let out a shaky sigh. "College, exams, being away from my family for the first time… It’s a lot. I thought I was ready, that I could handle it. But sometimes it feels like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim. Literally."
"I know how that feels," he says after a long moment of silence. His eyes stay fixed on yours, and there is something raw in them — something honest. "I remember feeling exactly like that. Like everything was too much and I was too small to handle it."
"You’re talking about yourself. That’s new," you say softly. "You always ask about me, but you never—"
"You already have enough on your plate," he cuts in gently.
You blink, caught off guard. "What?"
"You’re stressed about college, adjusting to a new city, and far from your family," he keeps his gaze steady on you, his expression sincere. "You don’t need to hear about my problems too."
"That’s not how it works." You shake your head as something warm and confusing blooms in your chest. "We’re supposed to share things. That’s what—" You pause, searching for the right word. "That’s what friends do."
"I don’t want to burden you when you’re already dealing with so much, and I certainly don’t want to make it worse."
You stay quiet for a moment, his words stirring something you cannot quite name — but it feels good. "That’s really… kind," you finally say.
"I try." He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips.
The silence settles again, and you sit together quietly for a while longer. Then, out of nowhere, he tilts his head and asks, "How’s your succulent doing?"
You laugh at the unexpected question. "You’re asking about my plant?"
"I remember you mentioned it." He turns toward you — fully turning his body — with a small playful smile on his lips. "I bet you gave it a name."
You shake your head, still smiling. "I haven’t named it yet… but it’s still alive, which is honestly impressive."
"You’re supposed to water it," he says in a gently scolding tone.
"I know." You look away, feeling a little guilty about slowly killing a plant.
"But you forget." There is no judgment in his voice, only warm amusement.
"I forget." You laugh — something you always do when you are with him. "I have a lot on my mind, okay?"
"You’re a plant killer." He smiles, making you grin even wider.
"I’m not a plant killer! I’m just… forgetful. It is surviving, which is more than I can say about myself sometimes."
Something in your words changes his expression. It is still gentle, but now there is a hint of concern. "You’re doing better than you think."
You don’t know what to say, so you just look at him, with the words stuck in your throat.
"Does the succulent at least have company?" he asks after a moment, his voice light as always.
You blink, confused by the sudden question. "What?"
"Other plants, maybe some flowers, something to keep it company. Plants get lonely too."
You laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think it gets lonely. It’s just a plant, after all."
"All living things have feelings. It definitely feels lonely," he says with so much conviction that you almost believe him.
"That’s not scientifically accurate," you reply, not entirely sure if what you are saying is accurate either.
"I never said it was." He shrugs. "I’m a lawyer. I deal with arguments, not facts."
"They’re the same thing."
"Not at all." He shifts closer to you on the bench, making sure you are listening. "Facts are objective. Arguments are subjective. I make a living turning subjective arguments into something that sounds like objective facts."
"That’s… something. And you’re so weird."
"I’m just concerned about your plant’s loneliness." His voice is incredibly serious, showing that he is taking this very seriously.
"You’re worried about my plant," you say, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, just like I worry about you."
You don’t know what to say again — Jay has a way of leaving you speechless. Your cheeks flush and you look away. "I’ve never received flowers before, anyway…" you say softly, the secret slipping from your lips.
Jay is not sure he heard you correctly. "What did you say?"
Even though you hesitate, you repeat it, louder this time. "I’ve never received flowers." You look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. "I had a boyfriend before, but he was an idiot. He never did anything romantic like giving me flowers or taking me for dates."
He stays silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you while your heart pounds loudly in your ears. He is thinking about something — you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. "Would you want to go on one? With me."
You stop breathing the moment you hear his words and everything around you seems to freeze. "What?"
"A date. A real date where I pick you up, open doors for you, and take you somewhere nice. It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. It can just be two people spending time together. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."
Your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it, your mouth is dry, your palms are sweaty, and the words feel stuck in your throat again. Jay is asking you out on a date — a real date. The age gap has been on your mind since the day you met — he is a lawyer and you are still trying to figure out how to live on your own, but every interaction with him feels safe, like he truly sees you.
"Jay, I—" You stop, taking a shaky breath.
"You don’t have to answer right now," he says gently, giving you time to think.
"No, I—" You take another deep breath, and this time the words come out steady. "Yes. Yes, I want that."
His face transforms — a slow, warm smile spreads across his lips and reaches his eyes, making your stomach flip and your heart race just like always.
"Great," he says softly. "I’ll plan something."
A shy laugh escapes you as the reality of it sinks in. "What do you like to do on dates? I’m sure you’ve been on plenty."
He leans forward a little, resting his elbow on his knee. "I want to know what you like. That’s what matters right now, tell me your preferences so I can plan something good for you."
As you think for a moment, you suddenly feel embarrassed by how limited your preferences are. "I’m kind of picky, honestly. I like pasta, I hate anything too spicy, and I don’t like overly sweet desserts. Oh, and I’m not a big fan of seafood unless it’s fried. Is that too much?"
Jay listens attentively, nodding as if he is absorbing every detail. "Not at all. Being picky isn’t a problem, it actually makes it easier to get it right." He pauses, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "You know, for someone who’s a disaster in the kitchen, you have very specific opinions, princess."
The nickname lands softly between you — affectionate and teasing, with a hint of warmth. Your breath catches, your face flushes instantly, and you lower your head to hide the redness in your cheeks and the smile forming on your lips.
"I… You can’t just say that," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes.
"Why not?" He is smiling even more now, clearly enjoying your reaction. "It suits you. You have high standards and you know exactly what you want, even if you pretend you don’t."
You cover your face with both hands for a second, peeking through your fingers. "You’re going to make me regret saying yes."
"Too late," he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate. "You already said yes."
You lower your hands and meet his gaze, your heart racing in the best possible way. Jay stands up suddenly and offers you his hand. "Come on, it’s getting late and you have class tomorrow. Let’s get you back inside before you freeze."
You take his hand — which is so much bigger than yours — and let him help you up. He doesn’t let go afterward, his fingers stay intertwined with yours as you walk together toward your floor. The elevator is no longer broken, but you both take the stairs anyway, wanting to prolong the moment a little longer.
Stopping at your door, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. “I'll text you about the date,” he says softly. "We’ll pick a night that works."
You nod, still feeling a little shy about everything. "Okay… Good night, Jay."
"Good night, princess."
────────
The next day, you are more nervous than you have ever been. Every notification on your phone makes your heart skip a beat, terrified that it is Jay confirming the date. Your stomach is in knots with a mix of panic and hope, even though you want to go on this date, you are still incredibly nervous about it.
Your phone buzzes while you are in the library trying to study. "Friday at seven? I’ll take care of everything. Just be ready for a proper night out."
The words "proper night out" send a shiver through you. He is taking this seriously, treating it as something special, even though he said it didn’t have to be romantic. Still, it means something. Smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt, you text back agreeing.
When Friday finally arrives, the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. In fact, they become even more restless as the time of the date gets closer. Hours before, you start getting ready — taking your time as you choose an outfit that makes you feel confident and beautiful. You spend extra time on your makeup, keeping it natural but enhancing your eyes and lips, making sure everything is perfect.
Exactly at seven, you take the elevator down. Jay had insisted on waiting outside the building instead of knocking on your door. "I want you to have the full experience," he had texted earlier, and the gesture made you smile despite your nerves. The moment you step out onto the sidewalk, you see him leaning against his sleek black car parked at the curb. He looks unfairly handsome in a tailored dark shirt and pants.
For a moment, he simply looks at you — slowly scanning from your face to your dress and back up again as his smile widens. "You look beautiful," he says, taking a step closer. "Really, truly beautiful."
Your cheeks flush quickly and a smile forms on your lips. "Thank you. You look really handsome too."
Before you can say anything else, he reaches inside the car and pulls out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "I remembered what you said on the rooftop…"
The bouquet is perfect, wrapped so beautifully that it makes your chest tighten. "Jay…" you whisper as you reach out to take the flowers. "They’re beautiful. I don’t even know what to say."
Without thinking, you give him a grateful hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, one hand resting on your lower back while the other gently caresses the nape of your neck. "You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy tonight. That’s all I want."
When you pull away, still smiling widely, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and asks, "Ready to go, princess?"
You nod, holding the flowers like a lifeline. He opens the car door for you, waiting until you are settled before closing it gently. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he looks at you with a playful smile. "Seatbelt, please. Safety first."
You laugh and buckle up. "Such a gentleman."
"Only for you."
The drive starts peacefully, soft music playing in the background as you talk. He asks about your day and teases you lightly when you admit that you spent half of your class daydreaming about tonight and that it took you forever to choose what to wear.
You can’t stop stealing glances at him — the way his hands rest easily on the steering wheel, those large hands with long fingers, and the way he looks at you at red lights as if making sure you are still real.
After a few minutes, you notice the city lights fading and buildings giving way to trees. "Where are we going?" you ask curiously, realizing he has been driving for a while — much farther than you expected. "This is pretty far from our building. Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"
Jay laughs, keeping his eyes on the road. "I’m not going to kill you. I’m just taking you to a place I love, and I think you’ll love it too."
The drive takes about thirty minutes, but when you finally arrive, the restaurant leaves you breathless. You immediately understand why he chose it — it is cozy and elegant, with a stunning view of the city. He reserved a intimate corner table with the perfect view.
He pulls out the chair for you, and as soon as you sit down, he leans in slightly to whisper in your ear, "Relax, okay?"
The dinner unfolds perfectly. You order pasta — creamy, exactly the way you like it — and he chooses a steak dish, offering you a bite from his fork with a raised eyebrow that feels far more intimate than it should. You talk a lot, and he listens as always, head tilted and eyes focused only on you.
You tell him about the friendships you are making in college, about the strange noise your AC is making, and absentmindedly mention the doorman. "He’s nice, I think… but sometimes he looks at me like he knows something I don’t."
Jay’s expression shifts with something unreadable for half a second, but he quickly covers it with a soft chuckle. "He’s probably just in a bad mood. Or maybe he sees how much you’re distracting your poor neighbor."
You laugh. "Poor neighbor? You seem to be handling it pretty well."
His foot brushes against yours under the table. "Barely."
In the middle of the conversation, Jay’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, frowns, and silences it, slipping it into his pocket.
But a few minutes later, it buzzed again. Jay sighs. "I need to take this. It’s probably an emergency with a client. I won’t be long. I’m really sorry."
"Go ahead. I’ll be here judging the dessert menu."
He leans in and gives you a quick kiss on your temple before standing up. "I’ll be right back, princess."
The casual display of affection makes your heart race as you watch him walk away. While he is gone, you take a sip of your wine, observe the people around you, and study the dessert menu.
He returns after about five minutes, sliding back into his seat with an apologetic smile. "All sorted. Where were we?"
When the check arrives, Jay pays without hesitation, even though you offered to split it. Outside, the night air is cold, so he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Then he pulls you closer for a moment, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for saying yes," he murmurs against your hair.
You look up at him, smiling. "That was the best decision I’ve made in a long time."
The drive back feels shorter than the trip there, unfortunately — you wish this moment could last forever. Jay keeps one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. You arrive at the building sooner than you would like, but instead of stopping at the curb, Jay drives into the underground garage.
You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you, Jay. For everything, the flowers, the dinner, the evening… I had a really great time."
He turns to you, that slow smile playing on his lips. "I’m glad, princess."
You reach for the door handle, but his hand moves quickly, wrapping around your wrist and stopping you. Your breath catches at the unexpected contact. "Wait, aren’t you going to thank me properly?"
You blink, confused. "I just did? The hug outside the restaurant and just now."
Jay chuckles, and his gaze shifts into something hungrier. "That was sweet, but I was thinking of something a little more fitting for the end of a perfect night."
Without overthinking it, you lean across the console and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," you whisper again, pulling back to see his reaction.
His smile widens. "Still not enough, princess. Come here."
He cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. The kiss starts soft, his lips meeting yours hesitantly, and you quickly melt into it, which makes him deepen the kiss while still keeping a slow, deliberate pace. His tongue traces your lower lip, and you part for him with a small sigh.
What begins as one kiss turns into many, you lose count as they grow more intense, hungry, and urgent.
Somehow, you end up climbing over the console. His hands guide your hips until you are straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. The space is tight and the steering wheel presses against your back, but you couldn't care less right now. His hands roam along your sides, sliding up your dress until they rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles that make you whimper against his mouth.
You kiss him again and again, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, which draws a low groan from him. That only encourages you — hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you. The friction makes you gasp, and Jay clearly loves the sight — he squeezes your thighs, encouraging your movements.
"God, you’re incredible," he whispers against your mouth between kisses. "So responsive… so perfect."
Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, breathing hard. "You deserve better than this, princess. Our first time shouldn’t be in a car like a couple of impatient teenagers."
You kiss him again, more intensely, nipping at his lower lip. "I don’t care, I want you right here."
He groans, sliding his hand into your hair to pull you into another hungry kiss. "You’re so eager, princess… and so perfect grinding against me like this."
His mouth moves down to your neck, sucking lightly and drawing more whimpers from you. Your movements become restless, rubbing harder, chasing friction. "Jay…" you whisper between kisses. "I need you, please."
His hands find the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up inch by inch with clear appreciation until he discards it onto the passenger seat. "Beautiful," he murmurs reverently as he stares at your tits. "So beautiful." He leans down, pressing hot, wet kisses along the soft skin, then his tongue circles one nipple before sucking it deeply into his mouth.
You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips. He gives the same attention to the other tit, licking, sucking, and grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth while his hand massages and caresses the first. “You taste so good,” he praises, his voice muffled. "These perfect tits in my mouth… you’re already trembling. So sensitive for me."
He kisses lower, along your sternum and ribs, then back up — worshipping every inch of you while you keep grinding against him. Your panties are soaked, and the friction against his hardness only turns you on more.
He waits until you’re trembling in his lap before he finally moves. Reaching between you, he lowers his pants and boxers just enough to free himself, and when he does, your eyes widen. He is big — thick and hard. The sight makes your mouth water and heat pool low in your belly.
Jay reaches into the glove compartment, fumbling for a condom. He tears it open and rolls it down his length with surprising skill while you watch, hypnotized and a little intimidated by his size and thickness. "You’re… really big," you say softly.
Jay notices your nervousness and caresses your cheek, trying to soothe you. "We’ll go slow, princess. I’ve got you. My good girl can take it."
He helps you shift your panties to the side, guiding you as you sink down onto him. The stretch is intense but delicious — you take him inch by inch, breathing deeply as he fills you completely, murmuring praises nonstop. "That’s it, princess… so tight, so good for me… so fucking perfect around me."
You bury your face in his neck as you sink all the way down, taking him completely until your ass is pressed firmly against his lap. "Oh God… you’re so, so big," you moan, still adjusting to the intense stretch.
The age difference flashes through your mind — he is older, more experienced, probably used to women who knew exactly what they were doing. You want to be good for him, so once you feel ready, you start moving — bouncing with almost frantic energy, desperate to please him. Your hips move and grind fast, determined.
"Easy, princess," Jay groans, gripping your hips to slow you down. "Slow… just like that. You feel incredible, but there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere."
You moan, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "I just… you’ve probably been with so many others who were better at this. I want to make it good for you. I want to be the best—"
He cuts you off with a deep kiss, then pulls back to look into your eyes while still guiding your movements into a slower, deeper rhythm. "Hey, none of that. It’s just you right now, and you’re already the best, baby. Look at how perfectly you take me." He thrusts up gently to emphasize his words, drawing a moan from you. "You’re my princess."
You relax into his words and the rhythm he sets, moving your hips in deep, grinding motions instead of frantic bouncing. It feels even better this way — his thickness brushing against every sensitive spot inside you. "Like this?" you ask breathlessly, your voice shy but needy.
"Just like that," he praises, his voice rough. "So good for me. So wet… so tight. You’re perfect, listen to those pretty sounds you make."
You keep whispering to him the whole time — shy confessions and soft, breathless questions. "You feel so good, Jay… I feel so full. Does it feel good for you? Tell me if you’re enjoying it."
He groans, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass, then returning to your tits so he can lick and suck them while you ride him. "I love it. I love everything you do. The way you squeeze me… the way you say my name. You’re ruining me, princess."
The pleasure builds uncontrollably, intense and overwhelming, leaving both of you sweaty and breathless. He slides a hand between you to your clit, circling it with his thumb in time with your movements. You tremble hard, moaning and gasping, telling him how close you are, how good he feels, and how much you have wanted this since the day you moved in.
When you come, your walls pulse tightly around his thickness and your body shakes as you cry out his name. Jay follows right after, holding you firmly against him as he finishes into the condom with a deep groan, murmuring endless praises. "That’s it, come for me… so beautiful giving yourself to me completely… my perfect girl."
You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing your temple while his hands gently caress your back. "You okay?" he whispers after a while. "Was it too much?"
"It was perfect," you murmur, nuzzling into his neck. "Better than I imagined. Thank you for slowing me down when I got too excited. I probably embarrassed myself, right?"
He shakes his head lightly and laughs, then he gives you one last kiss on your temple and helps you climb back into the passenger seat, watching as you slip your dress back on. "Don’t forget these," he says, reaching for the bouquet.
You take it with a happy smile. "I wouldn’t dare."
He walks around the car to open your door and intertwines his fingers with yours as you walk toward the elevator. Once inside, he pulls you close and kisses you the entire way up to your floor.
"Your place tonight?" you ask against his lips.
Jay’s hand slides to your lower back, pulling you even closer. "Yes, because I’m not done with you yet. I need you in my bed. The thought of you in my sheets, smelling like me when you wake up… it drives me crazy."
The elevator doors open and he pulls you down the hallway toward his door, unlocking it effortlessly. The moment you are both inside, he takes the flowers from your hand, sets them on the counter, and turns to you with hungry eyes. "Come here," he growls, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. His hands cup your face first, then slide down your body. "Let me take care of you properly this time."
He leads you to the bedroom and there, he undresses you slowly, admiring and kissing every inch of exposed skin. When you are completely naked, he steps back and looks at you with pure admiration and desire. "Fuck, look at you… so perfect. Every curve, every inch… all mine tonight."
He removes his own clothes and guides you onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. His warm palms caress them, spreading you open even more. His mouth is on you immediately, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, savoring you. "Mmm, already so wet," the vibration of his voice makes you gasp. "You taste so sweet, princess. Like you were made for my mouth."
You let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. "Jay… that feels incredible. Oh God—"
He slides a finger inside you, curling it against that sweet spot while his mouth continues sucking and licking. The suction around your clit, the rhythm of his finger stroking that perfect spot deep inside — it all turns the pleasure into something deliciously overwhelming. He adds a second finger, then a third, carefully stretching you as he pumps them in and out.
Your hips move against his face as the pleasure intensifies. "Don’t stop… please, Jay, just like that," you moan, your voice breathless and desperate. He eats you out like a starving man — licking, sucking, and thrusting his fingers into you until your thighs shake around his head and you fall apart with a long, loud cry. You clench and pulse around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you.
Jay doesn’t stop right away, he keeps licking and fingering you through it, prolonging every sensation until you are limp and panting. Only then he drags his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and up your neck. "You taste like heaven," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I could do this all night, make you come on my tongue until you go stupid."
He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on quickly over his hard, leaking cock. You reach down, wrapping your hand around his thick, hard length — stroking him slowly, feeling the weight, the pulsing heat, tracing the veins with curiosity. "I want it raw, Jay… I need to feel you, please."
He groans deeply, his hips pushing forward into your fist. "Baby… protection first, remember? I’ll still make you feel good even with the latex between us, I promise." After kissing your forehead, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes in inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You feel a burning stretch as your walls slowly give way to him, every thick pulsing vein dragging against your sensitive insides. When he’s halfway in, you look down between your bodies and see the clear bulge pressing out against your lower belly.
He notices it right after and quickly slides a hand down to press against the bulge, feeling it move under his palm as he sinks deeper. "Fuck, look at that. You see how deep I am? My cock is rearranging your insides, princess. Stretching this tight pussy so you can see it from the outside."
Your hand joins his, pressing against the visible outline, feeling him move inside you from both the inside and the outside. He teases you mercilessly, thrusting slow and deep so the bulge shifts under your combined touch. "You’re taking me so well, like this pussy was made for my cock. So greedy, swallowing every inch."
He sinks the rest of the way in with a guttural groan, bottoming out completely. "Shit… so tight, so hot. You’re already milking me."
His thick cock fills you so completely that every movement presses against sensitive spots that steal the breath from your lungs. His thrusts start controlled and incredibly gentle instead of brutal force. One hand stays intertwined with yours above your head, while the other caresses your cheek, squeezes your breast, and lightly pinches your nipple before soothing it with his thumb. "You look like pure sin wrapped around me… My beautiful princess, creaming all over my cock, taking every inch like a good girl. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else."
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Jay… it feels so good. You’re so deep, I can feel you everywhere." He leans down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hips move faster in a devastating rhythm that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
You come hard around him, your walls fluttering and clenching tightly as you cry out. He does not stop, thrusting deep and steady, prolonging your orgasm until you are shaking. "Fuck, that’s it, come on my cock, baby."
Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a long, broken groan of your name as he cums, pulsing inside you. He stays buried deep for long moments afterwards, holding you close and covering your face, neck, and shoulders with soft kisses until both of your breathing steadies.
Eventually, he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and returns from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans you both gently, murmuring more praises the entire time. "You were perfect, princess. So responsive, so beautiful when you come for me." He pulls the sheets over both of you and wraps you in his arms.
Your head rests on Jay’s chest while his fingers trace a lazy path along your spine, down to the curve of your waist. Without a word, you shift, turning onto your side. Jay follows naturally, molding his body against yours from behind in a perfect spoon. His chest presses against your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. You can already feel him half-hard again against the curve of your ass, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.
He nuzzles into the back of your neck, placing soft kisses there. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough in the quiet room.
"More than okay," you whisper back, pressing lightly against him. "I like feeling you close like this."
Jay reaches for another condom from the nightstand. You hear the faint rustle as he puts it on, then his hand returns to your body, tenderly caressing your side and hip. He lifts your top leg slightly, hooking it over his, opening you up for him. The thick head of his cock brushes against your entrance before he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he is buried completely inside you.
"So good," he whispers against your neck, sliding a hand up to caress your breast. His fingers massage gently, his thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch.
He starts moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips, thrusting unhurriedly so you can feel every inch of his thick cock dragging against your walls. While he fucks you, his hand on your breast never stops worshipping it — squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally pinching lightly before soothing it with gentle caresses. And his mouth keeps placing open-mouthed kisses along the back of your neck, back, and shoulder.
You reach behind you, running your fingers through his hair as you move with him. "Jay… deeper like that feels so good."
His thrusts become a little deeper, but still controlled. "You take me so well every single time. Look at how perfectly you fit around me. I could stay inside you forever." His mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while he continues playing with your breasts — pinching, rolling, and caressing until your nipples are deliciously sore. Only then he slid his hand down to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination of sensations is overwhelming and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "You’re so close… I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me again, princess."
And you do. Your walls contract rhythmically around his thickness as you moan his name, your body trembling in his arms. Jay follows right after you, burying his face in your neck with a deep groan as he comes, filling the condom.
You turn your head slightly to capture his lips in a lazy kiss. "I feel so safe with you," you whisper. "And so wanted."
He stays inside you until the aftershocks fade, then carefully pulls out, discards the condom, and cleans you both once again with gentle care. He pulls the sheets up around you both and draws you back into his arms, spooning you again.
Jay’s hand rests tenderly on your stomach, tracing small circles there. You feel deeply in love and completely at peace as you start to drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.
Sunlight is already filtering through the curtains by the time you slowly wake up the next morning —.only to realize the space beside you is empty, even though the warmth of Jay’s body and the faint scent of his cologne still linger around. You stretch and sit up to look around the room, noticing one of his shirts draped over the back of a chair. Slipping it on, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee and food already filling the air.
Jay is at the stove, flipping eggs while a plate of toast and cut fruit waits for you on the counter. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "Good morning."
He turns off the stove and turns around, settling his hands on your hips. His gaze softens instantly when he sees you wearing his shirt. "Good morning, princess. You look way too good in my clothes."
You laugh softly and tilt your face up, expecting a kiss. He leans in but pauses with a playful look. "Ah, but you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. No good-morning kisses until after breakfast."
You pout and dramatically pull away. "Not even a kiss on the cheek? You’re so cruel."
With a sigh, he gives in — pressing a long kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead. Before you can say anything, he effortlessly lifts you and sits you on the edge of the kitchen counter, standing between your knees. "There. Now I can look at you properly while I finish this."
As he moves around the kitchen, your eyes wander until they stop on the refrigerator. Something catches your attention — photos are held up by magnets, but one in particular stands out: a Polaroid of Jay smiling with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. You hadn't noticed it on your previous visits to the kitchen — you had been too focused on him. "Who is that?" you ask curiously, nodding toward the fridge. "The woman in the photo with you?"
Jay glances over while sliding a plate toward you. "That’s my sister. We don’t look much alike, I know. We’re actually half-siblings."
You tilt your head, studying the photo for another second. They really do not look very similar, but that is not unusual for half-siblings. "She looks nice," you say lightly, accepting the plate he offers. "Breakfast looks delicious, by the way. You really didn’t have to."
"I wanted to," he replies, stepping between your knees and stealing a quick peck. "After last night, it feels right to take care of you this morning… and maybe every other morning too."
You smile shyly. "Speaking of last night… it was incredible. You made everything feel so good, so right. I keep replaying every part of it in my head."
He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "You were perfect, baby. I loved every second of it." He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. "You’re so beautiful when you let go for me."
"You’re going to make it really hard for me to focus in class today." You take a bite of the toast, savoring it. "Oh, by the way, I’m going out with some new friends from college tonight. They invited me to a party, it’s a chance to get to know each other better outside of class."
Jay nods, resting a hand on your thigh and stroking it lightly. "Sounds fun. Just be careful, okay? Text me when you get there and when you’re heading back."
"I will," you say, stealing another quick kiss from him. "I won’t stay out too late anyway. I have an early class tomorrow."
He picks up a piece of fruit from the plate and brings it to your mouth, brushing his fingers teasingly against your lips. "You deserve to have fun… I’ll be here if you need anything when you get back."
You stumble out of your friend’s car a little after 1 a.m., waving goodbye as you sway on your feet. You make your way toward the building entrance and suddenly remember that you promised to text Jay — which you didn’t. So you call him to let him know you arrived and are heading up. In response, he says he is waiting for you.
When you reach the third floor, Jay’s door is already open and he is waiting for you. "Heyyy," you say cheerfully, immediately wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. "I’m back. Just like I promised."
Laughing Jay’s arms wrap around you automatically as he looks at you more closely. "You’re pretty drunk, princess. How was the party?"
"So much fun," you ramble, clinging to him tighter as he guides you inside and closes the door. "We danced, there was a shot game, and my new friends are so funny. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt." You tilt your head up, puckering your lips. "Kiss?"
Instead of a proper kiss, he gives you a quick one on your forehead. "You smell like a distillery and your shirt is soaked, what happened?"
You look down at the sticky stain on your shirt and pout. "Someone spilled on me. It’s gross. But I still want kisses, real kisses." You try to pull his face down, standing on your tiptoes. "I missed you all night. I kept thinking about you during the party… about how nice you were last night. We should do that again right now."
Jay gently holds your wrists to stop you. "Not tonight, princess. You’re drunk."
"But I want you," you beg, pressing closer, but he doesn’t give in at all. "You’re so hot, so gentle, and… big. Please?"
He shakes his head and guides you toward the bathroom. "No. Only when you’re sober and can remember everything clearly. Right now, I’m just taking care of you, okay?"
"Let’s get you cleaned up," he says gently once you reach the bathroom. Reaching for the hem of your wet shirt he carefully pulls it off, followed by the rest of your clothes.
"You’re always so gentle with me," you murmur, watching him adjust the shower temperature. "No one has ever been this gentle. I really, really like you, Jay."
He smiles softly and helps you into the shower, joining you still fully dressed so he can take care of you. Jay keeps one hand on your waist to steady you while the other runs soapy over your shoulders and arms.
The alcohol in your system makes your emotions spill out easily before you can stop them. "I think… I think I’m falling for you," you confess, your tongue loose, making your cheeks flush. "Is that crazy? It feels too fast. I know I’m younger and still figuring everything out, but being with you just feels right. You make me feel safe, wanted, and special."
Jay pauses for half a second, processing what he just heard, but then continues washing you carefully — lathering the floral-scented body wash over your skin. "This smells like… girl stuff," you say, a little curious. "Is it yours?"
He looks away for a moment before answering. "It’s my mom’s. She left some things here the last time she came to visit."
"Ah," You rest your forehead against his chest as the water runs over both of you. "I meant it, though. About falling for you. Even if it’s too soon… I can’t help it."
Jay wraps his arms fully around you under the spray of water, holding you close — voice is full of affection when he finally replies. "Hey… look at me, princess." He gently lifts your chin. "What you’re feeling… I feel it too." Softly, he kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "We don’t need to rush or label anything right now. Just know that I’m here and I care about you a lot."
Even in your alcohol-fueled haze, his words calm the part of you that was worried you were moving too fast. "Really? You feel it too?"
"I do." He continues washing you carefully — your arms, your back, your sides — just taking care of you. "Being with you is easy. Natural. So let’s just enjoy it, okay? One day at a time."
Jay finishes rinsing you off and helps you out of the shower. Wrapping you in a towel he dries you gently before dressing you in one of his shirts. By the time he guides you to bed, you are already sleepy. He helps you lie down and you snuggle into the sheets, murmuring one last "I really like you" before falling asleep.
────────
The following days feel almost too good to be real.
You wake up in Jay’s bed, wrapped in his arms and wearing one of his shirts. He always wakes up before you to make breakfast and greet you with a good morning kiss and that smile that still makes your heart flutter. But on some mornings, you pull him back into bed to cuddle before classes and work, and without any argument, he makes time to make you feel loved.
When you get home from class, tired, Jay is already there to greet you cheerfully despite his own exhaustion. He texts you during the day, asking how your classes are going and reminding you to eat. When you are together, he pulls you in for slow, affectionate kisses — the kind that make your legs weak. Some nights you cook together as he tries to teach you how to make proper meals. Other nights he orders takeout and you eat on the couch while you tell him every detail of your day. He still doesn’t share much about himself, always dodging the subject, but you do not push — you don’t want to be invasive.
The sex is frequent — sometimes slow and worshipful, his mouth and hands adoring every inch of you until you are trembling and coming apart. Other times it is faster and more urgent — against the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the couch, in his home office. One night you try baking cookies together, ending up covered in flour and laughing as he kisses the mess off your cheek. Another night you start watching a movie cuddled together, but the movie is forgotten halfway through when clothes come off and he fucks you right there on the couch.
Suddenly everything feels so domestic — he now keeps an extra toothbrush for you, your notebooks are on his coffee table, and some of your clothes are scattered around his apartment. It is undeniable that you are falling deeper and deeper in love.
On a Sunday afternoon, you are studying on his couch while Jay is in his home office, working on a complicated case that demands his full attention. After hours buried in books and notes, concentrating is almost impossible. At this point, your mind keeps wandering to him without permission. When your brain finally gives up, you close the book with a dramatic sigh.
You walk down the hallway and peek into his office. Jay is sitting at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly attractive as he concentrates on reviewing some papers. "Jay?" you call, walking in without waiting for an answer.
He looks up, and the moment his eyes meet yours, the tension in his shoulders softens. "Hey, princess. How are the studies going?"
Boring." You take a few steps closer and don’t ask for permission — you simply climb into his lap, settling on his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a trail of kisses along his jaw, then his cheek and lips. "I missed you. Pay attention to me? Just for a little while?"
One of his hands rests on your waist while the other continues organizing the documents. "I’d love to, baby, but this case is a nightmare. There are documents everywhere. I’m going crazy with these."
You nuzzle into the curve of his neck and kiss him there. "You’ve been in here for hours… you deserve a break." Your hips move subtly against him, restless, the friction sending a spark through both of you. You feel him twitch beneath you, already starting to respond to your movements.
Jay’s grip on your waist tightens. "Princess…" There is a warning tone in his voice, bordering on frustration. But as you grind against him, you can feel him beginning to harden, and that gives you hope — you think he might give in.
"You’re really testing me today." He pulls you into a kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. When he pulls away, it is with a frustrated sigh.
"That's the point," you whisper, smiling proudly against his lips as you continue grinding, slower this time, feeling him get even harder.
Jay curses under his breath, gripping your hips more firmly. No matter how hard he tries to hold back, he can’t, the desire is uncontrollable. He reaches between you and unzips his pants. "Fine, but you’re going to behave." He frees his hard, throbbing cock and pulls your panties and shorts to the side. This time there is nothing between you — no latex barrier, just him.
You sink down onto him slowly, and the new sensation hits you immediately — it’s different, hotter, more intimate. Every ridge and vein is raw against your walls, the skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver through your entire body and makes you moan as you settle fully onto him. The stretch feels deeper and more overwhelming than ever.
For a moment, it feels perfect — connected, raw.
But then his hands close firmly on your hips, holding you completely still. "Don’t move," he commands, his voice noticeably deeper and rougher. "Stay just like this. No grinding, no whimpering. I’m serious."
His cock pulses hot and heavy inside you, and you can barely focus on what he said. "Jay… oh my God, you feel—"
"I said don’t move," he interrupts, repeating it more harshly this time. His free hand returns to the stack of papers while the other arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.
At first, you try to obey — resting your head on his shoulder and breathing deeply every time his cock twitches inside you, but the longer you sit there, the harder it becomes. You let out a soft moan as your hips twitch involuntarily. "Jay… please, just let me move a little bit."
"I told you not to move. Jesus, you’re really pushing it today." The irritation is clear in every word now, and his grip on your waist tightens even more. "I have a deadline. I can’t afford to get distracted like this."
Again, you try to stay still — you really do, until frustrated tears prick at your eyes — but your body betrays you with small, involuntary movements of your hips. "I’m sorry… I can’t help it. This is driving me crazy. I need you to move, please."
Jay’s jaw is tense and his breathing comes in heavy bursts — clearly fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You think I don’t want to? You’re so tight and wet around me right now, but I can’t. I have work to do and you’re not letting me focus." His tone grows even harsher. "Stop squirming. Be a good girl for me and just sit there.”
But you do not listen — you roll your hips again, letting out a moan as he rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. "Jesus Christ. I told you I have work and this is fucking important."
"But I missed you and this is torture. Please, please just fu-"
He cuts you off sharply. "You always miss me, always need something. Kisses, hugs, my cock, my fucking attention. You practically live here now, your things are all over my apartment, you sleep in my bed like it’s yours. Isn’t that enough attention? You know what? I need you to get off so I can actually finish this case."
The words hurt, making your chest tighten — tears of frustration turn into something heavier and spill down your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to be annoying… I just wanted to be close to you."
"Yeah, well, wanting to be close to me doesn’t magically make my deadline disappear. I’m already behind because of distractions like this." His hand on your hip tightens even more, holding you completely still, the pressure bordering on uncomfortable. "You have your own apartment right next door. Just give me a few hours alone, for once."
You stare at him in disbelief at what you just heard. Suddenly the intimate position feels humiliating — the way you are still stretched around him while he looks at you like you are nothing but am annoyance. "You want me to leave? Like this… right now"
"I’m telling you to give me some space." With no patience left, he lifts you off him, leaving you empty and trembling. "Go to your place, take a nap, study, whatever. Just let me work."
You stand there with shaky legs, wiping away your tears, feeling small, vulnerable, and unwanted. With a quiet, trembling breath, you whisper, "…Okay."
It's past 9 PM when Jay finally steps out of his office, having finished dealing with that pile of papers. The silence hangs heavy now, normally you would be humming, curled up on the couch waiting for him, or laughing at something silly on your phone. Without you, the space feels too empty. He had been rude — way too rude — and he sees that now. He owes you an apology, so he walks over to your door, but just as he is about to knock, he notices the door is not fully closed — it’s slightly ajar, allowing him to hear low murmurs of voices.
Frowning, he pushes the door open a little more and steps inside, finding a guy standing right at the entrance to your living room, putting on a jacket. The guy turns at the sound of the door, his expression quickly shifting to surprise. "Ah, hi. You must be Jay. She talks about you a lot."
He looks over the other guy’s shoulder toward the couch where you are sitting with your knees pulled up. The guy cleans his throat, sensing the tension between the two of you. "I was just leaving… It was really nice talking to you." He gives you a small wave. "Text me if you need anything else, okay?"
You smile and wave back. "Yeah. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe."
As Jake heads for the door, Jay blocks his path. "Wait. What exactly were you doing here?"
Jake blinks, surprised by the sudden question. "She seemed pretty down when we texted, so I decided to stop by and check if she was okay. Anyway, I’m heading out. Nice to meet you, man."
He steps aside, letting Jake pass. The door closes behind him, leaving just the two of you in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.
You stand up, hugging yourself. "Jay… what are you doing here?"
The regret he felt for being so harsh with you is quickly replaced by jealousy and irritation. "I came because my place was too quiet without you. I started thinking maybe I was too hard on you earlier, but clearly you didn’t waste any time finding company."
You frown, confused by what he means. "He’s just a friend. I told you about him before, we met during my first week on campus when I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall. I was upset after you basically kicked me out, so I texted him. We weren’t doing anything, just talking."
Jay lets out a short, bitter laugh and steps closer. "Talking late at night like it’s a casual visit. You mentioned him before, of course, but I didn’t know you two were close enough for house calls."
The hurt from earlier mixes with frustration now. "You were so rude, Jay. You made me feel like I was an annoying pest who can’t function without your attention. I understand you’re stressed with work, but you didn’t have to push me away and kick me out like that. I felt embarrassed."
He closes even more of the distance between you, standing close enough that you can feel the jealousy radiating off him. "You’re the one who can’t sit still for five minutes without demanding something, climbing into my lap while I’m trying to meet a deadline, whimpering and squirming like a spoiled brat because you ‘missed me’."
You take a step back, but the couch hits the back of your legs. "I just wanted to be close to you."
"But the world doesn’t revolve around your need for attention. I love having you around, but today? You made it impossible for me to concentrate, and the second I ask for a few hours to actually get things done, you run straight to this Jake guy?" Jay doesn’t care that nothing happened — the image of another guy in your space, late at night, while you were upset, makes his blood boil.
"I didn’t run to him! I was crying when he got here and he just listened. Unlike you, who basically told me to leave because I’m too much."
Jay’s laugh is harsh this time, completely humorless. "Too much. Yeah, that’s one way of saying you’re a spoiled brat who demands attention every second, and the moment things get difficult, you replace me with whoever is most convenient."
Neither of you speaks for a long moment. You look away, Jay’s jaw clenches, and soon his gaze drifts from your face to the way you are hugging yourself, then lower, lingering on your bare legs. The jealousy is still burning in his chest, mixed with the memory of you sitting on his cock earlier, demanding attention, all needy.
"Come here," he says, nodding toward the couch.
You hesitate, biting your lip, which makes Jay exhale sharply and close the distance. His hand wraps around your wrist, guiding you toward the couch. "We’re not done talking about this."
He sits on the couch and pulls you closer until you are lying across his lap, your stomach pressed against his thighs. Your shirt has ridden up naturally, but he is not satisfied. "This is in the way." His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside — leaving your ass completely bare for him.
Jay’s palm rests on one of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh possessively. "You’ve been pushing all day… needing attention, teasing me, and then Jake shows up at your place, and I’m supposed to just swallow that?" His fingers dig harder into the flesh. "You’re mine, and it’s time you learn what happens when you piss me off this much."
