𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧ . Eren, Ony and Connie have a crush on the same woman: the cute, sweet and autistic girl always dressed in pink who works in the restaurant next to their university. Eren loves you because you're so soft when he's so rough, Only loves you because you're always so polite with him, Connie loves you because he has a thing for chubby women like you. You’re always so shy with them, you have no idea to what extent they want to ruin you. When at a college party they find you crying because your boyfriend Jean cheated on you, they offer you revenge with them. You’re a good girl who has never done anything too freaky with anyone so you don’t really know how to handle three dicks inside you. But don’t worry, they will take good care of you. And show you that you can be loved exactly as you are.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 10.3k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, college au, hyper feminine autistic reader w/ social anxiety, hispanic!connie, plug!eren, basketball!player!ony, pervert stuff & stalking, polyamory, romance, affection, reassurance, male friendships, connie calls you ‘mami’ and ‘princesa’, ‘sweetheart/baby/bitch’ by eren, ‘baby/love/mama’ by ony, hard!dom!eren, soft!dom!ony, submissive!connie, gay ass stuff between the boys, mild daddy kink with eren, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, masturbation, choking, blowjob, handjob, vaginal sex, rough sex, gentle sex, shower sex, standing sex, somno, double penetration, consensual recording, hair pulling, overstimulation, cumming on face, crying from pleasure, titty fucking, slapping, dumbification but on a man !
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . finally a new fic since january!!!! very SCARED of your reactions because my characterization of the boys isn't that popular so i hope yall will like it <333
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 + 𝐨𝐧𝐲 + 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
‘Kiss of Life’ by Sade was playing in the restaurant, making you hum along as you cleaned the tables left by the last customers. Nearby, Eren, Ony, and Connie were watching you intently, as usual.
“Shazam that song, she seems to like it,” Eren ordered Connie, nudging him.
Connie lazily looked up from his phone to look at his best friend. “It's Sade. You have no memory, 'Ren. She always hums when one of their songs, come on.”
He still used Shazam to find out the exact name of the song and added it to the ‘sweet baby’ playlist that he, Eren, and Ony had created to catalog all your favorite songs.
“She's wearing a new dress,” Ony noticed. The three boys' eyes ran over your body.
You were wearing a new dress that you had bought the day before. It hugged your chubby body perfectly, stopping halfway up your thick thighs. The pale pink fabric brought out the luminous glow of your brown skin. Made of satin and molding to your curves in the most exquisite way, with thin straps that barely supported your breasts, the ribbon bow at the center of your chest made your sexy outfit cute. Your long braids was tied in a low bun held by a ribbon bow at the back, leaving your pretty round face uncovered. Your eyelids were enhanced with glittery pink eyeshadow, your long false eyelashes made your gaze so seductive, and your lips were glossy, looking so delicious. A literal angel. Eren, Ony, and Connie would eat you up if they could.
Eren adjusted his bulge in his black sweatpants and tried to look away so as not to worsen his erection by staring at you, while Connie and Ony were still staring, completely unashamed of looking like creeps. Your Mary Jane heels clicked on the floor as you walked around the restaurant taking orders from your little notebook, and when you arrived at the three men's table, your eyes lit up, happy to see them.
They were your favorite customers. They'd been coming to eat at the restaurant three times a week for at least a year. You didn't know how they'd managed to always be there during your shifts—Connie had threatened your boss to give him your work schedule—but it was always a pleasure to see them. They always complimented you and were so sweet to you, nothing like the old men who had wives and looked at you with lust in their eyes.
The most intimidating one was Eren. He was always dressed in black with a hood over his head that hid his face, but you could glimpse his neck tattoos peeking out from under his hoodie. His eyes were always hald-lidded and red from weed, staring intensely into your soul when you took his order, sending shivers down your spine. He was known as the university's plug; you'd never used his services, but his deep voice spoke to you so sweetly that you considered buying from him so he could talk to you privately.
The friendliest was Ony. Compared to Eren's dark appearance, Ony exuded light. You would have to be a psychoapth to not to like Ony's intelligence and kindness. He loved fashion and taking care of himself, you both always talked about skincare and clothes. He played basketball on your university team, making him the most popular of the trio. You loved learning about his sport, and hear the passion in his voice when he talked about Lamelo Ball. He was a bit of a star on campus but was the least arrogant man you'd ever met, always smiling softly when you talked to him, making you feel so safe and care for.
The most flirtatious was Connie. You could never look him in the eye when he called you ‘princesa’, joking about how you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. You never knew if he called you ‘mami’ just because it was normal for latino men, or if he was actually trying to flirt with you. Like Eren, he often wore his hood up, hiding his eyebrow piercings, but he wasn't as intimidating. He always had a teasing glint in his eyes that made you flutter.
“Hey,” you said shyly, approaching their table.
As always, Eren was stoned out, his pupils dilated as he looked at you, making your spine tingle. Ony’s lips curved into a smile, clenching his tattooed hand to bump his fists against yours.
You didn’t have any friends because of your social anxiety, only Jean as a boyfriend, so it always made you happy when they treated you like one of their own, even though they were just regular customers you sometimes ran into at university.
“The usual?” you asked, already knowing what they were going to order. A cheeseburger with fries for Ony (don’t tell Reiner, his coach, that he loves that), a steak with fries for Eren, and a salad for Connie.
“No, I want something sweeter today,” Connie replied, leaning back against the back of his chair. Eren smirked, understanding perfectly what his best friend really wanted.
“You just want dessert today?” You tilted your head.
Ony’s eyes softened; you looked so cute with your head cocked to the side.
“Nah.” Connie’s voice grew seductive. “Just you.”
Your autistic brain, which didn’t quite grasp irony and sarcasm, made you wear a confused expression. “Hm, what do you mean?”
Connie just licked his lips, his gaze lingering on your fat thighs. “Nothing, mami.”
“Is that a new dress?” Ony asked, tugging at the hem. “You always wear frilly dresses.”
“Yes!” you exclaimed, enthusiastic and all smiles. You loved fashion so much; you were happy that Ony, who was also a fashion boy, noticed your new clothes. “My boyfriend said frills were childish, so I’m trying out a new style.”
The trio frowned and looked at each other, silently saying, “We should kill that motherfucker.”
“Break up with him,” Eren advised, his face hard.
You shook your head, your heart squeezing painfully at the thought of leaving the only man who accepted your autism without judging you. “N-No, it’s okay.” You looked at your feet, your lips trembling as you realized that the only reason you were with Jean was because he didn’t make you feel different from other girls, not because you actually loved him. You needed so much validation from others.
Ony caressed your thigh, sliding his hand up under your dress to grasp the plushness.
“Hey, it’s okay, baby. ‘Ren is kidding.’”
“I’m dead serious, man.”
Ony's gentle caresses on your skin relaxed you, and your autistic brain didn't really grasp that this was inappropriate contact between friends. You just thought he was being kind. Your face softened, and Ony took a perverse pleasure in exploiting your lack of understanding of social cues.
