Diamonds don't bruise
Pairings: dark! Jake x female reader x dark! Sunghoon
Summary: Million dollar men don’t take no for an answer—they just make sure you can’t afford to say it. You thought leaving them behind would save you. Six years later, they sign your paychecks.
Warnings: NONCON, sexual assault, bullying, power imbalance, financial coercion, physical violence, groping, degradation, humiliation, misogyny, jealousy, forced virginity loss, forced breeding, unprotected sex, nipple play(They are really really mean men.)
This fic contains noncon. Do no read if this is a trigger.
MINORS DNI
Note:This is all work of fiction. All characters are 18+ regarding the high school. Hope you guys like my first ever fic for enhypen. It really sounds like some fucked up kdrama.
The air in the chemistry lab smelled like bleach and rotting dreams. You'd made it. One final bell between you and never seeing Sim Jaeyun or Park Sunghoon again.
Your graduation gown was already packed. Your transfer paperwork was finalized. A public school across the city, where your mother's waitress salary could barely afford the tuition but where their names wouldn't echo in the hallways.
You were almost at the main doors when a hand closed around your wrist.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?”
Jake's voice was a low-purr now, no longer the cracking taunt of freshman year. He'd grown into his family's money–taller, broader, with a sharp jawline that made teachers overlook the cruelty in his eyes. Sunghoon stood slightly behind him, a silent, beautiful shadow. They were both in uniform, but theirs were tailored, the fabric expensive where yours was threadbare.
“I have to go.” You said, voice barely a whisper
“We saw you.” Sunghoon said. His voice was softer and almost melodic. It made the words worse. “Talking to that scholarship kid by the lockers. Kim something. You smiled at him.”
Your blood ran cold. “We were just—”
“Just what?” Jake tightened his grip, his thumb pressing into your pulse point. “You know what happens when you smile at other people.”
You did. The memory of beomgyu, the guy from your geometry study group they'd cornered last semester, flash behind your eyes. The sound of his nose breaking. The way they'd make you watch.
“It wasn't like that.” You pleaded.
“We'll see.” Jake said.
They'd dragged to the unused music wing. The school had poured money into a new athletics center, leaving this part of the building to decay. Sunghoon kicked open the door to the practice room, the piano inside covered in a dusty sheet.
Kim Minho was already there, slumped against the wall, one eye swollen shut, lip split and bleeding onto his white shirt. He looked at you and you saw shame in his eyes–shame that he couldn't protect you, shame that he was seeing you like this.
“Watch.” Jake commanded, shoving you to your knees on the dusty floor.
What followed wasn't a fight. It was a systematic dismantling. Sunghoon held Minho while Jake hit him–not wild punches, but precise, brutal strikes to ribs, the stomach, places that wouldn't show in graduation photos. Each impact was dull, wet thud. Minho stopped crying out after the third blow. He just grunted, a wounded animal sound.
“Stop.” You sobbed. “Please. I'm sorry. I'll do anything, just stop.”
Jake paused, chest heaving. He looked from Minho's broken form to you, kneeling in your pleated skirt. A slow, terrible smile spread across his face.
“Anything?” He repeated.
Sunghoon let Minho slump to the floor. He wasn't unconscious but he wasn't moving either. His breath came in ragged, wet hitches.
Jake walks towards you. Sunghoon followed, closing the door and sliding the lock with a final echoing click.
“Take off your shirt.” Jake said.
Your hands trembled. The buttons on your blouse felt impossibly small. The air in the room was cold against your skin as you let fabric fall. You crossed your arms over your chest, your white bra feeling flimsy as tissue paper.
Sunghoon made a low sound in his throat. “Look at that. All this time.”
Jake unbuckled his belt. The sound was loud in the silent room. “You know what to do.”
You didn't. You really didn't. You have watched things here and there or heard about it only. But the reality upon seeing him–thick, already hard, the tip flushed and leaking–made your stomach turn. The smell of his cologne, something expensive and woody, mixed with the coppery tang of Minho's blood.
“Jake i–”
His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head forward. “Open.”
You gagged immediately. The stretch was painful, intrusive. He didn't thrust, just held you there, his grip on your hair keeping you in place as you choked, tears and saliva leaking from the corner of your mouth.
“Eyes on me.” He commanded, his voice strained.