His hand makes slow circles over your skin, almost soothing. "How many spanks do you think you deserve for acting like this?"
Your heart races as you try to process his words — head turning slightly to look at him. "What? Are you serious?"
He meets your eyes with a firm, dark expression — one you have never seen from him before. "Very serious. You’ve been spoiled all day, teasing me on purpose. So tell me, how many do you think you deserve?"
You swallow hard, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don’t know… Five? Maybe?"
Jay lets out a mocking laugh. "Five? That’s way too low, baby. You’re going to take twenty, and you’re going to count each one out loud. If you lose count or mess up, we start over. Understood?"
You hesitate but eventually whisper, "Yes… okay."
"Good girl." His hand lifts and the first spank comes without warning — firm and sharp, the sound echoing through the silence. You jolt, a surprised moan escaping you — heat spreads instantly across your bare skin, the sting stronger than you expected.
"One," you gasp.
He immediately rubs the spot in slow, soothing circles, calming the hot skin where he struck.
"Two," you say after the next spank lands on the other cheek.
Jay keeps a steady rhythm — delivering hard spanks followed by almost tender caresses. Then his fingers slide lower, tracing your wet folds, spreading them teasingly, brushing against your entrance, lightly circling your clit before pulling away.
"What a spoiled little brat," he murmurs during one of the pauses, rubbing your reddened cheeks while two fingers tease your slit again. "You’re already getting so wet… You like this, don’t you?"
You moan instead of answering, which earns you another sharp spank. "Five."
He continues, the spanks leaving marks and building heat across your ass. Now his fingers are dip inside you, moving with slow, shallow thrusts, curling just enough to brush that sensitive spot and make you clench around him desperately. But he always pulls back before you can get close to the edge.
"Six… seven… ah!"
By ten, tears prick your eyes, your thighs trembling as the sting turns into a pulsing heat.
Jay pauses longer this time, massaging your sore ass and spreading your cheeks so he can tease your entrance again. "You’re mine. When you need attention that badly, you come to me, even if I’m stressed, even if I tell you to leave." A finger pushes deep inside you, staying there while his thumb brushes your clit.
You lose track amid the overwhelming sensations and he makes you start over, just as he warned. "Back to one." During the restart, two more fingers slide inside you, moving in a torturous rhythm. "You feel how wet you are? This is what happens when you forget who you belong to."
"You’re mine. Your time, your attention, this body. I don’t share it." Spank. Soothe. Tease. "Say it."
"I’m yours," you moan.
"Louder." Another spank.
"I’m yours, Jay!"
When he finally reaches twenty, you are a trembling mess with tears streaming down your face. Jay finally pulls you up and turns you so you are sitting in his lap. His hands stay on your ass, carefully massaging the sore flesh and you press yourself against the hard bulge in his pants, burying your face in his shoulder. "You did so well, my good girl."
Jay lifts your chin, meeting your eyes. For a moment, he just looks at you — really looks at you — taking in your flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Then he leans in and kisses you. One hand remains on your sore ass, squeezing gently, while the other slides into your hair. He kisses you like he needs to claim every part of you — hungry, insistent, his tongue tracing your lower lip before sliding inside. You melt into him, moaning against his mouth as you start slowly grinding your hips.
He pulls back just enough to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. "Still so needy… even after all that." Then he kisses you again, deeper and hungrier, tongues sliding together with fervor. The hand on your ass slips between your bodies to tease your wet folds with light circles and shallow dips — keeping you right on the edge.
When he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connects you for a second before breaking. "On your knees, princess."
Obediently, you slide off his lap and kneel between his spread thighs. Jay looks down at you, one hand lazily stroking your hair as he frees himself from his pants — his cock springs out, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip.
"Open. Tongue out," he says, tapping your lower lip with two fingers. You open your mouth and obediently stick your tongue out. He leans forward and spits directly into your mouth. The warm, viscous saliva lands on your tongue, degrading in a way that makes you shiver. "Swallow that first," he instructs. You swallow while keeping your eyes locked on his. He nods with a satisfied hum. "Now show me how sorry you are for pushing me today."
You start with kisses along his length before dragging your tongue from base to tip. Jay groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, but he doesn't force you — not yet. His thickness stretches your lips as you finally take him into your mouth. He is big enough that you can only take about half before he hits the back of your throat. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what does not fit in a steady rhythm.
"Fuck… that’s it," he murmurs, tilting his head back for a moment before his gaze returns to you. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this. "Look at me while you suck it."
You do, looking up at him with teary eyes, and the sight makes his cock twitch in your mouth. When you pull back to catch your breath, he slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, leaving strings of saliva connecting you, before guiding you back down. "Yeah, just like that… good girl."
Between bobs, when you pull back to breathe, you say breathlessly, "I’m sorry for distracting you and for Jake being here." Then he guides you down again.
Jay’s hips start moving, pushing a little deeper and testing your limits. Tears continue to prick your eyes from the stretch, but you keep going, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him.
When he finally gets close, Jay’s grip tightens, his thighs tense, and his breathing becomes ragged. "I’m going to come. Don’t waste it, swallow everything." You nod around him, doubling your efforts and with a deep groan, he comes down your throat — thick, hot pulses that you swallow eagerly, not letting a single drop escape.
He pulls out slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the tip before it breaks. "Open your mouth. Show me."
You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to prove you swallowed everything. “That’s my good girl.”
He helps you up, pulls you back into his lap, and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you that makes Jay groan into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your bare ass and guide your movements.
"Still not satisfied? Such a greedy little thing." Even though he just came, his cock is already stirring again, hardening beneath you as your wet pussy slides along his length.
You gasp against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Jay… I need you so bad."
He answers by kissing you again, but soon pulls back to meet your eyes. "Then take what you want."
You don’t hesitate, not even for a second. Rising on shaky knees, you reach down and align the thick head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly you sink down, gasping at the stretch and every inch that fills you. The lack of a barrier makes him feel impossibly thicker than the last time in his office — hotter, more intimate. The spanked skin of your ass burns as you settle fully against his thighs.
"Fuck," Jay hisses, his head falling back against the couch for a moment as his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you fully impaled on him. "So wet… so fucking tight like this."
You start moving, rolling your hips in a slow, deep rhythm, the angle letting you feel every ridge and vein raw inside you, pulling broken moans from your throat. One of his hands slips under your shirt to caress one tit while the other stays on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in time with your movements. The mix of pleasure and stinging burn makes everything more intense.
"That’s right," he growls, thrusting up to meet you. "This is what you wanted all day, isn’t it? My attention. My cock." You lean forward, kissing him messily while you bounce, moving your hips faster.
With a low curse, he wraps his arms around you and suddenly flips you, laying you down on the couch cushions, driving him even deeper which pulls a sharp cry from you.
Now he is on top, pinning you beneath him — one of your legs hooked over his shoulder as he starts thrusting into you with deep, powerful strokes — hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt each time and the lack of a condom lets you feel every raw inch.
Clinging to his back, your nails dig in as the pleasure borders on overwhelming. Jay’s face hovers above yours, his hair damp with sweat falling into his eyes. Rhythm falters for a second as he looks at you, something darker flashing across his face, the jealousy from earlier — the image of Jake leaving your apartment — has not disappeared. "Are you on the pill?"
You shake your head, breathless, barely able to form words between moans. "No, I’m not."
He thrusts harder, hitting deep against your cervix as if to emphasize the point. "Good," he growls, eyes locked on yours. "Actually, fucking perfect. Maybe I’ll knock you up tonight, put a baby in you so you won’t even think about another guy like Jake. You’ll stay right here with me, we’ll have a beautiful family, me, you, and our kids. No more distractions."
The words should have shocked you, but in the heat of the moment — with him fucking you raw, his body claiming yours completely — they only send a fresh wave of arousal through you. Moaning loudly, your legs tightening around his waist. "Jay… fuck—"
He groans at your reaction, his hips moving harder. "You like that idea, don’t you? My cum deep inside you, getting you pregnant so everyone knows you’re claimed." One of his hands slides down to press lightly against your stomach, as if he can already imagine it.
The couch creaks beneath you both, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet noises of him fucking you filling the room. Jay’s earlier irritation fuels every deep thrust, but so does possessiveness — the need to claim you completely after the stressful day. He presses you deeper into the cushions, his hips moving in a way that grinds against your clit with every stroke.
When you finally come, it is intense — your walls contracting tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible, and you feel the hot pulses of his cum filling you, thick and warm.
For long minutes, Jay simply holds you — kissing your neck, your jaw, your swollen lips — his cock softening slowly inside you, but as the minutes stretch on, you feel him coming back to life, pulsing against your sensitive walls. "Already?" There is a playful tone in your voice.
"I can’t help it." He moves, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You moan at the loss, feeling his cum start to leak out of you, but his hand quickly reaches down to push it back inside you with two fingers. "Don’t waste it."
He leans back on the couch, stroking himself until he is fully hard again. "Turn around. Hands on the backrest."
You obey, your body trembling as you shift position, kneeling on the cushions, gripping the top of the backrest and arching your back slightly while Jay moves behind you, his gaze fixed on the evidence of the earlier spanking — your cheeks still red with visible handprints — as one of his palms smooths reverently over the heated skin before squeezing firmly.
"Fuck, look at this… Still so red from your lesson." His cock brushes against your entrance before he thrusts deep inside you in one powerful stroke, the new position letting him sink even deeper as the head of his cock presses against spots that make your toes curl drawing a loud moan from you while you grip the backrest tighter as he bottoms out.
Jay starts fucking you with firm, powerful thrusts — deep and deliberate, the couch creaking beneath you both — as every thrust makes your sore ass bounce and the red marks darken even more with the impact, his eyes unable to leave them while his thumbs press into the soft flesh, pulling you back onto his cock repeatedly.
"These marks… they look so good on you." Without warning, he lands a hard, stinging spank on your right cheek, the already sensitive skin making you cry out and clench hard around his cock as Jay groans at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he resumes his deep rhythm.
He gives your left cheek another spank, making you writhe and moan again as you push back against him desperately despite the burn — or maybe because of it — the mix of pain and pleasure making you even wetter, the previous creampie turning everything obscenely wet and messy.
"That’s it," he praises, smoothing his hands over the fresh marks he just added. "Squirm for me. I love how sensitive you are right here." He gives you one more spank, lighter this time but still enough to make you shudder, and immediately soothes the area with his hands, massaging the sore flesh while he continues thrusting deep and hard from behind.
Jay leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside yours while the other reaches down to rub tight circles on your clit. His chest presses against your back, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks between thrusts. "You’re going to take every drop again, princess. I’m going to give you my babies, keep you so full you won’t even think about anyone else."
When you come again — hard, your vision blurring from the overwhelming sensations — Jay follows right behind, burying himself deep with a groan and flooding you with another load of hot cum. He stays inside you for a long time afterward, thrusting slowly through the aftershocks.
Finally, he pulls out carefully and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back in slow, gentle movements. "You’re a mess, princess. Come on, let me take care of you."
He stands up with you in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns on the shower, adjusts the temperature, and removes the rest of both your clothes before guiding you under the hot spray with him where the water cascades over you both. Jay takes his body wash, lathers it between his hands, and runs them over your skin — being extra careful around your sensitive ass, massaging the foam in light circles that ease some of the sting.
"Maybe I was a little too rough tonight," he says, his hands moving along your thighs, cleaning away the evidence of the many rounds. "Work stress got to me, and then seeing Jake… I took it out on you more than I should have. You handled it really well, but I’m sorry if it was too much."
You lean back against his chest, letting the water rinse off the soap as you tilt your head to look at him. "It hurt… but it also felt good. In a weird way. I just hated feeling like I was bothering you earlier. I didn’t want to annoy you while you were working. I just… missed you a lot."
After rinsing you, he turns off the shower, wraps you in a towel first, then himself and dries you carefully, paying extra attention to your ass and rubbing some soothing lotion he finds in the cabinet. "There. Better?"
"Much better," you admit, reaching up to touch his face. "Thank you for taking care of me like this."
He leans down and kisses your forehead. "You make it easy to want to take care of you." Pulling you closer, his voice shifting to something even calmer and more sincere. "I don’t know what I’d do without you around. I can’t imagine coming home and not having you here like this. You just… fit. Right here with me."
You hug him tightly, burying your face in his chest. "I feel the same. I always want to be close to you because you make everything feel better."
Smiling against your hair, Jay guides you to the bed and pulls the covers back, lying down beside you to pull you close against his chest. One arm wraps around you securely, his hand rests gently on your ass — not squeezing, just warm and protective over the sensitive skin.
You snuggle even closer, your leg draped over his as exhaustion finally takes over completely. "Stay the night?" you ask sleepily.
"Wouldn’t dream of leaving," His fingers trace lazy circles on your back until your breathing evens out and you fall asleep.
Next morning you stir slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles and Jay’s heavy arm draped over your waist, his body curled protectively against your back. He feels you waking up and trails lazy kisses along your shoulder before moving up the side of your neck. "Good morning, baby," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep as his hand slides to your stomach. "Sleep well?"
You turn in his arms, smiling despite the slight soreness when you move, and reach up to brush the messy hair from his forehead. "Yes… thanks to you."
He leans in and kisses you properly — slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes you melt. At this point, he couldn't care less that neither of you had brushed your teeth yet. "You were incredible last night. Let me make it up to you a little more with breakfast."
Jay borrows a pair of your sweatpants that look comically tight on his incredibly nice ass, making you laugh as he models them. In the kitchen, you work side by side like so many mornings before — he cracks eggs for scrambled eggs while you toast bread and slice fruit. Small touches are stolen throughout: a hand on your lower back as he reaches past you, a quick kiss on your temple when you hand him the salt shaker, a playful bump of his hip against yours.
"You’re in a good mood today," you tease, leaning against the counter while he plates the food.
"I can’t help it when I wake up next to you." He sets the plates on the table and pulls you in for another kiss before you both sit down.
After eating, you start getting ready for college and he for the office. Jay kisses you one more time before heading back to his apartment next door to get ready for work. You take a long shower and, once dressed in jeans and a comfortable blouse, you step out into the hallway at the same time he does, looking impeccable in his work clothes.
He quickly pulls you in for a proper goodbye, hands gently cradling your face as he kiss your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Have a good day at class. Text me when you’re done." With one last soft kiss on your lips, he pulls away with a smile. "See you later, princess."
College passes in a whirlwind of classes and notes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Jay — the way he holds you, the sweet words, the kisses. He has not sent many messages during the day, which is a little unusual, but you figure he must be busy at work.
When you finally get home in the early evening, you step into the elevator and press the button for the third floor. Just before the doors close, a woman you have never seen in the building before enters, but something about her face seems vaguely familiar.
The woman smiles politely as the elevator starts moving. Curiosity gets the better of you and before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Hi… do you live here? I’ve been in the building for about two months and I don’t think I’ve seen you around."
She nods, laughing lightly. "Yes, I do, but I’ve been away on a work trip. I’m a lawyer and a complicated case kept me out of town longer than expected. I actually got back this morning."
"Wow. That sounds intense… By the way, my name is y/n. Nice to meet you."
The woman’s smile widens. "Nice to meet you too. Jay has already told me about you. He’s mentioned his sweet neighbor a few times."
Your heart flutters with joy — Jay talked about you to the neighbors. It feels special, like proof that you are really becoming a bigger part of his life. "He did? That’s nice to hear."
The elevator dings on the third floor and you both step out together. A small flicker of confusion crosses your mind — she is going the same way — but you don’t think much of it. Maybe she lives farther down the hall.
Then you see Jay standing there and your face lights up immediately. He hadn't texted you all day, and seeing him now makes excitement bubble up inside you. You walk toward him with a radiant smile.
At the same moment, the woman also walks straight up to him. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him — a deep, familiar, affectionate kiss. Jay’s hands settle on her waist automatically as he eagerly kisses her back.
The world stops.
Your feet freeze mid-step and everything inside you turns cold and numb. It takes a moment for your brain to process what you are seeing, but then the pieces fall into place with painful clarity. That was Jay’s wife. The woman in the Polaroid photo he casually said was his "sister." The late-night calls he claimed were from the office. The feminine body wash he said belonged to his mom. The distant restaurant he took you to on your first date, probably so no one nearby would recognize him. The way the doorman sometimes looked at you with that judgmental expression, like he knew something — he did. All the small inconsistencies you had ignored because you were so blinded by how gentle and attentive he seemed.
Every sweet word, every touch, every promise of "you’re mine" had been built on lies. He was married. His heart already belonged to someone else, and you had been nothing but a convenient distraction from the apartment next door — blind, eager, and so in love with the version of him he showed you that you never saw the truth.
Jay’s eyes meet yours over his wife’s shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, something like panic or guilt flashes across his face. The shock turns into pure pain, making you practically run to your door as you fumble for your keys while hot tears blur your vision.
You lean against the door, sliding down to the floor as sobs begin to escape you. Your chest hurts as if someone had ripped a hole in it. All the cute moments — the kisses, the touches, the date, the bouquet — turn ugly and humiliating in your memory.
You cry hard, knees pulled up to your chest, as disappointment turns into shame for having fallen so completely for the man who made you feel special, desired, and loved… and it was all a lie.
The thin walls allow you to hear muffled voices — his wife asking about his day, the normalcy of their conversation only making everything worse. You press your hands over your ears, trying to block out the sound, but the damage is already done. Your heart is shattered.
The man you had grown so attached to — the one who held you so tenderly after sex, who made you breakfast and promised more comfortable days like that — was someone else’s husband, and you had been the other woman without even knowing it.
synopsis: you're moving into your college apartment when a handsome guy helps you with your heavy boxes on the stairs. He turns out to be Jay, your older neighbor — a lawyer who quickly becomes part of your new life. He listens to you ramble for hours but never offers much about himself, and you tell yourself it's fine, that everyone has boundaries. Being with him feels too right to question, so you let yourself fall anyway, completely lost in him and blind to what's right in front of you until it's too late.
includes: student!reader x lawyer!jay, age gap (not specified), neighbors to lovers (?), lots of domestic fluff mixed with rough sex, slow-burn buildup before the smut, explicit sexual content (mdni), big dick jay, size kink (emphasis on thickness, length, belly bulge, stretching, etc.), cockwarning, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, praise kink, multiple orgasms, spitting in mouth, overstimulation, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, riding, missionary, spooning sex, car sex, doggy, spanking (punishment), manhandling, dirty talk, nipple play, soft dom!jay, brief mean dom jay, aftercare, pet names (princess & baby).
wc: 19.2k ─ a/n: ngl i'm so insecure about this... it took me forever to finish because i was running out of creativity and kept giving up, but i finally did it! really hope you guys like it anyways. i'd really appreciate any feedback! happy reading <33
comment here to join the tag list! .𝜗𝜚 ݁˖
You have been waiting for this moment for months, even years. You are finally moving out. It is because of college, but still, it is a new beginning far from home — a brand-new chapter in your own space. A mix of excitement and nervousness settles in your chest, because living alone requires a lot of responsibility, and you are not sure if you are ready to handle it all.
For the past five minutes, you have been staring at the mountain of boxes crammed into the trunk and backseat of your car like a game of Tetris. You are wondering how you are going to carry so many boxes up to the third floor where your apartment is. With a deep breath, you finally grab one of the boxes, and immediately stagger under its weight.
"Maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience" reads the sign taped to the elevator doors.
Drops of sweat form on your temples, down the back of your neck, and pool on your spine, making your shirt stick to your skin. Of course it would be hot as hell on the day of your move, and of course the elevator wouldn't be working — talk about lucky.
You take another deep breath, hug the box against your chest, and begin climbing the stairs slowly, careful not to lose your balance.
Your arms are trembling and your breathing is almost as heavy as the box by the time you finally reach the first floor, forcing you to set it down for a moment to rest. But just as you pick it up again, mentally preparing for the next flight of stairs, the sound of footsteps coming down from above catches you off guard.
A man is coming down the stairs. He’s tall, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms. His jaw is sharp — probably sharper than any knife you’ve ever seen. He looks so put-together that you suddenly feel embarrassed by your sweaty face and disheveled state.
Seeing you, he stops immediately, his eyebrows furrowing with mild concern. "Whoa. Let me help you with that." His voice is low and smooth, the kind of voice that sends a shiver down your spine before you can stop it.
You blush, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. "Oh, you don’t have to. I can manage—"
"I insist," he replies gently, waiting with his hands hovering, giving you the choice. You let him take the box, and the relief is immediate — your arms practically sing in gratitude. He lifts it as if it weighs nothing, cradling it against his chest with just one arm — the same box you were struggling to carry with both. "I’m Jay, by the way."
You quickly wipe the sweat from your forehead and try to fix your hair because you want to look at least a little presentable for the incredibly good-looking man helping you. "Thank you so much. I’m y/n. I’m moving in today, to apartment 3B."
Jay’s expression softens, and a warm smile spreads across his face. "3B? That’s interesting. I live right next door, in 3A." He nods toward the stairs. "Looks like we’re neighbors." He gestures ahead. "After you."
You both climb the remaining stairs together and your heart still pounding. You can’t tell if it’s from the physical effort earlier or from his company. Because of the nerves, the words start tumbling out before you can stop them.
"I’m starting college this week. I got accepted and everything, and I was so excited when I found this apartment. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, so I’m really thrilled… but also kind of terrified? Like, what if I get lost on campus? What if my classes are way harder than I expected? I brought way too much stuff, I’m kind of attached to my things, you know?" You let out a breathless laugh. "Sorry, I’m probably talking too much. I get really chatty when I’m nervous."
Jay glances at you as you walk, the box still balanced effortlessly in his arms. He doesn’t look annoyed — in fact, he seems amused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re not talking too much. It’s a big change, but you’re doing great."
You bite your lower lip, watching him as you climb. There is something intriguing about him that sparks your curiosity. "And you? Are you a student too, or…?"
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I’ve already graduated. I work at a company downtown." He says it casually, offering no further details — which only makes you even more curious.
You reach the landing of the second floor and have to stop to catch your breath, while Jay doesn’t even seem slightly winded — it’s honestly impressive. "My parents helped me pack my bags, but they’re hours away now. It’s exciting, though. New city, new people. I just hope I don’t ruin everything."
"You won’t," Jay says gently. "Everyone feels like that at the beginning. The nervousness is normal. Besides, you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll find your rhythm." He sets the box down carefully in front of your door. "Ready for another round?"
The words hit you like a spark. "Ready for another round." And before you can help it, your mind immediately drifts, imagining Jay on top of you, his strong body pressing you into the mattress, that same low voice murmuring the question against your neck while his hands pinned your wrists above your head. Heat flooded your face and settled lower in your belly.
You quickly shake your head, trying to push the thought away, desperately hoping your blush isn't too obvious. "Yes, let's do it."
He carries the rest of the boxes for you, going up and down the stairs multiple times. Meanwhile, you keep rambling nonstop about what you are studying, where you are from, and how you are feeling about this new phase of your life. He listens as if he genuinely cares, and even though you can’t quite place the age difference between you two, you feel surprisingly comfortable with him.
When the last box finally makes it through the door, you stand in the hallway with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Jay. Honestly. I don’t know what I would have done without you."
"Glad I could help. Moving is a big step. If you need anything else, I’m right next door." With that, he returns to his own apartment, leaving you surrounded by a sea of boxes that will clearly take hours to unpack.
A few days pass. You unpack — not everything, just the most important things. Your first classes are overwhelming. You get lost twice, accidentally walk into the wrong lecture hall, and sit through an entire lecture on quantum physics before realizing your mistake. But as embarrassing as it was, that mistake ended up leading you to a guy named Jake, who turned out to be incredibly nice and cute.
Now you are standing outside Jay’s door with a plate of cupcakes in your hands, ready to properly thank him for helping you with the move. The thing is, you can’t really bake; you tried making the cupcakes yourself but ended up burning the batch, so you had to go to the bakery on the corner to buy a box of them instead. They look a bit too professional, but since he doesn't know about your complete lack of kitchen skills, you're confident he won't suspect a thing — especially since you took them out of the box and arranged them nicely on a plate just to be extra safe.
You knock on his door, your heart pounding hard in your chest. He opens it a moment later, and his face lights up when he sees you. "Hey, neighbor," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "How are classes going?"
"Good," you reply, pushing the plate forward with a little too much force. "Great, actually. I only got lost twice today, which is an improvement." Your smile widens. "I brought these for you. For helping me with the move. I made them myself."
He looks at the cupcakes, then back at you, this time raising an eyebrow. "You made these?"
"Yes," you say, nodding firmly with your chin held high, trying to look confident. "From scratch. All by myself. I’m pretty good at baking."
He picks up one of the cupcakes and examines it, narrowing his eyes as he brings it closer to his face. You feel your determination starting to crumble.
"Really?" he asks with a smile, clearly testing how long you will keep up the lie. "From scratch?"
You hold his gaze for three whole seconds before you look away in embarrassment. Your shoulders drop and your face turns as red as a tomato. "Okay, fine. I bought them at the bakery on the corner. I took them out of the box so you would think I’m a functional adult who knows how to bake." You laugh at yourself. "I tried making them the other day, Jay. I set off the smoke alarm. I’m a danger to this entire building."
He throws his head back and laughs — not mocking you, but with a genuine, warm laugh that makes you feel less embarrassed about pretending you had baked the cupcakes. "Oh my God, you actually burned them?"
"I once burned noodles. I’m a total disaster in the kitchen."
He steps aside, still smiling, and gestures for you to come in. "Alright, come in. I’ll split one of these ‘homemade’ cupcakes with you. It’s the least I can do for someone who put so much effort into the task."
Your mom’s voice whispers in the back of your mind: "Don’t talk to strangers and definitely don’t go into their apartments, sweetheart." But is he really a stranger? He is your neighbor who carried all your boxes without complaining, and the way he stands there holding the plate of cupcakes with that smile makes you not hesitate at all.
You follow him inside. He leads you to the kitchen, grabs two small plates, and carefully unwraps a vanilla cupcake, splitting it in half before sliding one piece toward you.
"Have a seat," he says, pointing to the stool by the kitchen island.
"So, you mentioned you work downtown? What exactly do you do?" you ask as you sit down.
"I’m a lawyer," he replies, taking a bite of his half and nodding in approval. "Good choice of bakery, by the way."
You laugh, biting into yours. "A lawyer. That makes a lot of sense. You have this… I don’t know how to say it without sounding weird, but you have this organized vibe. Like you’re really good at arguing without even raising your voice."
His smile widens. "People have definitely told me that before that I have a ‘courtroom voice.’ It’s just my normal voice, only lower and slower. People tend to listen when you don’t yell."
"You’ll have to show me someday. If I ever get in legal trouble, I’ll know exactly who to call."
"Please don’t get in legal trouble. But if you do, I’m your guy."
The conversation flows just as easily as it did on moving day, and before you know it, you’re venting about your annoying professor, how massive the campus is, and all the times you’ve already managed to get lost. Between all the talking, the cupcakes completely disappear, leaving the coffee he made to sit cold and barely touched in your mug. There’s just something about him that instantly puts you at ease.
Despite the age gap, he never talks down to you or makes you feel small, which makes talking to him completely effortless. It’s just so comforting to have someone around who listens to you with that much care and attention — especially when he happens to be incredibly good-looking, leaving you totally hooked since the very first day.
As he walks you to the door when you finally get up to leave, he snatches a pen and a post-it note to scribble something down. Before you know it, he’s pressing the paper into your palm, his fingers brushing lightly against yours and sending a sudden warmth to your cheeks as he says, "Here’s my number, in case you ever need anything."
"Thank you," you say, smiling a little too wide.
He nods. "Anytime. Seriously. Don’t be a stranger."
────────
The grocery bags dig painfully into your fingers as you stand in the lobby, staring at the elevator doors that are still under maintenance. You look at them as if a miracle might happen — maybe if you stare for one more second, God will take pity and finally fix it. Nothing happens, of course, which makes you let out a long sigh of frustration. It has been days since you moved in and the elevator is still not working.
Your arms already hurt from carrying way too many bags. You definitely should have made two trips, but stubbornness won.
Reaching the second floor is pure torture; your arms are burning, those plastic handles are digging right into your palms, and the bags keep swinging awkwardly against your legs. Trying to stop and adjust your grip only makes things worse, to the point where you're seriously considering just sitting right there on the stairs and crying.
You finally collapse against the wall at the third-floor landing, letting the bags slide to the floor just to catch your breath. Right then, the door to 3A clicks open and Jay steps out — perfectly dressed for work with that annoyingly handsome lawyer look that instantly makes your stomach do a little flip.
He sees you immediately. For a second, his eyes take in the whole scene — your flushed face, the many overloaded bags, and the way you are leaning against the wall breathing heavily. A light, amused laugh escapes him. It is not mocking, just genuinely entertained, as if he expected nothing less from you.
"Carrying heavy stuff again?" he asks, walking toward you. "You really don’t learn, do you?"
Before you can even open your mouth to protest, he is already reaching for the bags, picking them all up at once as if they weigh absolutely nothing. His strong arms support the weight so effortlessly that his biceps press against the fabric of his dress shirt, making it completely impossible for you not to stare.
He turns and walks toward your door, carrying everything like it is nothing.
At your doorstep, Jay sets all the bags down carefully against the wall and turns to face you. His expression is calm, almost unreadable, but there is something more in it. You understand it the moment he starts speaking in a gently scolding tone. "You really shouldn’t carry so much at once," he says, crossing his arms. "It’s not safe and it’s clearly too heavy for you. Make two or three trips next time. Look at your hands, they’re all red. You were hurting yourself. Why? Because you’re way too stubborn, huh?"
You glance down at your palms, and they are red where the plastic handles dug in. "I was fine," you say, though even you do not believe it. "I almost made it."
"Don’t be stubborn."
"You sound exactly like my dad," you reply, crossing your arms to mimic him. "He’s always telling me I’m too stubborn for my own good."
Jay’s lips curve into a small smile. "Because you really are," he says with so much certainty that you cannot even argue back. "I’m serious. Next time, make multiple trips or just text me. I’d rather help than watch you struggle like that."
There is a protective tone in his voice that makes your cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and something else stirring low in your stomach. He is lecturing you like a child, but somehow it sounds kind of hot coming from him.
Then he glances at the grocery bags again. Now that the scolding is over, he seems to actually pay attention to what is inside them. He picks one up and looks inside — it is full of frozen meals, instant noodles, ultra-processed food, and canned goods. "Look, I know you’re in college now, but that doesn’t mean you have to live on processed food. It’s quick, sure, but you need real fresh stuff, not just things that come out of a can. Eating like this long-term isn’t good for you. You could get sick."
You blink, caught off guard by the extra lecture. He is fully in dad-mode now, and there is something strangely attractive about how seriously he takes it, like he is genuinely worried about you. "Okay, okay. I get it… I already told you I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I just grabbed whatever is easiest so I don’t starve."
Jay’s expression softens a little. "I’m not trying to scold you. I just know how easy it is to fall into bad habits when you’re living on your own for the first time." He pauses and adds in a gentler voice, "If you ever need help in the kitchen, you know where to find me. I’m not exactly a chef, but I know how to make real meals."
Your mind wanders again because you can’t help it — you picture him in your kitchen, standing right behind you while teaching you how to cook, his hands guiding yours, the warmth of his body against your back…
"I’ll try to do better, I swear. Thanks for helping again. I think I owe you something now. How about brownies as a thank you this time?"
Jay shakes his head, chuckling softly. "You don’t owe me anything. Just be more careful next time." He glances at the heavy bags one more time. "Need help carrying these inside?"
You shake your head quickly. "I can handle it from here. I bet you’re busy, you look like you’re heading to work."
He checks the watch on his wrist. "Yeah, I have a meeting soon, but the offer stands anytime." Before turning to leave, he gives you one last firm look. "Take care of yourself."
After he leaves, you drag the bags inside, one half first and then the other, just like Jay suggested.
That night, you are sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you open your contacts. You saved Jay’s number, of course, but you have been telling yourself you don’t need to text him. It is an emergency-only number, but then you think about him carrying your groceries, the effortless way he took them from you, and the gentle scolding in his voice. Before you can overthink it, you are already typing a message to him.
────────
It is already past midnight and you have been staring at the same page of your textbook long enough for your vision to blur. Your brain has officially given up — it is impossible to absorb a single word more after hours of studying.
You are about to slam the book shut to take out your stress on it and drag yourself to bed when a soft knock sounds at the door. Your heart jumps slightly because you were not expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.
Another knock.
You get up slowly, stretching your sore muscles, and walk to the door. When you open it, Jay is standing there, looking different tonight without his formal work clothes and lawyer posture. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and is barefoot. He looks relaxed, holding a bottle of red wine — as if he made the sudden decision to knock on your door and came straight over without even putting shoes on.
"Hey," he says, his low voice making your stomach flip. His eyes scan over you, taking in your tired face, messy hair, and pajamas. Something in his expression softens.
"Hey," you reply softly, matching his tone.
"Hey," he repeats, then laughs when he realizes what he just did.
"Hey," you answer again, this time with a small smile. "You already said that."
"I know." He laughs again, shaking his head. "I just… it’s late."
"Very late."
"I know." He lifts the bottle slightly. "I bought this earlier today but… it’s no fun drinking alone."
You look at the wine, then back at him. The way he is standing there — messy hair, ridiculously handsome, and a little too soft — makes going back to bed suddenly seem like a very stupid choice. "Are you inviting me to drink with you?"
"I’m asking if you want to take a break. From everything."
The way he looks at you with those inviting eyes makes the decision easy, but you decide to tease him first. "I don’t usually drink with strangers."
"We’re not strangers," he says, his voice soft. Your teasing does not seem to faze him.
"We’re not exactly friends either," you reply, tilting your head and studying his reaction.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost lazy smile. "Then let’s change that."
You pretend to consider it for a moment, even though you were already fully committed the second you saw him at your door. "Mmm, okay. But let’s do it at your apartment. Mine is a mess."
His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Alright, whatever you want."
You grab your keys and follow him, also barefoot, to the door next to yours. His apartment is clean and organized as always, which makes the space feel strangely comforting. In the kitchen, he pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, his fingers brushing against yours for half a second and sending a spark through your body.
"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.
"Cheers," you repeat, gently clinking your glass against his.
You take a sip and let out a small, involuntary hum of appreciation — it is much better than you expected, probably the most expensive wine you have ever tasted. He gestures toward the living room. "Come on, let’s sit," he says, leading the way to the couch. You follow and settle onto his couch, trying to look more relaxed than you actually feel.
"This is nice," you say, taking another sip.
He sits on the other end of the couch — close enough to talk comfortably, but far enough to be polite. "It’s just wine." He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass.
"I mean relaxing… not thinking about classes for the first time."
He nods, understanding. "You think about classes a lot."
"It’s pretty much my entire life right now," you admit with an awkward little laugh, taking another sip.
"I remember going through that too. Everything revolving around exams, assignments, and exhausting responsibilities."
You tilt your head, studying him. "You make it sound like ancient history."
"Sometimes it feels like it." He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. "I still remember when I was in college. I used to think a bad grade would ruin everything." A dry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "There’s so much pressure."
Suddenly you find yourself wanting to know more about him, drawn by the experienced tone in his voice and posture. The wine is already loosening your tongue, so you ask. "How old are you, anyway?"
A small, playful smile appears on his lips. "I’m old enough."
You narrow your eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one you’re getting." He takes another sip.
"That’s annoying," you say, leaning forward slightly and resting your elbows on your knees.
"Maybe I am annoying." He shrugs, but there is a sparkle in his eyes that tells you he is enjoying this.
"You’re avoiding the question," you accuse, pointing a finger at him.
"I’m protecting my privacy."
"From what? Your neighbor?" You laugh, raising an eyebrow.
"Especially from my neighbor."
You pout, pretending to be hurt. "Fine. Keep your secrets."
"Everyone has secrets," he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.
"I don’t." You are not even sure why you say it. Maybe it is the wine, or the way he is looking at you right now.
"Everyone does." He holds his ground. "You have secrets too."
Your pulse quickens. "I don’t."
"Yes, you do."
You swallow hard. The air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you can’t quite name. You shift slightly on the sofa and notice how easy it would be to reach out and touch him. "So you have a lot of secrets, huh?" you ask, curious.
"Yes. Quite a few."
"Like what?" you press, wanting to see what he will give you.
"If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore." His lips curve into a slow, almost predatory smile.
"Touché." You raise your glass in an ironic toast, making him laugh.
A comfortable but heavy silence settles between you for a moment, thick with tension as you exchange glances and take slow sips. The wine is definitely doing its job — making your words come out slower, your laughter easier, and your body warmer.
"How old are you?" he asks, breaking the silence.
You blink, caught off guard. "Me?"
"Yes, you." He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You asked me, so I’m asking you back."
You smile, deciding to play his game. "I’m old enough."
A low, surprised laugh escapes him — rich and genuine. "That’s my line."
"I know." You take another sip to hide your smile.
"You stole my line."
You just shrug. "I borrowed it."
"That’s not how borrowing works."
"Yes, it is."
He laughs again. "You’re impossible."
"Am I? What else?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.
"You’re something," he says, his voice dropping again.
"What?" You are not sure what he means by that.
"I don’t know yet." He keeps his eyes fixed on you. "But I’m figuring it out."
You feel your cheeks heat up and take another sip of wine to try to hide your reaction. Jay, however, keeps watching you, and you can tell he noticed.
"You know what I’ve noticed?" By now your voice is a little slurred, so you have to be careful with the words that come out of your mouth.
"What?" His wine glass is almost empty. He sets it on the coffee table and turns all of his attention to you.
You lean back on the couch, turning to face him more directly. Your knee brushes against his thigh, but neither of you pulls away. "You don’t talk much about yourself."
He tilts his head, frowning slightly. "Don’t I?"
"No. You listen, but you don’t share. Like, you’re dodging right now. You give answers, but you don’t really answer."
"Well, I’m trying to protect myself," he says simply.
"Protect yourself from what?" You lean forward, genuinely curious now.
"From getting too attached." The words are honest, and you definitely were not expecting them.
You stare at him, your hand frozen halfway to taking another sip. "From what?"
"To you." His voice is almost a whisper, making your pulse race and your skin flush.
"Why would you get too attached to me?"
He stays silent for a moment, his eyes tracing over you as if he wants to memorize every detail. "Because it’s easy to get attached to you."
"No, it's not," you say, shaking your head as a small, incredulous laugh escapes you.
"It is." His voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "You just don’t see it."
You look away, feeling your entire body grow warmer. "You’re dodging again."
"I’m being honest." He leans forward slightly, and you can smell him now — a masculine scent mixed with the light sweetness of the wine.
You set your glass on the coffee table and turn to face him completely, the wine making you bolder. "You’re giving me half-answers. You’re telling me just enough to make me curious, but not enough."
He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. "What do you want to know?"
You hold his gaze. "Something real. Truly honest."
Silence stretches between you, thick with something heavy and suffocating that you can't quite name. Then he whispers, "I think you’re beautiful."
Your breath catches, and for a second you are not sure you heard him correctly. "That’s not—" you begin, but he interrupts you.
"It’s honest."
"You can’t just say that," your voice barely comes out as a whisper.
"I just did." His gaze doesn’t leave yours for even half a second.
"It’s too… direct."
"You asked for it." He says it simply, like it is the most natural thing in the world.
"You’re a tease," you say, not sure if you are complaining or not.
"Wait until you find out what else I am. You want to know me? Then make sure you’re ready."
You do not know what to say or what to do, so you look away, your face burning.
When he finally walks you to your door, you are a little unsteady on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle hand on your waist, and the touch is enough to send shivers through your body. "I’m fine," you murmur, even though you are swaying slightly.