After the chef prepared their meals, you brought them. As you placed the tray on their tables, you dropped a glass, which shattered. You apologized and bent down to pick up the shards, the skirt of your dress lifting up. Eren glanced at your ass, now visible to everyone, lingering on the way your panties molded your folds. His gut twisted in arousal.
“Connie, take a picture,” Eren whispered.
“I’m your lapdog or something? I only like orders from her, idiot,” Connie muttered but silently took a picture of your body under your dress. They had a whole dossier like that. Photos of you smiling at other customers, photos of you space-outing, photos of you studying in the university library… They were perverts. And stalkers. They didn't really care that it was wrong.
When you finally picked up your mess from the floor, you gave them a shy smile that accentuated their secret erections before walking away.
What a cute angel. You had no idea these men were devils.
────────
'I saw Jean with a girl at a frat party, I'm so sorry sweetheart I think he's cheating on you :(('
Your stomach dropped when you saw Sasha's text message, your world crumbled in minutes.
It wasn't possible.
You and Jean had been together for two years. You'd experienced all your firsts with him. He was the first boy who didn't think you were too much, the first boy who didn't seem to see your autism as a burden, the first boy who made you believe that a weird girl like you could finally be loved. He couldn't have cheated on you. Jean loved you. He told you every day. You weren't too much for him. Please, you hope it was a misunderstanding.
You got out of bed, where you'd been studying your botany books, and went to your closet. You'd never been to a frat party because your social anxiety made it difficult for you. Places where there were too many people scared you too. You preferred to stay safe in your apartment, in your bed with satin sheets and stuffed with plushies.
You slipped into a pink denim skirt, a matching bustier top, and your white Naked Wolfe platform boots. You let your long pale pink goddess braids cascade down your back, hoping your outfit was cool enough for a frat party and people wouldn’t overdose with all the pink on you.
Sasha sent you the address, and you left your apartment with a knot in your stomach.
A two-year relationship couldn't end like this. Jean loved you, right? You weren't some unlovable woman who was going to end up alone for the rest of her life, were you?
You clutched the strap of your bag, looking at the floor as you entered the frat house. You didn't want to see the sea of students; it would trigger a panic attack. Rap music blasted from the party's big speakers; maybe a Big Boogie song. People laughed and yelled along to the lyrics. The smell of alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana were everywhere, and you felt like you were in hell. There were too many stimuli all around you, enveloping you and making your brain confused, unable to function properly.
You raised your head, your heart pounding. You had to look around to find Jean. You inspected the ground floor, trying to ignore how your body stiffened when you brushed against the sweaty bodies of the dancers. You hated physical contact because of your autism; you needed to be in a comfortable environment to be touched because of your sensory issues. Sex needed to be gradual.
And then, as you climbed the stairs, reaching the first floor, you saw him.
Pressing Mikasa's body against the wall, his head buried in her neck, his hips grinding into her.
You stood paralyzed, watching them, your heart aching.
You knew Mikasa well. She was a goth girl who was in the same major as Jean. You'd already seen them hanging out together, and Jean had told you she was just a friend.
You didn't yell that he was an asshole. You didn't try to separate them.
You turned around, went downstairs, and left the fraternity house to sit on the sidewalk.
Was it because she understood sarcasm and didn't need the same jokes repeated to her to get the humor?
Was it because she knew how to be quiet when she was passionate about something instead of yapping for hours about a topic nobody cared about, annoying everyone around you?
Was it because she didn't shut down when she was upset?
Was it because she knew how to recognize her feelings when she experienced strong emotions instead of being unable to speak and explain what she felt?
Was it because she didn't need childish things like plushies for comfort?
Was it because she was interested in grown-up things instead of being obsessed with dolls?
You wrapped your arms around your knees and let the tears flow.
As always, because of your autism, you never knew what you were feeling and struggled to identify your emotions. Was it heartbreak? You weren't even in love with Jean. He was just a boy who gave you attention when everyone else rejected you.
No, it was failure.
Failure because you were both not enough and too much. You just wanted to curl up in bed, hug your plushies tightly, and forget that you were an unlovable woman.
To make matters worse, a torrential downpour soaked your clothes, making them wet and sticky, sending shivers of discomfort down your spine. You hated it when your clothes felt too tight because of your sensory issues; it almost hurt and could cause meltdowns.
A flashback of Jean telling you he loved you in the missionary position and that you were his favorite girl intensified your tears.
Could you really blame Jean?
Who would want a girl like you?
A shy girl who was scared of eye contact, never spoke in public, and barely managed to hold a conversation without getting distracted.
You wished you were a normal girl. You wished you were better at hiding your symptoms. You wished you fit in more easily in society.
“Who stole your smile, mami?” A deep voice boomed in front of you, and someone flicked your forehead. You lifted your teary eyes and met Connie's gaze. Next to him, Eren had his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, his hood still pulled up, but you could see his concerned expression. Ony held a coat over you to keep the rain from soaking you even more.
You parted your lips, trying to speak, but no words came out. You felt so many emotions that your brain couldn't function anymore. You were happy to see them; they always brightened your day, but tonight, you were so depressed. You failed at love. You were unlovable.
The combination of your clothes clinging to your skin, the loud music blasting from the frat house, and your pain—you just buried your head in your thighs, ignoring everything around you.
Several muscular arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground, and when you raised your head, you were sitting in a car with them.
They drove for a good hour on purpose so you could calm down and refocus on your bodily sensations. The silence of the car calmed your distress for a moment, and you remained silent until they drove you to their apartment.
You were so depressed that you followed them without a word to their place, instead of asking them for a ride home. When you entered their living room, you sat on their couch, staring at the floor.
Eren casually slumped down next to you and put an arm around your shoulders.
“Where is my bubbly girl?”
“Dead,” you muttered.
He chuckled lowly.
“Don’t say stuff like this, I would be very heartbroken if you died.”
“I doubt it.” You were playing with the bottom of your skirt. “You will replace me easily like my boyfriend did when he cheated on me.”
Eren glanced at Ony, seeming to say ‘emotional stuff is for you, man’, and Ony sat down next to you. He placed his hand on your thick thigh, squeezing the plushness, his voice gentle.
“He cheated on you?”
You nodded, silently. There was nothing else to say.
“You don’t feel like you can change him and the need to go back to him like some abused women do?” Connie asked, standing with his hands in the pockets of his pants.
“Not really. I think it’s clear I wasn’t the right woman for him.”
“You mean, he wasn’t the right man for you,” Eren corrected.
“No.” You shook your head. “I don’t blame him.”
Connie tsked.
“Princesa, you talk like those abused women.”
“Yeah,” Ony joined the conversation, “I don’t like how you’re talking right now, mama.”
Your eyes watered again as you thought of all the reasons Jean was right to cheat on you.
“You don’t understand,” you sniffed.