You look up. His eyes were dark, glazed with pleasure. Besides him, Sunghoon had freed himself, stroking slowly as he watched. “For a virgin. She's taking it so well.” He mused, as if commenting on the weather.
When Jake finished, he pulled out, releasing your hair. You collapsed forward, coughing the taste of him sour in your mouth. Before you could recover. Sunghoon was there, tilting your chin up.
“My turn.”
It was worse, because you knew what to expect. The ache in your jaw, the helpless choking, the sheer violation of it. You cried in earnest then, the sob making you gag harder, sunghoon groaned, his free hand coming up to squeeze your breast over your bra, his thumb rubbing roughly over your nipple.
“Good girl.” He whispered, and the praise was more degrading than any insult.
When it was over, they tucked themselves away, adjusting their uniforms as if they'd just come from a meeting. Jake looked down at you, a crumpled half- naked mess on the floor.
“Consider that our final warning.” He said.
Sunghoon tossed your blouse at you. It landed on your head. “Get dressed. And if you ever talk to another guy again.” He glanced at Minho's still form. “We'll know.”
You left the school and never went back again. You never reported the incident. You knew their families owned the school board, the local police precinct, the newspaper. You were a scholarship student. Kim Minho was a scholarship student. You were replaceable. They were untouchable.
You packed your trauma away with your uniform, believing distance was a cure. You were wrong.
[♡]
Six years later, the waiting room of Sim Global Innovations smelled of lemon cleanser and quiet wealth. You smoothed your skirt for the tenth time. Your blazer was expensive, bought on credit you no longer had room to spare—immaculate, unforgiving, and necessary.The job–executive assistant to the CEO–paid twice what you made at logistics firm. Enough to finally start chipping away at the mountain of medical debt from your mother's heart surgery.
You'd researched sim jaeyun. The photos showed a man, not a boy. Sharp-suited, devastatingly handsome. There was no hint of the sadistic teenager in those polished smiles. Maybe he'd changed. Maybe money had smoothed his edges. Maybe.
“Miss Y/L/N? He'll see you now.”
His office was a monument to glass and steel, with a view of the city that felt like owning it. He stood at the window, his back to you, a silhouette of power.
“Thank you for coming.” He said, turning.
Time folded in on itself.
The eyes were the same. Dark, intense, missing boyish malice but gaining something heavier, more calculated. He looked you up and down, a slow appraising sweep that felt like being undressed.
“Have a seat.”
The interview was a blur of standard questions. Your qualifications, your experience. He was professional. Then he leaned back, steepling his fingers.
“You went to Hansong high?”
A block of ice settled in your chest. “For a year, but I transferred. “
“I know. I was a student there.” He tilted his head, studying you. Something flickered in his eyes. A spark of recognition, then confusion, then….a slow dawning hunger. “Wait, I know you.”
You forced a laugh. It sounded brittle. “I don't think so. It was a big school.”
“No.” He stood up,walking around his desk to lean against the front of it, looming over you. “No. It wasn't. And you. You had the locker by the east stairwell. You flinched when anyone raised their voice.” He squinted and then it clicked. The predator recognizes its old prey. A slow, terrifying smile touched his lips. “Well, I'll be damned. The little mouse from the music room.”
Your heart stopped. The air vanished from your lungs.
“It's ….it's you.” He murmured.
“In the flesh.” His smile widened, showing perfect teeth. “All grown up. And applying to work for me? What are the odds?” he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial
whisper that reeked of expensive aftershave. “I looked for you, you know. After you vanished. Asked around. But you just…poof. Gone. Over a little….extracurricular activity.” He tsked. “I didn't expect you'd transfer just over sucking couple of cocks.”
The vulgarity, delivered in that smooth, boardroom voice, was a shockwave. The professional veneer was gone, stripped away in an instant. The boy from the practice room was right there, in a Brioni suit.
“I…I should go.” You stammered, standing on shaky legs.
“Sit down.” The command was quiet, absolute. “This job is yours. The salary is 20% more than advertised. Full benefits. Your mother…she's not well, is she? I had HR pull your background check. Hospital bills can be so crushing.”
It was a threat wrapped in a gift. A glided cage, and he was holding the door open.
You thought of your mother, of the collection notices, of the way her hand shook when she looked at the statements. You sat back down.