"You’re drunk," he says, smiling at your messy state.
"I’m a little tipsy," you reply, giving him a blurry-eyed look.
"You’re drunk."
"It’s the same thing," you mutter dismissively.
"No, it’s not." He is looking at you with that warm, steady gaze that makes your knees feel weak.
You smile, light and tipsy. "Yes, it is."
At your door, you miss the lock twice. He laughs softly before helping you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For this, for the wine, the company, and everything."
His lips curve into a small, warm smile. "Good night, old enough.:
You smile again — you seem to always be smiling when he is around. "Good night, old man."
You step inside, close the door, and lean against it with your heart racing and your whole body warm from the wine and his words — still smiling like an idiot.
A few minutes later, you are curled up in bed when your phone buzz on the nightstand.
────────
You have been tossing and turning on the mattress for what feels like hours — shifting positions, turning to the other side, but nothing helps. You can’t fall asleep — you mind refuses to stop, racing with thoughts about exams, deadlines, and the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. You need air, you need to feel like you are not suffocating in that apartment, surrounded by boxes you haven't even had the time to unpack yet. There are several unfinished notes on your desk that constantly remind you that you are not doing enough, no matter how hard you try.
So you go up to the rooftop. The cool night air hits your face and lets you breathe again.
The city is an endless sea of lights — countless tiny glowing points in the darkness that remind you how small you really are. You sit on the old bench near the edge of the roof, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them like a shield.
Your thoughts slowly begin to calm as the minutes pass, and the knot in your chest loosens just a little.
Then the door creaks open behind you.
You turn quickly, your body instantly on alert and your heart racing. And there he is — Jay. He is wearing sweatpants and a black shirt, something about this casual, almost domestic look makes your heart skip a beat. He sees you immediately and stops. Surprise flashes across his face for a second before it turns into that familiar half-smile.
"Can’t sleep either?" His voice is low, almost intimate in a way that makes you shiver.
You shake your head. "I have too much on my mind right now…"
He nods as if he completely understands — and he really does. Walking toward you, he stops at a respectful distance before sitting on the bench beside you — close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, but not so close that he invades your personal space. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all." You shift over a little even though there is already enough space.
He leans back, looking up at the sky, which is beautiful tonight with a full moon and stars shining brightly. The silence stretches between you. He doesn’t force conversation; he simply sits there observing the sky and the city with you. The silence is not awkward — it is actually comforting, especially when you are with him.
"I can’t sleep," you admit, breaking the silence with words that slip out before you can stop them. "I try, but my brain just won’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I start thinking about all the things I have to do, all the things I haven’t done, and all the ways I’m probably going to mess everything up."
"What’s on your mind?" His voice is gentle and patient as always, showing that he is ready to listen.
"Everything." You let out a shaky sigh. "College, exams, being away from my family for the first time… It’s a lot. I thought I was ready, that I could handle it. But sometimes it feels like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim. Literally."
"I know how that feels," he says after a long moment of silence. His eyes stay fixed on yours, and there is something raw in them — something honest. "I remember feeling exactly like that. Like everything was too much and I was too small to handle it."
"You’re talking about yourself. That’s new," you say softly. "You always ask about me, but you never—"
"You already have enough on your plate," he cuts in gently.
You blink, caught off guard. "What?"
"You’re stressed about college, adjusting to a new city, and far from your family," he keeps his gaze steady on you, his expression sincere. "You don’t need to hear about my problems too."
"That’s not how it works." You shake your head as something warm and confusing blooms in your chest. "We’re supposed to share things. That’s what—" You pause, searching for the right word. "That’s what friends do."
"I don’t want to burden you when you’re already dealing with so much, and I certainly don’t want to make it worse."
You stay quiet for a moment, his words stirring something you cannot quite name — but it feels good. "That’s really… kind," you finally say.
"I try." He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips.
The silence settles again, and you sit together quietly for a while longer. Then, out of nowhere, he tilts his head and asks, "How’s your succulent doing?"
You laugh at the unexpected question. "You’re asking about my plant?"
"I remember you mentioned it." He turns toward you — fully turning his body — with a small playful smile on his lips. "I bet you gave it a name."
You shake your head, still smiling. "I haven’t named it yet… but it’s still alive, which is honestly impressive."
"You’re supposed to water it," he says in a gently scolding tone.
"I know." You look away, feeling a little guilty about slowly killing a plant.
"But you forget." There is no judgment in his voice, only warm amusement.
"I forget." You laugh — something you always do when you are with him. "I have a lot on my mind, okay?"
"You’re a plant killer." He smiles, making you grin even wider.
"I’m not a plant killer! I’m just… forgetful. It is surviving, which is more than I can say about myself sometimes."
Something in your words changes his expression. It is still gentle, but now there is a hint of concern. "You’re doing better than you think."
You don’t know what to say, so you just look at him, with the words stuck in your throat.
"Does the succulent at least have company?" he asks after a moment, his voice light as always.
You blink, confused by the sudden question. "What?"
"Other plants, maybe some flowers, something to keep it company. Plants get lonely too."
You laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think it gets lonely. It’s just a plant, after all."
"All living things have feelings. It definitely feels lonely," he says with so much conviction that you almost believe him.
"That’s not scientifically accurate," you reply, not entirely sure if what you are saying is accurate either.
"I never said it was." He shrugs. "I’m a lawyer. I deal with arguments, not facts."
"They’re the same thing."
"Not at all." He shifts closer to you on the bench, making sure you are listening. "Facts are objective. Arguments are subjective. I make a living turning subjective arguments into something that sounds like objective facts."
"That’s… something. And you’re so weird."
"I’m just concerned about your plant’s loneliness." His voice is incredibly serious, showing that he is taking this very seriously.
"You’re worried about my plant," you say, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, just like I worry about you."
You don’t know what to say again — Jay has a way of leaving you speechless. Your cheeks flush and you look away. "I’ve never received flowers before, anyway…" you say softly, the secret slipping from your lips.
Jay is not sure he heard you correctly. "What did you say?"
Even though you hesitate, you repeat it, louder this time. "I’ve never received flowers." You look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. "I had a boyfriend before, but he was an idiot. He never did anything romantic like giving me flowers or taking me for dates."
He stays silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you while your heart pounds loudly in your ears. He is thinking about something — you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. "Would you want to go on one? With me."
You stop breathing the moment you hear his words and everything around you seems to freeze. "What?"
"A date. A real date where I pick you up, open doors for you, and take you somewhere nice. It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. It can just be two people spending time together. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."
Your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it, your mouth is dry, your palms are sweaty, and the words feel stuck in your throat again. Jay is asking you out on a date — a real date. The age gap has been on your mind since the day you met — he is a lawyer and you are still trying to figure out how to live on your own, but every interaction with him feels safe, like he truly sees you.
"Jay, I—" You stop, taking a shaky breath.
"You don’t have to answer right now," he says gently, giving you time to think.
"No, I—" You take another deep breath, and this time the words come out steady. "Yes. Yes, I want that."
His face transforms — a slow, warm smile spreads across his lips and reaches his eyes, making your stomach flip and your heart race just like always.
"Great," he says softly. "I’ll plan something."
A shy laugh escapes you as the reality of it sinks in. "What do you like to do on dates? I’m sure you’ve been on plenty."
He leans forward a little, resting his elbow on his knee. "I want to know what you like. That’s what matters right now, tell me your preferences so I can plan something good for you."
As you think for a moment, you suddenly feel embarrassed by how limited your preferences are. "I’m kind of picky, honestly. I like pasta, I hate anything too spicy, and I don’t like overly sweet desserts. Oh, and I’m not a big fan of seafood unless it’s fried. Is that too much?"
Jay listens attentively, nodding as if he is absorbing every detail. "Not at all. Being picky isn’t a problem, it actually makes it easier to get it right." He pauses, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "You know, for someone who’s a disaster in the kitchen, you have very specific opinions, princess."
The nickname lands softly between you — affectionate and teasing, with a hint of warmth. Your breath catches, your face flushes instantly, and you lower your head to hide the redness in your cheeks and the smile forming on your lips.
"I… You can’t just say that," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes.
"Why not?" He is smiling even more now, clearly enjoying your reaction. "It suits you. You have high standards and you know exactly what you want, even if you pretend you don’t."
You cover your face with both hands for a second, peeking through your fingers. "You’re going to make me regret saying yes."
"Too late," he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate. "You already said yes."
You lower your hands and meet his gaze, your heart racing in the best possible way. Jay stands up suddenly and offers you his hand. "Come on, it’s getting late and you have class tomorrow. Let’s get you back inside before you freeze."
You take his hand — which is so much bigger than yours — and let him help you up. He doesn’t let go afterward, his fingers stay intertwined with yours as you walk together toward your floor. The elevator is no longer broken, but you both take the stairs anyway, wanting to prolong the moment a little longer.
Stopping at your door, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. “I'll text you about the date,” he says softly. "We’ll pick a night that works."
You nod, still feeling a little shy about everything. "Okay… Good night, Jay."
"Good night, princess."
────────
The next day, you are more nervous than you have ever been. Every notification on your phone makes your heart skip a beat, terrified that it is Jay confirming the date. Your stomach is in knots with a mix of panic and hope, even though you want to go on this date, you are still incredibly nervous about it.
Your phone buzzes while you are in the library trying to study. "Friday at seven? I’ll take care of everything. Just be ready for a proper night out."
The words "proper night out" send a shiver through you. He is taking this seriously, treating it as something special, even though he said it didn’t have to be romantic. Still, it means something. Smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt, you text back agreeing.
When Friday finally arrives, the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. In fact, they become even more restless as the time of the date gets closer. Hours before, you start getting ready — taking your time as you choose an outfit that makes you feel confident and beautiful. You spend extra time on your makeup, keeping it natural but enhancing your eyes and lips, making sure everything is perfect.
Exactly at seven, you take the elevator down. Jay had insisted on waiting outside the building instead of knocking on your door. "I want you to have the full experience," he had texted earlier, and the gesture made you smile despite your nerves. The moment you step out onto the sidewalk, you see him leaning against his sleek black car parked at the curb. He looks unfairly handsome in a tailored dark shirt and pants.
For a moment, he simply looks at you — slowly scanning from your face to your dress and back up again as his smile widens. "You look beautiful," he says, taking a step closer. "Really, truly beautiful."
Your cheeks flush quickly and a smile forms on your lips. "Thank you. You look really handsome too."
Before you can say anything else, he reaches inside the car and pulls out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "I remembered what you said on the rooftop…"
The bouquet is perfect, wrapped so beautifully that it makes your chest tighten. "Jay…" you whisper as you reach out to take the flowers. "They’re beautiful. I don’t even know what to say."
Without thinking, you give him a grateful hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, one hand resting on your lower back while the other gently caresses the nape of your neck. "You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy tonight. That’s all I want."
When you pull away, still smiling widely, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and asks, "Ready to go, princess?"
You nod, holding the flowers like a lifeline. He opens the car door for you, waiting until you are settled before closing it gently. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he looks at you with a playful smile. "Seatbelt, please. Safety first."
You laugh and buckle up. "Such a gentleman."
"Only for you."
The drive starts peacefully, soft music playing in the background as you talk. He asks about your day and teases you lightly when you admit that you spent half of your class daydreaming about tonight and that it took you forever to choose what to wear.
You can’t stop stealing glances at him — the way his hands rest easily on the steering wheel, those large hands with long fingers, and the way he looks at you at red lights as if making sure you are still real.
After a few minutes, you notice the city lights fading and buildings giving way to trees. "Where are we going?" you ask curiously, realizing he has been driving for a while — much farther than you expected. "This is pretty far from our building. Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"
Jay laughs, keeping his eyes on the road. "I’m not going to kill you. I’m just taking you to a place I love, and I think you’ll love it too."
The drive takes about thirty minutes, but when you finally arrive, the restaurant leaves you breathless. You immediately understand why he chose it — it is cozy and elegant, with a stunning view of the city. He reserved a intimate corner table with the perfect view.
He pulls out the chair for you, and as soon as you sit down, he leans in slightly to whisper in your ear, "Relax, okay?"
The dinner unfolds perfectly. You order pasta — creamy, exactly the way you like it — and he chooses a steak dish, offering you a bite from his fork with a raised eyebrow that feels far more intimate than it should. You talk a lot, and he listens as always, head tilted and eyes focused only on you.
You tell him about the friendships you are making in college, about the strange noise your AC is making, and absentmindedly mention the doorman. "He’s nice, I think… but sometimes he looks at me like he knows something I don’t."
Jay’s expression shifts with something unreadable for half a second, but he quickly covers it with a soft chuckle. "He’s probably just in a bad mood. Or maybe he sees how much you’re distracting your poor neighbor."
You laugh. "Poor neighbor? You seem to be handling it pretty well."
His foot brushes against yours under the table. "Barely."
In the middle of the conversation, Jay’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, frowns, and silences it, slipping it into his pocket.
But a few minutes later, it buzzed again. Jay sighs. "I need to take this. It’s probably an emergency with a client. I won’t be long. I’m really sorry."
"Go ahead. I’ll be here judging the dessert menu."
He leans in and gives you a quick kiss on your temple before standing up. "I’ll be right back, princess."
The casual display of affection makes your heart race as you watch him walk away. While he is gone, you take a sip of your wine, observe the people around you, and study the dessert menu.
He returns after about five minutes, sliding back into his seat with an apologetic smile. "All sorted. Where were we?"
When the check arrives, Jay pays without hesitation, even though you offered to split it. Outside, the night air is cold, so he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Then he pulls you closer for a moment, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for saying yes," he murmurs against your hair.
You look up at him, smiling. "That was the best decision I’ve made in a long time."
The drive back feels shorter than the trip there, unfortunately — you wish this moment could last forever. Jay keeps one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. You arrive at the building sooner than you would like, but instead of stopping at the curb, Jay drives into the underground garage.
You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you, Jay. For everything, the flowers, the dinner, the evening… I had a really great time."
He turns to you, that slow smile playing on his lips. "I’m glad, princess."
You reach for the door handle, but his hand moves quickly, wrapping around your wrist and stopping you. Your breath catches at the unexpected contact. "Wait, aren’t you going to thank me properly?"
You blink, confused. "I just did? The hug outside the restaurant and just now."
Jay chuckles, and his gaze shifts into something hungrier. "That was sweet, but I was thinking of something a little more fitting for the end of a perfect night."
Without overthinking it, you lean across the console and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," you whisper again, pulling back to see his reaction.
His smile widens. "Still not enough, princess. Come here."
He cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. The kiss starts soft, his lips meeting yours hesitantly, and you quickly melt into it, which makes him deepen the kiss while still keeping a slow, deliberate pace. His tongue traces your lower lip, and you part for him with a small sigh.
What begins as one kiss turns into many, you lose count as they grow more intense, hungry, and urgent.
Somehow, you end up climbing over the console. His hands guide your hips until you are straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. The space is tight and the steering wheel presses against your back, but you couldn't care less right now. His hands roam along your sides, sliding up your dress until they rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles that make you whimper against his mouth.
You kiss him again and again, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, which draws a low groan from him. That only encourages you — hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you. The friction makes you gasp, and Jay clearly loves the sight — he squeezes your thighs, encouraging your movements.
"God, you’re incredible," he whispers against your mouth between kisses. "So responsive… so perfect."
Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, breathing hard. "You deserve better than this, princess. Our first time shouldn’t be in a car like a couple of impatient teenagers."
You kiss him again, more intensely, nipping at his lower lip. "I don’t care, I want you right here."
He groans, sliding his hand into your hair to pull you into another hungry kiss. "You’re so eager, princess… and so perfect grinding against me like this."
His mouth moves down to your neck, sucking lightly and drawing more whimpers from you. Your movements become restless, rubbing harder, chasing friction. "Jay…" you whisper between kisses. "I need you, please."
His hands find the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up inch by inch with clear appreciation until he discards it onto the passenger seat. "Beautiful," he murmurs reverently as he stares at your tits. "So beautiful." He leans down, pressing hot, wet kisses along the soft skin, then his tongue circles one nipple before sucking it deeply into his mouth.
You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips. He gives the same attention to the other tit, licking, sucking, and grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth while his hand massages and caresses the first. “You taste so good,” he praises, his voice muffled. "These perfect tits in my mouth… you’re already trembling. So sensitive for me."
He kisses lower, along your sternum and ribs, then back up — worshipping every inch of you while you keep grinding against him. Your panties are soaked, and the friction against his hardness only turns you on more.
He waits until you’re trembling in his lap before he finally moves. Reaching between you, he lowers his pants and boxers just enough to free himself, and when he does, your eyes widen. He is big — thick and hard. The sight makes your mouth water and heat pool low in your belly.
Jay reaches into the glove compartment, fumbling for a condom. He tears it open and rolls it down his length with surprising skill while you watch, hypnotized and a little intimidated by his size and thickness. "You’re… really big," you say softly.
Jay notices your nervousness and caresses your cheek, trying to soothe you. "We’ll go slow, princess. I’ve got you. My good girl can take it."
He helps you shift your panties to the side, guiding you as you sink down onto him. The stretch is intense but delicious — you take him inch by inch, breathing deeply as he fills you completely, murmuring praises nonstop. "That’s it, princess… so tight, so good for me… so fucking perfect around me."
You bury your face in his neck as you sink all the way down, taking him completely until your ass is pressed firmly against his lap. "Oh God… you’re so, so big," you moan, still adjusting to the intense stretch.
The age difference flashes through your mind — he is older, more experienced, probably used to women who knew exactly what they were doing. You want to be good for him, so once you feel ready, you start moving — bouncing with almost frantic energy, desperate to please him. Your hips move and grind fast, determined.
"Easy, princess," Jay groans, gripping your hips to slow you down. "Slow… just like that. You feel incredible, but there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere."
You moan, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "I just… you’ve probably been with so many others who were better at this. I want to make it good for you. I want to be the best—"
He cuts you off with a deep kiss, then pulls back to look into your eyes while still guiding your movements into a slower, deeper rhythm. "Hey, none of that. It’s just you right now, and you’re already the best, baby. Look at how perfectly you take me." He thrusts up gently to emphasize his words, drawing a moan from you. "You’re my princess."
You relax into his words and the rhythm he sets, moving your hips in deep, grinding motions instead of frantic bouncing. It feels even better this way — his thickness brushing against every sensitive spot inside you. "Like this?" you ask breathlessly, your voice shy but needy.
"Just like that," he praises, his voice rough. "So good for me. So wet… so tight. You’re perfect, listen to those pretty sounds you make."
You keep whispering to him the whole time — shy confessions and soft, breathless questions. "You feel so good, Jay… I feel so full. Does it feel good for you? Tell me if you’re enjoying it."
He groans, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass, then returning to your tits so he can lick and suck them while you ride him. "I love it. I love everything you do. The way you squeeze me… the way you say my name. You’re ruining me, princess."
The pleasure builds uncontrollably, intense and overwhelming, leaving both of you sweaty and breathless. He slides a hand between you to your clit, circling it with his thumb in time with your movements. You tremble hard, moaning and gasping, telling him how close you are, how good he feels, and how much you have wanted this since the day you moved in.
When you come, your walls pulse tightly around his thickness and your body shakes as you cry out his name. Jay follows right after, holding you firmly against him as he finishes into the condom with a deep groan, murmuring endless praises. "That’s it, come for me… so beautiful giving yourself to me completely… my perfect girl."
You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing your temple while his hands gently caress your back. "You okay?" he whispers after a while. "Was it too much?"
"It was perfect," you murmur, nuzzling into his neck. "Better than I imagined. Thank you for slowing me down when I got too excited. I probably embarrassed myself, right?"
He shakes his head lightly and laughs, then he gives you one last kiss on your temple and helps you climb back into the passenger seat, watching as you slip your dress back on. "Don’t forget these," he says, reaching for the bouquet.
You take it with a happy smile. "I wouldn’t dare."
He walks around the car to open your door and intertwines his fingers with yours as you walk toward the elevator. Once inside, he pulls you close and kisses you the entire way up to your floor.
"Your place tonight?" you ask against his lips.
Jay’s hand slides to your lower back, pulling you even closer. "Yes, because I’m not done with you yet. I need you in my bed. The thought of you in my sheets, smelling like me when you wake up… it drives me crazy."
The elevator doors open and he pulls you down the hallway toward his door, unlocking it effortlessly. The moment you are both inside, he takes the flowers from your hand, sets them on the counter, and turns to you with hungry eyes. "Come here," he growls, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. His hands cup your face first, then slide down your body. "Let me take care of you properly this time."
He leads you to the bedroom and there, he undresses you slowly, admiring and kissing every inch of exposed skin. When you are completely naked, he steps back and looks at you with pure admiration and desire. "Fuck, look at you… so perfect. Every curve, every inch… all mine tonight."
He removes his own clothes and guides you onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. His warm palms caress them, spreading you open even more. His mouth is on you immediately, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, savoring you. "Mmm, already so wet," the vibration of his voice makes you gasp. "You taste so sweet, princess. Like you were made for my mouth."
You let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. "Jay… that feels incredible. Oh God—"
He slides a finger inside you, curling it against that sweet spot while his mouth continues sucking and licking. The suction around your clit, the rhythm of his finger stroking that perfect spot deep inside — it all turns the pleasure into something deliciously overwhelming. He adds a second finger, then a third, carefully stretching you as he pumps them in and out.
Your hips move against his face as the pleasure intensifies. "Don’t stop… please, Jay, just like that," you moan, your voice breathless and desperate. He eats you out like a starving man — licking, sucking, and thrusting his fingers into you until your thighs shake around his head and you fall apart with a long, loud cry. You clench and pulse around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you.
Jay doesn’t stop right away, he keeps licking and fingering you through it, prolonging every sensation until you are limp and panting. Only then he drags his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and up your neck. "You taste like heaven," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I could do this all night, make you come on my tongue until you go stupid."
He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on quickly over his hard, leaking cock. You reach down, wrapping your hand around his thick, hard length — stroking him slowly, feeling the weight, the pulsing heat, tracing the veins with curiosity. "I want it raw, Jay… I need to feel you, please."
He groans deeply, his hips pushing forward into your fist. "Baby… protection first, remember? I’ll still make you feel good even with the latex between us, I promise." After kissing your forehead, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes in inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You feel a burning stretch as your walls slowly give way to him, every thick pulsing vein dragging against your sensitive insides. When he’s halfway in, you look down between your bodies and see the clear bulge pressing out against your lower belly.
He notices it right after and quickly slides a hand down to press against the bulge, feeling it move under his palm as he sinks deeper. "Fuck, look at that. You see how deep I am? My cock is rearranging your insides, princess. Stretching this tight pussy so you can see it from the outside."
Your hand joins his, pressing against the visible outline, feeling him move inside you from both the inside and the outside. He teases you mercilessly, thrusting slow and deep so the bulge shifts under your combined touch. "You’re taking me so well, like this pussy was made for my cock. So greedy, swallowing every inch."
He sinks the rest of the way in with a guttural groan, bottoming out completely. "Shit… so tight, so hot. You’re already milking me."
His thick cock fills you so completely that every movement presses against sensitive spots that steal the breath from your lungs. His thrusts start controlled and incredibly gentle instead of brutal force. One hand stays intertwined with yours above your head, while the other caresses your cheek, squeezes your breast, and lightly pinches your nipple before soothing it with his thumb. "You look like pure sin wrapped around me… My beautiful princess, creaming all over my cock, taking every inch like a good girl. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else."
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Jay… it feels so good. You’re so deep, I can feel you everywhere." He leans down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hips move faster in a devastating rhythm that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
You come hard around him, your walls fluttering and clenching tightly as you cry out. He does not stop, thrusting deep and steady, prolonging your orgasm until you are shaking. "Fuck, that’s it, come on my cock, baby."
Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a long, broken groan of your name as he cums, pulsing inside you. He stays buried deep for long moments afterwards, holding you close and covering your face, neck, and shoulders with soft kisses until both of your breathing steadies.
Eventually, he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and returns from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans you both gently, murmuring more praises the entire time. "You were perfect, princess. So responsive, so beautiful when you come for me." He pulls the sheets over both of you and wraps you in his arms.
Your head rests on Jay’s chest while his fingers trace a lazy path along your spine, down to the curve of your waist. Without a word, you shift, turning onto your side. Jay follows naturally, molding his body against yours from behind in a perfect spoon. His chest presses against your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. You can already feel him half-hard again against the curve of your ass, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.
He nuzzles into the back of your neck, placing soft kisses there. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough in the quiet room.
"More than okay," you whisper back, pressing lightly against him. "I like feeling you close like this."
Jay reaches for another condom from the nightstand. You hear the faint rustle as he puts it on, then his hand returns to your body, tenderly caressing your side and hip. He lifts your top leg slightly, hooking it over his, opening you up for him. The thick head of his cock brushes against your entrance before he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he is buried completely inside you.
"So good," he whispers against your neck, sliding a hand up to caress your breast. His fingers massage gently, his thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch.
He starts moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips, thrusting unhurriedly so you can feel every inch of his thick cock dragging against your walls. While he fucks you, his hand on your breast never stops worshipping it — squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally pinching lightly before soothing it with gentle caresses. And his mouth keeps placing open-mouthed kisses along the back of your neck, back, and shoulder.
You reach behind you, running your fingers through his hair as you move with him. "Jay… deeper like that feels so good."
His thrusts become a little deeper, but still controlled. "You take me so well every single time. Look at how perfectly you fit around me. I could stay inside you forever." His mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while he continues playing with your breasts — pinching, rolling, and caressing until your nipples are deliciously sore. Only then he slid his hand down to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination of sensations is overwhelming and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "You’re so close… I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me again, princess."
And you do. Your walls contract rhythmically around his thickness as you moan his name, your body trembling in his arms. Jay follows right after you, burying his face in your neck with a deep groan as he comes, filling the condom.
You turn your head slightly to capture his lips in a lazy kiss. "I feel so safe with you," you whisper. "And so wanted."
He stays inside you until the aftershocks fade, then carefully pulls out, discards the condom, and cleans you both once again with gentle care. He pulls the sheets up around you both and draws you back into his arms, spooning you again.
Jay’s hand rests tenderly on your stomach, tracing small circles there. You feel deeply in love and completely at peace as you start to drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.
Sunlight is already filtering through the curtains by the time you slowly wake up the next morning —.only to realize the space beside you is empty, even though the warmth of Jay’s body and the faint scent of his cologne still linger around. You stretch and sit up to look around the room, noticing one of his shirts draped over the back of a chair. Slipping it on, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee and food already filling the air.
Jay is at the stove, flipping eggs while a plate of toast and cut fruit waits for you on the counter. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "Good morning."
He turns off the stove and turns around, settling his hands on your hips. His gaze softens instantly when he sees you wearing his shirt. "Good morning, princess. You look way too good in my clothes."
You laugh softly and tilt your face up, expecting a kiss. He leans in but pauses with a playful look. "Ah, but you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. No good-morning kisses until after breakfast."
You pout and dramatically pull away. "Not even a kiss on the cheek? You’re so cruel."
With a sigh, he gives in — pressing a long kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead. Before you can say anything, he effortlessly lifts you and sits you on the edge of the kitchen counter, standing between your knees. "There. Now I can look at you properly while I finish this."
As he moves around the kitchen, your eyes wander until they stop on the refrigerator. Something catches your attention — photos are held up by magnets, but one in particular stands out: a Polaroid of Jay smiling with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. You hadn't noticed it on your previous visits to the kitchen — you had been too focused on him. "Who is that?" you ask curiously, nodding toward the fridge. "The woman in the photo with you?"
Jay glances over while sliding a plate toward you. "That’s my sister. We don’t look much alike, I know. We’re actually half-siblings."
You tilt your head, studying the photo for another second. They really do not look very similar, but that is not unusual for half-siblings. "She looks nice," you say lightly, accepting the plate he offers. "Breakfast looks delicious, by the way. You really didn’t have to."
"I wanted to," he replies, stepping between your knees and stealing a quick peck. "After last night, it feels right to take care of you this morning… and maybe every other morning too."
You smile shyly. "Speaking of last night… it was incredible. You made everything feel so good, so right. I keep replaying every part of it in my head."
He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "You were perfect, baby. I loved every second of it." He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. "You’re so beautiful when you let go for me."
"You’re going to make it really hard for me to focus in class today." You take a bite of the toast, savoring it. "Oh, by the way, I’m going out with some new friends from college tonight. They invited me to a party, it’s a chance to get to know each other better outside of class."
Jay nods, resting a hand on your thigh and stroking it lightly. "Sounds fun. Just be careful, okay? Text me when you get there and when you’re heading back."
"I will," you say, stealing another quick kiss from him. "I won’t stay out too late anyway. I have an early class tomorrow."
He picks up a piece of fruit from the plate and brings it to your mouth, brushing his fingers teasingly against your lips. "You deserve to have fun… I’ll be here if you need anything when you get back."
You stumble out of your friend’s car a little after 1 a.m., waving goodbye as you sway on your feet. You make your way toward the building entrance and suddenly remember that you promised to text Jay — which you didn’t. So you call him to let him know you arrived and are heading up. In response, he says he is waiting for you.
When you reach the third floor, Jay’s door is already open and he is waiting for you. "Heyyy," you say cheerfully, immediately wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. "I’m back. Just like I promised."
Laughing Jay’s arms wrap around you automatically as he looks at you more closely. "You’re pretty drunk, princess. How was the party?"
"So much fun," you ramble, clinging to him tighter as he guides you inside and closes the door. "We danced, there was a shot game, and my new friends are so funny. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt." You tilt your head up, puckering your lips. "Kiss?"
Instead of a proper kiss, he gives you a quick one on your forehead. "You smell like a distillery and your shirt is soaked, what happened?"
You look down at the sticky stain on your shirt and pout. "Someone spilled on me. It’s gross. But I still want kisses, real kisses." You try to pull his face down, standing on your tiptoes. "I missed you all night. I kept thinking about you during the party… about how nice you were last night. We should do that again right now."
Jay gently holds your wrists to stop you. "Not tonight, princess. You’re drunk."
"But I want you," you beg, pressing closer, but he doesn’t give in at all. "You’re so hot, so gentle, and… big. Please?"
He shakes his head and guides you toward the bathroom. "No. Only when you’re sober and can remember everything clearly. Right now, I’m just taking care of you, okay?"
"Let’s get you cleaned up," he says gently once you reach the bathroom. Reaching for the hem of your wet shirt he carefully pulls it off, followed by the rest of your clothes.
"You’re always so gentle with me," you murmur, watching him adjust the shower temperature. "No one has ever been this gentle. I really, really like you, Jay."
He smiles softly and helps you into the shower, joining you still fully dressed so he can take care of you. Jay keeps one hand on your waist to steady you while the other runs soapy over your shoulders and arms.
The alcohol in your system makes your emotions spill out easily before you can stop them. "I think… I think I’m falling for you," you confess, your tongue loose, making your cheeks flush. "Is that crazy? It feels too fast. I know I’m younger and still figuring everything out, but being with you just feels right. You make me feel safe, wanted, and special."
Jay pauses for half a second, processing what he just heard, but then continues washing you carefully — lathering the floral-scented body wash over your skin. "This smells like… girl stuff," you say, a little curious. "Is it yours?"
He looks away for a moment before answering. "It’s my mom’s. She left some things here the last time she came to visit."
"Ah," You rest your forehead against his chest as the water runs over both of you. "I meant it, though. About falling for you. Even if it’s too soon… I can’t help it."
Jay wraps his arms fully around you under the spray of water, holding you close — voice is full of affection when he finally replies. "Hey… look at me, princess." He gently lifts your chin. "What you’re feeling… I feel it too." Softly, he kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "We don’t need to rush or label anything right now. Just know that I’m here and I care about you a lot."
Even in your alcohol-fueled haze, his words calm the part of you that was worried you were moving too fast. "Really? You feel it too?"
"I do." He continues washing you carefully — your arms, your back, your sides — just taking care of you. "Being with you is easy. Natural. So let’s just enjoy it, okay? One day at a time."
Jay finishes rinsing you off and helps you out of the shower. Wrapping you in a towel he dries you gently before dressing you in one of his shirts. By the time he guides you to bed, you are already sleepy. He helps you lie down and you snuggle into the sheets, murmuring one last "I really like you" before falling asleep.
────────
The following days feel almost too good to be real.
You wake up in Jay’s bed, wrapped in his arms and wearing one of his shirts. He always wakes up before you to make breakfast and greet you with a good morning kiss and that smile that still makes your heart flutter. But on some mornings, you pull him back into bed to cuddle before classes and work, and without any argument, he makes time to make you feel loved.
When you get home from class, tired, Jay is already there to greet you cheerfully despite his own exhaustion. He texts you during the day, asking how your classes are going and reminding you to eat. When you are together, he pulls you in for slow, affectionate kisses — the kind that make your legs weak. Some nights you cook together as he tries to teach you how to make proper meals. Other nights he orders takeout and you eat on the couch while you tell him every detail of your day. He still doesn’t share much about himself, always dodging the subject, but you do not push — you don’t want to be invasive.
The sex is frequent — sometimes slow and worshipful, his mouth and hands adoring every inch of you until you are trembling and coming apart. Other times it is faster and more urgent — against the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the couch, in his home office. One night you try baking cookies together, ending up covered in flour and laughing as he kisses the mess off your cheek. Another night you start watching a movie cuddled together, but the movie is forgotten halfway through when clothes come off and he fucks you right there on the couch.
Suddenly everything feels so domestic — he now keeps an extra toothbrush for you, your notebooks are on his coffee table, and some of your clothes are scattered around his apartment. It is undeniable that you are falling deeper and deeper in love.
On a Sunday afternoon, you are studying on his couch while Jay is in his home office, working on a complicated case that demands his full attention. After hours buried in books and notes, concentrating is almost impossible. At this point, your mind keeps wandering to him without permission. When your brain finally gives up, you close the book with a dramatic sigh.
You walk down the hallway and peek into his office. Jay is sitting at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly attractive as he concentrates on reviewing some papers. "Jay?" you call, walking in without waiting for an answer.
He looks up, and the moment his eyes meet yours, the tension in his shoulders softens. "Hey, princess. How are the studies going?"
Boring." You take a few steps closer and don’t ask for permission — you simply climb into his lap, settling on his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a trail of kisses along his jaw, then his cheek and lips. "I missed you. Pay attention to me? Just for a little while?"
One of his hands rests on your waist while the other continues organizing the documents. "I’d love to, baby, but this case is a nightmare. There are documents everywhere. I’m going crazy with these."
You nuzzle into the curve of his neck and kiss him there. "You’ve been in here for hours… you deserve a break." Your hips move subtly against him, restless, the friction sending a spark through both of you. You feel him twitch beneath you, already starting to respond to your movements.
Jay’s grip on your waist tightens. "Princess…" There is a warning tone in his voice, bordering on frustration. But as you grind against him, you can feel him beginning to harden, and that gives you hope — you think he might give in.
"You’re really testing me today." He pulls you into a kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. When he pulls away, it is with a frustrated sigh.
"That's the point," you whisper, smiling proudly against his lips as you continue grinding, slower this time, feeling him get even harder.
Jay curses under his breath, gripping your hips more firmly. No matter how hard he tries to hold back, he can’t, the desire is uncontrollable. He reaches between you and unzips his pants. "Fine, but you’re going to behave." He frees his hard, throbbing cock and pulls your panties and shorts to the side. This time there is nothing between you — no latex barrier, just him.
You sink down onto him slowly, and the new sensation hits you immediately — it’s different, hotter, more intimate. Every ridge and vein is raw against your walls, the skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver through your entire body and makes you moan as you settle fully onto him. The stretch feels deeper and more overwhelming than ever.
For a moment, it feels perfect — connected, raw.
But then his hands close firmly on your hips, holding you completely still. "Don’t move," he commands, his voice noticeably deeper and rougher. "Stay just like this. No grinding, no whimpering. I’m serious."
His cock pulses hot and heavy inside you, and you can barely focus on what he said. "Jay… oh my God, you feel—"
"I said don’t move," he interrupts, repeating it more harshly this time. His free hand returns to the stack of papers while the other arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.
At first, you try to obey — resting your head on his shoulder and breathing deeply every time his cock twitches inside you, but the longer you sit there, the harder it becomes. You let out a soft moan as your hips twitch involuntarily. "Jay… please, just let me move a little bit."
"I told you not to move. Jesus, you’re really pushing it today." The irritation is clear in every word now, and his grip on your waist tightens even more. "I have a deadline. I can’t afford to get distracted like this."
Again, you try to stay still — you really do, until frustrated tears prick at your eyes — but your body betrays you with small, involuntary movements of your hips. "I’m sorry… I can’t help it. This is driving me crazy. I need you to move, please."
Jay’s jaw is tense and his breathing comes in heavy bursts — clearly fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You think I don’t want to? You’re so tight and wet around me right now, but I can’t. I have work to do and you’re not letting me focus." His tone grows even harsher. "Stop squirming. Be a good girl for me and just sit there.”
But you do not listen — you roll your hips again, letting out a moan as he rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. "Jesus Christ. I told you I have work and this is fucking important."
"But I missed you and this is torture. Please, please just fu-"
He cuts you off sharply. "You always miss me, always need something. Kisses, hugs, my cock, my fucking attention. You practically live here now, your things are all over my apartment, you sleep in my bed like it’s yours. Isn’t that enough attention? You know what? I need you to get off so I can actually finish this case."
The words hurt, making your chest tighten — tears of frustration turn into something heavier and spill down your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to be annoying… I just wanted to be close to you."
"Yeah, well, wanting to be close to me doesn’t magically make my deadline disappear. I’m already behind because of distractions like this." His hand on your hip tightens even more, holding you completely still, the pressure bordering on uncomfortable. "You have your own apartment right next door. Just give me a few hours alone, for once."
You stare at him in disbelief at what you just heard. Suddenly the intimate position feels humiliating — the way you are still stretched around him while he looks at you like you are nothing but am annoyance. "You want me to leave? Like this… right now"
"I’m telling you to give me some space." With no patience left, he lifts you off him, leaving you empty and trembling. "Go to your place, take a nap, study, whatever. Just let me work."
You stand there with shaky legs, wiping away your tears, feeling small, vulnerable, and unwanted. With a quiet, trembling breath, you whisper, "…Okay."
It's past 9 PM when Jay finally steps out of his office, having finished dealing with that pile of papers. The silence hangs heavy now, normally you would be humming, curled up on the couch waiting for him, or laughing at something silly on your phone. Without you, the space feels too empty. He had been rude — way too rude — and he sees that now. He owes you an apology, so he walks over to your door, but just as he is about to knock, he notices the door is not fully closed — it’s slightly ajar, allowing him to hear low murmurs of voices.
Frowning, he pushes the door open a little more and steps inside, finding a guy standing right at the entrance to your living room, putting on a jacket. The guy turns at the sound of the door, his expression quickly shifting to surprise. "Ah, hi. You must be Jay. She talks about you a lot."
He looks over the other guy’s shoulder toward the couch where you are sitting with your knees pulled up. The guy cleans his throat, sensing the tension between the two of you. "I was just leaving… It was really nice talking to you." He gives you a small wave. "Text me if you need anything else, okay?"
You smile and wave back. "Yeah. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe."
As Jake heads for the door, Jay blocks his path. "Wait. What exactly were you doing here?"
Jake blinks, surprised by the sudden question. "She seemed pretty down when we texted, so I decided to stop by and check if she was okay. Anyway, I’m heading out. Nice to meet you, man."
He steps aside, letting Jake pass. The door closes behind him, leaving just the two of you in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.
You stand up, hugging yourself. "Jay… what are you doing here?"