Eren leaned against you, his warm breath caressing your neck as he spoke into your ear, his deep voice making you shiver.
“Then explain, sweetheart.”
Ony kissed the tears that were running down your chubby cheeks, and you suddenly felt strangely cared for. Like a warm blanket over your bruised heart. Wrapped in gentle warmth. In the light of affection, not the darkness of rejection.
Maybe they'll understand if you explain? Maybe you weren't really alone in the world?
“I was homeschooled because I had school phobia,” you said shyly. They all listened attentively without saying a word. “I didn't understand the children around me, so it created anxiety. I didn't learn how to mask my autism because I was never in contact with the outside world and my parents were overprotective. So, I just… live my life without hiding my symptoms.”
“That's actually a good thing, you're sincere,” Connie commented, kneeling down to rest his head on your lap. You ran your hands over his bleached buzzcut, your autistic brain fascinated by the feel of his short, freshly shaved hair. Heat rushed to your cheeks when you realized you were the center of attention, making you even more timid than you already were.
“Not really,” you hesitated, “you need to mask your autism to fit in. Only people who want to be outcasts don’t mask it.”
“I’m an asshole, I don’t try to soften up for people, and I have a very good social life,” Eren grumbled, absolutely disagreeing with what you were saying. You didn’t need to perform a personality that wasn’t yours to be accepted; just being yourself was enough.
“That’s right, Eren is the worst person I know.”
Eren glared at Ony who had said that, his brown, lidded eyes shooting daggers, but Ony smirked at him.
“What’s your point, mami? Are you saying Jean cheated on you because you’re not masking your autism?” Connie ignored these two best friends, focused on your suffering.
Your breath hitched when you gazed into his eyes and saw only care, concern, and affection.
“I’m just saying… Maybe if I was a normal girl, maybe he wouldn’t—”
“You know what to do when a boy cheats on you?” He cut in.
You shook your head.
“You show him you’re wanted elsewhere.” He lifted the hem of your skirt to place kisses on your plush thighs, his lips soft against your skin.
“W-Wait,” his kisses made you tickle, “Connie, you’re—”
“Get revenge on that bastard with us.” Eren buried his head in your neck, and your body warmed as you felt his hot tongue on your flesh. Ony slipped his hand under your top to knead one of your breasts. His hand was so large it enveloped it perfectly, making you flustered.
Your brain was in overdrive. Just seconds before, you had been crying because you were suffering from your disability, and now three hot men were kissing and touching you intimately.
An hour ago, you would have pushed them away because you had a boyfriend, but now?
Your freaky side had awakened, your cunt throbbing at the thought of letting yourself be manhandled by three men.
“How do I get revenge?” You whispered, your voice sounding innocent as if you weren't squeezing your thighs together to hide the smell of your arousal from Connie.
“You know damn well, sweetheart,” Eren chuckled before catching a piece of your skin between his teeth and sucking it vociferously. A wave of heat snaked through your lower abdomen and up your upper body, warming your entire being.
Your cheeks burned, feeling slutty for even liking the attention the three men were giving you.
Connie took his phone out of his jeans pocket, turned on the camera to record a video. He spread your legs and lifted your skirt, filming your clothed pussy where a wet spot resided.
“You’re gonna show that dumbass that if he doesn’t want you, other men will take good care of you,” he asserted, rubbing his fingers on the darker part of your panties, making you shiver.
You didn't think Jean would really care if you were getting laid by other men; he'd already shown enough that he didn't give a damn about you. But you said nothing, because part of you was thrilled at the idea of a foursome.
When you were 18, you had a list of things you wanted to experience once you were cured of your social anxiety. Group sex was one of the things on the list. You were a freaky girl, what can you say? It was time to make one of your dreams come true.
“You’re not gonna eat her out before me,” Eren pushed Connie’s head from between your legs.
“Nobody likes chubby women more than me, so yeah, I’m gonna eat her out first.” Connie bit Eren’s hand before nibbling at the inside of your thighs. “Right, baby? Nobody likes your body more than me?” He looked up at you, his voice sultry.
Before you could answer, Eren’s hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you closer. You gasped, your breath coming in the tightness of the pressure, and when you turned your head toward him, his intense eyes made you swallow hard. There was something terrifying about him in that moment.
“Don’t even answer his question, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I love you more than him.” He crushed his lips against yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. An electric current pulsed beneath your skin. You closed your eyes, enjoying the intensity of the kiss. There was something about Eren's intimidating aura that made you want to be an obedient girl, fulfilling his every desire and simply pleasing him. You moaned into the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, kissing you as if he had something to prove. His hand tightened around your throat, making sure you knew who was in charge.
When he pulled away, your eyes fluttered open. His gaze was burning hot, and you almost wanted to tell everyone to leave so he could kiss you like that all night.
Ony's eyes narrowed when he saw the interaction between you and Eren. That bastard. Eren had always been possessive; it didn't surprise him that he was trying to monopolize you.
There had always been a kind of tension between the three boys. As many people said, there was always a duo in a trio, and that was the case with them. Ony and Connie always teamed up to annoy Eren, ragebaiting him and provoking his anger issues.
Now that they were in love with the same girl, it was a race to see who would be your favorite. Ony could no longer count on Connie to beat Eren; he had to assert himself.
While Eren was dominant, Ony was the gentlest man alive. Most of his exes had left him because he was too nice, but he wasn't heartbroken. He didn't want to become a bully like Eren to be appreciated for who he truly was. He was going to find a girl who would find comfort in his kindness, not get bored by his loving caresses, and be satisfied by his gentle side. He was determined to make sure that girl was you.
“Stop choking her, that's not how you treat the girl of your dreams.”
“I touch her however I want. She seems to like it, doesn't she ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚?”
You looked back and forth between Eren and Ony, silent before giggling softly.
“I like you both.”
“Nah, you need to choose someone.” Eren’s hand around your throat moved down to caress your pudgy belly beneath your top, and he sucked on your earlobe. Ony lifted your top to just above your breasts before leaning down to take your nipple in his mouth. You didn't even think about sucking in your stomach or trying to position yourself in a way that would lessen the sagness of your breasts. You were comfortable, felt pretty under their hands and lips, your body hot all over.
Connie slapped your thigh.
“Stop focusing on these useless men, mami,” he muttered.
He caressed your clothed core, making gentle back-and-forth movements that transformed into circular motions around your clit. His hot breath on you, his intense gaze, and his calloused fingers against you were an explosive cocktail that already had you trembling.
“Sensitive as fuck,” he chuckled. “Autism or you’re just needy?”
“Both,” you breathed shyly.
The wet patch grew larger as Connie played with your clothed pussy. A frenzy took hold of your body. The atmosphere was perfect, the touches were intentional and tailored to your needs; you didn't feel overwhelmed by the sensory stimulation. Ony's mouth on your breast, Eren's teeth on your lob, and Connie's fingers pressing against you… It was so simple, yet perfect.