The smile he gave you was one of pure,unadulterated victory. “Smart girl. You start Monday. “
The first week was a surreal tense dream. Jake was… courteous. He called you ‘miss y/l/n’. He thanked you for the coffee. He didn't mention high school. You started to breathe, to believe in the impossible–that he'd grown up, that the power had mellowed him.
It was a lie and you were a fool for believing it.
It started small. A Monday morning, you were organizing files in the supply closet, a narrow room lined with shelves.
“Need something, sir?” you asked, trying to squeeze past him in the doorway.
He didn't move. Instead, he shifted, his chest brushing against yours, his hip pressing into you. You were pinned between his body and shelf. You could feel the warmth of him,the solid muscles beneath his dress shirt.
“Just looking for the new printer cartridge.” He said, his voice casual, but his eyes were on your lips. His hand came up, not to touch you, but to reach for a box above your head. His arm caged you in. He lingered, his breath stirring your hair. “You smell different than you did in high school. Less..scared.”
He pulled back, taking the box and left without another word. Your knees were trembling.
One day you heard him saying familiar name ‘sunghoon. He was on call with him. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, you just happened to be there.
Sunghoon.
The name was a bucket of cold water. You'd never asked if they were still in touch. The idea of seeing him again, of those cold, assessing eyes on you, made your hands slick with sweat.
Unfortunately, sunghoon appeared the following Thursday. You were delivering a stack of contracts to Jake's office when you heard a smooth, familiar laugh from inside. Your steps faltered.
“Come in.” Jake called.
Park Sunghoon was draped in the visitor's chair like he owned it. He'd grown even more strikingly handsome, his beauty almost sevre. His suit was dove grey, impeccable. His eyes landed on you, and for a moment, there was nothing. Then recognition, slow and delighted.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” He drawled. “The little runaway. “
You set the contracts on Jake's desk with numb fingers.
“Sunghoon, you remember our new EA?” Jake said, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“How could I forget?” Sunghoon's gaze traveled over you, from head to toe. It felt like being licked by something cold. “You've filled out nicely. Still working the virgin vibe, I see.”
Heat flooded your face.
“The coffee, miss Y/L/N.” Jake reminded you, sweet as poison.
You fled.
When you returned, balancing the tray, their conversation halted. They were both watching the door, waiting for you.
“Here you are, sir, Mr. Park.” You set the cups down, careful not to touch their fingers.
As you straightened, Sunghoon's hand shot out patting your backside with a loud, stinging smack. It wasn't playful. It was possessive and demeaning.
“Still a great ass.” He said to Jake, as if you weren't standing right there. “For a virgin, she gave a really good blow job. Good tits too.”
The world tilted. The casual cruelty, the way he reduced the most traumatic moment of your life to the critique of your sexual performance, stole the air from the room.
Jake chuckled, sipping his latte. “Don't embarrass her, hoon. She's our professional employee now.”
But his eyes said otherwise.
The harassment became your new normal, a daily degradation you had to swallow with a neutral face.
“Miss Y/l/n, close the door.” You obeyed standing before Jake's desk.
“Mr. Park firm, Park consolidated, is our new lead partner on the Aerion project. He'll be in office frequently for meetings. I'm assigning you as his liaison while he's here. Any tasks he requires, you handle.”
“Sir. My job description–”
“Has just been expanded.” He interrupted, his voice losing its false warmth. “Your salary has been adjusted accordingly. A… hardship bonus, let's call it. For your mother's continuing care.” He leaned forward. “Do you have a problem with that?”
The threat was crystal clear. Your mother's health versus your dignity.
“No, sir.”
“Good.,” he smirked.
[♡]
The next day, you stood in a sleek, empty conference room. The door opened. Not Jake. Him. Park Sunghoon.
“Well what a pleasant sight.” He said, his voice smooth, quiet baritone that slithered down your spine.
He simply closed the door behind him with a soft definitive click. The sound echoed in the silent room.
“M-Mr. Park. Welcome. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water?” you hated the tremor in your voice.
He walked a slow circle around you, his gaze a physical touch. “Y/n. Six years. You have filled out. Nicely. “
You flinched. “I'm here to assist with your meeting agenda. Mr. Sim should b–”
“Jake's running late. Told me to get started with you.” He stopped in front you, too close. The clean, citrus and sandalwood scent of his cologne was suffocating. “Jake told me you have been a really good girl.”
You took a step back, hitting the edge of the polished conference table. “I'm just doing my job.”