The regret he felt for being so harsh with you is quickly replaced by jealousy and irritation. "I came because my place was too quiet without you. I started thinking maybe I was too hard on you earlier, but clearly you didn’t waste any time finding company."
You frown, confused by what he means. "He’s just a friend. I told you about him before, we met during my first week on campus when I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall. I was upset after you basically kicked me out, so I texted him. We weren’t doing anything, just talking."
Jay lets out a short, bitter laugh and steps closer. "Talking late at night like it’s a casual visit. You mentioned him before, of course, but I didn’t know you two were close enough for house calls."
The hurt from earlier mixes with frustration now. "You were so rude, Jay. You made me feel like I was an annoying pest who can’t function without your attention. I understand you’re stressed with work, but you didn’t have to push me away and kick me out like that. I felt embarrassed."
He closes even more of the distance between you, standing close enough that you can feel the jealousy radiating off him. "You’re the one who can’t sit still for five minutes without demanding something, climbing into my lap while I’m trying to meet a deadline, whimpering and squirming like a spoiled brat because you ‘missed me’."
You take a step back, but the couch hits the back of your legs. "I just wanted to be close to you."
"But the world doesn’t revolve around your need for attention. I love having you around, but today? You made it impossible for me to concentrate, and the second I ask for a few hours to actually get things done, you run straight to this Jake guy?" Jay doesn’t care that nothing happened — the image of another guy in your space, late at night, while you were upset, makes his blood boil.
"I didn’t run to him! I was crying when he got here and he just listened. Unlike you, who basically told me to leave because I’m too much."
Jay’s laugh is harsh this time, completely humorless. "Too much. Yeah, that’s one way of saying you’re a spoiled brat who demands attention every second, and the moment things get difficult, you replace me with whoever is most convenient."
Neither of you speaks for a long moment. You look away, Jay’s jaw clenches, and soon his gaze drifts from your face to the way you are hugging yourself, then lower, lingering on your bare legs. The jealousy is still burning in his chest, mixed with the memory of you sitting on his cock earlier, demanding attention, all needy.
"Come here," he says, nodding toward the couch.
You hesitate, biting your lip, which makes Jay exhale sharply and close the distance. His hand wraps around your wrist, guiding you toward the couch. "We’re not done talking about this."
He sits on the couch and pulls you closer until you are lying across his lap, your stomach pressed against his thighs. Your shirt has ridden up naturally, but he is not satisfied. "This is in the way." His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside — leaving your ass completely bare for him.
Jay’s palm rests on one of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh possessively. "You’ve been pushing all day… needing attention, teasing me, and then Jake shows up at your place, and I’m supposed to just swallow that?" His fingers dig harder into the flesh. "You’re mine, and it’s time you learn what happens when you piss me off this much."
His hand makes slow circles over your skin, almost soothing. "How many spanks do you think you deserve for acting like this?"
Your heart races as you try to process his words — head turning slightly to look at him. "What? Are you serious?"
He meets your eyes with a firm, dark expression — one you have never seen from him before. "Very serious. You’ve been spoiled all day, teasing me on purpose. So tell me, how many do you think you deserve?"
You swallow hard, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don’t know… Five? Maybe?"
Jay lets out a mocking laugh. "Five? That’s way too low, baby. You’re going to take twenty, and you’re going to count each one out loud. If you lose count or mess up, we start over. Understood?"
You hesitate but eventually whisper, "Yes… okay."
"Good girl." His hand lifts and the first spank comes without warning — firm and sharp, the sound echoing through the silence. You jolt, a surprised moan escaping you — heat spreads instantly across your bare skin, the sting stronger than you expected.
"One," you gasp.
He immediately rubs the spot in slow, soothing circles, calming the hot skin where he struck.
"Two," you say after the next spank lands on the other cheek.
Jay keeps a steady rhythm — delivering hard spanks followed by almost tender caresses. Then his fingers slide lower, tracing your wet folds, spreading them teasingly, brushing against your entrance, lightly circling your clit before pulling away.
"What a spoiled little brat," he murmurs during one of the pauses, rubbing your reddened cheeks while two fingers tease your slit again. "You’re already getting so wet… You like this, don’t you?"
You moan instead of answering, which earns you another sharp spank. "Five."
He continues, the spanks leaving marks and building heat across your ass. Now his fingers are dip inside you, moving with slow, shallow thrusts, curling just enough to brush that sensitive spot and make you clench around him desperately. But he always pulls back before you can get close to the edge.
"Six… seven… ah!"
By ten, tears prick your eyes, your thighs trembling as the sting turns into a pulsing heat.
Jay pauses longer this time, massaging your sore ass and spreading your cheeks so he can tease your entrance again. "You’re mine. When you need attention that badly, you come to me, even if I’m stressed, even if I tell you to leave." A finger pushes deep inside you, staying there while his thumb brushes your clit.
You lose track amid the overwhelming sensations and he makes you start over, just as he warned. "Back to one." During the restart, two more fingers slide inside you, moving in a torturous rhythm. "You feel how wet you are? This is what happens when you forget who you belong to."
"You’re mine. Your time, your attention, this body. I don’t share it." Spank. Soothe. Tease. "Say it."
"I’m yours," you moan.
"Louder." Another spank.
"I’m yours, Jay!"
When he finally reaches twenty, you are a trembling mess with tears streaming down your face. Jay finally pulls you up and turns you so you are sitting in his lap. His hands stay on your ass, carefully massaging the sore flesh and you press yourself against the hard bulge in his pants, burying your face in his shoulder. "You did so well, my good girl."
Jay lifts your chin, meeting your eyes. For a moment, he just looks at you — really looks at you — taking in your flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Then he leans in and kisses you. One hand remains on your sore ass, squeezing gently, while the other slides into your hair. He kisses you like he needs to claim every part of you — hungry, insistent, his tongue tracing your lower lip before sliding inside. You melt into him, moaning against his mouth as you start slowly grinding your hips.
He pulls back just enough to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. "Still so needy… even after all that." Then he kisses you again, deeper and hungrier, tongues sliding together with fervor. The hand on your ass slips between your bodies to tease your wet folds with light circles and shallow dips — keeping you right on the edge.
When he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connects you for a second before breaking. "On your knees, princess."
Obediently, you slide off his lap and kneel between his spread thighs. Jay looks down at you, one hand lazily stroking your hair as he frees himself from his pants — his cock springs out, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip.
"Open. Tongue out," he says, tapping your lower lip with two fingers. You open your mouth and obediently stick your tongue out. He leans forward and spits directly into your mouth. The warm, viscous saliva lands on your tongue, degrading in a way that makes you shiver. "Swallow that first," he instructs. You swallow while keeping your eyes locked on his. He nods with a satisfied hum. "Now show me how sorry you are for pushing me today."
You start with kisses along his length before dragging your tongue from base to tip. Jay groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, but he doesn't force you — not yet. His thickness stretches your lips as you finally take him into your mouth. He is big enough that you can only take about half before he hits the back of your throat. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what does not fit in a steady rhythm.
"Fuck… that’s it," he murmurs, tilting his head back for a moment before his gaze returns to you. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this. "Look at me while you suck it."
You do, looking up at him with teary eyes, and the sight makes his cock twitch in your mouth. When you pull back to catch your breath, he slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, leaving strings of saliva connecting you, before guiding you back down. "Yeah, just like that… good girl."
Between bobs, when you pull back to breathe, you say breathlessly, "I’m sorry for distracting you and for Jake being here." Then he guides you down again.
Jay’s hips start moving, pushing a little deeper and testing your limits. Tears continue to prick your eyes from the stretch, but you keep going, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him.
When he finally gets close, Jay’s grip tightens, his thighs tense, and his breathing becomes ragged. "I’m going to come. Don’t waste it, swallow everything." You nod around him, doubling your efforts and with a deep groan, he comes down your throat — thick, hot pulses that you swallow eagerly, not letting a single drop escape.
He pulls out slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the tip before it breaks. "Open your mouth. Show me."
You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to prove you swallowed everything. “That’s my good girl.”
He helps you up, pulls you back into his lap, and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you that makes Jay groan into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your bare ass and guide your movements.
"Still not satisfied? Such a greedy little thing." Even though he just came, his cock is already stirring again, hardening beneath you as your wet pussy slides along his length.
You gasp against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Jay… I need you so bad."
He answers by kissing you again, but soon pulls back to meet your eyes. "Then take what you want."
You don’t hesitate, not even for a second. Rising on shaky knees, you reach down and align the thick head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly you sink down, gasping at the stretch and every inch that fills you. The lack of a barrier makes him feel impossibly thicker than the last time in his office — hotter, more intimate. The spanked skin of your ass burns as you settle fully against his thighs.
"Fuck," Jay hisses, his head falling back against the couch for a moment as his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you fully impaled on him. "So wet… so fucking tight like this."
You start moving, rolling your hips in a slow, deep rhythm, the angle letting you feel every ridge and vein raw inside you, pulling broken moans from your throat. One of his hands slips under your shirt to caress one tit while the other stays on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in time with your movements. The mix of pleasure and stinging burn makes everything more intense.
"That’s right," he growls, thrusting up to meet you. "This is what you wanted all day, isn’t it? My attention. My cock." You lean forward, kissing him messily while you bounce, moving your hips faster.
With a low curse, he wraps his arms around you and suddenly flips you, laying you down on the couch cushions, driving him even deeper which pulls a sharp cry from you.
Now he is on top, pinning you beneath him — one of your legs hooked over his shoulder as he starts thrusting into you with deep, powerful strokes — hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt each time and the lack of a condom lets you feel every raw inch.
Clinging to his back, your nails dig in as the pleasure borders on overwhelming. Jay’s face hovers above yours, his hair damp with sweat falling into his eyes. Rhythm falters for a second as he looks at you, something darker flashing across his face, the jealousy from earlier — the image of Jake leaving your apartment — has not disappeared. "Are you on the pill?"
You shake your head, breathless, barely able to form words between moans. "No, I’m not."
He thrusts harder, hitting deep against your cervix as if to emphasize the point. "Good," he growls, eyes locked on yours. "Actually, fucking perfect. Maybe I’ll knock you up tonight, put a baby in you so you won’t even think about another guy like Jake. You’ll stay right here with me, we’ll have a beautiful family, me, you, and our kids. No more distractions."
The words should have shocked you, but in the heat of the moment — with him fucking you raw, his body claiming yours completely — they only send a fresh wave of arousal through you. Moaning loudly, your legs tightening around his waist. "Jay… fuck—"
He groans at your reaction, his hips moving harder. "You like that idea, don’t you? My cum deep inside you, getting you pregnant so everyone knows you’re claimed." One of his hands slides down to press lightly against your stomach, as if he can already imagine it.
The couch creaks beneath you both, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet noises of him fucking you filling the room. Jay’s earlier irritation fuels every deep thrust, but so does possessiveness — the need to claim you completely after the stressful day. He presses you deeper into the cushions, his hips moving in a way that grinds against your clit with every stroke.
When you finally come, it is intense — your walls contracting tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible, and you feel the hot pulses of his cum filling you, thick and warm.
For long minutes, Jay simply holds you — kissing your neck, your jaw, your swollen lips — his cock softening slowly inside you, but as the minutes stretch on, you feel him coming back to life, pulsing against your sensitive walls. "Already?" There is a playful tone in your voice.
"I can’t help it." He moves, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You moan at the loss, feeling his cum start to leak out of you, but his hand quickly reaches down to push it back inside you with two fingers. "Don’t waste it."
He leans back on the couch, stroking himself until he is fully hard again. "Turn around. Hands on the backrest."
You obey, your body trembling as you shift position, kneeling on the cushions, gripping the top of the backrest and arching your back slightly while Jay moves behind you, his gaze fixed on the evidence of the earlier spanking — your cheeks still red with visible handprints — as one of his palms smooths reverently over the heated skin before squeezing firmly.
"Fuck, look at this… Still so red from your lesson." His cock brushes against your entrance before he thrusts deep inside you in one powerful stroke, the new position letting him sink even deeper as the head of his cock presses against spots that make your toes curl drawing a loud moan from you while you grip the backrest tighter as he bottoms out.
Jay starts fucking you with firm, powerful thrusts — deep and deliberate, the couch creaking beneath you both — as every thrust makes your sore ass bounce and the red marks darken even more with the impact, his eyes unable to leave them while his thumbs press into the soft flesh, pulling you back onto his cock repeatedly.
"These marks… they look so good on you." Without warning, he lands a hard, stinging spank on your right cheek, the already sensitive skin making you cry out and clench hard around his cock as Jay groans at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he resumes his deep rhythm.
He gives your left cheek another spank, making you writhe and moan again as you push back against him desperately despite the burn — or maybe because of it — the mix of pain and pleasure making you even wetter, the previous creampie turning everything obscenely wet and messy.
"That’s it," he praises, smoothing his hands over the fresh marks he just added. "Squirm for me. I love how sensitive you are right here." He gives you one more spank, lighter this time but still enough to make you shudder, and immediately soothes the area with his hands, massaging the sore flesh while he continues thrusting deep and hard from behind.
Jay leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside yours while the other reaches down to rub tight circles on your clit. His chest presses against your back, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks between thrusts. "You’re going to take every drop again, princess. I’m going to give you my babies, keep you so full you won’t even think about anyone else."
When you come again — hard, your vision blurring from the overwhelming sensations — Jay follows right behind, burying himself deep with a groan and flooding you with another load of hot cum. He stays inside you for a long time afterward, thrusting slowly through the aftershocks.
Finally, he pulls out carefully and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back in slow, gentle movements. "You’re a mess, princess. Come on, let me take care of you."
He stands up with you in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns on the shower, adjusts the temperature, and removes the rest of both your clothes before guiding you under the hot spray with him where the water cascades over you both. Jay takes his body wash, lathers it between his hands, and runs them over your skin — being extra careful around your sensitive ass, massaging the foam in light circles that ease some of the sting.
"Maybe I was a little too rough tonight," he says, his hands moving along your thighs, cleaning away the evidence of the many rounds. "Work stress got to me, and then seeing Jake… I took it out on you more than I should have. You handled it really well, but I’m sorry if it was too much."
You lean back against his chest, letting the water rinse off the soap as you tilt your head to look at him. "It hurt… but it also felt good. In a weird way. I just hated feeling like I was bothering you earlier. I didn’t want to annoy you while you were working. I just… missed you a lot."
After rinsing you, he turns off the shower, wraps you in a towel first, then himself and dries you carefully, paying extra attention to your ass and rubbing some soothing lotion he finds in the cabinet. "There. Better?"
"Much better," you admit, reaching up to touch his face. "Thank you for taking care of me like this."
He leans down and kisses your forehead. "You make it easy to want to take care of you." Pulling you closer, his voice shifting to something even calmer and more sincere. "I don’t know what I’d do without you around. I can’t imagine coming home and not having you here like this. You just… fit. Right here with me."
You hug him tightly, burying your face in his chest. "I feel the same. I always want to be close to you because you make everything feel better."
Smiling against your hair, Jay guides you to the bed and pulls the covers back, lying down beside you to pull you close against his chest. One arm wraps around you securely, his hand rests gently on your ass — not squeezing, just warm and protective over the sensitive skin.
You snuggle even closer, your leg draped over his as exhaustion finally takes over completely. "Stay the night?" you ask sleepily.
"Wouldn’t dream of leaving," His fingers trace lazy circles on your back until your breathing evens out and you fall asleep.
Next morning you stir slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles and Jay’s heavy arm draped over your waist, his body curled protectively against your back. He feels you waking up and trails lazy kisses along your shoulder before moving up the side of your neck. "Good morning, baby," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep as his hand slides to your stomach. "Sleep well?"
You turn in his arms, smiling despite the slight soreness when you move, and reach up to brush the messy hair from his forehead. "Yes… thanks to you."
He leans in and kisses you properly — slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes you melt. At this point, he couldn't care less that neither of you had brushed your teeth yet. "You were incredible last night. Let me make it up to you a little more with breakfast."
Jay borrows a pair of your sweatpants that look comically tight on his incredibly nice ass, making you laugh as he models them. In the kitchen, you work side by side like so many mornings before — he cracks eggs for scrambled eggs while you toast bread and slice fruit. Small touches are stolen throughout: a hand on your lower back as he reaches past you, a quick kiss on your temple when you hand him the salt shaker, a playful bump of his hip against yours.
"You’re in a good mood today," you tease, leaning against the counter while he plates the food.
"I can’t help it when I wake up next to you." He sets the plates on the table and pulls you in for another kiss before you both sit down.
After eating, you start getting ready for college and he for the office. Jay kisses you one more time before heading back to his apartment next door to get ready for work. You take a long shower and, once dressed in jeans and a comfortable blouse, you step out into the hallway at the same time he does, looking impeccable in his work clothes.
He quickly pulls you in for a proper goodbye, hands gently cradling your face as he kiss your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Have a good day at class. Text me when you’re done." With one last soft kiss on your lips, he pulls away with a smile. "See you later, princess."
College passes in a whirlwind of classes and notes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Jay — the way he holds you, the sweet words, the kisses. He has not sent many messages during the day, which is a little unusual, but you figure he must be busy at work.
When you finally get home in the early evening, you step into the elevator and press the button for the third floor. Just before the doors close, a woman you have never seen in the building before enters, but something about her face seems vaguely familiar.
The woman smiles politely as the elevator starts moving. Curiosity gets the better of you and before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Hi… do you live here? I’ve been in the building for about two months and I don’t think I’ve seen you around."
She nods, laughing lightly. "Yes, I do, but I’ve been away on a work trip. I’m a lawyer and a complicated case kept me out of town longer than expected. I actually got back this morning."
"Wow. That sounds intense… By the way, my name is y/n. Nice to meet you."
The woman’s smile widens. "Nice to meet you too. Jay has already told me about you. He’s mentioned his sweet neighbor a few times."
Your heart flutters with joy — Jay talked about you to the neighbors. It feels special, like proof that you are really becoming a bigger part of his life. "He did? That’s nice to hear."
The elevator dings on the third floor and you both step out together. A small flicker of confusion crosses your mind — she is going the same way — but you don’t think much of it. Maybe she lives farther down the hall.
Then you see Jay standing there and your face lights up immediately. He hadn't texted you all day, and seeing him now makes excitement bubble up inside you. You walk toward him with a radiant smile.
At the same moment, the woman also walks straight up to him. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him — a deep, familiar, affectionate kiss. Jay’s hands settle on her waist automatically as he eagerly kisses her back.
The world stops.
Your feet freeze mid-step and everything inside you turns cold and numb. It takes a moment for your brain to process what you are seeing, but then the pieces fall into place with painful clarity. That was Jay’s wife. The woman in the Polaroid photo he casually said was his "sister." The late-night calls he claimed were from the office. The feminine body wash he said belonged to his mom. The distant restaurant he took you to on your first date, probably so no one nearby would recognize him. The way the doorman sometimes looked at you with that judgmental expression, like he knew something — he did. All the small inconsistencies you had ignored because you were so blinded by how gentle and attentive he seemed.
Every sweet word, every touch, every promise of "you’re mine" had been built on lies. He was married. His heart already belonged to someone else, and you had been nothing but a convenient distraction from the apartment next door — blind, eager, and so in love with the version of him he showed you that you never saw the truth.
Jay’s eyes meet yours over his wife’s shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, something like panic or guilt flashes across his face. The shock turns into pure pain, making you practically run to your door as you fumble for your keys while hot tears blur your vision.
You lean against the door, sliding down to the floor as sobs begin to escape you. Your chest hurts as if someone had ripped a hole in it. All the cute moments — the kisses, the touches, the date, the bouquet — turn ugly and humiliating in your memory.
You cry hard, knees pulled up to your chest, as disappointment turns into shame for having fallen so completely for the man who made you feel special, desired, and loved… and it was all a lie.
The thin walls allow you to hear muffled voices — his wife asking about his day, the normalcy of their conversation only making everything worse. You press your hands over your ears, trying to block out the sound, but the damage is already done. Your heart is shattered.
The man you had grown so attached to — the one who held you so tenderly after sex, who made you breakfast and promised more comfortable days like that — was someone else’s husband, and you had been the other woman without even knowing it.
⌞ SYNOPSIS ⌝ Dr. Sim is your soft-spoken, charming and eerily intelligent therapist. He’s everything your husband isn’t . . . but don’t be fooled, people aren’t always who they seem to be, even as comforting as they sound. playlist
❪ 24k ❫ ｡ 심재윤 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 𝑖𝑛 lust kills
warnings ! yandere!jake, psychological horror, obsession, manipulation, suicide talks/selfharm (graphic), blurring of professional boundaries, adultery, religious themes, mature, disturbing graphics (bent nails, skin scratching) gore/murder, mental ilness and overall very dark themes, dependence, physical/emotional violence, vomiting NSFW TAGS : oral sex, body worship, switch!jake, blood play / eating and kissing with blood, it gets weird, hung!jake, filming during sex, riding, blowjob while on a phone call, cockwarming, creampie, not a love story at all.
a/n : a special thank you to @mrloverboy3000 for this beautiful request. I loved writing it and i hope i did your idea justice. please note that this isn’t inspired by Jake at all and he acts as just a face claim in this, i do not see him like this.
To be loved is to be kept.
Birds are kept in gilded cages so they never learn the sky; relics are kept alive long after they should have been laid to rest. And people? People are kept, frangible and insubstantial until the weight of another’s devotion hardens into something they can’t escape.
They’re studied, preserved, handled with veneration so consuming it erodes the edges of who they once were, leaving behind only what someone else deemed worth devouring.
LOVE has always masqueraded as sanctuary, though sanctuaries have a peculiar way of locking from the outside. And see, there’s something almost holy about being known so completely that nothing escapes another’s gaze— until knowing becomes anticipating, and God knows anticipation leaves no room for choice.
To be loved, is also to be perverted.
Deviance, friend and foe, can tarnish or render bare- until there’s nothing more than flesh, bones and an existential need to satisfy without even knowing why. Bodies reduced to instinct become too thin from being wanted too much and understood too little; like a lamb is cherished because it’s gentle, because it’s somewhat helpless, because it never learned how to bite the hand of the shepherd that keeps it.
And the curious thing is that even the smartest of people, can become prey to the devil.
Your husband’s a quiet man, he keeps to himself most of the time— too self absorbed to look at the world around him; he spends most of his days painting in the attic, and it would be a tremendous lie to say you’ve never caught him answering imaginary interview questions about his works.
By the standards of the typical megalomaniac artist— his name is as incongruous as the canvas he paints. Samael, which in Hebrew often interprets as ’the poison of God’— has an unfortunate relationship with his mother, which begs the question : why would someone deliberately name their child something so grim?
The story behind all of this, is that when Samael was only a foetus in his progenitors’ womb— the latter recounts feeling him kick her in the ribs every time she got down on her knees to pray the good Lord. One day— as she retells— the holy Spirit descended straight into her humble bedroom and whispered that her descendent was a spawn of Satan.
You’d think as a good pious woman, she’d choose to exorcise the newborn or slip holy water in his nighttime milk— instead she gave him a name so sordid even her own parents chastised her.
The ironic thing though, is that as much as you’d like to believe she was experiencing religious psychosis— the name Samael clung to him like prophecy. If the shoe fits, after all.
You and your husband got married extremely young on a passing fancy— a whim if you will— it was nothing short of a messy 2 hour long celebration that you had no intention of explaining to your future kids.
You’re not proud of it, but love’s never been something grand to you; you and Samael found each other at 16— call a spade a spade— decided it fit your narrative to get hitched at 18 and delive together as total opposites— him as a good devout artist, you as an untouched bride who sought nothing more but good-willing hands.
You don’t care much for connection, to you it’s a vain thing— you don’t need to be understood by others as long as you understand yourself. Samael on the other end, is too precious about his paintings and longs to be perceived as a wiseman, to be fully acknowledged— something you couldn’t possibly give him.
And believe it, it’s not fruits of a lack of affection— God no— you like him lots.
Surely your husband is a reliable man, strong in his stance— he often brings peaches home after work, carefully washing one and cutting it in small bits before feeding them to you. He likes to place his hands on your shoulders and tug at the straps of your nightgown in the evenings, until what’s left of you is bare skin under pale moonlight.
But when it comes to good conversation, he isn’t all that great anymore. See, Samael hates talking— he’d rather use his hands, trace paths from your soft neck to your perky breasts like his fingertips can tell the story instead.
He’d never sit down and exceed the usual 3 sentences rule — no, he hates being confronted to his thoughts, hates carrying out basic human interactions, and on top of it all— he’s not really good with words. Horrible at it, even. The man doesn’t even know the difference between then and than.
So to say, your husband is as shallow as kiddy pool is highly accurate— he paints himself as a wounded creator, showing up with acrylic under his nails like it gives him authenticity— but the only thing it says is that he’s seen way too many movies. He uses religion as a core trait, hides behind principles and morals until he is nothing but a saint; thinks the world’s a given and that he’s earned his stay just because he attends sermons on Sundays.
You’re always lonely, hoarding books because it’s easier than talking to yourself, watching life go by while flies buzz by the window-still of your small shared house. Compounding this, it’s not like you have many friends outside of the 60 year old neighbors Mr. Paulson, and church people— the church he drags you to every sunday, claiming it’s “the things you do to be a better person”. The women there are sweet there- you wouldn’t be surprised that they talk behind your back, surely, but they’re nice to be around nonetheless.
Your social life is non-existent. The closest you’ve been to an entertaining conversation was about two weeks ago when the cashier asked if you whether you were going to pay by card or cash.
So deep down— being a creature of many words— being deprived of dialogue is something that pains you. You’d rather talk about the significance of dreams and nightmares or how the human brain tricks people into thinking they’re content with what they have; rather than scraping your knees on a confessional floor because your husband dragged you.
See, it all started when he caught you reading a book on the couch one random morning— you were quick to cover the title with your hand, feigning casualness as you leaned back onto the leather. But unfortunately for you, and much to Samael’s deceit— the cover art spoke for itself, some kind of drawn representation of a naked woman in a man’s lap, cunt bare and open to temptation.
He argued it wasn’t healthy, snatched the book from your hands and lit up the chimney all in one breath. Then he threw the paperback in the fire and watched the corruption burn before him, indifferent to your stiffness.
Sin isn’t welcome in the house— save for when he’s the one committing it.
Being still in a student doesn’t make this any better— during spring break, it leaves you nothing to do but to watch all seasons of The Big Bang Theory, then all seasons again and again until you know much more about the characters than you know about yourself. You bring The Big Bang Theory in the bathroom with you, so you don’t have to be alone in there too. You fall asleep watching it— such terrible American pre-chewed slop. It’s a homeopathic dose of comedy that helps silence that companionship-starved part of you.
Which brings you to do the most logical thing a sane person could think of. You book a therapy session with a renowned therapist in town.
Part because the priest doesn’t know how to listen when you sit down in the confessional and tell him about how lonely you feel— part because you want to talk to someone without feeling like you’re being an inconvenience. At least Dr Sim’s paid to do this, paid to sit in a fancy armchair and listen to people elaborate on their latest meals and two seconds later their experience with rape.
He’s paid to nod, offer reassurance, keep secrets like they’re his own. What he’s not paid for though, is to be a friend, but that’s enough.
SESSION OO1. 🎤︎︎
The moment you step out of the car, your head snaps from side to side. This isn’t a secluded part of town, which means you’re likely to encounter people you know here. Whether it’s women from church, driving their perfect little sons to school, or your husband’s colleagues going to work— there’s always going to be someone you know around.
You’d love to say you’ve read enough books to pretend like therapy isn’t scary and socially acceptable, but the truth is— if people were to see you right now, you’d probably crawl into the ground in seconds.
There’s this unbidden fear that they’re all gonna laugh at you.
That they’ll laugh at your instability, they’ll refuse to let you babysit their brilliant heirs, they’ll call you names and ban you from the town’s book club.
So you pull your head down low, look at the dust your feet drag from the ground as you make your way to the little private practice. It’s situated between a pharmacy and a pub, significantly thinner than the two other buildings, like it’s trying to make itself shrink. You tap the code provided to you text, quickly looking around like a delinquent before stepping inside.
It’s a rich-man’s practice, sleek black walls that seem to be closing in, potted plants and a stack of psychology books on a mahogany table. You make your way to the door where a golden plate sits, the name Dr. Sim engraved on it. It’s with shaking hands that you ring the bell, quickly folding it inside your pocket before he comes.
You look around one last time, like maybe someone familiar is hiding behind the curtains of the reception room, waiting to make fun of you; when the door opens.
You don’t know what you imagined, but it certainly wasn’t the man you envisioned before coming here. You abstractly thought about him with greyish hair, salt and pepper beard, a crisp suit— for whatever reason that is— maybe a prominent belly. But the man standing in front of you isn’t the person you envisioned, so much so that you’re tempted to ask if he’s the receptionist.
“Y/l/n ? Welcome, come on in.” he gestures inside.
The first thing that catches your attention is his Aussie accent— then his eyes, the color of cooled tea, hooded and thin like he’s perpetually high. It’s an endearing thing really, paired with his carefully styled hair, he does look put together, painfully so even. There’s no denying he’s a fairly handsome man, someone you’d look at twice in the street— someone you’d tell a friend about.
Someone who’s currently inviting you inside and you can’t do a damn thing about it because your feet are stuck to the carpet.
Thinking about it he probably gets a lot of patients who are reluctant to come in— it can’t be unusual, maybe some of them even cry at the door, you think. But you look silly nonetheless.
Dr. Sim’s eyebrows lift with a silent confusion “Are you okay? Can I call you by name or would you rather I call you ma’am?”
Your teeth catches on the last of skin you’d been tearing off your lower lip sometime before, and you nod, “Y/n’s fine.”
You step inside, looking around like an animal being introduced to a new cage— your eyes catch the 3 paintings hung on the wall, ones you recognize to be Gustav Klimt’s.
‘The Kiss’, more precisely— an undeniably timeless piece, serene and so intimate it’ll make you think twice when seeing it. To you, it doesn’t look like a romantic embrace though— as iconic as the painting is— the female figure’s eyes are closed and she has a strangely blank expression. Her hands drape around the man’s neck and clutch at his hand at her throat.
There’s something domineering and violent about the male figure’s embrace, and something powerless, desperate, almost pathetic about the woman. Is she unconscious or are her eyes closed in bliss? Is she returning the man’s embrace or trying to claw his hands away?
It’s all left to silence, an open space for interpretation to fill. But what it leaves inside of you, is a strangely unsettling feeling, or maybe you’re just nitpicking.
Dr.Sim leads you to his office, where the walls are high, and a leather armchair sits in the middle of the room in a sort of platform, elevated from the rest of the room. The therapist points to a small sofa pushed against the wall and takes a seat in his own. When you’re finally settled, bare thighs clammy against the leather, you look up at him.
Dr. Sim sits higher up, not drastically so, just enough that you have to raise your eyes to be able to meet his. “What made you decide to come here today?” he asks with a polite smile.
Your palms clap awkwardly on your thighs, a nervous chuckle coming out of your throat. “My um… my friend recommended i go to therapy.”
That’s a lie. You don’t have any caring friends, certainly not any who believe psychology isn’t a satanic practice.
You found your answer in a sub reddit instead, people asked questions and some others answered. You felt safer sharing it with strangers from the internet than with your own husband, which said a lot about the nature of your relationship.
“That’s a good friend.” Dr. Sim nods, “Have you ever been to therapy, or is this your first time?”
“Um, no I haven’t.” you admit, almost as if it’s a shame, a thing in a bucket list you haven’t crossed yet.
“First sessions are often the hardest. There’s no pressure to tell me everything today, okay?” Dr. Sim says rather gently. “That’s one less thing for you to worry about, you won’t have any expectations of how this is supposed to go.”
You huff, you’ve seen a couple episodes of Sex Education, you’re pretty damn sure you know how this is supposed to go.
“Is there something you’d like to start with y/n?”
You genuinely don’t know where to start. There’s too much, you suspect that if you start talking, your thoughts will evolve in arborescence, until nothing makes sense anymore. “Well, i hoped you could… maybe give me prompts, I don’t really know where to start.”
Dr. Sim chuckles warmly, leaning back in his seat, “How about you tell me about yourself? I’ve gathered only so much from your email. How old are you, who are you?”
Your fingers grab the fabric of your summer dress, pulling it taunt. “I’m 23– well i’ll be 24 in a few weeks. I’m a… well I study sociology. I don’t really know what to say… I’m married.”
And there you go. As much as you seem to despise your husband, you can’t forget to mention him like he’s a part of yourself. How pathetic.
Dr. Sim smiles, amused maybe, “You’re married, okay, that’s a good start… Is it okay if i make a parentheses for the practical things?” You nod, and he explains the countless things you already looked up before coming here.
You listen, although distracted by the big clock ticking on the wall, it’s old fashioned perfectly centered with big numbers and an awfully ominous sound.
The therapist goes over confidentiality, the session length: typically 45 minutes, and ends it by telling you to feel free to avoid questions that make you uncomfortable. That he’s not here to open doors but rather to guide you towards opening them yourself and blah blah blah.
“With that out of the way, i’d like to ask, what are you hoping therapy might help with?” the man asks.
You take a moment to ponder it, mostly because it’s an answer you don’t have yourself, “I miss… I think i miss talking to someone. Maybe that’s not really the point of therapy but I just came in here to talk.”
Dr Sim lets out a soft amused sound, “Debatable, i’d say talking is the whole point of therapy. But if that’s how you feel then be it. Do you have an idea what you’d like to talk about?”
You shake your head, “Not really.. if you could maybe talk me through it like earlier, that’d be great.”
He straightens in his seat, spine impeccably straight, “Sure, you set the pace. How about you tell me what an average week looks like for you?”
It doesn’t take much pondering to get an answer out of you, plain and simple, “School, eating, sleeping.”
“That’s it? Not even… I don’t know, any hobbies? Reading, knitting…?” he says.
“Well I do read sometimes,” you nod, thinking back to the whole smutty book episode, “but my… husband doesn’t really like it when I do.”
Dr. Sim’s brows raise a fraction, “Oh? Why’s that? Is he against literature or…”
You shake your head, “No, it’s just, when the book has some kind of sinful thing in it, he gets mad. And you know how the books are these days, one can’t really escape sin.”
The therapist nods, he doesn’t grab a notebook or take notes, nothing of that sort, he just listens— and you can almost see the pen scribbling words in his mind. At some point he picks up a pair of black glasses from a small table next to his armchair and perches them on his long nose.
“Does he know you’re here today?” he asks.
“Yes,” you lie through your teeth, “well no.”
Dr Sim smiles at the immediate deceit, perpetually amused, “He doesn’t? Why’s that?”
You lean back against the couch, your clammy palms box each of your thighs, “He wouldn’t like it. He’d probably tell me to go to church or whatever bullshit he always—” you clap a palm to your mouth, eyes wide. “Sorry” you say through your fingers.
Something flickers in the therapist’s eyes, “That’s okay, you can curse, there’s no big deal.”
You carry on immediately after his approval, “He’d tell me to go to church and confess, but the priest at my church’s a child molester. I don’t want to confess my sins to someone who’s done such things.”
He nods, “Does your husband know that?”
“Yeah, but he says the kids are probably making it up for attention. Ive told him multiple times but he just won’t listen. Actually… i’ve considered leaving him for this.” you confess.
“Oh? Does that bother you a lot? The way he thinks?”
You nod vehemently, “I hate it. He makes it seem like that priest is a saint, like those kids are liars and attention seekers.”
Dr Sim hums, “Are you very religious y/n?”
You shake your head, looking up like the good Lord might see you, “Not really. I just go because my husband drags me there— I don’t mean it like the church is bad or anything…”
“No that’s fine, you can say whatever’s on your mind, no judgment.” he reassures.
“Well actually, i really think it’s bad. It’s made my husband really… angry and mean all the time.” you confess, twisting the fabric of your dress. “It’s like whenever he comes home from the sermon he’s ten times worse.”
Dr. Sim takes a breath almost like he’s treating a very important and delicate subject— which on second thought, he is. “How’s your husband. How is he around you.”
Your mind crowds with memories of the past few years, bad and good tangled together until you don’t know what to believe anymore, “He’s okay. He’s nice. We got married very young, we were freshly 18, no jobs. But I guess… time changes things. Or maybe i was just very very naive to think we’d always be the same.”
“Mmh, i see. How exactly did things change?” he asks.
“Well I feel like, he’s gotten so silent. All he ever does is hold me. And sometimes i just want to talk, sit down and discuss things. But then he’ll end up talking about his art — he’s a painter, for context— and i’ll get bored because let’s be honest, his stuff is not that deep.”
You catch yourself talking way more than intended, mainly because Dr. Sim seems like a neat person, calm and a good listener. You thought speaking so candidly in front of a man as conventionally attractive as him would leave you painfully aware of yourself. Instead, his gaze strips away the awkwardness before it can take root.
“What do you mean by ‘his stuff’s not that deep?’” he tilts his head, hair fanning on his forehead.
“Well he’s just so pretentious so it ruins the whole thing. He paints tigers and other felines, says he’s painting ‘masculinity’”
The therapist lets out an amused chuckle, “I see, and what’s your take on that?”
“I think it’s goofy and stupid. Felines are protective, and they don’t shy away from a fight… but he’s a coward. He hides behind his beliefs to excuse disgusting behaviors.”
“How do you feel about your husband ? How does he make you feel?”
You clasp your hands together, the back of the couch welcoming you, “Lonely. Bored. And a coward too, for not leaving him. I guess i should, with all the stuff he says… about these kids, about everything really. But i’d be the town pariah if I did that.” You let out a small self deprecating laugh, eyes tracing the lines of Dr. Sim’s black shirt.
Now that you think about it, he looks lean, not someone you would’ve pictured in this line of work. He has smooth dark brown hair, a little messy— a long straight nose and pinkish lips; he looks unfairly nice for a shrink, intimidatingly so at times.
“Lonely people have a habit of confusing survival with weakness.” His gaze never leaves yours. “I’m not convinced those are the same thing.”
“Well I do think it’s weakness. Debatably. Nobody stays with someone who destroys all their morals.” you shrug, eyes lowering to the small platform his armchair stands on.
“You’re holding yourself to a standard you don’t seem to extend to anyone else.” A brief pause. “If someone you cared about told you this story, would you call them weak?”
You nod immediately without thinking, “I would.”
“Oh? And what does a strong person do instead?”
“They leave. Argue. Everytime i tried to tell him that a child won’t just lie about such thing for attention, he dismissed me. So i let it go eventually.”
He makes a small inside note before looking up again. “You said, ‘I let it go.’ People rarely let convictions go. More often, they decide they aren’t worth the cost of defending.” A pause. “What did it cost you to keep disagreeing with him?”
“Nothing changed.” You toy with the hem of your dress. “I’d leave those conversations feeling like I’d spoken to a wall. So eventually… I stopped trying.”
“Being ignored has a way of convincing us our voice isn’t worth using.” Dr. Sim eyed the clock in the wall. “I’d like us to prove that wrong, yeah?”
SESSIONS OO2. to OO8.
A smart man is its own kind of danger because of how rare they usually are. This is the conclusion you came to after a couple session.
Dr. Sim’s a professional man, with a disarming charm. You gather he’s under 30– from the description on his website— he’s got a PhD in clinical psychology and he looks like he’s lived a total of 34 lives. The ratings on his website are generally the same— along the lines of ‘excellent with young adults, gentle and faith integrated therapy’ or in some more intense ones, ‘he’s helped me through countless depressive episodes, he’s incredibly insightful and remembers everything.’