You rocked your hips against Connie's hands. “I want more, please.” Your neediness was barely concealed in your voice.
Connie smirked. “Yeah? What does my girl want?”
"Um… You know what I want," you whispered, feeling so shy you would have hidden under the sofa if you could. Being a shy, introverted girl in a freak body was a nightmare. You wanted to be slutted out so badly but struggled to get there.
"You have no game, Connie," Eren mocked, his hand still gently caressing your stomach. His petty laugh was hoarse and sent waves of pleasure into your center.
Connie ignores his best friend and slowly took off your panties. You hated thongs and very thin panties with your sensory issues, you were glad nobody made fun of your plain pink cotton underwear.
When he looked at your bare pussy, he had the same glint he had when he called you a ‘tremendo mango’ at the restaurant. For many weeks, you thought it was a cute way of showing appreciation with a fruit metaphor before googling and realizing it was a compliment on your looks in Cuba.
“So pretty.” The tip of his fingers wandered over the gossy folds just to feel your wetness and touch your cunt swollen with desire and expectation.
“Do you like sexual stimulation?” Ony asked gently, his tongue curling around your other brown nipple.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” You said, clueless, shivering again at Eren’s open-mouthed kisses on your neck.
“I mean sex toys and temperature play.”
Your lips parted in anticipation.
“If it’s gradual and we stop when it’s too much, I think it’s okay,” you smiled.
Ony was jealous of Connie at that moment because he would have eaten you for days for that cute expression.
Ony left the room, already missing his tongue on your body. But Eren’s on your neck was divine. He wasn’t ashamed to devour your neck, sucking on the bits of skin he had caught between his teeth, making you dizzy.
Connie set up his phone so he could film you and have his hands free. He sank his fingers between your lips, parting them, and the way he inspected your flesh made you nervous, but the sensation was so good, he chuckled every time you clenched your thighs too much.
“Focus on the top, please, Connie,” you said, trembling with longing to feel his touch on your clit.
“Nah. You’re not dominant enough for my submissive side, I’m bored.”
You widened your eyes as he withdrew his fingers and, in a panic, you grabbed his head, pressing it against your pussy. The vibrations of his laughter against you sent waves of electricity through your body, and when his tongue lapped through the folds, you saw stars. Ony returned with mysterious toys in his hands and glared at Connie, who had the chance to taste you first. You thought Ony was going to use the objects on you, but he sat down next to you and resumed sucking your nipples greedily, as if preparing you and testing waters. One hand on Connie's buzzcut, pressing it against you, the other on Ony's short black hair—with a fresh new fade because he doesn't play about his appearance, just like you (#besties)—you felt like a queen with her loyal maids existing to please you.
Eren had practically become a vampire with all the little bites he'd made on your neck.
"I could eat you up," he whispered, nuzzling you. "Why do you smell so good?"
“Well, to make perfume last longer, it’s recommended to start with a cream and then layer it with oils, butters, mists, and even Vaseline so it lasts longer. You also need a perfume with a high concentration, not just an eau de toilette—”
He bit you so hard you let out a pained moan.
“Nerdy ass.”
“She’s right, though,” Ony joined the conversation, leaving your nipples alone. “Men need to stop with cheap cologne and buy pure perfume. They buy Savage by Dior and are still surprised they don’t have game.”
“Not everyone is a self-care nerd like you, Ony,” Eren chuckled. “Opinion on Maison Crivelli?”
“You’re trying too hard to be niche, just buy Creed Aventus or some Armani stuff.”
“It’s $300, dumb ass.”
“You’re a rich plug, ‘Ren. But I would buy it for you if you weren’t the ban of my existence.”
“Is this… What they call ‘bromance’?” you added to the conversation in a frail voice because the way Connie was eating you out… You tried not to make a fool of yourself by whimpering like a dog in heat.
“More like rivalry,” Eren said, mock-disdain in his voice.
“He’s jealous because I’m taking care of you while he’s hurting you with his teeth,” Ony teased, clipping a nipple clamp to your little finger to check if the intensity of the fixed pressure and tension wasn’t too overwhelming. After receiving your blessing, he clipped them to your nipples, the silver chain connecting them contrasting with your princess-like appearance.
It felt a little painful… but the pain was exquisite, a sensation you hadn’t experienced before. You were discovering a masochistic side to yourself today.
“She looks so pretty like this,” Eren murmured, staring at your body. “I feel like I’m going to ruin her if I touch her more.” He put a little distance between you to unbutton his jeans and free his heavy erection.
Connie stopped eating you out for a moment. He collected a lot of your arousal on his hand to spread it on Eren's dick, making masturbation easier. You looked at Eren, amazed that he wasn't bothered by his best friend touching his cock. He smirked.
"Brotherhood, baby."
You burst out laughing but ended up moaning as Connie went back into business.
Ony and Eren glanced at each other, both captivated by the way you arched your back on the couch, your chest rising and falling, your lips agape.
Ony kissed your arm, along the length of it, as Eren shamelessly stroked his dick while staring at you.
"Ony, you need to fuck her first. I'm going to overwhelm her, I'll save my turn for last," Eren proposed, his voice raspier as his hand worked itself over.
"I like the way you're thinking," Ony smiled against your skin, happy to be the first. Connie's tongue traced around your clit. He was having fun. Sometimes he pressed the tip of his tongue against your clit without moving, to make you whimper; sometimes he made circles over it to make you tremble; or most of the time he avoided touching it so as not to overstimulate you and lapped through the folds. The combination of Ony's kisses returning to your neck, the nipple claws, Connie's tongue, and the sounds of Eren's hand rubbing together made you feel like you were overheating, until you finally exploded. It wasn't spectacular; your autism made you struggle to show big emotions on your face, but Connie and Ony caught the way your body was wracked with spasms and your lip was bitten.
"Now get out of the way." Ony pushed Connie aside, who was laughing at his best friend's excitement.
Connie got up from the floor and picked up his phone to be the cameraman again. Ony laid you down on the couch, resting your head on Eren's lap. Eren smirked at you, looking down at you, his erection just next to your shy face.
“Are we going to do double penetration at some point? Because I need to be prepared, it can hurt,” you said softly, anxiously. Your autistic brain needed to know all the preparations and plan everything in advance so you wouldn't be surprised when it happened. You constantly needed clear instructions and reassurance.
The three of them let out a quiet laugh.
Eren used the hand that didn't touch his length to stroke the top of your head.
“You are prepared, don't worry.”
Ony removed his clothes, and your jaw dropped at the sight of all the tattoos that adorned his dark brown skin, making him look intimidating and even sexier now. He lay on top of you, the hard planes of his body pressed against your soft curves. You felt the definition of his muscles against you, the proof of his dedication to his sport.
His head above you, his beauty and his handsomeness made your cunt clench.
“Hey,” you whispered softly.
“Hey.” He smiled wrapping your thick thigh around his waist. “How do you want it, love?”