“Are you?” A slow, cruel smile touched his lips. “Jake showed me your file. Your mother's condition is…costly. It's admirable, your dedication. If misguided. “ he reached out, before you could react, his thumb was stroking the line of your jaw. His touch was ice-cold. “You left quite an impression, you know.” His gaze dropped to your chest, concealed by a modest blouse and blazer. “They were perfect, handfuls. I've wondered how they have matured.”
Revulsion, thick and hot, climbed your throat. “Don't touch me.”
His hand snapped to your waist, gripped hard, yanking you against him. The air left your lungs in a shocked gasp. “Don't?” He whispered, his mouth near your ear. “You're not in a position to give orders, sweetheart. You're a glorified office slut on salary. Now, be a good girl and get me a coffee. Black. And take this ridiculous jacket off. It's stifling here.”
Tears of shame and fury pricked your eyes but you blinked them back. You pulled away, your body moving on autopilot, the survival instincts from high school roaring back to life. You shrugged off your blazer, leaving you in a blouse and walked on unsteady legs to the coffee station in the corner.
You felt his eyes on you the entire time. As you poured the coffee back to him, you heard his footsteps. You went rigid, the carafe trembling in your hand.
His presence materialized behind you, a wall of expensive fabric and menace. His hands landed on your hips, pulling you back against the hard line of his body. You could feel unmistakable evidence of his arousal.
“Still so jumpy.” He murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. One hand slid around to your stomach, splaying possessively, while the other came up to fondle your breast over your blouse, his fingers pinching your nipple through the fabric. A sharp, unwelcome jolt through you. “See? Just as perfect. Jake said you have been pretending to be a good little employee. But we know what you really are. Don’t we?”
“Please.” You choked out, staring blankly at the artwork on the wall. “Someone could come in.”
“The floor is cleared. Jake's orders.” His hand left your breast, and slid down over your skirt, cupping you between your legs. You jerked, a strangled sound escaping you. He pressed harder, his fingers digging in. “Our little secret. For now on.”
The conference room door flew open.
Jake stood there, a smirk playing on his lips. He didn't look surprised. He looked pleased.
“Starting without me?” Jake's voice was light, teasing.
Sunghoon didn't move his hand, just turned his head slightly, his grip on you tightening. “Just getting reacquainted with the liaison. She was getting me coffee.”
“I see that.” Jake strode in, closing the door again. His eyes raked over you, pinned between sunghoon and counter. “She makes a good pot, doesn't she? Among other things.”
The meeting that followed was a special kind of hell. You were made to sit, legs tightly crossed, blazer forgotten on a chair, taking notes as two men discussed merges and acquisitions. All while the sunghoon gaze burned into you. Every few minutes, under the table, his polished longer loafer would nudge your ankle, then slide up your calf. Once, when you reached for your water glass, his hand shot out and squeezed your thigh, his finger biting in, a silent warning.
When the formal part ended, Jake leaned back. “Miss Y/n, Sunghoon needs the projection files from the marketing server. The secure one. Walk him down to the Tech center. Help him access it.”
It was a transparent ploy. The tech center was secluded, ĺow traffic wing, especially after house, which it nearly was.
“Of course, Mr. Sim.” You whispered.
The walk down the long, silent hallway felt like a death march. Sunghoon walked beside you, his stride leisurely. As you turned the corner into an empty corridor lined with server rooms, he grabbed your arm and shoved you into a dimly lit printer alcove, crowded with spare toner and paper reams.
He crowded you against the storage cabinet, his body caging you in. The polite corporate mask was gone, replaced by a raw, mean boy from the past. Or maybe Sunghoon never tried to pretend to be like Jake.
“You have been avoiding my eyes all afternoon.” He said, his voice low, nasty rasp. He gripped your chin, forcing your face up. “Look at me when I'm talking to you.”
You met his gaze, your own burning with hatred.
“Better.” His other hand went to the waistband of your skirt, popping the button, sliding the zipper down. “Jake says you still jump when he touches you. That you still cry. Is that true?”
“Go to hell.”You spat.
He laughed, a short humourless sound. His hand pushed into underwear, his fingers cold and intrusive. You cried out, trying to twist away but he slammed you harder against the cabinet, the edge digging into your back.