It’s not news to you, you’ve noticed these things in the short period of time you’ve been seeing him. He sounds extremely smart and literate, which is something you recognize instantly in a man— someone who’s not trying to perform intelligence but rather make sense of it.
Dr. Sim’s an overall calm and soothing man, his voice never goes beyond a threshold, he knows how to coax the words out of you— often leading the cadence with a sentence only you can complete. He’s very validating— which is something you’ve lacked for years, being constantly told you were too much, that you had too many thoughts in such a pretty head. He makes you feel like a person instead of a woman, makes you feel like your voice is interesting.
You expect him to ask you to repeat everything from the previous week but instead, he remembers everything eerily well.
“You mentioned something last time,” he said on the third session, glancing down briefly. “That you often feel like you have to make yourself smaller to avoid overwhelming people. Do you still feel that way?”
It caught you off guard— not because he remembered. but because he remembered the exact thing you didn’t think mattered. Because it was such an insignificant detail to you, but it caught the attention of a man who had a degree in psych. “I still do, I’m very loud when I’m allowed to be. I talk a lot, I love debating. But these days I feel like if I so much as open my mouth everyone’s gonna sigh.” you confessed.
Dr. Sim nodded then, thinking to himself, “Do you feel like your husband’s dimming your light? You can tell me if i’m totally wrong.”
You didn’t even take a moment to ponder it, of course he did, “Yeah, he is. Not intentionally— well kind of intentionally, I guess.”
That had been enough for him to get the gist of it.
Dr. Sim gives language to what you feel, which is a beautiful thing really, for such a misunderstood girl. You totally underrated how important it was to be heard, to have a part of you bare in front of someone.
“I don’t think you’re confused,” he said during the 4th session. “I think you’ve just spent a long long time being told your feelings require justification before they’re allowed to exist.”
It was something so tender coming from a stranger. Something you’d expect to come out of a lover’s mouth— but then again, it was his job. He collected the money you’d worked your ass off for— in exchange for some brilliant words. But the money was worth it, so was the hassle of sneaking out, lying to your husband that you were meeting up with friends to study, when he most probably knew you preferred studying alone.
Being acknowledged was worth all the currencies in the world.
At some point, the sessions started exceeding the time limit a little bit. Little by little, you’d raise your eyes to watch the grand clock on his wall, and you’d notice you were running 10 minutes late.
“Dont worry about that.” he’d say, eyes softening. “We’re doing important work. I’m not going to rush you out because the clock says we’re finished.”
And it felt kind, impossibly kind. Like you were hogging 10 minutes of his carefully planned day, just to be talking about the most nonsensical things your brain held.
Sometimes you’d talk about your childhood, he’d ask specific questions, “Tell me about the people you grew up with.”
And you’d answer openly, “My dad worked with computers. He was… kind, but difficult sometimes. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, so my childhood was pretty messy. But i don’t blame him. And then, when I turned 14, he… well he ended his life. My mom found him already dead.”
Dr. Sim would listen, occasionally making comments about how growing up with a mentally unstable parent impacted a child. But you couldn’t relate because you genuinely couldn’t find it in you to hold your father accountable for your wounds.
“My mom went through many depressive episodes. She had a pretty tough life, so it was probably bound to happen like that, but she never let it get to us— me and my sister. She carried a lot, especially when my father got admitted to a psychiatric ward.” you told him, “I think… sometimes, him being dead is a good thing in a sense— well no, it’s a bad thing to say, but i think she can take care of herself now, and not constantly worry about someone else.”
Dr.Sim did a distracting movement with his hand, three taps on his thigh— stopping you from spiralling. “You know y/n, sometimes grief is complicated. Sometimes relief and sadness can exist in the same place.” the therapist tilted his head slightly. “Feeling one doesn’t erase the other.”
He let it sit for a minute, before continuing. “You seem very practiced at making room for other people’s pain, I think.” he paused, with a soft voice. “I’m wondering how often someone made room for yours.”
That was the first time you cried, uncontrolled, totally out of the blue like someone had coaxed tears out of your eyes with force. You shook your head, the heels of your palms trying to tame the outburst by pressing against your eyes.
“It’s okay. You can cry.” Dr. Sim said, with a gentle voice. You did, because you hadn’t been able to anywhere else.
One time, you mentioned the panic attacks you were experiencing outside of sessions, how you’d curl into a ball in the middle of the bed, wait for your husband to notice, to care. But he’d never.
Dr. Sim said, “Therapy can sometimes open things before it teaches you how to close them again.” He hesitated for a bit before continuing, “If something urgent comes up, you can always contact the practice’s number.”
He looked at you, examining your face before speaking again, “I’ll give you my personal number as well— I usually dont do this with patients but I hope you know I’m available if anything happens between sessions, for psychological support.”
Another time, you sat together for an hour because the words wouldn’t come and your throat felt too tight. Dr. Sim didn’t say anything, he just sat there, offering his presence where people often offer an aspirin. He made you feel listened too— even when you weren’t saying any words. He simply sat across from you, legs crossed, hands resting calmly on his knee, watching with quiet patience. Every few minutes he would offer the smallest nod or a faint, reassuring smile, as if to say I’m still here.
When the session ended, he walked you to the door, and said, “You don’t have to speak every time. Sometimes just showing up is enough. I’m glad you did.”
During another session, you told him about the way Samael sometimes looked through you, like you were furniture. How lonely marriage could feel even when you shared a bed.
Jake’s expression grew pained, almost personal.
“That sounds incredibly isolating,” he murmured. “Like you’re screaming underwater and no one hears you.” He paused, then added softly, “I hear you.”
He remembered you once mentioned liking the smell of rain; and the diffuser in the corner of his office smelled faintly of petrichor that day. You hadn’t mentioned it, but he noticed when you relaxed deeper into the sofa.
Before you left, Dr. Sim said, “Next week, if you want, we can sit in silence again. Or talk. Or anything in between. The door is always open for you, Yn. Always.”
The next session, you mentioned how Samael hadn’t touched you in months, the only times he ever did were to make himself feel good.
Jake’s pen stilled and for a moment, something unnameable flickered behind his gentle expression before he masked it. “That must be incredibly lonely,” he said, voice careful. “To be touched-starved in your own marriage.”
His eyes drifted to your hands, then slowly back up to your face, you remember feeling the weight of his gaze like a physical touch — as if he was tracing your lips, your throat, the rise of your chest with each breath. He caught himself and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That was unprofessional of me to say it that way. I just… I hate the idea of you feeling unseen. Everyone deserves more than that.”
When the session ended, he walked you to the door, standing closer than usual. His hand hovered near your lower back without touching as he said goodbye.
Its all too sweet, so much so that sometimes you sit across from your husband at night, watching him scroll through his phone like a machine, and feel something you don’t want to admit.
How can you spend an hour with a stranger and feel more like yourself than you do beside the person who sleeps next to you. How is a stranger more valuable than a man who knows your body by heart, knows how you take your coffee, how warm you like the water in the bath, how many pillows you like to sleep on.
And that thought disgusts you, because Dr. Sim isn’t even your friend, he’s not your confident, he earns a monthly salary for what he does, probably buys his groceries with the money you spend on him, and has a life of his own— which you know strictly nothing about.
You’re supposed to leave his office feeling lighter—not counting down the days until you can return.
Because Dr. Sim asks what you’re reading, he asks what you think and what you feel, he asks why and how.
Your husband only asks if dinner is ready.
Dr. Sim challenges you to put words on intangible things, his eyes tame the guilt, his attention softens your edges.
Your husband only touches your skin like it’s an extension of himself, never thinking to reach the person beneath it— like he already knows you belong to him.
Dr. Sim makes you feel like you belong to none other than yourself.
SESSION OO9.
Outside the building, there’s a dead bird. It lays on the ground, unmoving. It’s become its burial site now, the whole town is his because that’s where he spilled the last of his blood. You place a thick leaf on its frail body before standing back up, one goal in mind. The second you step into the therapist’s practice, you’re greeted by the same four walls, the ones you’ve learned to find more comforting than your bedroom.
Dr. Sim’s wearing a white shirt today, it makes his muscles stand out— a man carved like an unpretentious greek god, no excess only soft roughness.
You could spend hours talking about what makes his appearance different from all the other men you’ve encountered— what makes him so saccharine. Likeable to the point you want to pull your hair out. The coarse slope of his nose and the infuriatingly clean glasses sitting atop it; the crisp shirts and slacks he always smooths over with a hand made of steel, veins poking out of his skin. All of it is grounding yet distracting.
He sits on his armchair right after making sure you’re settling correctly, and begins the session with a small smile. “How have you been doing yn?”
“I’ve been okay,” you get comfortable in the sofa, after so many sessions it’s become a bubble, “Today was a little complicated, my husband insisted on driving me here. So i had him park a few streets down and I had to walk here.”
Dr. Sim furrows his brows, “Mhh… I have a question, only if you feel comfortable answering.” he waits for some sort of approval, a sign you’re comfortable enough, “What do you think his reaction will be if he finds out you’re in therapy?”
Your fingers twist on your lap, “He’ll probably yell, something stupid like ‘you don’t need therapy, you’re not crazy’ uneducated stuff, then he’ll probably say i’m doing too much. That im stupid.”
“Your husband seems to dismiss your feelings a lot,” Dr. Sim says, his hand resting motionless on his thigh. “I worry it’s affecting your sense of self-worth.”
You look down. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just too sensitive.”
His expression shifts— not pity exactly, but something much more human. “I want you to notice something y/n.” You look back at him. “Every time you describe being hurt, you immediately look for a reason you deserve it.”
You try to laugh it off, because that’s what you do when you feel uncomfortable, “That sounds dramatic.”
The therapsit shakes his head slightly. “Not at all. I’d say it sounds learned.”
“Well maybe, but deep down, i made this choice. I chose to marry him, i’m actively choosing not to ask for a divorce. So i can’t really complain now can’t I?” you let out a small self deprecating laugh before it fades away instantly, “well no, that’s actually not really a good thing to say. I’m just speaking for myself, to be clear, not including other women who might be in a situation where they—”
Dr. Sim always catches the guilt in your tone, the countless ways you correct yourself in fear of upsetting someone who isn’t even here, “You’re okay, I got that part, don’t worry. But see, I think you’re being hard on yourself, you find clemency for other women but somehow never for yourself. How’s your situation any different from theirs?”
Your eyes skim across the room, with the curiosity of a child you look at the wall like it might give you a suitable answer, and you notice how bare it is.
The clock that usually sits there, doesn’t anymore. It’s a curious detail certainly, but it doesn’t bother you any more than the lack of convenience. You’re tempted to ask why he took it down, but you shake the thought aside.
“It’s different because I have the choice to leave. And i should because he’s not really a good person.” he nods at that, almost like he agrees, “he doesn’t hit me, he’s not violent. So im not under any restraint.”
The man sits straighter, “That can be discussed, don’t you think? It’s all a matter of how we see violence.”
“Well I don’t see him that way. He can be a little harsh sometimes, a little ignorant. But he’s had a tough life, his mom was very… —well that’s not the subject, i’m sorry i’m completely digressing.”
Dr. Sim shakes his head with a fond smile, “It’s okay. I just want you to realise that what you’re doing is finding excuses for other people’s behaviour, it’s a way of forgiving them. But not one time did I hear you find an excuse for yourself.”
That hits you like reading a very important sentence in a book— one you’ll highlight, write down on a notepad and memorise. He says it like it’s something people say over a cup of coffee— not something that calls for introspection.
Dr. Sim is a big man in a body far too little for all he gives.
You start to understand the comments left under his website by then, even the most intense ones. He is helping you more than expected, he’s insightful and incredibly reliable. When you text him outside sessions— which has happened only 2 times, because you were genuinely lonely and didn’t know how to make the panic stop— he answers diligently, like he owes you something, he takes the time to explain breathing methods and to soothe you.
It makes you want to slip more cash than usual when the sessions are over— because of how benevolent he’s being with someone he shouldn’t bother with outside of work. Words are too small to explain how helpful he’s being. How essential he’s starting to become in your life.
See sometimes people fit into adjectives, they don’t spill out at the edges, they make no more sound than what they’re attributed.
And Dr. Sim’s too big of a concept to be contained in a few letters.
“I just think… I’ve spent enough time talking about myself today. You probably hear stories like this every day.” you let out a small awkard laugh.
The corner of his mouth lifts, it feels like a challenge, like he’s finding this amusing— and for some reason, it’s incredibly attractive. “See? There it is. You just dismissed your own feelings before anyone else had the chance.”
The therapist leans forward, eyes boring into you like bullets. “You don’t have to apologize for taking up space in this room.” he speaks when he sees he’ll get no answer out of you this time.
Your eyes drop to your lap where you tug at a loose string of fabric from your dress.
“Can I tell you something?” the man asks. When you nod, he continues, “I used to think being useful was the same thing as being valued.” His gaze drops briefly to his hands. “I spent a long time believing that if I wasn’t helping someone, I didn’t have much to offer.”
You look up, recognising the vulnerablity in his voice. He’s not looking back at you, because for the very first time, opening up costs the weight of a gaze. This shouldn’t be coming from him though— you wonder if he feels safe enough to tell you this, or if it’s just a psychological tactic.
“So when I hear you apologizing for talking too much, I recognize it.” He makes a small pause. “Not because our experiences are the same— but because we both learned to measure our worth by what we could make other people feel.”
At the end of the session, Dr. Sim walks you back to the door, you hand him a bill, neatly folded in an envelope, and you bow politely at the entrance.
“Thank you Dr.” you start to reach for the exit.
“No worries y/n.” He smiles warmly, looking down at you with the white envelope in hand. “These sessions are very efficient. Let me know if i’m wrong, but i think you’re a very self-aware woman. And I really believe you can help yourself.”
Your hand, which was reaching for the handle stops dead. “You think?” you turn around, looking up.
“I do,” Dr. Sim gives the gentlest smile. “You’re someone i really want to help, because I see how much you’re evolving even if you don’t think you are. You’re extremely smart y/n, very intelligent with your words. Sometimes you notice things about yourself without me even needing to intervene. I believe we can go a long way.”
Intelligence only seems to matter when someone else points it out— and right now, it feels like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever been told.
That’s why, before you know, water starts gathering in your eyes. You quickly turn back to the door, feeling ten times less smart now that sensibility’s crossed the line. Tears flow freely, a creature way too neglected finally hearing endearing words directly directed to her.
Dr. Sim watches your shoulders tremble slightly, notices how hard you’re trying to fight it. “You don’t have to leave this room pretending you’re alright.” he says in a low voice.
You close your eyes, praying the tears will die, but it only makes the tremor in your shoulders worse. “I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “I’m sorry.”
No words are spoken for a long moment— moment in which you try to compose yourself, to dry the tears with the back of your hands. But then you feel Dr. Sim shift behind you.
“Can I ?” he speaks.
You nod, not even knowing what he’s asking permission for. You assume with all the wonderful things he’s done for your brain— anything he does next will be your salvation.
You feel some kind of movement behind you, and before you know it— a warm hand presses between your shoulder blades. Fingertips make contact with the bare skin of your back, the part your top doesn’t reach; and they press, light enough that you could pull away at any moment, hard enough that the shaking slowly subsides into softer cries. Dr. Sim doesn’t speak, he grounds.
“You’re okay.” you feel him whisper behind you.
IN BETWEEN
“Are you coming or no?”
Your husband Samael’s voice sounds from the living room. As per usual, he’d rather yell than come closer so you can hear him.
“I’m looking for my shoes Sam. Give me a second.” you sigh from your spot in the bedroom. You’re on all fours, searching for your mary-janes under the bed, ass up in the air.
“They’re in the hallway y/n, are you blind?” Samael responds with annoyance.
To be young and in love, is to invent. Make up things that aren’t necessarily there. Just how you’d pretended Samael was a kind man, for a long time. You know he isn’t, we know he isn’t, even Mr. Paulson the neighbor knows he isn’t.
Ah, the things you do for a neat life in the golden American suburbia.
You make your way to the hallway, smoothing over your dress to hide the curve of your ass, and when you finally spot the shoes, you pick them up with a happy squeal that makes your husband sigh. “Okay, ready now.” you slip them on. “Did you close the back door?”
Samael nods, distracted by something on his phone, “Yeah, let’s go.”
You check one last time, because you know for a fact that he hasn’t checked it, but the door seems closed enough from where you stand.
20 minutes or so later, you step out of the car into the quiet suburban neighbourhood filled with trimmed lawns and white-picket fences that seem pulled from a catalogue. The monthly gathering is at the Thompsons’ house this time— one of those sprawling two-story homes with the wraparound porch and the perfectly manicured rose bushes that the church ladies always cooed over. Everyone called it “neighbourly gathering,” but it was really just another chance for the community to parade their blessings.
PLAY NOW
You close the car door, smoothing the skirt of your modest knee-length dress; Samael comes around the car and places a hand at the small of your back, paitig the picture of a devoted husband in front of his friends. His smile’s easy, charming in that obnoxious way he cultivates. “You look beautiful tonight, sweetheart,” he murmurs loud enough for the couple walking up the driveway to hear.
You manage a small smile in return.
Inside, the house smells of pot roast and the floral perfume the women favor. Laughter floats from the living room where children dart between adults’ legs, their voices high and bright.
Perfect children. Perfect homes. Perfect lives. Cardboard American-dream bullshit.
“Y/n! Samael! You made it!” Mrs. Thompson beams, pulling you into a hug that smells like the Farrah Fawcett hairspray. Her husband claps Samael on the shoulder, already launching into talk about the latest church fundraiser.
You’re quickly swept into the circle of wives in the sunroom. They seat with perfect posture, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping tea from crystal glasses. Their dresses are pressed, their hair styled just so. You perch on the edge of a floral-patterned armchair, trying to ignore the way your mary-janes pinch.
“Oh, my little Emma started piano lessons this week,” Mrs. Hargrove says, her voice light and airy, like she’s discussing the weather. “She’s already better than half the kids in the youth group. Talent like that just runs in the family, I suppose.”
The others nod enthusiastically. “Our Joshua is reading at a fifth-grade level already,” Mrs. Kline ads, fanning herself with a paper napkin. “And the house renovation is finally done— the kitchen island is marble now. You should see it, Y/n. So much space for baking those cookies you’re always talking about.”
Their words wash over you, shallow and sparkling on the surface. You smile politely, nodding along, but your mind drifts ten different places elsewhere— to a quieter room, warmer lamplight, and a soft-spoken voice that actually listens.
The conversation turns inevitably, as it always does because these people have so much to talk about.
“So, Y/n” Mrs. Hargrove leans in, eyes bright with curiosity, “when are you and Samael going to start filling up that lovely home of yours? The two of you have been married… what, 4 years now? The little ones would love having more playmates at Sunday school.”
A knot tighten in your stomach; you open your mouth, but Samael appears at your side as if summoned, sliding an arm around your waist with excessive affection. His fingers press gently into your side— possessive, but gentle for the audience.
“We’re praying about it,” he say smoothly, flashing that boyish smile that make the women sigh. “God’s timing is perfect, isn’t it? We want to be sure we’re ready to raise them in faith the right way.” He didn’t say yes, didn’t say no. He left it dangling beautifully, the way he always did in public.
The women coo in agreement. “So wise,” one murmurs. “Not like these young couples rushing into things these days.”
You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes and the laughter swells around you, children’s shrieks piercing the air like obnoxious bells. You murmur something about needing fresh air and slip away, weaving through the crowd toward the wide glass doors that open onto the backyard patio.
The evening breeze cools your flushed cheeks, you breathe in deeply, eyes scanning the clusters of people scattered across the lawn.
You don’t want kids, Samael knows that. You’ve never even considered it— it’s a no. A hard one at that. Kids are something fragile a woman like you couldn’t possibly handle. What if you break? What if you turn out to be ill like your father, then who will make sure the kids are loved and listened to?
Definitely not their father.
But before you can even stretch your legs and relax in the patio, you freeze.
There, near the edge of the garden where string lights twinkled softly overhead, stands a familiar silhouette. Tall, lean, dressed in a simple button-down that somehow looks elegant on his frame.
Dr. Sim.
His dark hair catches the light as he tilts his head, listening to the woman beside him. She’s pretty, with soft waves and a gentle smile, her hand resting lightly on his arm as they speak to another couple.
Your heart stutters. His wife? The thought hits somewhere unbelievably selfish and delusional. Yet your mind flashes traitorously to the other day in his office— his warm palm resting between shoulder blades.
He looks so out of place there, entirely too handsome, too deep to be surround with such people. But he oddly seems to enjoy himself, as much as you’d like to imagine this isn’t his crowd.
You tear your gaze away, forcing yourself to look back toward Samael. He’s laughing with the men, gesturing animatedly as he speaks about his latest commission. You smile and nod when he glancesyour way, playing the part of the supportive wife.
But you feel eyes bore into your back the whole time. He’s seen you, he’s recognised you, your stupid heart does a small stupid somersault in your stupid chest.
When you look again, the therapist’ gaze isn’t on you. It’s fixed on Samael instead.
There’s something indecipherable in those dark eyes— a quiet intensity, the barest tension in his jaw that no sane person would notice. His expression remains pleasant, soft even, as he nods at whatever the woman beside him is saying. But that look lingers a second too long, like he’s assessing your husband. After all, he’s heard so much about him through you, he must be curious to see what kind of man makes his wife cry in therapy.
Samael walks toward you then, following the direction of your stare. “Who’s that guy?” he asks, adjusting his collar, the one he insisted made him look like a visionary. “Doesn’t seem like he belongs here.”
You swallow, keeping your tone light. “I don’t know. Have you seen him around?”
Samael snorts softly, dismissive. “No. Must be the new postman or something. Can’t imagine what kind of work he does— probably nothing creative. Some people just punch clocks, I suppose.” He says with the shake of his hand, “Anyway, come back inside, sweetheart. Mrs. Thompson wants to show off her new china.”
His hand finds yours, tugging you firmly. You let him, forcing another smile as you walk back toward the lights and laughter. But even as you do, you can feel that gaze following you— like a shadow slipping between the edulcorated families.
There’s a certainty, someone in this house knows more about you than your own husband.
The chatter in the sunroom resumes, you stand beside Samael near the glass doors, the women and their husband laughing loudly. Your partner tilts his head toward the pair outside with mild curiosity.
“Who’s that guy?” he asks one of the wives— Mrs Ellis, keeping his tone sociable, the way he always does in front of church friends. “Doesn’t look familiar.”
Mrs. Ellis glances over with a warm smile. “Oh, that’s Dr. Sim. He’s been coming to these gatherings for a few months now. Sweet young man, isn’t he?” She waves a hand dismissively when you glance at the woman beside him. “And that’s his cousin, actually— Lila. She’s visiting from out of town for the week. I’ve known Jake since he moved here last year, he’s new in town, you know, set up his practice on Maple Street. Quiet type, but so good apparently, my sister sees him for her anxiety or something. Said he helps her a lot.”
You feel a strange flutter in your chest, something you can’t describe as anything else than ugly. It’s weird, how by being vulnerable you can form a connection in nothing more than 9 therapy session— though that connection is one sided— knowing he’s as helpful as he is with you to other people, hurts.
You must be so… everything-deprived to feel possessive of your therapist.
You wonder, briefly, how you’ve never noticed him around before, someone like him should stand out in a community this tight-knit. But then again, you rarely leave the house these days except for church, groceries, and the occasional appointment. Your world has grown small, narrowed to the walls of your home and the quiet sanctuary of his office.
Mrs. Ellis leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “We’ve invited everyone over to see the new garden out back. It’s still a bit of a secret, so don’t spread it around just yet, but you two should go take a look. It’s beautiful—some sort of… oh, what do you call it, dear?” She turns to her husband, who supplies the answer with a proud nod.
“Japanese garden,” he says. “Zen-inspired. Very peaceful.”
Samael chuckles, slipping an arm around your waist again. “Sounds lovely, but I’ll pass. Too many mosquitoes out there this time of evening. I’ll stay inside and chat with the guys. You go ahead, sweetheart. Get some fresh air.”
You hesitate for a second, but the pull of quiet solitude wins. “Alright,” you murmur, offering a small smile to the group before slipping out through the glass doors.
The backyard is warm as you follow the stone path past the patio. Lanterns hang low from curved branches adn the Japanese garden unfolds behind the main house. A small koi pond reflects the fading sky, its surface dotted with floating lily pads. Bamboo rustles softly in the breeze, and a wooden bridge arches delicately over a narrow stream that trickles with the soothing sound of running water. You breathe deeper, shoulders loosening for the first time all evening as you pause beside the pond, watching a bright orange koi glide beneath the surface.
Dammit these people are rich, you think.
The quiet’s nice that time of evening, for a few long minutes, there’s only the gentle trickle of water and the distant hum of crickets.
Then you hear footsteps on the gravel behind you and you turn, heart skipping when you see him.
Dr. Sim stops a respectful distance away, surprise flickering across his handsome face. The string lights catch in his dark hair and soften the sharp line of his jaw. “Oh— sorry,” he says, voice low and warm, that faint accent threading through like always. “I didn’t know you were out here y/n.”
“Oh no, it’s okay,” you reply quickly, already stepping back. “I was gonna head inside anyway.”
“No, no, please. Stay.” He lifts a hand gently, as if to stop you without touching. “You were here before me.”
You pause, fingers twisting in the fabric of your dress. “Are you sure, Dr.?”
A small, dimpled smile touches his lips. “Please. And stop calling me Dr. here. Call me Jake.”
Jake. So that’s the name of the man helping you get through life— a fairly common name for a man so special.
You nod, warmth creeping into your cheeks. The garden feels smaller now, more intimate with just the two of you; the bamboo whispers overhead as nother breeze passes through. It’s weird, because in his office, you’re so comfortable speaking to him, it’s like you’ve known him for years— the way he understands you without hesitation. But outside of that space, you’re awkward strangers all over again.
Jake steps a little closer, hands slipping into his pockets. His gaze searches your face with that same quiet intensity you know so well. “Do you feel better? Since last time?”
You offer a light laugh, trying to brush off the fact that you were crying in his office a couple days ago. “Oh, don’t worry. You don’t have to work right now. We’re outside of the sessions— you can stop being a therapist for one evening.” You smile, hoping it reaches your eyes.
But Jake shakes his head, expression softening further. “No, I want to make sure. You really weren’t okay last time.”
“I was just being dramatic,” you say, waving a hand. “I don’t know what happened.”
His mouth curls upward in a smile, “See?” You’re doing it again. The minimizing, i’ve seen you do it hundreds of times y/n, don’t think i’ll let it slip.”
You let out a small, self-conscious laugh, glancing down at the raked gravel. “I guess, yeah… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, stepping just close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne, something expensive only a man like him could wear without making it nauseating. “You’re all good, Y/n, it’s my job to help you understand how bad that behavior is for you.”
“Yeah, I s’pose.” The silence stretches for a beat. “Well, it’s weird seeing you here. I guess I should go back. I’ll see you at the next appointment?”
Jake nods, but his eyes linger. “Sure. Be careful, yeah?”
Be careful? Does he think you’re gonna trip and fall into the koi pond? Nice.
But before you can go, something small lands on the back of your hand— a tiny ladybug, its red shell dotted with black spots. You start to brush it away, but Jake’s gaze catches on it first. His eyes flick down, and for a moment you’re acutely aware of him; his hand bare and unadorned as he reaches out, while your own bears a simple gold wedding band.
“You have something on your hand,” he says softly.
Before you can respond, he lifts your hand carefully, his fingers warm and steady against your skin. The touch is brief, respectful in intent yet anything but in feeling. He studies the ladybug for a second, a smile curving his lips.
“Pretty,” he whispers, almost to himself. Then, with infinite gentleness, he coaxes the insect onto his own large palm and bends to release it onto the soft moss at the edge of the path. The ladybug crawls away unharmed, disappearing into the garden’s shadows.
Jake straightens, his fingers lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary before he lets go of your hand. His eyes meet yours again, dark and unreadable, filled with that quiet attentiveness that makes the rest of this mac-n-cheese sitcom world disappear.
Before either of you can speak again, soft footsteps crunch on the gravel path behind you.
“Jake? There you are.” A warm, feminine voice cuts through the stillness. Jake’s cousin, Lila, emerges from the shadows of the bamboo grove, her light cardigan draped over her shoulders. She’s even prettier up close—soft waves of hair, kind eyes, and an easy smile. She slows when she sees you standing close to him, but her expression remains curious.
“Oh.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Lila says, glancing between the two of you. She offers you a friendly nod. “I was looking for my cousin. He has a habit of wandering off at these things.”
Jake turns toward her with that same soft, disarming smile, but you notice the brief flicker in his eyes before it smooths away. “Lila,” he says warmly, voice low and calm. “This is Y/n. She’s… a friend from the community.”
You manage a polite smile, though your pulse is still fluttering. “Nice to meet you.”
Lila steps closer, her gaze sweeping over the serene garden with appreciation. “It really is beautiful back here, isn’t it? Like stepping into another world. Mrs. Ellis was right to keep it a surprise.” She tilts her head toward you, genuinely warm. “Jake mentioned he’s met some lovely people since moving here. I’m glad he’s settling in. He works so hard— sometimes I worry he forgets to breathe outside that… office of his.”
There’s nothing wrong with her tone, but still, the way she hesitated before saying ‘office’ makes you still for a millisecond.
Jake chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck in a boyish way. “Lila’s exaggerating. I’m just doing what I love.” His eyes flick back to you, “Y/n was here first, enjoying the peace. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Lila waves a hand. “No need to explain on my account. These gatherings can get a little overwhelming, can’t they? All the perfect families showing off their perfect lives.” She laughs lightly, like she understands more than she lets on. “I was telling Jake earlier how nice it is to see familiar faces. You’re married, right? Your husband seems very… artistic. The way he talks about his work is passionate.”
You nod, the mention of Samael pulling you back to reality; of course that’s the first impression that idiot would make on people. The wedding ring on your finger suddenly feels heavier, especially after Jake had just held that same hand so tenderly. “Yes, he is. We’ve been together a few years now.”
Lila’s smile stays kind, but she glances at Jake for a split second, “Well, I won’t keep you two. I just wanted to make sure Jake wasn’t hiding away all night. He does that when he gets thoughtful, y’know..” She gives his shoulder a light, squeeze. “Come find me before the desserts come out, okay?”
As she turns to leave, she adds over her shoulder with a cheerful wave, “It was lovely meeting you, Y/n. I hope we run into each other again soon.”
The garden falls quiet once more after her footsteps fade and Jake exhales a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing as he turns fully back to you.
“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, stepping just a fraction closer. “Lila…. she worries about me being the ‘new guy’ in town, although it’s been like, a year.” he gives a self-deprecating smile.
He glances down at your hand once more, where the ladybug had once been, then at the ring on your finger. “You still look a little tense,” he says almost apologetically. “If you ever need to talk outside our sessions… you know you can. I’m here, Y/n. Always.”
Jake stands there, patient and soft-spoken as ever, and you would lie if you said you didn’t love the attention. The feeling of being cared for, as ridiculous as it sounds— because you should be reminded that this is his job.
Sometimes you even wonder if he’s the same when there’s no money involved. If he would’ve put a hand to your shoulder like he did, had there been no guarantee he’d be paid. How it would feel to have his attention from day to night—
You swallow, heart beating a little too fast. “I… should probably get back before Samael wonders where I am.”
Jake nods, but doesn’t move immediately. “Of course. And remember y/n” His voice is barely above a whisper now. “You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
He finally steps aside, but his gaze follows you as you turn toward the house, the weight of it pressing against your back like an invisible hand guiding you back to him.
It’s sweet, it’s unfamiliar. It’s everything you’ve never known.
IN BETWEEN
It’s strange how you can go from never seeing someone, to seeing them more than once in 3 days. Even stranger how you can go a whole year without noticing someone in the town you live in.
It should be criminal really, to be so isolated.
Today, you’re walking back to your car from your lecture on juvenile delinquency, earphones in, clutching your books in your arms, because this morning Samael had the brilliant idea of putting your handbag in the washing machine— which you suspect he’s done on purpose, for whatever reason, maybe he’s just mean like that.
The lecture’s been rough, your mind was blurry the whole time, elaborating a plan to skip dinner tonight to not have to sit with your husband at the table and pretend to care about his brand new acrylics.
It would be a tremendous lie to say you haven’t been secretly looking through reddit forums— once again— because the first time had been a gem.
You’ve been looking for people talking about their experience with divorce in close knit communities—especially very religious ones, hoping it might bring some kind of answer or at least comfort.
One redditor said— ‘How do you react, how do you stay strong...when every shop you enter, every group of people you interact with, it seems like everyone is looking at you with pity, sadness, avoidance. I feel like i have this giant sticker on my forehead, a huge L that everyone can see. Picking up kids from school, interacting with other parents became such a burden. Mums stopped being friendly, just yes or no answers, few moms however shifted their tone into being super friendly when before we barely spoke. Every thing feels so wrong, i feel horrible, i just want to change my life.’
That’s nothing something to be reassured with. Not when your husband lives for people’s gaze, and will never get over the societal fallout. So no matter how much you want it— divorce is not an option right now.
In the street, you try to focus on the path back to your car, but your arms are sore and beginning to go numb, plus the music in your ears is super loud and you can’t turn it down because of the lack of hands available.
Next thing you know, you loose a little bit of balance and there— the top book in your stack face plants on the ground.
You bend over, earphones tangling with your hair, but before you can even reach the paperback, a hand beats you to it.
“Careful.” says a familiar voice.
It’s a voice you know all too well, the same one that’s been keeping you afloat these past few months.
“Mr. Sim?” you laugh in embarrassment, taking the book from his hand.
Your therapist’s wearing a blue shirt with a sweater on, only the collar peaking out, and those nerdy little glasses he always carries during sessions; he has a leather satchel slung over one shoulder and holds a cup of coffee in one hand. “Small world.” he smiles, holding your gaze, “gotta be careful with all these books in your arms. Had a long day?”
You sigh, smiling widely, “Yeah, wednesday afternoons are awful.”
“Ah yeah, i imagine. Juvenile delinquency right?” he offers an understand look.
You nod. Surely you must’ve slipped that in during the last session, God knows you have an incessant habit of talking about different things in the same sentence, your mind is constantly a mess, speech alike. You don’t remember telling him about juvenile delinquency though, but you guess you’ve just forgot about it.
“Oh yeah, today was boring…” you smile, “I didnt know you lived around, i always assumed you lived in the practice. Well not that it’s my business or anything—“
Jake’s lips curve upward, amused, “I do, i live nearby, i was just passing by and I happened to see a girl drop her books, so I decided why not help her.”
“That would be me. Well I’m sorry, I usually have a bag but this time I don’t.”
He shakes his head, “You’re okay. Do you… want any help carrying these? Is your car nearby?”
You look at him with a confused smile, eyebrows furrowed, “Car? How’d you know i take the car?”
“Because you told me y/n. During our sessions.” he gives a calm answer, with a hint of amusement, as if dealing with a very silly kid. “You said something about taking the car to go to school, so i figured.”
“Oh yeah, i’m sorry, totally forgot about that.” you shrug, pulling the books closer to your chest so they don’t fall, “Well my car’s a couple streets ahead, it was impossible to park it any closer this morning. But i can totally carry them myself, you don’t have to—“
Jake cuts you off by taking all the books from your hands, “It’s okay, today’s my off-day anyway. It’ll only take a few minutes, should be fine.”
That’s how you find yourself walking to your car with a very handsome man by your side— also how you find yourself looking around every two seconds to see if anyone’s watching you, you know how the old ladies like to report back to your gossiper of a husband.
When Jake reaches your vehicle, you open the door and let him put the stack down— when he comes back up, he offers you a polite nod, “Will you be fine?”
You smile, waving your hand, “I’ll be just fine, don’t worry. Thank you for the help, i’ll see you next session.”
The man tips his head in a small acknowledgment, “For sure, yes.” his eyes drop from yours to your shoulder in a millisecond, he lifts a finger and points there, “Your strap is—”
You look down but before you can even register what’s wrong, Jake readjusts the strap of your top. Warm fingertips brush the skin there for just a fleeting moment, setting the fabric back onto your bone.
But there’s something you hadn’t noticed earlier when he handed you the books— his nails, or rather the space under them, is red, like he’s scratched at his skin and drawn out blood.
One of them is slightly bent, like it’s been cut through, and his knuckles are slightly red. You wonder for a second, what kind of internal battles he must be going through— what that enigma of a man is made of. What does he cry about, what’s his biggest fear.
You wonder if he’s scratched at his skin until it bled, like you did so many times.
Jake quickly retrieves his hand, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin, he bites down on his lower lip, distracted, and steps back. “I’ll see you for our next session y/n.” he quickly nods, hand going in his pocket.
The first thing you want to do is make a pbj sandwich. It’s become a ritual after days like these— when your brain feels wrung dry from hours of reading, highlighting, and trying to convince yourself you’ll remember any of it come exam day. Peanut butter and jelly never disappoints. It’s soft, sweet, almost embarrassingly simple, and requires so little thought that you can make it with your eyes half-shut.
As you kick off your shoes in the entry, you wonder if Samael’s restocked on peanut butter or if you’re going to have to head back to town to fetch some. You drop the heavy books on the small living room table and you pad your way to the kitchen, humming the melody of an old country song.
You’re pondering the next therapy session and the house is terribly quiet— which gives you peace of mind to think about your oddly charming therapist without feeling guilty.
You wonder if he’s stressed, if he goes to bed shaking at night, if his job’s taking a toll on him. You imagine yourself helping him just like he helps you, bandaging his hands, massaging the palms until they relax.
But you step in a wet puddle, and it cuts right through your thoughts.
You cringe, fists clenching— the feeling of socks being drenched with water making your skin crawl. But when you look down, your white socks aren’t transparent, they’re wet with something else entirely.
They’re tainted red, in uneven shapes of crimson.
And under your feet lies a small puddle of smeared blood, the size of a hand, dragged out like it’s been messed up at the edges.
You instantly freeze, the metallic smell catching up to your nose— the liquid spreads through the fibers almost immediately, climbing over your toes in uneven streaks before sinking into the fabric.
You look around, trying to figure out where it came from, but all you can see is, on the kitchen counter, a bouquet of white peonies, no card. Just plain flowers in a glass vase.
“Samael?” you try to say, but it comes out as a whisper.
You walk on your heels, the part that’s not entirely soaked, but it still leaves traces on the floor. You make it to the other side of the counter, eyes locking on the small phone fixed on the wall, but the moment your reach it, something wraps around your ankle.
You jolt, a horrified shriek cutting through your throat. You wrench your leg back on instinct, nearly slipping in the blood before your gaze drops.
It’s a hand.
A pale, trembling hand. Slick with crimson.
“D-Don’t…” the voice is so hoarse you almost don’t recognize it.
Your husband is sprawled on his side, half-hidden by the kitchen island as though he’d dragged himself there and simply run out of strength. His face is drained of color, lips tinged an unhealthy gray, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Every breath catches halfway in his chest before escaping in a shaky exhale.
One hand is wrapped around his opposite forearm.
But it isn’t enough.
Blood seeps relentlessly between his fingers, dripping onto the tile in slow, heavy patters. A deep gash splits across his forearm, the torn edges stained dark, his grip the only thing slowing the bleeding.
His fingers tighten weakly around your ankle— not enough to hold you there, only enough to make sure you don’t leave before seeing him.
“Don’t…” he rasps again, swallowing hard. “Don’t look.”
But it’s too late. Your eyes have already found the widening pool beneath him, the smeared trail leading across the floor, the shaky handprints marking every place he’d tried to pull himself forward.
“Samael? What—” you gasp, a shaky hand coming to your mouth, “what happened?”