You wrapped an arm around his neck, pressing him against you. “Slow and deep.”
“I’m gonna give you that.”
“I’m not this filming this sappy shit,” Connie grumbled.
“Yeah, they are acting as if my dick isn’t aching right now. The fuck you mean slow?” Eren added.
Ony and you ignored them. He kissed you as he lined his dick to your entrance and pushed his hips in. Your eyes widened at the size difference with Jean, and glanced at Eren, who also had a large one. Feeling full, you had trouble breathing as he bottomed out, and then being able to do it again when he moved his hips backward.
Ony felt Eren’s jealous glare in the back of his head and chuckled.
“Take care of my friend, baby,” he commanded.
With your free hand, you jerked your wrist to jerk Eren's cock, while Ony fucked you. Eren let out a groan of relief at the contact of your hand.
“Such a versatile girl,” Connie teased, making you flustered.
Ony was a precise man. He hated jackhammering during sex. All his thrusts were calculated to please his partner, not just to ejaculate. He was gentle, but incredibly intense. Slow thrusts didn’t mean no hard thrusts. So he angled his hips perfectly so that every time he hit the depth of your pussy, he struck a sensitive spot that made your chubby body tremble even if his pace was slow. The way your curves jiggled with his every move was mesmerizing, and all three men’s eyes in the room were fixed on you.
Your hand ran along Eren’s length, squeezing sometimes, stroking most of the time, as you moaned because of Ony fucking you. His hips slammed so hard against you, feeling so good, while still being gentle; this man was crazy. How was that possible? You hugged him more, wanting to make love with him forever.
Eren’s hand twitched at the top of your head, his breathing ragged. He didn't even contain his arousal for long and let himself cum on your face. You let out a chuckle at the surprise of the action. Ony leaned down to lick some of it on your cheek.
“Why are all of you so gay?” you asked, confused.
“Shhhh,” Ony pressed his lips against yours, continuing his slow love making
“Okay, Ony your time is up,” Eren muttered, punching Ony in the shoulder. Ony groaned, not even that close from release but agreed to withdraw from you. Eren cleaned your face with a tissue before placing a kiss on your forehead.
You let them manipulate your body into whatever position they wanted. You were now sitting on Connie, who had given the camera to Ony, with Eren positioned behind you.
You knew Eren was aggressive. You could feel it in his aura and the way he spoke to people. So, as both dicks slid inside you, your heart pounded with the excitement of being manhandled. It took a little while to adjust to the two cocks inside you, but once you were comfortable, Connie murmured, "Kiss me." You leaned down to give him what he needed.
You rocked your hips, Eren's and Connie's hands on them for the moment. Eren was dangerously calm as you rode Connie, and didn't give him much friction. The sweat that had accumulated on your back intensified as you thought about when Eren would snap and show his true colors.
“Boring,” he finally snapped, grabbing a handful of your braids and pulling them back, making you gasp.
On his knees on the couch, his hips moved back and forth at a punishing pace. Absolutely no attempt at a gradual rhythm to get you used to it; he didn’t care about your whimpers. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it.
Connie kept his hands on your hips, guiding them to gyrate on him. Sometimes, his hands moved up to touch your love handles, kneading your softness.
“The way we don’t need any lube,” Ony joked, moving closer to the trio, nudging his dick against your cheek while filming your flustered reaction. “You think you take three dicks inside you, baby?”
You nodded softly, wanting to please him. Eren released your hair to let you lean down to take Ony’s dick in your mouth. But Eren picked up the pace even more, hand on your back.
You almost choked on Ony’s dick with the aggressiveness of Eren’s thrusts, and the worst part was that Ony pushed his hips anyway. You looked up at him in surprise and he gave you a little smirk, zooming in on your betrayed expression.
“What is it? Your mouth is full of dick, you can’t tell me how betrayed you are that I have a bit of Eren in me. Poor you.”
Ony’s tone became more petty and you moaned on his dick, turned on by this new change of event. You hoped he would still have mostly his gentle side, but you don’t mind his mean side sometimes.
“Bounce that ass, bitch. You’re not doing enough for me,” Eren muttered.
Eren’s frantic pace made you gargling with Ony’s dick, the sound of it making the three men growl. Ony fed you his cock with quick snap of his hips, hitting the deepest spot you can take him. Connie played with your breasts and nipples clamps as he lifted his own pelvic floor to penetrate you deeper. Eren still stroked your braids even though he fucked you like he hated your guts.
The video continued to play, filming the spectacle.
But the camera will never be enough to understand the pleasure you were currently feeling. Hearing Ony groan because of you made you feel powerful. The fact that Eren fucked you like an animal made you let go. And Connie, who was a mix of both but in a submissive way, made you feel understood, since he saw your lack of confidence.
Everything was perfect.
But as always, your disability ruined everything.
Maybe they'll get tired of you like Jean did because of it. You patted Ony's thigh to let him know you wanted to stop, and when the boys realized you were overstimulated, they stopped everything, including the video.
It was like you had needles everywhere, and even the touch of a feather was unbearable. Anxiety and discomfort paralyzed you. You couldn't speak until the sensory overload dissipated, and you just sat on the sofa staring at the floor, extremely embarrassed by how you felt in front of them.
────────
𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫…
They weren't making fun of you. They understood what was happening and turned off the lights to reduce sensory input and did breathing exercises with you. You begged them never to mention it again, it was so embarrassing and you felt bad about ruining everything, but they always reassured you that they didn't care.
Now, you were in a polyamorous relationship with them.
It happened so naturally. The day after they sent the video to Jean, you were bombarded with messages from him, but you ended up blocking him on Eren's orders. Sad about your breakup, Ony took you shopping with him, and Connie made you Cuban dishes that catered to your autistic food obsessions to comfort you.
After a few days, you had stopped thinking about Jean because you were always spending time with your new boyfriends.
They were all diametrically opposed, but all perfect for you.
────────
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
This should have stayed private between you and Sasha.
When she asked you who your favorite boyfriend was, you told her you loved them all equally for different reasons, but that Ony was the one you felt the most cared for with.
One day, Eren was on your phone for some random reason, and Sasha sent you a TikTok about couples, saying, "That's so Ony, no wonder he is your favorite boyfriend."
You never saw Eren so angry.
No matter how much you explained the nuance of your opinion, he wouldn't listen and was deeply hurt that you were had a favorite in your relationship with them.
Connie was nonchalant, so he couldn't care less, but he wasn't helping to ease the tension in the apartment because Eren had been in a constant sour mood since the incident. During the week you made love individually, and on weekends you had foursomes, but Eren had stopped participating in anything.
Eren always played the bad boy, but he was one of the most emotional men in the world.
But, thinking about it, you understood why he was so hurt.