“Still so tight.” He mused, as his finger pushed inside you. The invasion was a dry, painful violation that had nothing to do with pleasure. Tears finally spilled over, tracing hot paths down your cheeks. “Just like I remember all those years and no one has touched this? Pathetic.
He worked his fingers cruelly, watching your face contort in pain and shame. “You belong to us. You always did. Running away just made the chase more fun.” He leaned in, his breath hot on your face. “And now we have caught you. We're not letting go. You're going to be our little office pet. Our stress relief. Whenever we want. However we want.”
He removed his fingers, glistening with your unwanted wetness and wiped them slowly over your silk blouse, right over your heart. The stain was a brand.
“Now.” He said, redoing your zipper with chilling tenderness. “Fix your face. Get the file. And meet us back in Jake's office.”
He stepped back, adjusting his suit jacket, looking every bit the pristine executive. You slid down the cabinet, knees giving away, clutching your ruined blouse, sobs wrenching silently from your chest.
As he walked aways, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His expression was one of pure, unadulterated possession.
“Oh and y/n.” He said, his voice echoing softly in the empty hall. “The next time a male intern so much as smiles at you. I won't use my fingers.”
He disappeared around the corner, leaving you shattered on the floor. The sterile hum of servers was the only sound, a mockery lullaby for your new reality.
[♡]
Niki from accounting, a sweet guy fresh out of college, stopped by your desk to clarify a billing code. He was leaning over your monitor, pointing at the screen. When the shadow fell over you both.
“Is there a problem?”
Jake's voice was deceptively calm. Niki straightened quickly, flushing.
“N-no Mr. Sim..just a query about Aerion.”
“Miss y/l/n can handle her own queries.” Jake said, his eyes fixed on you. “Go back to your department, niki.”
Once niki scurried away, Jake placed his hand on your desk, caging you in.
“What did I tell you about fraternizing? He asked, softly.
“You didn't tell me anything.” You whispered, defiance sparking for a second.
His hand snaked out, grabbing your thigh under the desk, his fingers digging in painfully high, too close. You jolted.
“He's not paying your mother's bills, is he?” he hissed, his face close to yours. The scent of him, expensive cologne from high school filled your nose. “I am. Every fucking penny. That means this.” His grip tightened. “Is mine. Your time is mine. Your attention is mine. Do you need a reminder of what happens when you forget that?”
The ghost of Minho's broken face swarms before your eyes. You shook your head, tears of shame and rage welling up.
“Good.” He released you, standing up and straightening his cufflinks. “Now Sunghoon needs those TPS reports collected before 4. Look busy.”
With that he walked away.
[♡]
The email came at 7:45 PM on a Friday. The office was a tomb of empty desks and humming computers.
From: Sim Jaeyun
Subject: Urgent- home office
Miss Y/L/N,
I've left a crucial folio for the Monday merger at my penthouse. I need it reviewed and annotated tonight. I'll text you the address. Be there by 9 PM.
J.S
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. I can't, it's inappropriate. It's Friday night.
But the unspoken words hung in the digital silence. Your mother's next payment is due Monday. Do you want to explain to the hospital why it's late?
You typed a single word: understood.
His penthouse occupied the entire top floor of the tallest residential tower in the city. The private elevator opened directly into a living room of minimalist opulence–concrete, steel, floor‐to‐ceiling windows showcasing the city's glittering veins.
He was waiting, dressed in dark jeans and a tight black sweater that hugged his shoulders. He held two glasses of red wine.
“You made it.” He handed you a glass. You took it, your fingers brushing his. “Relax. The file can wait a minute. You look tense. “
“I should just get the file and go, Mr.Sim.”
“Jake.” He corrected, stepping closer. “We're not at the office now.” He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was intimate, claiming. “You know, I've thought about you a lot over the years. Wondered where you went. What you were doing.”
You took a step back, hitting the edge of a cold, marble console. “It was a long time ago”
“Was it?” he followed, closing the distance. His body was a wall in front of you. “It feels like yesterday to me. The look on your face in that room. The way you cried.” His voice dropped husky. “It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.”
Revulsion twisted your gut. You tried to slide away, but he caught your wrist.
“Please Jake, don't.”
“Don't what?” He leaned in, his lips a breath from yours. “Don't take what's mine? You walked back into my life. You took my money. You think that doesn't come with strings.”
The elevator chimed softly. The door opened, and Sunghoon stepped out. He was in a tailored coat, his cheeks flushed slightly from the cold night air. He saw you pressed against the console, Jake holding your wrist and a slow predatory grin spread across his face.