His fingers loosen around your ankle. “I’m…” his voice catches in his throat. “I’m sorry.”
“…For what?” You stare at him, your pulse roaring in your ears. “Samael for what??”
He doesn’t answer, instead, his eyes drift downward until yours follow. Wedged between his blood-slick fingers is a jagged shard of glass, one edge glistening red. Tiny splinters cling to his palm and the kitchen light catches the fractured surface, scattering pale reflections across the floor.
Something in your chest caves.
It’s a strange feeling, something you can’t pin-point but recognise all too well. Your stomach twists with the nauseating certainty of déjà vu.
For the briefest second, the kitchen isn’t your kitchen anymore, it’s your parents’.
The metallic smell, the blood on the floor, the impossible stillness— it all folds over itself until you’re somewhere else entirely, somewhere your mind has spent years trying to bury.
You know this scene. You know it all too well.
“…You…” Your voice barely exists. “Samael….”
“Lord forgive me.” your husband’s eyelids flutter shut. “I’m so weak.” he laughs once— a hollow, breathless sound that dies as soon as it leaves him. “Fuck.. thought I could endure it.”
Your eyes flick between the wound and the shard still trapped in his grip. You’ve never seen your husband like this, weakened, stepping off of his pedestal to be in such a vulnerable position.
You’ve never thought him capable of doing such thing, it’s not like he’s been sad or troubled these days, there’s no explanation.
But then again, an empath part of you says, you never know what someone is capable of doing, given the right amount of suffering.
“How… how long?” you ask, voice shaken.
Samael squints at the ceiling, as though the answer might be written there. “I don’t know.”his breathing stutters. “An hour… maybe more.”
He had been lying here, bleeding into the kitchen tiles, alone. And a part of you wants to laugh at him.
You do hate him for everything he’s made of your life. But hatred’s never been strong enough to erase recognition.
Once an empath always an empath, always finding ways to feel sorry for even the worst of people.
You know the look in his eyes, the. shame and the desperate apology to a God who feels impossibly far away. You know what it’s like to believe you’ve crossed a line you can never uncross.
Your hand trembles as you reach for the wall-mounted phone and the receiver nearly slips from your fingers. You force yourself to breathe, punch in the emergency number, and press it to your ear.
SESSION O10.
“My husband’s suicidal.”
Your voice echoes in the therapist’s office. It feels wrong in thousands of ways, like you’re admitting your little suburban fairytale is crumble to pieces.
Dr. Sim sits across, neat as always, hands folded on his lap. He pushes his glasses back on his nose, legs spreading the slightest bit. “What makes you say that?”
You try to push the image of his gushing wound out of your mind, the way the paramedics had to wrap gauze around it but the blood still seeped through. “Well, he clearly wanted to end his life.”
“… y/n, people injure themselves for many reasons. Some want to end their lives, and some just want to punish themselves and relieve emotional distress. So without knowing his intent, Id be careful saying he’s suicidal.”
“He apologized. He said he’d been weak. He asked God to forgive him.” you whisper.
Dr. Sim clasps his hands together, “That sounds like shame. It doesn’t necessarily tell me he wanted to die though. Sometimes it can be a call for help.”
“All of a sudden like that?” you question, leaning forward in your seat. There had been no warning signs, no telltale hints of a problem.
Dr. Sim takes a deep breath, like what he’s about to say will be important, “It’s rarely all of a sudden,” he answers at last. “It’s usually the first time other people notice, i’d say.”
Out of all the things you could be feeling right now— the only thing that comes is guilt. Guilt so strong you want to bite your nails off. You should’ve seen it, should’ve noticed, something, anything in his behavior that could’ve prevented this.
“How do you think he’s been lately?” Jake continues, “Withdrawn? More dependent on you than usual? Has he been sleeping? Has he seemed… frightened?”
You shake your head, “I don’t know… he’s never been… this transparent in front of me. I’ve never seen him suffer.”
“And since then?” the therapist probes.
“I’ve barely left him alone.” you say in a breath. “I’m always around, i’m scared he’ll do it again.”
Dr. Sim nods once, almost thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”
“Does it?” you tilt your head, hands shaking.
“People don’t usually abandon someone after they’ve almost lost them.”
You almost hear the sound of a clock, but as your eyes face the wall, you notice it still isn’t there. The wall’s bare and the curtains are closed halfway down the window, making the room dimmer than usual. It should be appeasing, relaxing even— you’ve always hated bright lights— but now it makes your knee bounce.
“I thought he was going to die.” your voice cracks as you admit. “Not that it’d be bad… in a way— fuck. I don’t know what i’m saying sorry.”
You hear Jake shift in his seat, and the next thing you know, he’s crouching in front of the sofa you’re sat on.
He looks up at you like an astronaut dreams of the moon, and his hand reaches across the space between you to drop right over yours.
“But you saved him.” he murmurs. “And don’t apologize for your thoughts, we always want things we can’t have, don’t we?”
You don’t know what the means by that, you don’t want Samael to die, it’s just a form of speech, something you say without thinking.
You’re way too aware of the point of contact to dwell on that though. You look down immediately with slightly wide eyes, the tears in your eyes drying like he’s wrung them out himself.
“Is this okay?” he whispers in the softest voice.
You nod, too fast for someone so conflicted— and he squeezes your hand tighter. “I know i shouldn’t be touching you right now. But I just want to offer you a presence y/n. Tell me if it’s too much.”
You shake your head, unable to form any words and he takes it as a silent agreement. His hand squeezes tighter, not tight enough to scare you away, a symbolic of everything he is, that you’re not. He’s helpful, he’s a man who cares for people, while you’re a poor woman too blind to even notice your own husband’s suffering.
Jake’s eyes fall to your wrist, fingertips climbing to wrap around the thin bone, he squeezes a few times, thumb drawing circles on it. Your breath hitches almost instantly, having never known a touch so tender— and you watch his fingers move gently, like he’s scared he’ll crush your bones if he presses too hard.
“You know, I was concerned something happened, when you came in late today. You never come in late.” the therapist fingers tighten almost imperceptibly, “You’re someone I really look forward to helping.”
Today, you were late because you considered staying home to tend to Samael, but you decided to go anyway, too addicted to skip an appointment. It’s like everything falls behind therapy these days, like the only thing that matters is seeing Dr. Sim.
Right now, you can’t be fooled into thinking there’s not an ounce of truth in what he says though. The way he says it, not in a money-hungry way, not in a professional way even.
There’s not intention behind it, only true concern.
You wonder if he’s grown unhealthily attached like you have, if he knows how dependent you’ve become to these sessions. If maybe somewhere deep down he feels the same way.
It’s wrong, and it’s ugly, and God forbid someone ever hears about this.
But it’s your secret. And his to some extent.
Your hear him chuckle before you even seen him, your eyes snap up, confused. Jake is looking at your hand with amusement.
“You attract these things, don’t you?” he smiles.
Because there, on your hand, lies a little ladybug, once again. Small, delicate, almost impossibly harmless— its scarlet shell a strange contrast against the warmth of your skin.
It looks like something that should have been crushed by the world already, yet here it is, still moving, still searching for somewhere gentle to land. You look around, the window is closed and so is the door.
You must’ve brought it inside when you came in.
“It’s the second one this week,” he observes, picking up with careful fingers, “Look at it.”
He brings the small insect closer to your eyes, careful not to let it drop, and you find yourself squinting to look at it, “They must really like you,”
You gather your palms together in front of you, and Jake manages the little creature in your hands; it crawls across the folds of skin, until it sits at the edge of your fingertip.
But you can’t find it in you to focus on it.
Your eyes, so volatile, are on his face, concentred with something other than wonder. Jake looks even more disarming up close where you can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way he seems to be constantly biting down on his lower lip like a bad-habit.
He looks at you like you hold the world in your palms instead of a small weak creature, and you look at him like your husband’s been long forgotten.
It should make you feel bad, but you can’t think about anything else other than those destabilising eyes digging up a path straight to your chest cavity. It’s so personal, it’s like he’s not looking at a patient but at a woman he needs.
And God, you need him.
PLAY now
There’s a man at home, loved and respected in the community, a man who hurts you but who’s suffering himself— and the only thing you can think about is how you wish Dr. Sim would press his lips to yours.
It’s vile, it’s ugly and everything in between and beyond. But you’d let go of all ethics if he were to wrap a hand around your throat.
The lines between feeling cared for and wanting to give your all have eroded so easily, you almost didn’t even notice it. And now you’re stuck with a heart that wants his touch and his words at the same time.
The ladybug’s wings unfurl in your hand, delicate and translucent, catching the faint light of the room. A tiny flutter breaks the silence and it lifts itself into the air, drifting upward in a slow, uncertain spiral, its red shell a fleeting spark against the walls. In the closed room, where nothing else moves, the little creature tries to find a way out.
The second it’s gone behind the curtains, your eyes fall back down to Dr. Sim’s face. His are already bored in yours, the ladybug insignificant.
It’s eery, the moment stretches and stretches until you’re sure you should break it with a word, but can’t.
That’s when his breath comes out, shakier than intended. You couldn’t possibly tear your eyes from his, but the warmth of his breath makes you want to look away desperately before need consumes you.
“I know this is wrong,” Jake begins, not even knowing what he’s referring to, “but it’s hard to stop. I’ve never— been around someone like you y/n.”
Your own breath catches in your throat, a prisoner of your own twisted desires.
But he continues, “I look forward to our sessions all the time, you know? You’re a very smart woman, you‘ve taught me a lot of things school doesn’t teach. You know you’re my favorite patient, right?” he’s very serious when he says that, “And I get that you think so low of yourself, but you deserve to be cherished. Not tolerated or managed. Cherished.”
You’re struggling to understand what he means by that, when his fingers find your knee, tentative, “Is this okay?”
Your eyes subconsciously look for the clock. You’re aware you’ve been in here for longer than usual— after all time passes fast when you’re at the hands of such a skilled player— and when you look back at him, you nod., because in here, hours don’t matter.
Jake’s hand travels upward, to your lower thigh, which he squeezes gently, tracing shapes with the pads of his fingers. He reads you like an open book, when he sees the guilt in your eyes, he goes, “I know it all feels confusing. But you’re not alone in this room with me, okay? You’ll never be alone.”
You almost gasp, throat becoming a penitentiary for air— you feel your knee shaking, and so does he. “Is it too much?” when you shake your head, his head drops, forehead almost touching your thigh. “I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”
You’re too stunned to even speak, but your hand—for reason you couldn’t possibly supply— moves to the top of his head with a mind of its own. Your fingers curl in his hair, gently, and you push his head down, until it rests on your skin.
Jake exhales a shaky breath, lips meeting the apex of your leg.
You should to stop, but what’s wrong has always tasted so good— so one hand crawls where his hair meets his nape, and you beckon him closer.
He doesn’t rush. Even now, with your hand urging him closer, Jake moves like he’s afraid the moment might shatter. His lips brush the fabric of your dress first, then find the bare skin just above your knee. His kiss is feather-light, warm breath fanning across your thigh as he trails higher. Each press of his mouth feels like confessing a sin— soft, open-mouthed.
He breathes you in, nose grazing the sensitive inner skin, and a low sound rumbles in his chest, something between a sigh and a groan.
“Still okay?” he whispers against your thigh, voice muffled. His fingers trace the hem of your dress, pushing it up nicely inch by inch with agonizing patience. You nod again, words failing you, and he takes it as permission.
The fabric pools higher, exposing more of you to the cool air of the office. Jake’s hands slide up the backs of your thighs, spreading them apart just enough for him to settle between them on his knees.
He looks up at you then, eyes dark and glassy, pupils blown wide with deviant need. There’s hunger there, yes, but also that same worshipful devotion that makes your stomach twist with guilt. “You’re so soft here,” he murmurs, lips brushing the crease where thigh meets hip. “Fuck… I’ve thought about this so many times.”
It’s the first time you’ve heard him swear, and it tastes delicious from his mouth. It continues its path, kissing a slow trail along your inner thigh. Every touch is meaningful, each a part of something grander — teeth grazing lightly, tongue soothing the faint sting. He savors you like scripture, murmuring half-formed praises between kisses.
The scent of your arousal is already thickening the air, and Jake’s breath hitches when he reaches the edge of your panties.
He presses his face there, inhaling deeply, nose nudging against the damp fabric, his tongue darts out, tasting the arousal seeping through.
“Fuck… you smell so good,” he breathes, voice rougher now. His hands tremble slightly as they hook into the waistband, waiting for your eyes.
When you lift your hips just enough, he slides them down your legs with excruciating slowness, letting the lace drag along your skin. The cool air hits your exposed core, and you shiver; Jake groans softly at the sight, forehead dropping to rest against your lower stomach for a moment as if gathering himself.
You run your hand through his hair, tugging just a little bit, until he looks up with wild eyes, he’s gone, in a totally different headspace that you’ve ever seen him in. Then he spreads your legs wider, hands firm on your thighs, holding you open like an offering. His gaze flicks up again, asking without words.
The permission you give with a shaky nod breaks something in him, he leans in and drags his tongue through your folds in one long, slow stroke from entrance to clit. The wet heat of his mouth makes your back arch, a broken sound escaping your lips.
Jake moans against you, the vibration shooting straight through your nerves. He doesn’t devour immediately, he adulates— his tongue moves in lazy, deliberate circles around your clit, then dips lower to taste you properly, lapping at the slick gathering at your entrance like he’s been starving for it for years.
It’s like he’s tasting the best meal he’s ever had.
“Sweet,” he whispers devoutly between long licks. “So sweet for me.” His lips seal around your clit, sucking gently while his tongue flicks in rhythm. One hand stays on your thigh, holding you steady whil the other strokes soothing patterns on your skin, grounding you even as pleasure builds in heavy waves.
At some point, when he sees you arch off the sofa, he urges you closer, pulling your hips until his face is buried between your thighs— he looses himself, licking like a starved man, until all he can taste is you and only you.
He takes his time, dragging it out— every time your hips twitch or your breath catches, he slows, pulling back just enough to kiss your inner thighs again, leaving faint wet marks that glisten under the light. Then he returns, deeper, tongue pushing inside you, fucking you with slow, curling strokes while his nose presses against your clit.
The obscene sounds— wet, filthy, mingled with his soft groans— fill the quiet office where only sad stories usually exist. Jake’s completely lost in it, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, dark hair tousled from your fingers. Pussy-drunk and devoted, like this is the only thing that matters in his carefully ordered world.
You come the first time with a choked cry, thighs trembling around his head but Jake doesn’t stop. He moans louder, drinking down every drop, tongue working you through the aftershocks with relentless gentleness. “That’s it,” he murmurs against your slick flesh. “Let me have this. Let me take care of you.”
He drags it out, building you up again with two fingers sliding inside, curling against that perfect spot while his mouth focuses on your clit. The stretch is perfect, his fingers thick and skilled, pumping slowly in time with his tongue. Your second orgasm crashes harder, vision blurring, fingers tightening painfully in his hair. Still, he doesn’t pull away. He keeps licking, softer now, coaxing every last tremor until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and shaking.
Only then does he rise, lips shiny and swollen, eyes wild with need. He kisses a path up your body— over your stomach, between your breasts, along your collarbone— murmuring the whole time. “You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he breathes against your skin, voice wrecked. “I don’t deserve this… but I need you. God, I need you.”
IN BETWEEN
A husband is a man. He is not any different from the one sitting in an armchair, in an office in town. Men are still only men beneath the titles you give them. Doctor. Stranger. Protector. The words are just costumes we put over people to make them easier to understand.
But one of them is your husband.
The man whose blood you saw on the kitchen floor. The man whose fingers trembled around your ankle. The man who looked at you like he was already apologizing for leaving you behind.
And the other is the man who’s paid to listen, but who has made you feel heard in ways your husband has never been able to.
With his tongue buried in your most secret part, he’s learned the way to undo you and never ask for anything in return.
You wonder if this is how it starts— how people become strangers to the promises they made.
At the end of the day, a vow is a vow— even as vile as your husband is, he’s someone you grew with. You’d like to feel avenged, to feel like you’ve done something petty and satisfying. But it just adds to the mountain of things you feel awful about.
So you sleep— when you come home from the practice, you sleep all evening, face buried in the sheets trying to forget the ache between your thighs. Samael stays in the attic, trying to paint with his left hand, because the right one hurts.
It pains him, you can see how drained he looks, and you wonder why he chose to harm the member he paints with rather than the other one.
You bring him dinner by night, a plate of beans and meat, and he doesn’t say a word, not even an acknowledgment.
You try to make amends for something he doesn’t even know about— you wash his clothes in the river, you buy his favorite flavor ice cream from the store and make the bed neatly in the morning.
By the next week, you’re a mess, the miserable shell of a disgusting woman.
You decide to meet up with Mr Paulson— one if your only friends in town, a 60 year old celibate from church, who also happens to be your husband.
You’ve found yourself liking his quiet presence, he’s wiser and older, plays chess with you sometimes when your husband leaves town for his art gallery affairs. He’s reeks of jasmine perfume and carries an obnoxious beige hat— but he’s as kind as cotton candy. The more you talk to him, the more you realize just how desolate you truly are.
Where he has a rare bred cat and a perfectly mowed lawn— you have a therapist you’re entirely emotionally dependent on, and an unavailable husband who struggles more than you can make sense of.
Where he has 5 blond headed younger siblings who sing at the choir, you have 5 different ways this could go wrong etched in your brain.
In half of them, the guilt eats at you, and you end up quitting therapy and moving to a cabin in the woods.
Mr. Paulson notices the dark bags under your eyes, he doesn’t ask questions but he can tell you’re heavily conflicted. By the time you sit down at the table in the garden, you put your phone face up between you, and offer him a cup of tea.
You try to focus on his voice as he chatters about the upcoming church bake sale, but your mind keeps slipping. Every shift in your seat brings it back— the memory of Jake’s tongue, the way his fingers had trembled against your skin like you were something sacred and fragile.
Your phone buzzes suddenly against the metal table, the vibration waking you up from dreamspace. The screen lights up with a name that makes your stomach drop. Dr. Sim
Mr. Paulson’s eyes flick down to it before you can turn the phone over. His bushy brows lift in mild surprise, recognition flashing across his face.
“Oh, Dr. Sim from town,” he says, voice light but curious, the way people speak when they’ve just connected invisible threads. “Such a kind young man.” He tilts her head, studying you with gentle concern. “Are you… seeing him dear?”
Panic blooms in your chest, a wild thing clawing up your throat. Your fingers twitch toward the phone, but it’s too late. The heat rises to your cheeks, and you know he can see it— the dark circles under your eyes, the way your hand shakes slightly as you reach for your teacup.
You swallow hard, forcing your voice steady. “Yes… I’ve started therapy recently. Just a few sessions. It’s been… helpful.” The words feel like a damning confession. You lower your voice, glancing toward the house even though Samael is miles away, locked in his attic studio. “But Mr Paulson, please… I’d rather Samael not know. Things have been difficult at home, and I don’t want him worrying. Or… misunderstanding.”
He watches you for a long moment, his sweetness softening into something more paternal. Then he reaches across the table and pats your hand once, warm and reassuring. “Of course, dear. Your secrets are safe with me. We all carry our crosses, don’t we? The Lord knows we need help sometimes.” His smile is kind, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—pity, maybe, or understanding. “But your husband… he’s a good man, isn’t he?”
You nod too quickly, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. “Yes. He is.” The words feel hollow, echoing the vows you made years ago in that same church these women attend every Sunday.
A good man. A pious man with hands too rough.
Mr Paulson squeezes your hand once more before excusing himself. “I’ll be right back, dear. Let me fetch some teaspoons.” He disappears toward the house, beige hate swinging gently at his side.
The screen is still lit as you snatch it up, heart hammering as you open the messages.
Dr. Sim: I don’t want this to change things. I still believe I can help you. You won’t cancel the next sessions, right?
Your thumbs move before you can stop them, the guilt and need twisting together into something unstoppable.
You: I know you can help me. I won’t cancel.
The reply comes almost immediately, as if he’s been waiting with the phone in his hand.
Dr. Sim: How do you feel?
You: I’m okay
Dr. Sim: how do you feel about what happened ?
You: I don’t know how to feel.
Dr. Sim: There’s no need to feel guilty Y/n. You’ve done nothing wrong. You learned very young that love meant staying when someone was broken, you learned that leaving was the same thing as abandoning someone. But you’re not a child anymore.
When he leaves, Mr.Paulson slips a little, “Take care of yourself dear.” before reminding you that the priest is always ready to receive you. To which you nod politely, because frankly, it’s not a debate you’re ready to start, much less with him.
He stands, pulling you into a gentle hug that smells of jasmine and laundry softener— his arms are warm, fatherly. You nod against his shoulder, throat tight, and watch him walk back toward his perfect house.
Sometime after, your husband texts you— even if he’s in the house and could come talk to you— he informs you that he’s going to go eat at his friends’ house tonight and won’t be home until late— which, to say the least, doesn’t upset you.
If anything, it makes you exhale a breath yoube been holding.
You stand in front of the bedroom mirror for a long hour afterward, watching yourself, curling and uncurling your hands in weird motions like you’re studying your own anatomy. You settle on the bed, in need of a nap, but the thoughts are too many.
You stand up, fingers trembling as you change out of the modest day dress into something you’ve always desired to wear. It’s a skirt and a simple black top, but nothing provocative. Nothing that admits what you’re thinking.
But the woman in the mirror looks wrong.
She stares back with hollow eyes and flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted like she’s holding a secret between her teeth. The longer you look, the more it feels like the mirror is watching you—like the glass has grown eyes, like it knows what you did on that therapy sofa, what you’re about to do again. You touch your reflection’s cheek. The glass is cold but your skin is burning. A shiver crawls down your spine but you turn away before the feeling swallows you whole.
You tell yourself a hundred reasons not to go.
He’s your therapist. This is wrong. Samael is hurting. You’re married. This could destroy everything.
And then the counter-arguments make the rest completely irrelevant.
𓁹 𓁹
Your hands are still shaking when you punch in the code to the entrance of the practice on Maple Street. The hallway is dark, the building quiet except for the sound of the expesive fluorescent lights overhead. You knock softly on his office door.
Once. Then twice. Every single time you’re welcome with nothing but silence.
He must’ve gotten home already, it’s been a long day for him and he must’ve taken a break.
You’re already turning to leave, heart hammering with shame, when the door cracks open.
A hand— warm, strong, slightly sticky— closes around your wrist and pulls you inside.
The door shuts behind you with a soft click and you stumble forward, breath catching. It’s Jake, pulling you inside like you’re a dirty little secret, like there’s something to be scared of outside.
You want to scream, but something in your nervous system says you’re safe and sound, that nothing could ever happen in here, because he’ll always protect you. But when you look down, the scream threatens to come out.
A smear of blood streaks across your wrist where his fingers gripped you.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Jake murmurs when he sees your eyes widen, voice soothing even now. “I cut myself.”
When your eyes explore, you see the office is dim, only the desk lamp on. The same blood that lies on your skin is everywhere— from a small puddle on the floor near the sink, to crimson streaks across the white porcelain. You spot Jake’s shirt discarded in a bloody heap on the chair. And only then do you notice he’s shirtless, the strong lines of his chest and shoulders illuminated by the light.
When your eyes veer lower, you make out a couple of faint scars— old, silvery— across it. His hand is a mess, blood wells slowly from a deep gash across his palm and forearm, making your lips turn white. It looks like he’s been scratched by a wild animal, or something of the sort.
PLAY NOW.
You stare, heart pounding. “Jake—”
“It’s nothing,” he says calmly, like he’s reassuring a frightened patient, he pushes his glasses back on his nose, leaving a wide crimson stain. “Cut myself with glass. I made a mess.”
You step closer despite the odd feeling clawing at your throat. “How did you do this?”
“Bought whiskey glasses off a cheap website. It exploded in my hands. Don’t worry. It’ll heal on its own.”
“No, it’s deep, Jake.” Your voice cracks, you spot a first aid kit discarded on the sink, which suggests he was already patching himself up upon your arrival. You grab it wit shaky hands.
Jake lets you lead him to the sofa; you sit beside him, knees brushing. Blood continues to seep steadily between you as you clean the wound— and it’s obviously deeper than he let on. It’s so deep that your hands quickly become slick with it, warm and metallic, and the coppery smell fills your nostrils nauseatingly.
The cut is angry and raw, a violent interruption against the familiarity of his skin. The sight of it twists something in you chest; the strange horror of realizing someone so essential to your life can be damaged.
Jake’s breathing is slow and even, but his eyes are fixed on your hands— on his blood coating your fingers. He doesn’t flinch when you press gauze against the cut, if anything, his pupils dilate. You hate how human it makes him look. You hate that the same hands that held you so carefully can also be covered in something so violent.
“How did you really do this?” you whisper.
Dr. Sim tilts his head, a faint, almost amused smile touching his lips. “I spend all day listening to people tell me what hurts, and I forget I’m allowed to have things that hurt too, you know?”
“That’s not a good thing.”
“No?” his amusement deepens.
“No. You tell everyone else to take care of themselves, but you don’t do it for yourself.”
His uninjured hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “And who are you taking care of right now?”
You feel heat flood your cheeks. “My therapist.”
His smile widens. “Am I?”
“What?” your eyebrow raises.
“Nothing.” He tuts softly, shaking his head, eyes never leaving yours. You notice the bleeding hasn’t slowed, your hands are practically painted red now, his blood warm and slick between your fingers.
Jake’s chest rises and falls a little faster and he watches the way the crimson stains your skin like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“The bleeding won’t stop,” you whisper, voice unsteady.
“It’s okay,” Jake murmurs.
The next second, you watch in confusion as he lifts your wrist gently and brings it to his mouth.
His tongue— hot and slow— licks a droplet of his own blood from your skin like it’s just spilled wine.
Your eyes widen and at that he does it again, slower, savoring, lips closing around the pulse point. The wet heat of his mouth makes your breath hitch.
Then he takes your finger between his lips, sucking gently, eyes locked on yours the entire time. The sight is deeply eerie— his dark lashes, the blood on the corners of his mouth, the calm devotion in his expression as he cleans you with his tongue.
“There’s more running water,” he says softly, voice muffled around your finger. “Tap’s broken. I wasn’t going to leave you with your hands dripping like that.”
You’re breathing hard, shocked, horrified, and unbearably aroused all at once. Your free hand moves without thinking, thumb brushing the blood at the corner of his mouth.
Jake turns his head and sucks it into his mouth too, tongue swirling slowly, eyes half-lidded.
There’s something eerie in the way he treats something so violent as if it were delicate— like the only thing that matters is the trace of him left behind, a red reminder that some part of him has crossed the boundaries.
You don’t see it coming, one second there’s space between you, and the next, there isn’t.
You surge forward and kiss him. With absolutely no reason, no hesitation left, your mouth crashes into his, tongue slipping past his lips, tasting the sharp metallic tang of his blood.
It’s disgusting— tangy, warm, iron-heavy—but the thrill that shoots through you is out of this world. You moan into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair, gripping tight and the kiss turns messy, desperate, bloody. Teeth clash. Tongues slide against each other, spreading crimson between you.
Like wine left aging in a forgotten cellar, it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted- as vile as it sounds.
Jake hisses when his injured hand grips your ass, but he only pulls you closer, grinding his hips up against you. He’s impossibly hard, straining against his pants, throbbing with need; you wonder if he likes this, if he likes sharing his blood with you until your mouth is covered in red like his. He breaks the kiss just enough to breathe against your lips,
“You’re gonna swallow it okay? Let it stay inside you where no one else can reach.”
You do, awfully blinded by the tenderness with which he holds you among the violence.
The taste lingers even after, and he watches, awed, cupping your face with blood-smeared hands. A second after, his thumb crawls in his own mouth to collect the rest of blood, and he pushes it inside yours.
“Again. Let me rot inside you.” he kisses your jaw as you obey, “You gonna be a good girl and let me become part of your body, okay?”
You swallow again, cringing at the taste but unable to stop the moan that follows— Jake’s eyes darken further, his breath catching in his throat until his hips are grinding against you.
“I know, it’s disgusting isn’t it?” he whispers tenderly, thumb stroking your cheek and leaving a faint red streak. “But this blood’s cleaner than anything he ever gave you. It’s honest. It’s only for you, am I right?”
Like a moth to a flame, you nod, knowing all too well who he’s referring to, “Yes.” without even thinking straight.
You watch as he takes off his dirty glasses, drops them in the sink and the next second you’re on his mouth again.
Your hand sliding down to cup his hardness through his pants until he groans into your mouth, grinding against your palm like an animal, hips jerking. You’re both frantic now, messy and needy, hands groping, mouths devouring.
Without breaking the kiss, you stumble backward together toward the therapy couch— the same couch where you sit every week and bare your soul. The irony is, perverse. This is where you confess your darkest thoughts, now you’re spreading your legs on it while your savior’s blood dries on your hands and tongue.
Jake lays you down, settling between your thighs until his weight presses you into the cushions. He keeps his eyes on yours the entire time, as he pushes your skirt up.
When you try to look away, overwhelmed, his uninjured hand grabs your jaw. “Shh. Look at me.”
You do. Because he’s making you dependent with every touch, every drop of blood, every whispered command. He grinds against you slowly, letting you feel how hard he is, how much he needs you, his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling with the metallic taste still on both your tongues.
The liquid which continues to seep slowly from the bandage you tried to apply, staining both of you; but he still he watches you— devoted, obsessed, terrifyingly gentle even as he claims you in the place meant for healing.
He lifts the fabric of your top inch by inch, exposing your stomach first. Jake leans down and presses soft, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, tongue tracing the faint marks and every curve like their holy scripture.
“You’re so pretty here,” he whispers against your belly. “So soft. So warm. Every part of you.” He pulls the top higher, over your breasts, and groans quietly at the sight. “Fuck… Look at you. So beautiful it hurts to breathe.” His lips close around one nipple, sucking gently while his thumb circles the other.
Jake tugs the top off completely and tosses it aside. Next come your skirt and panties, dragged down your legs with the same agonizing patience. He kisses every new inch of skin revealed— your hips, the tops of your thighs, the sensitive skin behind your knees.
When you’re finally bare beneath him, he sits back on his heels and just stares, blood slowly seeping from the bandage on his hand, smearing across your skin wherever he touches.
“Everywhere,” he breathes, almost dazed. “You’re pretty everywhere. Your thighs… your stomach… these breasts… this sweet little pussy.” He runs two fingers through your folds, spreading the slick arousal. “I’ll cherish you the way you need, mkay? the way you’ve always deserved.”
Jake stands just long enough to push his pants and boxers down. His cock springs free— thick, long, heavy, and flushed dark. Easily one of the biggest you’ve ever seen, veined and leaking at the tip— you doubt you could take it fully, but then again, you’d love the pain if it meant you were close to him.
Jake strokes himself once, slowly, eyes hooded as he watches your reaction, then he crawls back between your spread legs, kissing you deeply again, letting you taste the blood still on his tongue. His cock rests heavy against your stomach first, then slides down to tease your soaked folds. He rubs the thick head up and down, coating himself in your arousal, bumping against your clit with every pass.
“You want this?” he asks softly, voice trembling with restraint. “Tell me you want me inside, Y/n.”
When you nod desperately, he kisses you again, deeper; then he lines himself up and pushes just the tip inside. It’s so overwhelming, his fat tip is stretching you out with only that much, you clench hard around him instantly, a broken moan escaping your lips at the feeling.
“Fuck…” Jake hisses, forehead dropping to yours. “Already squeezing me like you don’t want me to leave.” he presses the tip right against your clit and rubs a couple times, hips stuttering, until you’re a moaning mess under him.
Then he works the thick head in and out shallowly, letting you adjust, his thumb circling your clit in steady motions to ease the stretch. When he finally pushes deeper and you wince, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, you clutch desperately at his biceps.
“I know, I know,” he coos softly, voice gentle even as his hips twitch with the need to thrust. “You’re such a brave girl… It hurts, doesn’t it?” He stays still for a moment, buried halfway, kissing your tears away. “Breathe for me. That’s it… good girl.”
He starts fucking you with shallow strokes, letting you get used to his size. Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him closer and he leans down, lips brushing your ear. “You feel so perfect around me. Squeezing me so tight, you’re so good to me.”
It feels so intense you might die, you still taste his blood on your lips, proof of how deep he’s etched in your skin. It’s as though your body, numb for years without your noticing, has been shocked back into feeling, at the hands of a man who should’ve terrified you instead of awakening you.
Jake’s pace gradually deepens, he can tell how much this means to you, the way your eyes squeeze shut, and he looks down between your bodies, watching the way your stomach bulges slightly with every thrust.
“That’s me right there,” he groans, pressing a hand over the bulge. “You feel me? So deep inside you. No one else will ever fit here again.”
Before you can come up with an answer, your phone slips out of your discarded skirt pocket and clatters onto the floor. The sound catches Jake’s attention and for a second his eyes flicker with something different from desire.
He reaches down, picks it up, and holds it in front of your face. “Unlock it,” he says softly.
Confused but floating on pleasure, you do, you press the face ID and let his thumb work on the screen while you clench rhythmically at the loss of movement.
Then Jake sets the phone on the far arm of the couch, propped up, and you notice your reflection on the screen, the camera facing you both.
“What-“ you say, cut short when he pulls out suddenly, making you whimper at the loss, then sits on the couch and pulls you onto his lap. He spreads your legs wide, hooking them over his thighs, your back to his chest, pussy on full display to the camera.
“You gonna show your husband how you want to be taken care of?” he whispers in your ear.
You moan, a confused, ashamed, and unbearably aroused sound— you should ask him to stop, but the thrill is too strong, the unbearable way he handles your body is something you don’t want to loose.
He takes it as a green light and his cock slides back inside you from below, filling you in one smooth thrust as he groans deeply like he’s never felt this good.
“It’s okay, relax,” he murmurs, kissing your neck, blood from his hand smearing across your breasts as he holds you. “Just feel me. I’m so deep, aren’t I?”
You nod frantically, unable to form words and he starts fucking up into you, hands on your hips guiding you to bounce on his cock. The wet sounds are obscene, your arousal dripping down his shaft and balls— and the camera catches it all.
“That’s it, baby. Show him how good it feels.” He reaches down and spreads your pussy lips with his fingers, showing the camera exactly how his thick cock stretches you open, sliding in and out. “She’s so wet… she’s practically dripping everywhere. And it’s all for me.”
Jake bites down on your shoulder, his blood smearing across your skin as he thrusts harder. “She’s so tight. The tightest thing I’ve ever felt.” he speaks to you now, “If you were my wife, I’d never make you cry. You’d never feel alone, baby.”
His voice is low and reverent when he adds, “Tell him. Tell him how full I’m making you.” You struggle, moaning brokenly, words failing you and Jake slows, almost stopping.
“It’s okay, poor thing,” he coos, pinching both your nipples until you cry out. “You’re so pretty like this. Look at yourself.” He angles your face toward the camera until you see the mess he’s made of you. “The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I’d do anything for you.”
The heights of his devotion are so intense, it’s not something you develop in secret, you wonder how you’ve never noticed just how profound it all is. From the way he holds you to the way he worships at your altar— there’s not doubt Sim Jake is as devastated as you are.
Then he lifts you off him, turns you around, and bends you over the arm of the couch on your hands and knees. He pushes back inside in one deep thrust, throwing his head back with a guttural groan.
“Fuck— so good,” he gasps. He fucks you hard now, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip, blood leaving streaks across your ass until there’s not a doubt you’re covered in it.
He reaches around to rub your clit, pushing you closer and closer and when you start clenching hard around him, orgasm crashing through you, Jake loses control. “Fuck— fuck, give me breathing room baby, I’m gonna lose it—”
But you beg him, voice hoarse, “Please stay inside… please, Jake—” because you believe you could die if he leaves you empty again.
He curses, hips stuttering, and buries himself as deep as possible, until your thighs quiver and your body falls limp on the edge of the couch, trembling with pleasure. His orgasm hits like a wave. You feel every pulse, every thick spurt of his cum flooding deep inside you. His cock throbs violently, hips jerking with each rope as he fills you completely, groaning your name like a prayer.
“Please— let me stay. Don’t push me out.” he says against your neck, hips still going. His body shakes against yours, arms wrapped tight around your waist, face buried in your skin as he rides it out. There’s so much of it, it leaks from where you’re linked, you’ve never seen so much cum, and it’s all for you, and because of you.
He then grabs the phone that’s still recording, with a sensitive gasp, presses ‘delete’ and looks down at you, “I’m not a bad guy, I’m not gonna send it to him. You know that right ? I’d never hurt you like that.”
𓁺
Jake’s still buried deep inside you minutes later, softening slowly, his arms wrapped tightly around your body as if letting go would cost him his life. His heartbeat thuds steadily against your chest.
“I feel so bad,” you whisper against his neck, guilt crawling back. “He’s not doing well… and I’m here with you.”
Jake exhales softly, his fingers tracing slow circles on your back. His voice is gentle, almost pained. “I know… That guilt is heavy, isn’t it? You carry so much for him. More than anyone should have to.” He shifts slightly, pressing deeper for a second, making you gasp. “I’m just trying to help you carry it. But sometimes… it feels like I’m the only one who sees how much it’s costing you.”
You hesitate. “I shouldn’t be here while he’s suffering.”
He tenses beneath you, a barely noticeable flinch, but his voice stays soft. “You wouldn’t want me to be alone tonight, would you?”
You raise an eyebrow, struggling to understand him, “Why would you say that.”
“Well i don’t know y/n, it sounds like you’re gonna leave right now.” Jake’s hand squeezes your hip. “I’ve gotten used to people leaving once they realize how… intense I can be.”
He makes it seem like he wasn’t perfect for you, like the guilt isn’t what’s making you want to leave, “Jake, that’s not what this is.” you whisper.
“You won’t leave too, will you?” his eyes are tender when he looks at you, glassy and wide. Like a child barring his soul.
But there’s a strange feeling that comes with sympathy- something that tugs at your heart, leaves goosebumps in its path.
“I’m just… i won’t leave, i’m just saying I feel bad.”
Jake pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head, then gently wipes a mess of his own dried blood from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “You don’t have to feel guilty. Your mother managed it for years. You were practically raised for this.”
The sentence lands weirdly, you think you’re overanalysing but his tone is strange, and you can’t possibly figure out what he means. An eerie, unsettling feeling blooms in your chest as you pull back slightly to look at him with an awkard chuckle, “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. Another one of your therapist bullshit?”
Jake’s eyes are steady. “It’s not bullshit, Y/n.”
You laugh awkwardly, trying to shake off the strange chill. “Mmh, okay then. Whatever you say.” You lean in and kiss him again to drown of the bad feelings, it deepens quickly, hungry and heated until your feel his cock twitch inside you, hardening again as you rock your hips slowly against him.
Then his phone rings on the floor.
Jake scrambles up slightly, still buried inside you, and reaches for it; you whimper at the sudden shift, the emptiness already aching when he eventually slips out. He glances at the unknown number, presses a finger to his lips in a silent “shh,” and answers.
“Hello?… Yes, this is Dr. Sim… Of course, I can make time for you.” His voice is perfectly professional. “Next Tuesday at 4 PM works well… Yes, I understand it’s urgent. We’ll talk through what brought you in… Absolutely, confidentiality is guaranteed.”
While he speaks, you slide off the couch and kneel between his legs, overtaken by the need to feel him again.
His eyes widen for a split second as you take his cock into your mouth. You suck slowly at first, tongue swirling around the head, tasting yourself and his cum mixed together, then your hand cups his balls gently, massaging them as you bob your head deeper.
Jake’s free hand fists in your hair, gripping tight as his voice stays remarkably steady, only the slightest roughness betraying him.