You and Eren had a somewhat special relationship. It had taken you weeks to get used to calling him by the word he wanted to hear from you, because it was new to you. But he deserved it. He lived up to the word. He had punched a guy at a frat party who had made fun of you for not talking much. He was the one who knew the signs of your sensory overload best. He gave you advice on how to earn more respect. He was all about making yourself respected, protected, and taken care of. A dad.
Of course, he was hurt that you felt more cared for by Ony than with him, just because Ony was gentler. It made him feel bad about his personality, about himself. He didn't want to be the favorite, but he didn't want to be one of the least liked of your quartet either.
“Eren, you're such a child,” you pouted when he continued to ignore you while he played Final Fantasy XV on the big TV in your apartment.
“You literally have stim toys,” he mumbled, not an ounce of gentleness in his voice, his jaw clenched.
“A real daddy wouldn't act like that.”
That's when you annoyed him. He threw his controller onto the couch, abandoning Noctis character, and ran after you. You screamed as he charged toward you and started running all over the apartment. Instinctively, you went into his room—big mistake. Eren locked the door and grabbed your braids, pulling you against his muscular chest. Eren had a sleeper build, thin from the outside, a greek god once naked.
“And a daddy wouldn’t fuck his daughter so what is your point, huh?” Eren mumbled.
You nuzzle his hard chest, not finding the comfort you can find in Connie’s body which is less muscular and softer. “Connie is better for hugging, like a real daddy,” you teased him.
“Strip.”
“Uh?”
“You’re going to learn who is really taking care of you in this house.”
── .✦ 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫…
“I’m so sorry!” you cried, but it didn’t matter since Eren had pushed your face into the pillow. All your pleas, screams, and cries were muffled now. The only thing that could be heard was Eren’s ragged and your flesh bumping against each other. The backshots were crazy, and he wished he could send this to Connie.
“Sorry for what? Disobeying dad? Making fun of me? Be specific because you’ve been a really bad kid lately and it pissed me off,” he panted, picking up the pace, if that was even possible.
Your tears soaked the pillow and intensified as he thrust into you. It felt so good; before Eren, you didn’t know you could have sex like this because of your sensory issues. But it was perfect. Eren didn’t change much. He would always be dominant, and you would always be submissive. He would always choose positions where he was in control, always slap you, choke you, and spank you. It was very brutal, but it was so comforting for you, autistically. You loved routine. Eren's brutality was comforting.
“I love you, I'm sorry for saying Ony was my favorite,” you sniffed, lifting your head as best you could so he could hear you.
“You're only sorry because I'm fucking you to make you say it.”
“No, I—”
“I love Ony. He is the smartest man I know. People only care about his athletic performance, but he has a brilliant brain, very strategic. However,” he grumbled, “my kid can't love him that much.”
“You're right, I'm sorry,” you repeated like a robot because you wanted him to turn you over quickly so you could kiss your favorite angry boyfriend. “You're perfect for me, Eren.”
“Uh,” he smirked, his pace slowing down, “I don’t remember being called this.”
“Stop trying to make me embarrassed. Our relationship is already very weird,” you whispered.
“Ah, you're a hypocrite now? It's just because Connie came back from college a few minutes ago that you're whispering. When he's not there, you easily shout “i feel it in my belly daddy”. You think I'm stupid?”
“Shut your damn mouth, oh my god!” you screamed, mortified that Connie knew what you and Eren had as a dynamic. Connie was a bastard, he was gonna make fun of a dynamic that is deeper than just sex.
A deep chuckle rumbled in Eren’s chest. He pulled your thighs back so that you were lying down and in a prone bone position. He nuzzled your neck. “I accept the apologies of my daugther.”
“Ewwww.”
“Acting you’re not into that shit.”
You laughed and he kissed your skin, making you shiver.
────────
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
[messages from ‘princess’s harem 🎀 ’ group chat]
goofiestcubandick69 : i just heard our girl call eren daddy in bed ??????????
lamelo’s left ball : wdym daddy that boy can’t even handle his own emotions
lamelo’s left ball : how he is gonna handle a kid
goofiestcubandick69 : thats what im saying
[...]
you : ummmm can yall forget this okay…….
worstpsychiatricpatient : im actually her dad tho
worstpsychiatricpatient : do you even know what is hyposensitivity in autism
lamelo’s left ball : you’re acting like that’s a fatal character flaw to not know
lamelo’s left ball : admitting you don’t know something is the first step to be smarter
goofiestcubandick69 : no but do she knows you ate your own shit when we were at the nursery
[worstpsychiatricpatient has left the chat.]
goofiestcubandick69 : yeah thats what i thought
you : WTF ????????????????????
────────
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐨𝐧𝐲 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Studying for exams was torture for your autism.
Exams disrupted all your routines; you now had to care about things you didn't care about, and you didn't dare complain to your boyfriends because you felt like you complained all the time. As if you had a monopoly on suffering. They suffered from exams too, and you didn't want to bother them with your usual autistic complaints.
You were trying not to burst into tears in the university library because of all the academic pressure and the sheer amount of material you had to study.
As you were reviewing your lectures’s notes, someone sat down next to you. A familiar scent of men's cologne made you stiffen as you looked at the person.
"Not sucking three dicks?" Jean smiled, but there was nothing warm in his expression.
“I’ll do what I want, you cheated on me,” you muttered, unsure of yourself, but like Eren and Connie had taught you to be more confident in your comebacks.
“You weren’t exactly the ideal girlfriend. They’ll leave you eventually and realize it too.” You looked away from the brown-haired man to your textbooks, your eyes welling with tears.
It was your biggest fear.
Being a burden to others. That’s why you tried not to complain too much about your autism so as not to bore your boyfriends.
You wanted your boyfriends to be able to talk about your personality first. About your love of pink. About your collection of perfumes and platform boots. About your knowledge of cosmetology. About your rare vintage clothes.
No, they had to tell all their friends during parties that you were autistic so no one would be mean to you because you didn't talk much because of not understanding the world around you and struggling to read the room.
You were chatty with your boyfriends because they had become routines. But anything new was difficult for you to understand, so you struggled to be yourself.
You shouldn't be ashamed of your disability, but a disability did what it did: it handicapped you in life.
"Many autistic people are happily married. My boyfriends are happy with me. You're the only idiot who can't leave me and prefers to be unfaithful," you said in a trembling voice before leaving the university library. You hoped your boyfriend were proud of you for standing for yourself.
────────
When sadness strikes, always turn to Ony. It should be a famous saying.
“Point in my life” by Gucci Mane was playing in the gym, accompanied by the sound of bouncing basketballs. You cheered Ony on as he made baskets for his practice. With each basket, you yelled, and he turned to look at you, laughing. The other people in the stands looked at you as if you were the male-centered protagonist of a romance novel, but you didn't care. Your baby, your man was surely going to be drafted this summer; he deserved all the praise!
When he finished his practice, you went to the locker room with him. You innocently watched all the men getting dressed in front of you, giving you strange looks, waiting to be alone with your lover.
Once alone, Ony d led you to the showers so you could get undressed.