“Starting the party without me?” he shrugged off his coat, revealing a cashmere sweater. “I see the little mouse is all grown up and still playing hard to get.”
“She was just reminiscing about old times.” Jake said, but he still didn't let go of your wrist.
Sunghoon walked over, his eyes drinking you in. “I remember how tight your cunt felt around my fingers. How you shook.” He took your free hand, and placed it against the front of his trousers. You felt the hard, thick length of him through his trousers. “See? I remember very well.”
Panic, pure and electric shot through you. You tried yanking your hand free, but Jake's grip was iron.
“Let me go!”
“Shhh.” Jake murmured, his other hand coming up to stroke your cheek. It was a grotesque parody of tenderness. “You're going to be good for us, just like before. Only this time, we don't have to hide in a dusty music room.”
Sunghoon's hand slid from your hand to your hip, pulling you away from Jake and against him. His mouth found your neck, biting down on the tender skin where your pulse hammered. “Missed this.” he growled against your skin.
“Wait.” Jake said, his eyes gleaming with a new dark fire. He looked at Sunghoon. “She's still a virgin.”
Sunghoon pulled back, eyebrows raised. He looked at you, then back at Jake and a dark hungry laugh escaped him. “You're joking.” Sunghoon has his own doubts but a woman as attractive as you can’t be a virgin right? No wonder you felt so tight around his fingers on that day.
“I'm not.” Jake's gaze burned into you. “All these years…you saved it. For who? For us?” The concept seemed to intoxicate him. “You saved yourself for us.”
“No.” You choked out. “It's not like that.”
But they weren't listening. The revelation had flipped a switch, turning their cruel nostalgia into something ravenous, primal.
“Mine first.” Jake said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I found her again.”
Sunghoon's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. “Fine, but I get her after all. All of her.”
What followed was not a seduction. It was a reclamation.
Jake dragged you, struggling weakly, to a bedroom dominated by a huge, low platform bed. He threw you onto it. The duvet was cool silk.
“Take off your clothes.” It was the same command from six years ago, but his voice was deeper, more sure.
When you didn't move fast enough, Sunghoon was there, his hands efficient and cold. He unbuttoned your blouse, popped the clasp of your bra. His thumb rubbed over your nipples, pinching them hard enough to make you cry out.
“Good.” Jake muttered, ripping off his sweater. His torso is carved, a testament to personal trainers and privilege. “So responsive.”
They both undressed and the sight of them–both fully erect, both solely focused on you–was paralyzing. This was planned, inevitable.
Jake climbed onto the bed, kneeling between your legs. He pushed them apart, his gaze fixed on the core of you. “Look at this. Untouched. All for me.”
He didn't kiss you. He didn't prepare you. He spat into his hand, slicked himself roughly and pushed the head of his cock against your entrance.
“Please.” You begged, tears streaming sideways into your hair. “Please, jake don't–”
He shoved in.
The pain was white-hot, tearing, a violation so complete it stole your breath. You screamed, a raw sound.
He stilled, buried inside you, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes were wide, dark with a frenzy of possession. “Fuck.” He breathed. “So fucking tight. All for me.” He began to move, shallow brutal thrusts that made you sob with each one.
Besides you, Sunghoon watched, stroking himself. He leaned over, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, biting and sucking until it was sore and peaked. His hand replaced his mouth, pinching and twisting as Jake drove into you.
“That's it. That's it.” Jake grunted, his pace increasing. He was lost in it, in the conquest. “You're mine now. Really mine. My virgin. My girl.”
The pain began to morph, mixed with a treacherous, unwanted slickness your body produced out of sheer trauma. Jake groaned, feeling it.
“She's getting wet.” he panted to Sunghoon. “She likes it.”
“She knows her place.” Sunghoon agreed, his voice strained. He moved down the bed, pushing your legs wider apart from Jake. You felt his tongue, hot and flat, licking through the mess where Jake was joined to you. The intimacy of it, the degradation was a new low. You squeezed your eyes shut.
“Look at me.” Jake ordered, grabbing your chin. “Look at me while I take what's mine.”
You opened your eyes. His face was a mask of ecstatic ownership. He was close. His thrusts became erratic, pounding.