“Yes… I specialize in trauma and… ah, attachment issues… No, that’s quite common. We can start there.”
You hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, taking him deeper into your throat until he throbs against your tongue. His hips twitch once, fighting for control and you swirl your tongue around the sensitive underside, moaning softly around him. His knuckles turn white around the phone.
“Perfect… I’ll see you then. Take care until then.” He hangs up abruptly.
The second the call ends, Jake lets out a broken groan. “Fuck— Y/n—”
He cums hard within seconds, the thrill of the risk pushing him over the edge. Thick, hot spurts flood your mouth as he holds your head gently in place, trembling. You swallow every drop, eyes watering but never breaking eye contact and when he finally finishes, he pulls you up into his lap, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue.
“I’m gonna die because of you one day,” he chuckles breathlessly, “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”
IN BETWEEN ?
Sex is nice. Sex is fulfilling and comfortable. Sex makes you feel a thousand different things you couldn’t possibly feel when you’re dressed.
But sex fades.
When the clothes are back on and the gaps are empty all over again, you remember how fragile people are. Even if they try their best to hide something, their words will always speak for themselves.
That’s why you cancel the next appointment— you need time to think, because sex is fun, but the lies you tell others aren’t.
You spend the day trying to mend your marriage, you make sure Samael’s wound is correctly bandaged and that he has enough to eat, like a captive to your own lifestyle, you water a decaying plant in hopes it might bloom again.
It won’t. Not when something else has already taken root in you.
The phone never stays silent, the person you need the most is trying to reach out but it seems that the guilt is a stronger pull. When you send a cancellation message— a few brief words describing that Samael’s gotten better— it doesn’t take long for Jake to reply.
Don’t mistake a good day for recovery, y/n.
And he’s right, deep down, a good day won’t last forever. Sooner or later, your husband might fall back in, and finding him on the floor like you did last time, is not something you want to experience again.
So you check in on him, you make sure the knives are carefully hidden in a locked drawer.
Which when you think about it- brings back old memories of you mom. It’s probably what Dr. Sim had meant the other day when he was still inside of you— that you’ve been conditioned to this.
It doesn’t sound weird when your therapist keeps pulling you back in his practice— for one reason or another, whether it’s doubts about your husband’s condition, or your darkening under eyes. The same he’s noticed when running into you in town, out of the blue, when he appeared, like a savior in a white cap, and told you he’d cancel a few appointments to make time for you.
Sim Jake is a caring man, who’d do anything for your well being.
And you wish you could know him better, understand the things he says, but there’s a line you have to draw— he’s someone who knows are your deepest secrets, someone who’s studied brains and human behaviors, he’s not your friend.
Surely, a therapist shouldn’t touch his patient like he did, but there’s something so therapeutic in it, that you excuse it as a simple mistake.
So you reschedule for the next day, and of course, he finds a slot for you.
He welcomes you in, and it hits you then, that this is the place you’ve healed and lost your mind in. You sit in the sofa, and he does in his armchair, as per usual. Dr. Sim asks how you’re doing, he can’t seem to help looking at your thighs where his hands had once been, at your lips which his blood had once stained— but it’s like he’s a totally different person in sessions and when the clock signals the end.
Speaking of clocks— his is still gone. The wall still bare, has a red stain in its center, probably from his little accident a few days ago.
Dr. Sim asks about Samael. You tell him he doesn’t want to listen - that he’s in the attic all day long, and that you feel like he probably doesn’t need you. Like you’re failing him.
He sets his glasses on his nose, and leans forward, “He does. He needs you more than he needs medication, you’re the only thing keeping him alive, y/n.”
You feel like someone’s placed a rope and hung you to a tree. If the therapist is right, then every hour you spend away from Samael becomes an act of neglect, every smile you share with someone else a theft.
Guilt blooms fast, invasive as ivy, wrapping itself around every thought until you can no longer tell where your own responsibility ends and his certainty begins. You lower your eyes to your hands, fingers curling together, afraid to look up in case he’ll see the panic spreading through you.
The possibility that one person could be keeping another alive feels impossible— and yet, spoken in his measured voice, it sounds less like an opinion than a fact.
“What… time is it?” you ask, searching for an escape from his words.
“It’s…” Dr. Sim checks his watch, “It’s been 10 minutes, do you have somewhere to be?”
You shake your head, “No, I was just wondering where the clock was. I remember there was a clock here on the first session… and now it’s not here anymore.”
His mouth curls first, not into a grin but the ghost of one, the kind adults wear before humoring a child. His eyebrows lift ever so slightly, eyes soft with almost affectionate disbelief.
“A clock? There’s never been a clock in this room.”
Your mouth opens just slightly. Your eyes flick instinctively toward the wall where you could have sworn the clock had been hanging the first few sessions. The empty space greets you without explanation. You frown, searching his face for the punchline—for the moment he’ll admit he’s joking—but all you find is patient concern.
“I…” Your brows knit together. “I saw it.”
You know you did. Didn’t you?
Your gaze flickers back to the wall. White paint. A faint rectangle where the light falls differently. Or is that your imagination?
“I remember hearing it.” you stutter.
Dr. Sim’s expression softens, almost sympathetically. He removes his glasses and wipes the lenses slowly, as if giving you time to realize something on your own. “Do you?” he asks gently.
The question makes your throat tighten. “Yeah, I did Jake.”
He nods thoughtful, “Memory’s a fascinating thing, Y/n. It’s like… people often believe remembering something means it happened exactly as they recall it. But our brains don’t store experiences like a recording, they reconstruct them. Every time we revisit a memory, we can unintentionally change it.”
He pauses, watching your face. “Stress, fear, exhaustion… all of those things can make memories feel incredibly vivid. Sometimes even more vivid than reality itself.”
Your fingers tighten together. “So you’re saying I imagined it?”
A small smile touches his lips. “I’m saying you should be careful about trusting something simply because it feels certain, you’re a smart girl, i’m sure you understand that.”
You’re a smart girl, you do understand now.
IN BETWEEN, a couple days later.
Your garden’s no Japanese zen garden, but it’s a nice garden nonetheless, with small lights and a few plants. You sit on the old wooden bench, a forgotten book open in your lap, pages fluttering occasionally in the breeze. Your eyes keep drifting toward the house, checking the lit windows for any sign of Samael moving around inside. He’s been quieter than usual today, locked in the attic again. You wonder if he even cares that you’re pulling away, that you’re not his anymore. If you’ve ever been his in the first place, that is.
You’ve felt nothing short of an impostor these past few days, for countless different reasons, the main one being : adultery.
After your latest appointment with Jake, you haven’t seen him since, it’s almost like he’s been out of your life, but still constantly checking in like he has an eye on you. Sweet, right?
It would be sweet if you didn’t felt the distance in your bones. Like being away from him cost you something important. Like you’re less of yourself when you aren’t in his office.
Across the quiet street, Mr. Paulson’s house sits dark and silent. The streetlights have just flickered on, casting long, pale pools on the pavement. Today’s trash collection day.
His bins are weirdely still tucked beside the garage, untouched. You click your tongue softly, remembering how he’d winced the last time you played chess, complaining about his back even though he tried to laugh it off.
He’s only sixty, but the years have not been kind to his spine.
PLAY NOW
You set the book down, smooth the skirt of your dress, and cross the street with one last look towards the attic. The neighborhood feels unusually empty tonight, the windows of other houses glowing with warm, distant life that somehow makes Mr. Paulson’s dark home feel off.
You knock on the front door twice and the sound echoes hollowly.
“Mr. Paulson?” you call softly. “It’s Y/n. I noticed your trash bins…”
There’s no answer. Guilt pricks at you for bothering an older man so late, but at the same time, you’d hate him to end up with a pile of trash because he missed trash day.
So you knock again, louder— but there’s still nothing.
You hesitate, then walk around the side of the house toward the back, thinking maybe the bags are already out and you can drag them to the curb for him. The wooden gate creaks open under your hand and the backyard is overgrown with shadows.
You see that the back door is ajar, just a few inches, a thin slice of deeper darkness visible inside.
“Mr. Paulson?” you call again, voice smaller now. You push the door open carefully and step inside.
The smell hits you first.
It’s thick, sickly-sweet, and rotten— like meat left too long in the heat. Flies buzz lazily in the stagnant air, their wings catching faint moonlight from a window; the kitchen’s dark, only faint streetlight filtering through half-closed blinds. Your shoes stick slightly to the floor with every step but you cant see what it is because of the darkness.
It’s something wet, the only scent that resembles it is cat urine.
“Mr. Paulson… are you okay?”
There’s no answer. The buzzing grows louder as you move deeper into the house, heart hammering against your ribs. The hallway feels narrower than it should, the walls pressing in.
You flick on the hallway light, and your eyes instantly fall to your shoes. They’re covered in a yellow-ish liquid.
Cat urine, most likely.
Your main concern right now, is to determine whether—
Blood.
Your eyes meet the smears of it streaking the pale wallpaper in long, dragging trails. Droplets on the floor lead toward the living room like a path.
Your breath catches in your throat and turns your mouth completely dry; it’s suddenly like the world starts ringing in your ears. You move, shoes squeaking and smearing pee all over the floor, and what you see next makes your stomach twist agonizingly.
The living room is ten times worse.
Then, in the center of the persian rug, Mr. Paulson lies on his back. You recoil, clasping a shaking hand to your mouth, and all the muscles in your body clench.
His arms are splayed like a broken doll, bent in a nauseating way and his beige hat rests a few feet away, stained dark.
His torso’s been torn open —a brutal, gaping wound from sternum to pelvis. Intestines spill out in glistening, purplish coils across the floor, some of them ruptured and leaking.
Bile rises to your throat as you take in the scene, and you have to hold yourself up in order not to fall.
You want to throw up, you want to throw up.
Flies crawl greedily over the exposed organs, their buzzing a constant, obscene drone. Mr. Paulson’s eyes are open, cloudy and staring at the ceiling.
But that’s when you notice his mouth.
Petals of pale white flowers have been brutally stuffed into his mouth, some of them protruding between his teeth, soaked dark with blood. More petals are scattered across his chest like grotesque confetti.
They look like peonies, stained in everything that once made him human.
You clutch the edge of the side table for balance, gagging violently, but your hand slips in something warm and wet.
When you look down, a single human tooth —cracked and bloody — rests in your palm.
You want to throw up your bones, your blood and organs. So you scream, flinging it away, and vomit onto the floor, heaving until your throat burns.
The world tilts as disgusting flies land on your arm.
You stumble backward, nearly slipping in the blood, and run. You run for your life, taste of vomit and metal still in your mouth. You burst out the back door, gasping for clean air, and sprint across the street, your dress is smeared with blood from where your hands are sticky with it.
Seconds later, you crash through your own front door, screaming. “Samael! Samael!”
Your husband comes thundering down the attic stairs, eyes wide with alarm. “Y/n? What happened?“
But you can’t speak. Your hands shake violently as you hold them up —covered in Mr. Paulson’s blood. Tears stream down your face and Samael’s face pales when he sees the state you’re in. He grabs your shoulders, shaking you gently.
“Y/n, talk to me, what the hell happened??”
You collapse on his chest against your will, sobbing incoherently, and you feel him dig in his pocket for his phone, indifferent to your shock.
Why won’t he hold you? Why won’t he?
Your mind begs the gruesome images of your friend’s corpse to go away, but there’s one that your stubborn brain won’t let go of, no matter how hard you try.
The peonies in Mr. Paulson’s mouth looked awfully familiar.
Weird, no?
“Peonies?”
Hours later, at the police station, you nurse a pathetic cup of water. Sat in a metallic chair, your husband kneels in front of you, clutching his bandaged arm.
“Shh, lower your voice Sam. I’m not even… supposed to say this.” your voice comes out hoarse.
“Im just trying to understand, why are you bringing the peonies up, y/n.” Samael raises both eyebrows.
The image of the flowers sticking inside Mr.Paulson’s mouth are engraved in your mind— as much as you throw up, they don’t want to leave. Looking at your husband’s face, you remember the day you found him in the kitchen. The pathetic look on his face, when he told you not to look, that he was sorry.
But what sticks to your mouth like sugar on teeth, is the vase on the counter.
A vase of white peonies.
Ones you didn’t buy that day, or ever. You hate peonies, they smell bad and they remind you of—
They remind you of a burial site, a few cities away where your father lies underground. A place you refused to go for a long time, guilt stricken and immature.
When your father killed himself, you were unable to sleep, unable to eat, unable to drink anything else but your own saliva when you swallowed your remorse.
You were a kid, barely 16, and you thought everything happening in the world was your fault— no one was there to tell you the contrary, so you laid awake at night with one thought :
I could’ve saved my father.
Your mom wasn’t able to and you hated her for many years— but now you empathised grandly, because you came very close to living the same thing.
It goes without saying, now you don’t hold a grudge against your mom anymore, because people are so volatile— you can only figure out something’s wrong when they make themselves heard.
And you hate the peonies because those were the last beautiful thing your father would be surrounded with, beneath soil and flesh eating insects, he would still have the white flowers.
You remember someone bringing them in at his funeral, putting them carefully on the headstone. No one had brought flowers, they’d all poured beer on the tombstone because your father joked about it a couple years before.
He’d said, “If I die, pour Ginger ale on my grave”
But someone had brought something pretty, a couple of flowers way too tender for a man that had taken his life with a 23 caliber and a knife.
“The day you…” you look down at your husband’s bandage, “the day I found you, there was a vase of peonies on the counter.”
Samael blinks, confused, “Yes? What about them y/n, you’re confusing me.”
“Where did you get those?”
Your husband chuckles, perplexed, “What do you mean where did I get those? I thought you got them ?”
You shake your head, “Sam, I didn’t get those.”
Samael looks down, sighing, “Well then what? Must be a secret admirer then? Someone who’s in love with you?” he lets out a humorless laugh.
It’s not funny though. Nothing about it is. Words come to your mind, you hear them clearly,
“You deserved to be cherished, no tolerated, not managed. Cherished.”
PLAY
Crazy how the person you doubt the most is the one person you keep going back to when fear sinks its teeth into you. Logic whispers that something is wrong, that their words don’t always fit, that their comfort comes a little too easily, yet panic has no patience for logic.
It remembers only familiarity.
When you’re drowning, you don’t inspect the hand reaching into the water, right? You grab it, even if it’s the same hand that might’ve pushed you in.
That’s how you find yourself in Sim Jake’s embrace.
After countless hours of interrogation with the police, after reliving every detail of the scene, describing every inch of your friends’ body, you were finally able to to breathe. Samael was long gone, privileging other things to the wellbeing of his wife.
You found yourself alone, no car, and only your phone with 10% battery on it.
So you did what desperate women do. You called your therapist.
He answered on the second ring, like was perpetually waiting for your call, and when you told him you needed a ride, he provided.
Now, in his office on Maple Street, the pathetic creature in you sees the safe man in him.
The helpless lamb whos never learned how to bite the hand of the shepherd that keeps it.
It’s incredibly sad, but it calms everything down.
Your head needs his strong chest, and he cradles you like a thing he owns, fingers dinging in your hair, pressing you as close to him as possible.
Like wolf and lamb, you’re caught in an eerie dance, you want to believe he’s nothing but a sweet man, but his grip tells hundreds of other stories.
Jake’s hand goes to the back of your neck, and he looks down at you, coaxing your chin up. When your eyes meet his, he cups your cheek, rough hand against tender skin. “You wanna tell me what happened, love?”
You witness his eyes get glassier and glassier, until eventually, it seems one tear is about to escape— like he’s devastated to see you sad.
“He died…. my friend-” you hiccup, tears streaking down your face, your lips quivering.
Jake tilts his head to the side, biting down on his lower lip as his eyes fill up with tears of his own, “Oh, poor thing. Come here baby.” He gently puts your head on his chest, next to his heart, and holds you tight.
You sob, clutching his shirt, and his own tears seep in your hair, “God… I hate seeing you in pain. If I could carry it for you, I would.” he murmurs in your hair. “I promise… no one’s going to hurt you again.”
You feel his lips on the top of your head as you speak, “He didn’t… he didn’t deserve this.”
Jake cups your face, kissing away the tears with infinite gentleness, “No one deserves to die, my love.” he kisses your nose, then your forehead. “But sometimes life asks impossible things of people.”
You still completely, tears coming to a halt in your eyes. Your eyes open to see he’s already looking down. “Why would… you say that?” you stutter.
He loosens his embrace just enough and his thumb erases salty water from your cheekbone.
“Because I don’t want you looking for monsters where there are only broken people, y/n.” Jake murmurs. “I’m saying the world is rarely divided into monsters and saints.”
Only then do you realise that he’s in no hurry to let go, his hands are clasped firmly on your face— he’s turned something comforting into an eery embrace. You’re sure right now, that if he put enough effort, he could crush your face between his palms, not that you think he would.
You gently pull away, sniffling, “Can you let go?”
Jake immediately does, he lets his hands drops to his side, “Of course.”
He wipes hastily at his face, as though embarrassed by his own emotion. It strikes you, suddenly, how young he looks— not in years, but in the way frightened children look when they think they’ve disappointed someone they love.
“Did I do something wrong?” He bites down on his lip and his breath catches. “Please tell me.”
“Wha- what?” you stutter, taking another step back before you even realize you’re moving.
Jake’s brows knit together, face etched in confusion. “I scared you, didn’t I?” his teeth catch at a piece of skin on his lips and he tears at it until blood trickles down his chin, “I didn’t want that.”
Before you can understand what he’s doing, he slowly lowers himself to his knees, like a man to an altar, he looks up to a God. “Please…”
The word is almost inaudible when he speaks it,“Don’t look at me like that.”
His hands remain at his sides, palms open. But this time see through it. Sim Jake is a predator wearing a prey’s skin.
“Tell me what I did.” Jake’s voice trembles, “I’ll fix it, i’ll fix it. I’ll fix it okay? I always do.”
You want to leave. Your stomach is in knots, and you want to leave. The door is close, so close, but your legs won’t move.
Your mouth opens but no sound comes out for the briefest second, when you’re finally able to form words, they’re sparse.
“Jake.. what- what did you do?”
Like a bathtub filled with water, tears spill out of the man’s eyes, “What did I…?” He stares at you, blinking as though the question itself hurts. “I did what I needed to keep you safe.”
A COUPLE WEEKS LATER
Jake’s office remains exactly where it has always been, tucked between the pub and the pharmacy, as though nothing inside it has changed. You left him there, walked to the door, and he let you.
The next few weeks, you replay every session in your mind until each memory becomes unrecognizable. Every reassuring smile, every careful touch. Every single damned silence.
You can’t decide whether you’ve uncovered the truth or destroyed the only place that ever made you feel safe, it sickens you, you constantly feel the need to throw up.
Because if hed been violent, at least you’d have the certainty he’s a bad man.
And without proof, suspicion begins to sound like paranoia— even to yourself.
Sim Jake, the man who’s helped you through it all, a monster ? The man who’s cried on his knees as if leaving you would kill him, who’s done everything to make you feel safe.
It’s impossible, because monsters are supposed to be easy to recognize.
They’re supposed to have cruel smiles and empty eyes. They’re supposed to enjoy the pain they cause. They’re supposed to look like something you should run from.
Not like the most tender story of your life.
What if the safest place you ever found was only safe because he built the walls himself, what if every time he told you he would protect you, he meant something different?
What if the same hands that wiped your tears were the ones that made sure you would have more to cry about?
You want to hate him, you try to, but your mind keeps returning to the image of him on the floor, his voice breaking as he begged you not to leave.
Someone who could look that devastated couldn’t possibly be the person you’re afraid of.
Could he?
Your fork scrapes against your plate, you’re playing with the peas like they’re footballs. And Samael’s not having it one bit.
“Y/n stop with the sound” he sighs, palming his face. His bandaged arm is propped on the dining room table and he seems thoughtful.
You stare down at your food more than you eat it. Your appetite has been strange lately. Some days you forget to eat entirely and other days you force yourself because you know someone will notice.
“Can we talk? You’ve been avoiding me lately,” Samael speaks.
Your fork clinks on the plate as you drop it.
Is he being serious?
Ironically, the king of all avoiders is telling you you’ve been avoiding him lately. Funny.
You reach for a fry and dip it in ketchup, knee bouncing and rattling the table. “Go ahead, talk.” you say, emotionlessly.
There’s no room inside of you to even bother.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something y/n, but i feel like you never listen.”
You laugh then, a small cold laugh, and you drop your head, truly amused. “I never listen?”
Samael shakes his head, aggravated, “You don’t. You’re never available to talk, you only avoid me. It’s like i’m not your husband anymore.”
Your smile fades when you realize he’s being a hundred perfent serious, and you look up with cold-dead eyes,
“What?”
The irony of a man who’s made you cry countless times by his lack of interest is so laughable. But you don’t laugh, you don’t have it in you anymore.
“You know what, i’m gonna say it.” Samael leans forward on the table, clasping his hands together, “I booked an appointment with Dr. Sim the other day.”
Every single thing in the room stops moving.
From the blinds dancing with the wind, to the steaming water boiling in the pot, your whole focus is shifted to Samael’s lips as he says those words.
He’s said hundreds of twisted things, but right now, nothing sounds as ominous as this.
“See, i knew you’d react like that.” your husband sighs in his hands. “Come on y/n.”
But you don’t care about his stupid therapy and his stupid shame.
“When?” you stammer, “When did you book an appointment?”
Samael’s eyes raise to you and he looks insanely aggravated, “Why does that matter y/n, it was weeks ago or something. That one evening I was away at my friends’, remember?”
Bile raises up to your throat until you’re sure you’ll choke soon if he doesn’t stop talking. You’re taken aback by the sudden wave of nausea that makes you clutch your stomach.
You barely make it to the kitchen before your hand covers your mouth.
That day, while your husband was asking for help from a professional— you were on your knees between Sim Jake’s legs, eating a prohibited fruit like it was candy.
And it makes you feel sick.
You feel like you’re standing outside your own body, watching someone else live your life.
Behind you, your husband appears in the doorway, “What the heck’s happening to you yn?”
You wipe your mouth, shaking your head like a manic, clutching the edge of the sink like handle bar.
“It’s just therapy.” Samael scoffs.
It’s the same man who used to tell you only weak people went to seek advice from men rather than going to the Lord.
It’s the same man who used to point at the mental institutions and laugh mockingly ‘Look at that,’ he’d say, shaking his head. ‘People really pay someone to tell them what they already know?’
And now Samael’s standing across from you, calmly telling you that the man behind that same kind of door might be the one person who can save him.
The same man who once laughed at the idea of needing help is now asking for it.
The same man who once looked down on vulnerability is suddenly speaking Jake’s language.
Who’s messed with your husband’s brain?
“Dr. Sim called me this morning to confirm our appointment, so whatever you have to say, i don’t wanna hear it y/n. It’s just therapy, it’s not just for crazy people.”
Samael shakes his head, handing you a towel to wipe your mouth, he brings water to your lips and wipes the traces of your disgust.
“And plus, I think Dr. Sim might actually be able to help me, you’re not gonna take that away from me, right?”
𓁹 𓁹
If you’ve made it to the end, I’d like to leave you with one final thought. This story was never meant to be a love story, nor was it written to romanticize obsession, manipulation, abuse, coercion, or the misuse of trust & murder. The relationship at its center is intentionally unhealthy, built on power imbalances, psychological control, and the gradual erosion of another person’s sense of self.
Any moments that appear tender or intimate are meant to exist alongside that discomfort— not to excuse it, justify it, or make it desirable.
Real love does not isolate, deceive, possess, or convince someone that their reality belongs to another person. The characters in this story are deeply flawed, and some are dangerous; their actions are not endorsements, but examinations of how obsession can disguise itself as devotion and how easily manipulation can wear the face of care. If this story unsettled you, then it achieved what it set out to do. Fiction can explore the darkest corners of human psychology without celebrating them, and that has always been the intention here.
Please take care of yourselves, remember that everyone deserves relationships built on mutual respect, honesty, and safety, and thank you for trusting me enough to follow these characters to the very end, even though the pacing was not all that
ok drop the serious voice— it goes without saying, if you have something hateful to say idc, you read this for free so fuck off.
I’m totally open (begging) for constructive criticism & thoughts. Open ending and a lot of loose ends because you gotta THINK or else it’s not funny !
please, if you read my stuff just for the smut, don’t bother commenting 10 minutes after i posted cause i can tell you didn’t read the whole thing lol, idc what u wanna read but it’s not really cool when u spend time writing shit and people only read the smut.
a little sneak peak of my notes while writing this bye—
Pairing : puma hybrid ni-ki x human reader
Genre : fantasy AU, hybrids, fluff, soulmate bond, protective ni-ki
Synopsis : Ni-ki and Y/N are living in perfect love in the Y/L/N clan. Their mate ceremony is approaching and the puma hybrid still finds it hard to believe that he will be bound for eternity to the girl he loves and who saved him.
Part 1 / Part 2
AN: Since many of you asked for a part two, your wish has been granted! I wrote this post while listening to the Band version of Enhypen's "One in a Billion," and it perfectly captured the atmosphere I wanted to create between Ni-ki and Y/N. I recommend listening to it while reading this second part :)
Ni-ki was truly living a beautiful life alongside Y/N and was happy to be her companion. Several days had passed since his confrontation with Jaeg-hyun, and he never left the young girl's side, his ears always alert.
He also spent quite a bit of time with the chief's daughters' hybrids, in whom he had found good friends. Jungwon and the others had explained everything there was to know about the clan and the various tasks found there.
Y/N always left him from time to time to do her healing rounds in the clan, and she was always greeted by a clingy cougar as soon as she returned. Ni-ki still didn't know the role he would play in Y/N's and the clan's future, but that wasn't going to last.
One evening, the entire clan gathered in a clearing specially reserved for mating ceremonies. Ni-ki smiled at a little girl who had just handed him a candle, its flame glowing in the darkness. He couldn't see Y/N anywhere, and it worried him.
"What's happening exactly?" he asked.
"It's the ceremony that binds the hybrid to their human," Jake informed him, his golden retriever ears bouncing on his head. "We all go through it when we enter the clan. You and Y/N will have yours very soon."
"What exactly do I have to do?"
"You'll see," Sunghoon smiled, slapping a hand on his shoulder.
Ni-ki turned his gaze toward the crowd forming a circle around the clearing, the candlelight glowing in the night. A circle of torches was created further in the center, with a couple in the middle. The young girl held her companion's hands, the bear hybrid had a smile from ear to ear.
The young man's gaze fell on Y/N, who had just crossed the clearing, entering the circle of torches. Her long white dress flared from her waist to her bare feet, and she wore a tiara made of ivy and oak leaves. Curved lines ran from her hands, up her arms to the base of her neck, traced in golden paint.
The clan began to hum the lyrics of a song Ni-ki didn't yet know. Y/N took the couple's hands and delicately pierced their index fingers, collecting a few drops of blood that beaded into a silver cup already filled with murky water. One by one, the two lovers took a sip of the brew before the healer threw the rest over her shoulder for luck.
"Tae-jo, you will place your bite on Su-min's body, and Su-min will carve her initials into your skin," Y/N spoke. "Thus, you will be bound for eternity, facing life's journeys and the adventures destiny will offer you together."
She handed a thin dagger to Su-min, who took it with a trembling hand. Y/N pressed her hand on the hybrid's shoulder, which began to glow. She removed his pain and healed the wound at the same time Su-min traced her initials into the skin of his hip.
The young girl returned the dagger to her and then relaxed as the healer began to remove her pain, completely erasing the tugging of the bite Tae-jo was marking into the hollow of her wrist.
The scars were freshly healed, clear under the moonlight, witnesses to their bond. "Now, you are bound for eternity before all of us. Witnesses to your love and your strength, we know your bond will last until the end. You may kiss your mate," she smiled, elbowing Tae-jo.
Su-min grabbed the front of her boyfriend's shirt to pull him toward her and crush her mouth against his amid the clan's applause and whistles. A great ceremony then took place to celebrate the union.
Y/N found Ni-ki, who was staring at her with wide eyes, and she gave him a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Hi."
"Hi… That was… We're going to have to do that too?"
"Yep," she smiled. "Impatient?"
"Terrified."
The young girl chuckled, her fingers scratching behind his cougar ears, which relaxed him. They went to their room, passing by Nabi, who was glaring at them because Jaeg-hyun was still locked in his room.
Ni-ki lay down in the bed, watching Y/N remove her dress to put on one of the hybrid's large t-shirts, her vine-like lines running up her arms still present. "Why did I never notice your tattoos before?"
She looked down at the marks and smiled, joining him on the mattress. "They're proof that I'm a healer. They appear when we receive our gift. The more I use my powers, the darker they become on my skin. A marking ceremony between two lovers is the most important event a healer can celebrate."
Y/N pulled the duvet over them and rested her head on his chest, tracing small circles on his skin. "We'll also have our ceremony, and once it's done, I'll take over leadership of the clan with you as chief. Night, night, baby."
She said it with such detachment that Ni-ki might have missed it, but his words quickly reached his brain, and he sat up with a start. "What did you say?"
"Night, night, baby?"
"No, before that! I'm going to become chief?!"
"Well, yeah. Healers always take command of the clan, and their companions become chief as a result. I thought my father told you about it when you talked."
"No! He didn't tell me anything at all!" he panicked. Ni-ki got out of bed and began pacing around the room, the young girl sat up on her elbows with a smile.
"Ki', it's alright."
"Of course it's not! I can't become chief! I'm a hybrid!"
"And? Hybrids before you have been chiefs of our clan and did well."
"But I'm not cut out to be chief! I wouldn't know how to lead these people. I'm just a stray hybrid, people don't usually trust me, they fear me."
Y/N sighed and pushed aside the blanket to stand up, coming to meet him. She embraced him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her head against his heart. Ni-ki's muscles relaxed as he buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes.
"I never want to hear that come out of your mouth again, do you hear me? You're not a stray hybrid, and you're certainly not feared here. You're my hybrid, my companion, the one I chose to spend my life with. And my father will help you from the beginning, he won't leave his position as chief right away. When you're ready, he'll retire, and we'll be chiefs. I'll be with you for eternity, you'll never be alone again, Ki'."
Ni-ki tightened his embrace around her, nestling his face in the crook of her neck as his tail wrapped around her waist. "I love you," he murmured.
"I love you too," she smiled, pulling back to lead him toward the bed. They tumbled onto the mattress, chuckling, and the hybrid braced himself on his hands so as not to crush her.
Y/N slid her fingers through his hair, pressing her hands on his cheeks to come and kiss him. The young man returned her kiss, a tear beading at the corner of his eye.
Their ceremony was scheduled for the next full moon. Since Y/N had told him he would become chief, Ni-ki followed Seo-jun everywhere like a little puppy to learn the role of a chief, and it amused the entire clan, though they were touched that the hybrid wanted to become the best chief possible.
Night had fallen, and the entire clan was gathered in the clearing for Ni-ki and Y/N's ceremony. The young man stood in the center of the circle of torches, eagerly awaiting his betrothed. He was only wearing white trousers that hung low on his hips, the same lines traced on his bare chest with white paint.
Y/N arrived accompanied by her father, approaching Ni-ki with a smile, the young man was sure all the hybrids could hear how fast his heart was beating. He gently took the young girl's hands in his, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hands.
Seo-jun would preside over the ceremony and thus pass the title of chief to Ni-ki. He presented them with the cup where their blood had been mixed, and Y/N took a sip before passing the glass to Ni-ki. He swallowed a gulp before tossing the rest of the contents over his shoulder, as Y/N had done during the previous ceremony.
Seo-jun stifled a laugh behind a cough, as he was supposed to do that, but let his son-in-law do it because Y/N was biting her lip to keep from smiling.
"We are gathered tonight to unite my daughter Y/N to Ni-ki," Seo-jun declared in his strong, clear voice. "Ni-ki, you will place your bite on Y/N's body, and Y/N will carve her initials into your skin. Thus, you will be bound for eternity, facing life's journeys and the adventures destiny will offer you together."
The man repeated the same ceremony speech as his daughter's, then presented her with the dagger. Y/N pressed her hand on the young man's arm, ready to remove his pain. "Where do you want it?" she murmured.
"On my heart. So you'll always be with me."
She smiled at him, her eyes glistening with tears, then pointed the knife toward his chest. Her hand began to glow as soon as the blade touched his skin, tracing her initials on his chest without Ni-ki feeling any pain. He didn't take his eyes off her, his hands dangerously brushing her hips to keep her close.
Y/N stepped back to admire her work, the scars of her initials were clearly engraved on Ni-ki's chest, which he would proudly display. She returned the dagger to her father, who nodded to the hybrid.
"Ni-ki, place your bite on Y/N to complete the bond."
"How do you want me to do it?" he asked her.
"Just bite me wherever you want, Ki'."
He nodded, swallowing his saliva with difficulty. He looked at her for a moment before gently brushing her hair aside on one of her shoulders, sliding a hand onto her cheek. Y/N encouraged him with her eyes, and Ni-ki took a breath to gather his courage, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
He bit the junction between her neck and shoulder, sinking his fangs into her skin deeply enough to leave his mark. Y/N dug her nails into his biceps, unable to remove the pain herself but only to lessen it.
Ni-ki pulled back, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe the drop of blood from the corner of his lips, his pupils dilated. His companion reassured him with a smile because he had felt her tense during his bite.
"Now, you are bound for eternity before all of us. Witnesses to your love and your strength, we know your bond will last until the end. Kiss her, you idiot," Seo-jun chuckled, elbowing the hybrid.
Ni-ki didn't need to be told twice and pulled Y/N toward him, taking possession of her lips. The healer wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his, her fingers sliding into the hair at the base of his neck.
The clan exploded in applause, the boys whistled while Sienna wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. The ceremony continued late into the night, but Ni-ki and Y/N quickly disappeared into their room.
The door slammed behind them as they entered the room, the lovers kissed passionately. Ni-ki lifted Y/N in his arms, walking blindly to the bed, where he laid them down. The young man broke the kiss to look at her, his eyes following her bite in the hollow of her neck. He lowered his head, letting his tongue trace the bite, drawing a moan from Y/N.
. • ° Making love, nothing else to do on a hot day
Synopsis: your roommate, Jake, aids you in finding something you lost
CW: dubcon, non con if you squint, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m), reader is physically trapped, etc
It was 2pm on a Saturday. having done close to nothing productive today, you told yourself you would clean your room tomorrow, along with tidy the rest of the shared apartment. You lived with 2 people, a shy but polite guy called Brian that you were sure was gay, and an Australian exchange student named Jake.
You never really hung out as a trio, as Brian was too closed off and Jake too cool to care to push a friendship with him, although you and Jake did often chat and keep each other company when plans got canceled, one of you was sick, or there was a power outage, etc. you occasionally cooked dinner for the three of you maybe, once every 3 months. You were a good roommate, though. You did your part of chores, cleaned up after yourself, were polite and never blasted music or invited groups of people over without asking. Jake, on the other hand, was more… free spirited. His room always seemed to have articles of clothes lying around, he would be loud when he was playing video games in his room and would take forever in the shower, sometimes showering twice a day, which annoyed you the most. He also had a habit of wearing too much cologne that you swore you didn’t like but made you feel tingly.
It was normal for both of you to go in each others rooms to drop something off, a sock in the laundry you forgot, his briefs he forgot to take out of the dryer, sometimes he would even be helpful and put one of your lost hair ties on your desk that you couldn’t find.
You had been losing hair ties recently, probably from keeping them in random places and them sliding off your wrists at work, which is why you were crouching down to see under the couch in the living room where you had dropped your very last hair tie. You groaned in annoyance as you saw your small black hair tie in the dusty underneath of the couch, some small clothing tags and wrappers lost underneath as well, making you squint in disgust.
Brian was away visiting his “friend”, so only you and Jake were in the house today. You were surprised when you heard his footsteps, you expected him to still be asleep, lazy as he was.
“Trying to find something?” His Aussie voice said with a hint of teasing.
You rolled your eyes under the couch. “My last hair tie is in this gross mess under the couch,” you sneered, half muffled by being half under the couch.
Jake smirked, unbeknownst to you, who were unable to see him from under the couch. You thought it was your own scuffling sounds near you, assuming Jake was walking to the kitchen or something, so you yelped when you felt a hand on your calf, hitting your head on the underside of the couch.
“What the fuck, Jake!” You groan, a bit jumpy from the sudden sensation. He only giggles softly, saying lowly “need any help?”
You scoff “no,” you still dig around, trying to avoid the trash around your hair tie. “I got it,” you said, annoyed. You were in the middle of complaining about him and Brian not cleaning the house better, when you felt his hand again, this time on the back of your thigh. “I said I got it!” You almost yell. “I heard you, just, making it easier for you,” Jake nearly mumbled. Your confusion was interrupted by the feeling of this soft hair on your thighs, when did he get there? As soon as you felt his hair, you also felt his hands reaching up your skirt, and pulling your panties to the side, exposing you to the cold air and his warm breath. You jolted, unable to move with your thighs being forced around his head and still being halfway under the couch.
He palmed his straining cock through his sweat pants with one hand, with the other holding your panties in place. He could feel you trembling, hear your heart beating. His own cheeks were turning a deep pink color, the smell of you already extracting precum from his poor cock. You braced yourself for what would come next, planting your forearms on the floor to steady yourself, flinching as you braced for his intrusion.
Jake slid his hand up your thigh, holding you in place around his head as you tried to lift your hips so as to not touch his face, but your efforts fell in vain as you were trapped under the couch, unable to stop his mouth from pebbling kisses on your inner thigh and up to your nearly dripping pussy. You hissed as his lips reached your clit, softly kissing it a few times while sucking softly.
Jake hummed with you in his mouth, the vibration sending a jolt to your heart. You gasped as he swirled his tongue in a zig zag pattern up and down your throbbing clit, muffling a moan with your hand in your mouth. He moaned into you, like he was trying his favorite dessert for the first time ever, which he was
Erotic slurping sounds came from his mouth, making a mess as you felt his spit cover your pussy and drip down, only to be met with his tongue yet again.
Jake’s eyes opened, focusing on your clit as if it was an eye. “Baby,” he gently flicked his tongue against it ever so slowly. “How could you not let me have you like this for so long?” You whimpered as your hips involuntarily bucked against his mouth.
“Fuck, there we go,” he mumbled, guiding your hips down on his face. “I know this feels so good for you, baby,” he flattened his tongue against your clit before fluttering it fast. “You can do this for me more, yeah?” He groaned as your clit pulsed. “Only like 3-4 times a day, baby? I think you can do that for me,” he chuckled against you, his lips sucking all the feelings of this is wrong in your head.
Tag list: @jenlunes @mheretoreadff @wvndrls @skzenhalove @babylari999 @hazeheart12 @isagistar @heesno1gooner @ocyeanica03 @heelvcr @yoisoobin @luucortis @classyloredestiny @rayofsunshineeee @en-love-1009 @dutifullycuriousphenomenon @hoonicon @herslhs @htuoyass @sxirenswq @heevansslut @hoonieslove (I tried tagging you all but it didn't work but I will try tagging u again:)
glasses on. focus lost. ⋆˙⟡
The first time you met Lee Heeseung, the university library was almost painfully quiet.
It was one of those late autumn afternoons where sunlight spilled lazily through the tall windows, turning dust particles into floating flecks of gold. Students whispered behind rows of towering bookshelves, pages turned somewhere in the distance.
He was tucked away at a small wooden desk near the windows, as though he'd intentionally chosen the quietest corner in the entire building.
A pair of thin-framed glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose while his eyes remained fixed on the open novel in front of him. Beside it sat an intimidating stack of books, each one neatly arranged with colorful sticky notes peeking from the pages. His notebook looked almost impossibly organized—headings written in precise handwriting, arrows connecting ideas in ways that somehow looked beautiful instead of overwhelming.