“What’s on your mind? I know these eyes cried, ma’. Don’t fool me,” Ony murmured, kneeling before you when you were finally naked under the shower spray.
“W-What are you doing?”
He pressed your back against the shower wall and lifted one of your legs to his shoulder.
“You don’t know? Pussy eating therapy session.”
You burst into laughter at the absurdity but quickly panted when he buried his nose and mouth deep into wet folds.
“I… I feel like I’m going to burn out from the exams. It’s just too much. I can’t sleep because it stresses me out so much, and on top of that, I’m not doing my usual routines anymore, so I’m not myself anymore,” you paused to let out a moan as his tongue caressed a particularly sensitive spot. “I cry all the time when I study, and I didn’t want to seem like an attention whore by talking to you about my problems.”
Indulging in your arousal, he groaned at the scent of you; it made him lose his mind. He moved his tongue deeper, lapping at you, twisting it inside.
“I’m scared you, Connie and Eren will leaving me because of my autism.”
That made him stop completely, and he looked at you in horror.
“The fuck?”
Thinking about what Jean said made your eyes water, and fed up, you sobbed. Sometimes you laughed, sometimes you cried; these days you didn’t even remember yourself.
“Mama,” he said softly, rising from the floor to embrace you, kissing your cheek wet not from the shower but from your tears. “Who put these shitty ideas in your head?”
“M-My ex…”
“And what did I tell you about that motherfucker?”
“That he was stupid to look at any other woman but me.”
“Exactly, so why do you listen to him?”
“I don’t know, he was as loving as you all, and still cheated.”
“Being loving doesn’t mean shit. He never helped you during a meltdown. We did. A lot. I hope he dies.”
You widened your eyes. “Don’t say that!”
“What are you gonna do with your socially anxious ass to make me stop, huh?”
You pouted. “Nothing…”
“Right, now let me fuck you good, you need it.”
He lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, as he stood pushing you against the wall.
He kissed you as his dick slid in, all his affection communicate through his tongue, his kiss, the way his hips slammed again you.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, your hands stroking his short hair under the shower jet which dampened it into tight curls.
“I feel so safe with you, Ony. Sorry for what I said, I trust you. I’m a bit tired because of school, I think,” you whispered against his lips.
“Yeah? You’re not gonna listen to this dumbass again?”
You shook your head.
“Proud of my sweet girl.”
────────
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐨𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
[messages from ‘princess’s harem 🎀 ’ group chat]
goofiestcubandick69 : are yall into public sex
you : NO!!!!!!!!!!
worstpsychiatricpatient : yea
lamelo’s left ball : hell no
lamelo’s left ball : nobody looks at my girl like that
goofiestcubandick69 : then why there is a rumor on the campus about our girl looking at naked men with you
worstpsychiatricpatient : thats even gayer than when he licked my cum
lamelo’s left ball : we masturbated together in middle school eren
[worstpsychiatricpatient has left the chat.]
goofiestcubandick69 : man you’re a child
goofiestcubandick69 : and gay
goofiestcubandick69 : ony i didnt forget
goofiestcubandick69 : you put MY girl with naked men
goofiestcubandick69 : tf is wrong with you
lamelo’s left ball : why are we focused on ME when SHE was in my male locker room ?????
goofiestcubandick69 : mi princesa can do no wrong
goofiestcubandick69 : soy su perro
you : exactlyyyyyy
[worstpsychiatricpatient is back in the chat.]
worstpsychiatricpatient : two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyyyyy’
[worstpsychiatricpatient has left the chat.]
goofiestcubandick69 : this man is true to his @
goofiestcubandick69 : don’t call mi princesa a bitch u motherfucker
goofiestcubandick69 : but call me a bitch if you want to i’m into that
you : ????????
lamelo’s left ball : he has the nerve to call eren gay
────────
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
If Eren was your angry boyfriend, Ony your gentle lover, Connie should be your sexy latino man?
That's what everyone thought about Connie.
On campus, the girls with a latino men fetish are interested in him because of his accent. His tattoos. His piercings. His immigrant status. He knows these white american girls well, girls who see latin America as a land full of sexy men, who think latin culture is just about aesthetics. So he created three phases to find the right people for him.
First, phase number 1, which attracts all the girls: The laid-back latino.
Sweatpants. Tattoos. Laid-back persona. Stoned out a lot. Hanging out with the university's plug Eren and the university's star, Ony. Calling any girl 'mami'. The girls love it, adore it, and can't get enough.
Then, he reveals a little bit of himself, and that's when things get out of hand.
There's his "goofy" phase, when he shows how weird and funny he can be, even if it makes him less of a stereotypical latino man.
99% of the girls leave or get the ick.
That's how he knew you were the one because you never thought much of his goofy behavior sometimes and just went along with him. He feels so normal with you; he doesn't have to perform some racist stereotype with you, you just accept him with all his facets.
Now, he can finally show his final layer: his submissive side.
────────
Being the dominant one in the relationship was so much fun.
Of course, you liked being manhandled by Eren, or being praised by Ony.
But it was just as exciting as getting what your submissive man wanted tonight.
“Do whatever you want to do to me in my sleep. If I don’t wake up with you fucking me, I’m gonna blow up the apartment.”
You and Connie looked at each other during dinner, even when you were on Eren’s lap or in Ony’s arms. You both knew you were going to have fun tonight when everyone was asleep. You were going to have fun when he was asleep.
You crept into his room so as not to wake him. You climbed onto the bed and noticed he wasn’t wearing a blanket or a shirt. You chuckled; he was really waiting for this.
You leaned down to kiss all over his chest and abdomen, your tongue flicking around his navel piercing and all his tattoos.
His body shivered, but he didn't open his eyes.
You stripped him of the rest of his clothes and spat on your bare breasts, then smeared the saliva on the inside of your breasts. Your mouth watered at his hard pierced dick that reacted to your kisses. Big. Thick. Exactly the type of dick you wanted to rub your tits around.
You gently palmed his cock before placing it between your breasts. You added more saliva to your mess as you kneaded your breasts around him. The situation was oddly stimulating sensorially with the softness of your chest and the humidity of your saliva.
“Mami, I missed you,” Connie murmured, voice still sleepy as he rubbed his eyes.
You gave him an affectionate smile. “What do you want tonight?”
“Uh, you never learn? My body belongs to you. You’re the one who chooses everything.”
A fire snaked through your belly, igniting your insides.
You stopped what you were doing even though you saw disappointment in his eyes, but they lit up when you sat on his pelvis, sliding down his dick.
“Oh hell yeah,” he moaned, his hands coming to your hips but you slapped him.
“I didn’t say you could do that, Connie,” you chided him. “Put your hands above your head, I’ll slap you if you move them.”
His gut twisted with arousal, he absolutely nodded and obeyed with enamored eyes.
You couldn't say no to people but were able to slap your man, the duality of an autistic freaky woman.