“Gonna come inside you.” He gasped, “Gonna fill you up. Put my baby in you. Would you like that? Being the mother of my child? Having my money, my name, forever?”
The words were a nightmare. You shook your head weakly.
“Too late.”He snarled, and with a final deep grind, he came. You felt the hot, foreign rush of him inside you, claiming you in the most fundamental way possible. He collapsed on top of you for a moment, his weight crushing, his breath hot on your neck.
He pulled out, rolling off. You were exposed, used, dripping.
Before you could even process the emptiness, Sunghoon was moving. He pushed your limb legs apart.
“My turn.”
He didn't ask. He just pushed in. The stretch was different, another layer of violation. He was rougher, angrier, as if furious he hadn't been first. He fucked you with a punishing rhythm, one hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back.
“You remember this, don't you?” he hissed in your ear. “you remember taking me in your mouth? You're taking me better now, Deeper.”
Jake recovered beside you, his hand roaming over your stomach, your breasts. He seemed fascinated by the sight of a sunghoon moving inside you, by your complete submission.
“Look at her.” Jake murmured, his fingers tracing the bite marks on your breast. “She's perfect.”
Sunghoon's pace became frantic. He released your hair, his hand gripping your hips, slamming into you so hard that the bedframe knocked against the wall.
“Gonna breed you too.” He grunted, a vicious echo of Jake. “Let you figure out which one of us is the father. Wouldn't that be fun?”
He came with a choked shout, pumping into you, adding his release to Jake's already leaking from you.
Silence, broken only by their heavy breathing and your shattered sobs.
Sunghoon pulled out. You curl onto your side, a broken doll. The physical pain was deep, throbbing. The emotional devastation was absolute.
Jake got up first. You heard the shower turn on, sunghoon stayed, his hand stroking your bare back, a mockery of aftercare.
“You did well.” He said, his voice back to its cool detached tone. “Better than high school.”
Jake returned, towel around his waist. He looked at you, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Get cleaned up. There's a guest bath down the hall.”
You didn't move.
His expressions hardened. “Now, y/n unless you want me to carry you.”
The use of your first name, now, after everything, was its own violation. You forced your battered body to move, clutching the silk sheet to your chest. You stumbled to the bathroom, locking the door. In the mirror, a stranger stared back–mascara smudged, lips swollen, neck and breasts mottled with bruises and bite marks. You were ruined.
When you emerged, wearing your torn clothes, they were in the living room, drinking whiskey. They looked like two kings after a successful hunt.
“You did well, love.” Jake’s voice was a soft purr as he strode toward you, making your breath hitch. He leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a mockery of a kiss. When you didn’t open your mouth, he bit your lower lip—sharp and insistent—forcing a gasp from you. His tongue slid inside, claiming your mouth with a slow, possessive sweep. It lasted only seconds, but it felt like hours, another violation dressed as affection.
He pulled back and stroked your cheek with his thumb, a gesture tender enough to make your stomach turn. It was the exact opposite of the way they had manhandled you just minutes before.
“A car will take you home,” Sunghoon said, not bothering to look at you as he straightened his cufflinks. “We’ll see you at the office. You’ll be taking the minutes.”
Just like that, you were dismissed.
You were ushered into the elevator, then back out into the night—a fundamentally changed person. The girl who had walked into that penthouse was gone. In her place was what they had made you: theirs.
[♡]
Monday morning you sat at your desk, every movement was a painful reminder. The high-necked blouse didn't quite cover the bruise on your neck. Jake strode out of his office, sunghoon at his side. They both paused by your desk.
Jake dropped a small, velvet box next to your keyboard. “A little something for your….dedication,” he said, loud enough for nearby interns to hear.
Inside was a pair of diamond studs, extravagant and cold.
Sunghoon leaned down, as if to examine them. His lips brushed your ear. “Wear them. So everyone knows who you belong to.”
He straightened up and looked at Jake. “So, the fertility center investment? I think it's a solid move. Growing market.”
Jake's eyes stayed on you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Absolutely. I'm very interested in…family planning. Long term Investments.”
They walked away, their laughter trailing behind them.
You looked down at the diamonds, then at the hospital bill on your screen–partially paid, with a new, zero-balance alert. The price was etched on your skin, in your body, on your soul.
You had escaped them once. This time, there was no graduation bell to save you. This time, the lesson was forever. You put the earrings in, the weight of them a permanent, glittering chain.
[♡]