He looked exactly like someone who belonged there.
The type of student professors used as an example during lectures and somehow managed to make intelligence look effortless.
It was deeply unfair that someone could also be that attractive.
Your advisor had practically cornered you after class the previous week.
"Your literature grade isn't impossible to save," she insisted while handing you a small slip of paper with a name and phone number scribbled across it. "But only if you let someone help you."
You'd stared at the name.
Lee Heeseung.
Top student in the department.
Highest GPA.
Recommended tutor.
You had imagined someone intimidating before you ever met him.
Someone who would make you feel stupid for confusing symbolism with foreshadowing or forgetting literary terms halfway through discussions. Maybe someone overly serious with an ego inflated by perfect grades.
Instead...
The boy sitting across from you looked up the moment he heard your hesitant footsteps.
His eyes met yours, soft brown and startlingly warm.
For a second, he simply blinked.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't forced.
It was the kind of smile that reached his eyes first, gentle enough to loosen something in your chest before either of you had even spoken.
"You must be..." He glanced briefly at the notebook beside him before saying your name with surprising confidence. "Hi."
His voice was quieter than you expected.
You nodded awkwardly.
"Sorry I'm late."
"You're exactly two minutes early."
You frowned.
"...What?"
He looked down at the watch on his wrist before smiling again.
"Our session starts at three."
You checked your phone.
2:58 PM.
"...Oh."
"I like getting here early."
Of course he did.
For some reason, that tiny detail made you laugh.
Heeseung laughed too.
The nervous knot sitting in your stomach loosened instantly.
He gestured toward the empty chair across from him.
"Sit."
You settled into the chair, quietly pulling your notebook from your bag while trying not to notice how neat everything around him looked compared to the complete disaster living inside your backpack.
"You said you've been struggling with Romantic poetry?"
You groaned dramatically.
"I think Wordsworth personally hates me."
A tiny laugh escaped him.
"I don't think he's ever met you."
"It feels personal."
His shoulders shook with another quiet laugh.
Cute.
He slid one of his annotated pages toward you.
Instead of immediately explaining the poem like every tutor you'd ever had, he simply waited.
"What do you think it's trying to say?"
You stared blankly at the page.
"...That nature exists?"
He chuckled.
"Technically... yes."
"I knew it."
"But there's more."
He never interrupted when you spoke.
When you stumbled over your explanation, he simply tilted his head, listened until you finished, and asked another question instead of telling you that you were wrong.
Slowly...
Piece by piece...
He guided you toward the answer without making you feel like you'd failed.
It was strangely comforting.
"You don't have to rush," he murmured after noticing you growing frustrated.
His voice was low enough that it barely carried beyond your table.
He turned the book around so you could see the highlighted lines.
"Literature isn't about finding the fastest answer."
His fingertip traced beneath a sentence.
"It's about sitting with the words."
His eyes lifted to yours.
"Sometimes the best interpretations come after you've let them settle in your chest for a while."
You weren't entirely sure whether he was still talking about poetry.
By the end of that first session, you'd understood the chapter better than you had after three weeks of lectures.
By the time you walked back to your dorm that evening, you found yourself smiling for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with literary analysis.
—
You hadn't expected Tuesdays and Thursdays to become your favorite days of the week.
At first, you told yourself it was because your grades were finally improving.
Then you convinced yourself it was because studying felt easier with someone patient sitting across from you.
Eventually...
You stopped lying to yourself.
The sessions became something you looked forward to long before they actually happened.
Heeseung was always there first.
But it was the small things that started to undo you.
The way his fingers would brush yours when he passed you a pen. The way he’d lean in close to point at a line in your notebook, his breath warm against your ear as he explained a metaphor. The way his glasses would slip slightly down his nose when he was focused, and how he’d push them back up with his middle finger in that unconsciously attractive gesture.
By the sixth session, you were completely distracted.
Heeseung was explaining a particularly difficult passage when his hand rested on the back of your chair, leaning in so close you could smell his clean, woody cologne. His voice was low and steady as always, but your mind kept wandering to how his fingers would feel somewhere else.
You shifted in your seat, pressing your thighs together under the table.
Heeseung paused mid-sentence. His eyes flicked down for the briefest moment, then back to your face. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he said nothing. He simply continued explaining the text as if he hadn’t noticed how affected you were.
You were mortified.
But you were also so needy it was becoming impossible to hide.
The seventh session, the library was nearly empty. Finals week was approaching, and you had stayed late for an extra session. The overhead lights had been dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of the desk lamp between you.
Heeseung was sitting closer than usual, his chair pulled up right beside yours. His hand rested casually on the back of your chair, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder as he pointed at your notes.
You were trying — really trying — to focus on the passage he was explaining. But his cologne, the warmth of his body so close, and the way his glasses sat on his nose were making it impossible.
Your thighs pressed together again, a soft, involuntary sound escaping your lips.
Heeseung stopped talking.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Then his hand moved.
It slid slowly from the back of your chair to rest on your thigh, fingers warm through the fabric of your skirt. He didn’t say anything. He simply watched you, calm and controlled, thumb stroking a slow circle against your skin.
Your breath hitched.
Heeseung’s voice was low when he finally spoke.
“You’ve been distracted for weeks,” he murmured, eyes dark behind his glasses. “Tell me what you need.”
You couldn’t answer. Your face burned with embarrassment.
His hand slid higher, pushing your skirt up slowly.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “Use your words, like I taught you.”
“I… I can’t focus,” you whispered, voice shaky. “Not when you’re this close.”
A small, satisfied smile curved his lips.
“Then stop pretending,” he said, voice dropping. “His fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric, gliding through your slick folds. “So wet already. Just from sitting here pretending to study while I talked.”
You whimpered as he circled your clit with deliberate slowness, applying just enough pressure to make your hips twitch.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice dropping. “You don’t get to move until I say so.”
He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them perfectly against that spot that made your toes curl. You bit your lip hard to stifle a moan. His fingers moved faster, deeper, thumb pressing firm circles on your clit while his other hand held your thigh open.
“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes fixed on where his hand disappeared between your legs. “So pretty when you’re falling apart for your tutor. Does this feel better than studying, princess?”
“Yes— fuck— yes,” you gasped, head falling back.
He curled his fingers harder, hitting that perfect spot repeatedly until your legs started shaking.
“Don’t cum yet,” he commanded, voice rough but controlled. “Hold it for me.”
You whined in protest, but obeyed, muscles trembling with the effort. Heeseung watched you with dark fascination, fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm.
When you were right on the edge,he finally pulled his fingers out.
You cried out at the loss, but heeseung’s eyes darkened.
“Not yet.”
Your hands moved to his belt with trembling fingers, unbuckling it as he watched you with that steady, observing gaze.
He didn’t help.
He simply sat there, letting you pull his pants down yourself, revealing how hard he already was.
Heeseung leaned back slightly, one hand resting on your thigh as you freed him. His cock was thick and flushed, the tip already glistening.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice calm but rough around the edges. “So eager for your tutor’s cock.”
He took your hand and wrapped it around him, guiding you to stroke him slowly.
“That’s it,” he praised quietly. “Nice and slow. Feel how hard you make me.”
You stroked him for what felt like forever, your own arousal dripping down your thighs as he watched you with dark, controlled eyes. Heeseung was breathing heavier now, but he never lost that calm dominance.
Finally, he pulled your hand away.
“Enough teasing,” he said. “Sit on my lap.”
You straddled him on the chair, skirt bunched around your waist. He rubbed the head of his cock against your slick entrance, teasing your clit with slow, deliberate movements for a long, torturous minute.
You whimpered, hips trying to sink down, but he held you in place with a firm grip on your waist. He didn’t push inside. Instead, he gripped your hips and guided you to grind against him, sliding your wetness along his entire length.
“Grind on me,” he ordered, voice rough. “Use my cock like a good girl. Let me feel how desperate you are.”
You obeyed immediately, rolling your hips desperately, the pressure of his thick cock rubbing against your clit driving you insane. The friction was perfect but not enough. You were so needy, so impatient, that your movements became frantic, chasing more.
Heeseung watched you with dark, controlled eyes, hands gripping your hips to guide your rhythm.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice calm even as his cock throbbed beneath you. “So impatient. Grinding on your tutor’s cock like you can’t control yourself.”
You whimpered, grinding harder, the head of his cock catching against your entrance with every roll of your hips. The teasing pressure was driving you crazy.
Then it happened.
You moved too eagerly, too desperately, and the head of his cock slipped inside you — just the tip, stretching you open.
You gasped sharply, freezing at the sudden fullness.
Heeseung’s grip on your hips tightened, a low groan escaping him.
“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes fluttering for a second. “Look what you did, princess.”
He didn’t push deeper. He simply held you there, the head of his cock nestled just inside you, throbbing with the effort of staying still.
“You wanted it so badly you couldn’t even wait,” he said, voice dark and teasing. “Such a needy little thing.”
You whimpered, trying to sink down further, but his hands held you firmly in place.
“Not yet,” he commanded, eyes locked on where you were barely connected. “Stay right there. Feel how much you need me.” You were so wet, so desperate, that even just the tip of him felt overwhelming. Your hips twitched involuntarily, trying to take more, but Heeseung’s grip was unyielding.
“Please,” you begged, voice breaking. “Please, Heeseung—”
He finally gave in with a low groan, pulling you down onto him in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
You moaned loudly at the sudden fullness, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely.
Heeseung’s hands gripped your hips harder, holding you still for a moment as he savored the feeling.
“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “So tight. So perfect for me.”
Then he started moving — deep, steady thrusts that made the chair creak beneath you.
“Ride me,” he ordered, voice rough but controlled. “Show me how much you’ve been needing this.”
You obeyed, rolling your hips desperately, chasing the pleasure only he could give you. Heeseung watched you the entire time, eyes dark and focused behind his slightly fogged glasses, taking in every moan, every tremble, every desperate movement.
When you were right on the edge, shaking and whimpering, he gripped your hips harder and thrust up into you with more force.
“Cum for me,” he commanded. “Right now.”
You shattered around him with a broken cry, clenching hard as waves of pleasure ripped through you. Heeseung followed moments later, burying himself deep and groaning your name as he came inside you, hips stuttering with the force of it.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your shared heavy breathing.
Heeseung stayed inside you, forehead pressed to yours, one hand gently stroking your thigh as you both came down.
“Good girl,” he whispered tenderly. “You did so well for me.”
He could call me his slut, and I would say, "Yes, sir." Put me in a collar with "Sunoo's cumdump" engraved on the locket and a leash as he gives me legs breaking backshots while pulling on that leash so I can't crawl away when I'm overstimulated. I want him to grip my hair and shove his cock down my throat until I choke and gag on that fat cock as he fills me with his cum until everything I eat after that only tastes like his cum. Then I would nicely ask him to fuck me raw like we're the only solution to Korea's birthrates, all day, all night, with no break. Even when eating or showering. And when I say no more, I want him to assure me I can take one more and then call me a cock hungry bitch when I ask for more later. I want Sunoo to pump me full of his cum until the whole world is flooded so the AI has to use it as a water source to generate their bullshit essays because Sunoo's cum done filled the oceans.
He could call me his slut, and I would say, "Yes, sir." Put me in a collar with "Sunoo's cumdump" engraved on the locket and a leash as he gives me legs breaking backshots while pulling on that leash so I can't crawl away when I'm overstimulated. I want him to grip my hair and shove his cock down my throat until I choke and gag on that fat cock as he fills me with his cum until everything I eat after that only tastes like his cum. Then I would nicely ask him to fuck me raw like we're the only solution to Korea's birthrates, all day, all night, with no break. Even when eating or showering. And when I say no more, I want him to assure me I can take one more and then call me a cock hungry bitch when I ask for more later. I want Sunoo to pump me full of his cum until the whole world is flooded so the AI has to use it as a water source to generate their bullshit essays because Sunoo's cum done filled the oceans.
IN WHICH. . . Your beloved puma hybrid: Nishimura Riki, has reached his limits of restraining himself. Under the influence of his heat combined with his pent-up feelings for you, he decides the best way to let you know was by showing than saying it out loud.
5.7k wc⠀❀⠀non idol & university au ♪♪ puma hybrid! nishimura riki x fem! reader 𐧘 explicit mature content, porn without plot, unprotected sex, knotting, breeding kink, jealous riki, riki has a tail & claws, feral & possessive riki, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), pussy slapping, breast play, coming untouched, face-sitting, mild choking, size difference, hung riki, mean! riki.
from author: i love puma riki. that's it. that's the plot.
Riki has been acting weird recently.
The puma hybrid is more clingy than usual—which wasn't anything new at first glance. Ever since he came into your life, the hybrid with the height of six foot something, toned arms, impressive abs that's hidden under the layers of his clothes with tattoos—one on near his hipbones, one on his side and the last on his back, Riki will be on you the moment you came back.
He didn't care if you haven't removed your shoes or dropped the keys. Riki wastes no time in pulling you into his arms, head buried in your neck with him nuzzling his nose against your skin. He ignored your futile, weak attempts of prying him off, his body practically melting once he inhaled your scent, like it's an antidote for his illness.
His illness of being separated from you for way too long.
But now? Now his clinginess only got even worse. If you were smarter, you would've been able to connect the dots—how your beloved puma hybrid kept following you around, his long, black tail swishing side to side ever since you told him you got a boyfriend. You've been dating for the past five months and he's everything you wanted—loyal, kind, faithful, funny, understanding and the list goes on.
When you broke the news to Riki, you were too deep in love, already rambling about your oh so perfect relationship to notice how he stilled. How his tail dipped immediately. How his ears flattened against his head. How his jaw clenched, tongue poking the insides of his cheek. How his eyes narrowed into silts. How he clenched his left hand into a fist that rested on his lap, hidden from your view.
Ever since that day—five months ago, Riki made it a point to cling onto you at every chance he gets. He doesn't care if you're in public. The moment you're in his sight, he has his tail wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him while subtly scenting you at the same time. As he's tall enough, it's enough to scare off anyone who's foolish enough to look your way. If that doesn't worked, he'll resort to glaring at them, which proved to be useful many, many times.
Right now, you're seated on the couch in the living room with your laptop perched on a cushion, using it as a temporary stand. Your fingers flew across the keyboard, lips unconsciously pursed in a thin line while working on your assignments. Being a university student meant you're constantly bombarded with never-ending assignments—essays, group projects, reports, tests and exams.
It got so bad to the point you haven't contacted your boyfriend for the past two weeks. You felt remorseful at first, not wanting any misunderstandings to be formed. But when your lecturers thought it was a great idea for them to throw an unreasonable amount of work to their students, the thought was washed down the drain as you threw yourself into study mode, working on them nonstop.
You were so engrossed with your current task that you remained blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Of how a certain puma hybrid was heading your way, his footsteps light and barely making any noise, like he's stalking his next prey. You finally looked down, features softening to see it's none other than Riki resting his head on your lap, eyes fixated on your face.
You reached down, brushing his dirty ash blonde hair away from his forehead, drawing a soft, pleased sigh from him. Your heart squeezed, getting a rush of cuteness aggression when he turned, rubbing his cheek against your stomach through your shirt. You knew what he wants and also knew if anything, he's extremely shy when it comes to demanding for your attention.
You being you, decides to tease him.
"Riki, do you need something?" You asked, hovering your hand in the air.
The hybrid stopped rubbing his cheek, cracking one eye open to glare at you, his thick and plump lips curling down in a pout. "You know what I want."
You hummed, plastering a fake thoughtful look on your face, well-aware of how he's watching you. "Do I? I'm not a mind reader. If you want something, you need to tell me."
Your words drew a frustrated and annoyed growl from him but you weren't fazed or afraid. You merely chuckled, wriggling your fingers in the air. "I'm waitinggggg."
He closed his eyes, seemingly sending prayers to whoever's listening before opening them. "…Can you pat me, please?"
You cooed out loud and Riki scrunched his nose, sending you death glares at the revolting noise. "You're so cute! If that's what my precious baby puma wants."
He was about to get up when you started patting his head, occasionally flicking his ears. The moment you laid your hands on him, his shoulders sagged with relief and his eyes fluttered shut. He made himself comfortable, face squashed into your stomach with his arms loosely wrapped around your waist, locking you in place while you returned to working on your assignment.
Thirty minutes of comfortable silence past and your phone started ringing, vibrating vigorously from its spot on the couch's armrest. You didn't want to wake Riki up—who had been lulled to sleep by your comforting scent and warmth, subtly stretching your arm to pick up your phone. One look at the screen made your heart dropped when you saw the contact name.
You accepted the call, bringing your phone to your right ear.
"Hello?"
"(Name), let's break up," your boyfriend said, his tone steady and firm.
Your heart stopped beating, shattering into pieces the moment you heard his words. You felt cold, like someone had dumped a pail of cold, freezing water over you. You stared ahead of you—wide eyes and tuning out your surroundings, until the only thing you can hear was the blood rushing through your ears.
"W-What? Why?" You stammered, unaware of Riki stirring to life, his ears perking up, clearly trying to eavesdrop.
A sigh. "It's no hard feelings, really. I just don't feel the same way anymore. And you've been busy lately. You didn't answer my texts or my calls. It's like you've forgotten about my existence."
"That's not—"
"And that hybrid of yours. It's clear there's something going on between the two of you, with how possessive he is," he interrupted, having no intention of hearing you out or letting you speak.
Hearing this, you stilled. Your fingers that were previously threading through Riki's hair came to an abrupt halt. Your eyes instinctively flicked down to him, breath hitching when you made eye contact and how he has been watching and listening the entire time. His eyes were now narrowed to silts. He doesn't care that he was caught red-handed, showing no ounce of remorse or shame.
But rather, he looked… smug, like he knew this will happen.
Your lack of response earned a bitter huff from your boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend, in this case. "See? This is what I meant. Forget it, there's no point trying to talk to you. We're over. Don't contact me again."
"Wait—"
He ended the call and you moved it away, staring at it like it had personally offended you. Riki took that as his cue to push himself up, stretching his arms above his head. The action made the gray hoodie he worn to be dragged up, showing off an inch of his skin and the kiss mark tattoo he got. Your eyes darted towards it without warning, only for you to look away immediately ignoring how your heart skipped a beat and heat pooling in your stomach.
"Who was that?" He asked casually and innocently, running a hand through his hair.
"My boyfriend," you chuckled, placing your phone on your side, "well, ex-boyfriend."
He frowned. "Ex?"
"Yeah, he just broke up with me, over the phone."
Riki sucked in air from his teeth, his tail neatly resting over his lap. "Oh… I'm sorry to hear that."
You shook your head, sinking further into the couch. "It's fine, I kinda deserve it."
"Why? You didn't do anything wrong," he replied without missing a beat.
You glanced at him, startled by how fast and firm his response was. "Because I might have forgotten to contact him? I didn't make any efforts to call or text him."
"And? You're busy with your assignments. You don't have to bend your back for someone who's insecure," he retorted, draping an arm across the back of his couch, his hand directly behind your head.
You snorted. "He's not insecure, Riki. Don't be mean to him."
For a brief moment, the hybrid seemed like he wanted to say something but thought better of it, choosing to keep his mouth shut. He got up from the couch, the tip of his tail grazing your bare ankle—deliberately and lightly before he walked away. You remained seated on the couch, watching as he disappeared into the comfort of his own room, closing the door behind him.
What was that?
~
You noticed a slight change in Riki two weeks later.
The hybrid started spending more time in his room, only coming out when it's absolutely necessary. Heck, he didn't step out even when you announced you were leaving for your classes, leaving you utterly confused. You did knock on his door, asking him questions about his health but all you got was him telling you to go away.
If there's one thing about you, it's that you never give up.
Knock knock.
"Riki? Hello? Are you still alive?" You asked, pressing your ear against the door, trying to catch the smallest sounds.
That's when you heard it—a low, slow and warning growl. Hearing it sent shivers down your spine and you rubbed your thighs together, feeling the all-too familiar sensation of arousal blooming in your stomach.
"Go away."
The two words were said with such conviction and coldness that it rendered you speechless. Never in your life have you heard Riki growling at you, like the true puma he is. You should listen to him. Should turned around, walked away to leave him alone. Ignoring the invisible alarm bells going off in your mind, you took a deep breath, twisted the door knob and pushed it open.
The door moved aside to reveal Riki's room. The curtains were drawn closed, shutting him out from the rest of the world. Your eyes locked in on the bump on his bed. A bump that you easily identified as the owner of the room. You stepped in, wary to not step on anything that could potentially scared him or set him into fight-or-flight mode.
Once you were close enough, you sat on the edge of the bed, turning slightly so you can face him without straining your neck. You reached out, ready to pull the sheets away when he moved.
One moment you were seated and the next, you were pinned against the bed. You gasped, startled by the abrupt change of position. Both of your wrists was held over your head, held down firmly with Riki's one hand while the other was braced on the wrinkled sheets. The sight before you made your breath hitched.
Riki's face was flushed, cheeks covered in a light shade of red. His eyes turned into slits, borderline glowing and his forehead glowed in a layer of sweat, hair sticking to his face. His lips were parted, exhaling at an unsteady pace, like he had ran a marathon. This wasn't the usual Riki you're used to. Someone who always keep his cool. Someone who noticed everything about you.
"Riki, wha—!?"
You stopped when he ducked, nosing along your neck and he breathed in, deeply. You strained your ears, picking up what sounded like… purring? You felt the vibrations coursing through his body and his sharp, fluffy ears twitched.
"Your scent… it's driving me crazy," he rasped out, voice low and deep.
You swallowed, your heart hammering against your chest rapidly. "Seriously, what's wr—mmpfh!"
You didn't finish your sentence, not because your voice gave up on you. But rather, it was because of the hybrid, who captured your lips in a hot, demanding and intense kiss. Unlike your ex who takes his time, Riki was different. He kissed you harshly, further pushing you into the sheets with him fully settling his weight on you, like he wants you to blend into it.
You squeaked when he nipped at the plush, soft flesh of your lips with the sharp tip of his fangs, the searing pain striking you like a lightning bolt. He released his grip on your wrists, supporting your head with one hand on your neck while the other gripped onto your waist, his touch possessive and firm.
You could feel the warmth from his body, how he's a walking heater. The closeness of this combined with him kissing you with such desperation made you whined into his mouth. Riki groaned, swallowing the delicious sound, treating it like it's an sacred offering. The kiss deepened—him forcing you to grant him entrance and he sucked on your tongue, hard enough to make you pushed your chest up against his.
It's filthy and lewd, with spit trickling down your chin. Seeing this, Riki broke the kiss and licked it up with his rough tongue, leaving your skin feeling damp and sticky before he kissed you again, unable to get enough of your sweet, addictive taste.
"Riki—"
You moaned against his lips, arching your back off the bed as his other hand traced your silhouette, creating a map out of your body. He pushed your oversized shirt up until the hem of your bra was shown, drawing a ragged, broken moan from him, like seeing your clear, unblemished skin does something to him.
He pulled back, staring at you as he takes in the mind-blowing sight before him—your dazed eyes, your swollen, bruised and spit-covered lips and the light flush on your cheeks. Seeing you like this—all wrecked and breathless, drew a dark and pleased purr from the depth of his throat.
"So pretty for me," he breathed out, his breath fanning across your lips, savoring the way you shivered involuntarily at his words.
Riki moved down, busying himself in leaving wet and messy kisses along the expanse of your neck, ensuring to lick at your skin, able to get a faint salty taste at the tip of his tongue. He slowly lowered himself, spreading your legs apart with one hand—the action effortless and requiring close to zero strength, aligning your cores together and oh, you can feel him.
Feel his long, thick and heavy cock straining against the poor restraints of his sweatpants, begging to be freed. You swallowed, feeling your underwear sticking against your pussy at the thought of him filling you up. Riki stilled above you, his nostrils flaring before he growled, staring you down with nothing but desire written all over his face.
A loud ripping sound pierced through the bedroom. You squeaked, hands moving to cover yourself when the puma hybrid ripped your clothes with his sharp claws but he was faster, pinning your hands above your head with one hand while the other gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him.
"Don't hide from me," he snarled.
You made a pathetic sound—a sound you didn't know you were capable of in the first place and it made the puma smirked proudly. When it's clear you're not planning to move, Riki shifted down, giving attention to your freed breasts. He wrapped his lips around your left hardened nipple, alternating between licking and sucking on it while pinching and twisting the other nipple with his free hand.
"Ngh!"
You cried out, throwing your head back as you tangled your hand through his hair while the other blindly grabbed the sheets, twisting and turning it beneath your fingers. You squirmed about on the bed, which pissed Riki off, judging from the feral snarl he let out as he held you down by your hips, his grip hard and vice-like with his claws borderline digging into your skin, hard enough for thin, red-lined marks to be imprinted.
He continued abusing your poor nipples until they were bruised red and covered in a layer of his thick spit, leaving it glistened in the dim room. Riki shifted further down until he dropped to his knees on the floor. You yelped when you were roughly yanked forward by his tail until your lower half hovered in the air. Your legs trembled as they were slung over the hybrid's firm, broad shoulders.
"Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you," he murmured, nosing along your inner right thigh, occasionally nipping at your skin until it turned reddish-purple.
The possessiveness in him gleamed in pride at the thought of you walking around, wearing pants or anything long to hide the marks he left behind on your body, like he's claiming, marking and branding you. Keeping you away from any potential suitors too. Riki continued his adventure until he reached where you're desperately aching for him. He blew hot air, watching with pure hunger at how your pussy throbbed.
"Sensitive already," he huffed, amused.
"P-Please.." You whimpered oh so beautifully for him, further twisting the sheets.
"Please what, doll? C'mon, be a good girl and use your words," he coaxed.
You squeezed your eyes shut, not having the courage to look at him but your action only made him clicked his tongue in disapproval.
Smack!
Your body visibly jolted, taken aback at the sudden stinging pain landing squarely on your bare pussy. Interest flickered across his face at your reaction—how you bit down on your lip and how you got even wetter. Deciding to put his theory to the test, he did it again. Not once. Not twice. But thrice, back-to-back.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Your body trembled like a taut wire, clenching down on nothing as violent shockwaves traversed through you from head to toe. Riki, on the other hand, paused. His mind spun, reeling from what just happened. He didn't give you time to regain your composure, dragging his left index finger along your puffy, soaked folds, making you whimpered from the sensitivity.
"Fuck, you came just like that?" He murmured, in awe.
"W-Wha.."
You mumbled blearily, looking at him with half-lidded eyes, already exhausted. The only form of warning you got was the puma hybrid inching closer until something rough, hot and flat licked a stripe up, from your clit to entrance. You screamed, the sound high and loud that you're certain your neighbors will launch a noise complaint soon.
The thought left your mind as quickly as it formed when Riki moaned, his face buried between your legs. He ate you out messily and sloppily, paying special attention to your clit peeking out. Your body twitched, nearly yanking the sheets freed when he circled it with the tip of his tongue, the sensation driving you up the wall.
Your legs trembled in the air but you couldn't closed them, not when they were hoisted on his strong, muscular shoulders. You hooked your ankles around his neck, tugging him closer and let out a wonton moan when the tip of his nose pokes your clit. He didn't care, pushing further and further in, like he wants to be suffocated between your legs, tasting your sweet, addictive slick on his tongue.
"F-Fuck, so—hngh, good," you panted, back arching off the bed as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on it. The suction was enough for your stomach to tighten, about to cum again, only for him to pull away, letting your clit fall limp against your pussy, all sore and red.
You watched with your head laying on the sheets, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath as Riki rose to his full height, gently dropping your legs down onto the solid floor. He didn't look away, locking eyes with you while he stripped, starting with the white, tight tank top that does nothing to hide his arm muscles. Once it was gone, his toned and tattooed chest was revealed. Your hands twitched, tempted to trace your hand over it.
He smirked, catching your reaction and hooked his fingers through the hem of his sweatpants that's hanging dangerously low around his hips. He shoved it down, his black Chrome Heart boxers falling as well until its brunched around his ankles. His cock sprung free from the restraints, proudly standing upright, thick, long and veiny.
Your breath stuttered, unable to tear your eyes away from it. Hybrids isn't built very different from humans but despite that, he's… huge. Probably bigger than anyone you've slept with, which was just one person—your ex-boyfriend. The fat, mushroomy tip had turned a ferocious shade of reddish-purple, practically screaming for attention. A fat, thick bead of precum rested on the slit and Riki wrapped a hand around himself, thumb pressing down on the slit.
"Fuck…"
He cursed, eyes fluttering shut and he threw his head back as he fisted his own cock, forming a tight circle with his hand, fucking into it without any shame. You watched from where you were—still laying on the sheets with wide, unblinking eyes. Riki's fangs dug into his plump lips, his slitted eyes were squeezed shut, ears flattened against his head and his tail swished side to side frantically.
You chewed on your bottom lip, snaking your hand down between your breasts, down your stomach and to your pussy. However, before you could reached your destination, Riki let out a feral, hostile and beast-like snarl. He surged forward, grabbing your wrist, holding it in place with a vice-like grip, tight enough to draw a wince from you.
"Don't touch yourself. If you do, you can't cum," he warned you.
His firm words and authoritative tone made you whimpered, feeling unusually small—him as the predator and you as his prey that he managed to catch. Riki shifted, climbing onto the bed and he forced you to shift upward a little. The hybrid crawled forward on his knees, a hand now loosely wrapped around the base of his cock.
He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head backward. You knew what his intentions was, obediently opening your mouth and let him pushed his cock in. The hybrid purred in pleasure, feeling how tight and warm your cavern was. You made a muffled gagging sound, tears brimming in your eyes at his tip hitting the back of your throat.
He's big and thick, forcing you to further slacken your jaw muscles while covering your teeth with your lips, not wanting to injure him. You had to resort to breathing through your nose, savoring the heavy weight of his cock resting on your tongue. Riki cupped your left cheek, thumb gingerly wiping away the singular tear droplet that slipped, action all sickeningly sweet and oh so mean at the same time.
"Look at you, so pretty and wrecked for me. You're taking me well, aren't you?" He cooed, voice lowering an octave lower.
It's obvious you can't speak, not when your mouth was stuffed full of his cock, which is the reason why he used that condescending and belittling tone with you. Riki smirked, pushing forward a little, picking up the strangled moan you let out and how your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You let him used you like a toy as he fucked your throat, pushing in and out of your mouth at a slow, lazy and borderline teasing pace.
You did your best—tracing the protruding veins with your tongue and hollowed your cheeks for better suction. But god, he's too big. And judging from the knowing, dark glint in his eyes, Riki can tell you're struggling. Which was why he made a faux sweet coo, using his free hand to clasp it around your neck and gave it a light squeeze.
It's not enough to completely cut off your oxygen supply. You knew he wouldn't kill you, not with how smitten he is with you but it's the implication of it. The thought of him possessing both the capability and talent to snap your neck into half, to kill you immediately, made you even wetter, if that's possible.
Riki's eyes darted down, hissing under his breath at the large, dark stains beneath you. "You're one messy and needy slut, aren't you? Can't be satisfied even with your mouth full?"
"Mmpfh."
The hybrid groaned, mouth dropping open at the vibrations running down the length of his cock. "Shit, c-close."
He pulled you closer until his entire cock is in your mouth, your nose rubbing against his bare stomach. You gagged as he cum, painting it in the shade of his thick, hot cum. The hybrid groaned, releasing his grip from your hair and pulled his cock out of your swollen, sore mouth with a loud "pop" sound.
"Swallow it," he demanded, gripping your chin and you obeyed, even opening your mouth to let him see.
He purred, satisfied and tapped your right cheek twice. "Good girl. You deserve a reward, don't you?"
You sniffled, frantically and eagerly nodding. "P-Please.. I've been good."
He chuckled, flipping your position with him now laying on the bed, head on one of his pillows. You squeaked when you ended up on his lap, hands braced on his bare chest, soaking his toned stomach with your slick. Riki patted your thigh, dark eyes drinking in your naked figure shamelessly.
"Come up," he instructed, doing the "come here" gesture with his fingers.
You gulped, complying and crawled upward with shaking knees and hands. Resting one hand on the headboard and the other on your lap, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the puma's mouth. However, you were being too slow, earning an impatient growl from him.
"Riki!"
You cried out when he yanked you down, making you sit squarely on his face. He parted your folds with his left fingers—index and middle, plunging his long, rough and slimey tongue into your gaping entrance, tracing it along the walls and occasionally twisting it. A series of moans and whimpers left your lips at his relentless assault on your poor pussy.
It didn't help that you're still sensitive, which only further heightened the toe-curling sensations. Riki alternated between sucking and licking, like a famished beast that hasn't feasted for three months. He ate you out messily, spit trickling down his chin. You grinded your hips against his skillful tongue, moaning out loud as he pushed two fingers in, pumping them in and out of you.
The double penetration of his fingers and tongue made you further grind into his mouth, craving more. He purred, drunk on the taste of your slick and his tail snugly wrapped itself around your waist, the tip grazing your still-sensitive nipples, drawing a strangled, broken cry from you.
"R-Riki, c-can't.. too much, ngh," you keened, stars exploding behind your vision as he curled his fingers, easily locating that one spongy spot that made your thighs trembled vigorously.
"You can take it, baby," he moaned, voice muffled, tongue gliding along the seam of your folds.
You sobbed, the final straw comes with him sucking on your beyond clit and you cum with a soundless cry, mouth dropping open in an "O" shape, violent shockwaves coursing through your body. You weren't aware you even squirted—transparent, warm liquid gushing everywhere, landing on your sweaty, tangled bodies and the sheets.
Riki groaned, tongue lapping up what you have to offer, not wanting to let a single drop go to waste, ignoring how you squirmed and thrashed about, pussy weakly squirting a few more times before you went limp, bracing both hands against the wall to balance yourself. The hybrid finally detached his lips from you, the lower half of his face completely covered in your slick, practically glistening.
His ears twitched, tongue darting out to lick up your slick covering his lips, moaning at the taste. Your pussy throbbed at the lewd sight and you acted without thinking, scooting down until your cores made contact. At first, Riki was confused, furrowing his eyebrows but it was replaced with realization as he watched, not bothering to help—one hand on his lap while the other is held behind his head and between the headboard.
His breath hitched, watching how you collected your dripping slick, using it as lube before stroking his cock with your slick. It didn't take long for him to fill up and thicken in your grip. He had dreamed of this—having you beneath him as he fucks you, stretching you wide open with his cock, reducing you into a flushed and moaning mess with his name being chanted like a sacred prayer.
But dreams could never come close to the real thing.
The only form of assistance you got was Riki steadying you by your hips when you swayed to the side dangerously. With you holding the base of his cock—fingers barely touching, you aligned him to your stretched-out entrance and sank down in one go.
Both of you moaned in unison at the blinding feeling. The feeling of being connected on an intimate level. The stretch was no doubt painful, enough for your vision to blur slightly. You didn't move, struggling to accommodate to the size and grith of his cock as the pain gradually subsided until it's replaced with a numbing, consistent pleasure.
Riki, on the other hand, had to restrain himself at all costs. He nearly cum right there and then the moment he slides in. His eyes locked in on the prominent bludge on your stomach—right where his cock laid and he saw red.
He acted on instinct, the instinct of a wild, feral beast—manhandling you until your face was shoved into the pillow with you on your knees, your ass raised up high as your back was arched in an seductive arch. Riki wasted no time in pounding into you from behind, his heavy balls slapping against your inner thighs, creating a series of loud "plap, plap, plap" sound that echoed among the four walls of his bedroom.
"Think that pathetic ex-boyfriend of yours can fuck you better than I can? He can't," he snarled, leaning forward to plaster his chest against your back, one hand grabbing and kneading your left breast within his palm while twisting and pinching your hardened nipple.
You wailed, unable to form a coherent sentence, with how good he's stretching you and how he's filling you up, reshaping your insides to the shape and outline of his cock. The hybrid purred, slowing down his pace as he fucked you slow and nice, ensuring to circle his hips every time he bottomed out, savoring the blissed sigh you let out.
"M-More…" You babbled, head tilted forward with drool running down your chin.
He purred, nosing along your neck as he breathed in your scent. It's mixed with different smells—sweat, your body fluids and sex. But to him, there's no perfect combination other than this.
"More?" He echoed. "You're so greedy, baby. I'm already fucking you and you still want more?"
"M-Mhm!"
"What do you want? Tell me."
Now, you weren't thinking straight anymore, too fucked out to think about anything. So it's normal for Riki to be surprised by the words that left your mouth without you processing it.
"K-Knot me, please," you begged.
Riki's tail straightened, shooting up and his ears flicked upward.
Knot. Knot. Knot.
That was the only word he captured. The only word out of your short sentence. With a deep and guttural growl, he pounded into you with newfound determination. The thought of knotting you until your stomach swells, you waddling around in the house with a swollen baby as you born his children, makes him feral.
You keened as he angled his cock slightly, the tip now hitting that one delicate, spongy spot hidden between your gummy walls. It's enough for your knees to tremble, giving way as you fell into the sheets, trapping his hand between the bed and your chest. Riki clicked his tongue, hoisting you back up with his tail that's around your waist and his free hand grabbing a fistful of your hair, making a temporary ponytail to hold you upright.
He continued fucking into you, quickening the pace and the sound of skin slapping against skin gets louder and louder. You couldn't register the kind of sounds you're letting out but whatever it was, it can rival against a professional pornstar. You had to support yourself with your elbows resting on the sheets as sweat rolled down your cheeks.
"Gonna knot you, pump you full so you can carry my children," he snarled, his slitted eyes locked onto the way your ass cheeks jiggled at every thrust.
You whined out loud at his words, clenching around him and it didn't go unnoticed by him. You snaked your hand between your legs, tracing your fingers around where you're connected before rubbing your clit at the same pace as his thrust.
"G-Gonna cum, hah," you whimpered, your fingers gradually getting soaked from your own slick.
Riki cursed, slapping your hand away and replaced it with his own, drawing a loud, startled cry from you. "Then cum, baby. Let me see you fall apart."
He gave a harsh twist to your engorged clit and that was it. You cum while chanting his name like a sacred prayer, your walls violently convulsing around his cock as your juices ran down the paths of your inner thighs. Riki grit his teeth, sweat landing on the sheets as he felt his knot growing bigger and bigger—a sign he's reaching his climax.
With one last, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and released his hot, thick semen inside while he fucks you through your orgasm, forcing your pussy to milk him dry. You grimace at how incredibly full and sated you felt, stomach bloated with his hybrid cum. His knot remained lodged in your cunt, reaching the entrance to your womb.
Your elbows and knees gave way for the second time as you collapsed into the sheets, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of you covered in body fluids and sweat. You thought it was finally over and that you could get a break.
However, Riki didn't have the same idea in mind.
"Ri—!?"
You made a sound when he thrusted into you from behind—his knot showing no signs of detaching itself from your womb, drawing a hoarse moan from you. You looked over your shoulder, swallowing nervously at the wild, intense look on his face. His dirty ash blonde hair was messed up, some strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. But it was his eyes that made your stomach tightened.
The lust and desire gaze, making you unconsciously clenched down on him, on his cock that's still buried deep inside you.
"We're not done yet, doll," he purred, lips curling up in a promising, dark smirk.
You gasped when he did an experimental thrust into you, creating a loud and wet squelch sound that made your ears heat up. But the embarrassment was gone when Riki pushed your head down into the sheets, rendering you immobile.
"We're not stopping until you take every single drop," he continued, leaving you swallowing, heart beating anxiously as you knew you're in for a long, wild and rough night.
prguitarman
baratheonpilled
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
yousharknotpass
vaporwave
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
discoholicmusic