You leaned down to stabilize yourself on his shoulders. Lifting yourself off his cock, you slid down again brutally, making him gasp and whine for more. When he whined too much, you slapped him and told him to stop. He almost cummed and bit his lower lip till it bled not to.
You did everything you wanted to Connie. A slow pace when your legs were tired. At fast pace, fucking yourself on his dick. Sometimes, you turned over and he thanked God women existed just to see your ass gyrating in front of him.
When you were the dominant one, you experienced less sensory overload during sex, that’s why you loved having sex with Connie so much.
You rode him, rocking your hips against him, your tits bouncing, looking like a voluptuous succubus who haunted him at night. It made him lose his mind, and spouting nonsense, his brain going dumb.
“Yesterday I genuinely cried because I wanted to eat you out but it was Ony’s day, so I ate so many sweets just to feel you on my tongue.”
Your heart fluttered and you leaned down to kiss him. “You’re so cute and weird, Connie.”
He forgot about the rules and just hugged his favorite girl ever.
────────
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
[messages from ‘princess’s harem 🎀 ’ group chat]
worstpsychiatristpatient : how do you cope with the fact that your girl is a rapist
you : WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
you : ???????????
goofiestcubandick69 : she cant rape me since i am her slave
goofiestcubandick69 : my body is her propriety
worstpsychiatristpatient : not only my girl is a rapist
worstpsychiatristpatient : but she uses mind control
goofiestcubandick69 : exactly
goofiestcubandick69 : my mind is controlled by her
goofiestcubandick69 : i always think of my girl
lamelo’s left ball : i’m employed what happened
you : eren discovered somno
[lamelo’s left ball is now offline.]
goofiestcubandick69 : thats why i love ony
goofiestcubandick69 : he knows how to mind his own business
worstpsychiatristpatient : just so you know i called the police
worstpsychiatristpatient : mind u i’m the only one who have a real job and a dangerous one at that
worstpsychiatristpatient : so fuck u lamelo wannabe
────────
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
“Ma’, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Ony took the star you were trying to put on top of the fake pink tree Connie had found on some niche website. He placed it where you wanted it.
“There is no way, it’s really the only color we will ever see at Christmas,” Eren grumbled, rummaging through the Christmas decorations you and Connie had bought weeks earlier, appalled by all the pink in them. “Christmas is green and red!”
“Well, it’s my girl’s world so I don’t care about Christmas rules,” Connie mumbled, taking a drag of his blunt, sitting on the couch.
“And you guys also have pink Christmas pajamas to wear!” you said excitedly, pulling out the pink pajama sets with snowflake patterns.
Eren winced, Connie gave a thumbs-up, and Ony chuckled. But they wore them all, just for your beautiful eyes.
It was going to be a fun Christmas, but you wouldn't trade places for anything in the world.
Because you were with the three loves of your life. In no particular order. Just the trio of your heart.
──────── ✃- - - - - - - - - - - you liked it ? please support fics you liked with a reblog or a comment ! writers never know how we impact you if you don't say anything <3 ── .✦
i remember her hands. and the way the mountains looked.
"With the return of the sky people, our journey led us far, far up the horizon, where a towering mountain stood. Beyond the winding paths of its rocky terrain, nestled in the heart of nature's embrace, lay the village of the Iuva'ri clan—the ikran people of the mountains."
In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.
☆ pairing: exstripper!reader x billionaireceo!yunho
☆ chapter warnings: profanity, drinking, age gap (yunho is 37, reader is 26) SMUT — penetration, oral f receiving, cum play, petnames, overstímulation, being fucked until ur unconscious, sort of exhibitionsim(?) - mile high club lessgo, grinding, fingering (f recieving), spítting, manhandIing, slight humiliation kink, marking/hickies, multiple orgasms, creampies, nipple sucking, nipple play, talking you through it, stretching/size kink, begging, unprotected sex (pls don't do it irl), some really angsty themes and heartfelt moments towards the end! i know i say it takes place in the nineties but i kinda fell off with that theme bc they have cellphones and don’t really talk like it’s that time period oops
☆ synopsis: LIVING IN BEVERLY HILLS comes with its perks. But for two different people such as yourself and multi billionaire business tycoon, Jeong Yunho, both of you can’t seem to find what you’re looking for in the so called 'land of dreams'. So the proposal is simple really… let him spoil you with money, jewelry and clothes while in return, you stay by his side. . .
☆ playlist: material girl by madonna, oh, pretty woman by roy orbison, versace on the floor by bruno mars, dirty cash (money talks) by the adventures of stevie v, - and for the finale, I recommend ending it off by listening to easy lovers by piero piccioni♡
☆ a/n: the final chapter is here! *sobs* thank you for SO patiently keeping up with the series! perhaps i'm biased bc yunho is my fav but I just had to go a little more 'all out' for this story of his^^ please don't forget to reblog and i hope you enjoy...
☆ word count: 14k
m.list | pt 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3
WHEN YUNHO MENTIONED A PRIVATE JET you expected something small, given the simple picture he painted.
As you’ve discovered these past few days, Yunho dramatically underestimates the word simple.
For him, simplicity meant reclining in the sleek cabin of a luxury jet almost forty thousand feet in the air, decorated with high-quality leather seats and glossy mahogany wood that shined as you were served chilled glasses of cabernet.
Thanks to an eventful night, you two were in an even better mood than usual, and that was apparent by the multiple refills of wine and champagne shared amongst other things such as teasing glances and flirty touches…
The day started off like any other adventure with your tall, handsome, and ridiculously wealthy employer. A morning in L.A, an afternoon in Vegas, followed by an evening wrapped up in starlit San Francisco— the city you took off from just now.
After receiving such lavish gifts which included shopping tours, yacht rides and an impressive visit to his personal vineyards, the CEO’s last gift to you was an opera performance you could’ve only imagined to experience in your dreams.
“It’s called La Traviata”, your polished and tuxedo-clad date spoke into the shell of your ear, just as you arrived at your destination earlier that night.
He had guided you up the white marble steps of the entrance, offering his arm to you as he stood tall and unfairly handsome against the crowd. Many other similarly dressed men filled the space. A whole sea of them stood with their wives— for some, their mistresses— flaunting expensive clothing and freshly botoxed faces.
In similar timing, an uncomfortable thought momentarily entered your mind:
Were you too, just another shadier and even more disposable reflection of these upper class elites?
You glanced over to stare at Yunho, lingering on the idea of how ridiculous it may appear to someone who knew you were a former Hollywood Boulevard stripper attending a high-society opera performance with her billionaire date.
However, the flash of anxiety disappears and reshapes itself as soon as you feel the intimidating stares and hear the hushed whispers. Gossip swirls around the crowd of esteemed guests who wondered about who you were— the lady in red accompanying their most well-known and eligible bachelor.
Yunho’s voice saves you from your worries once again.
“I think you’ll like tonight's performance,” he admits, softly calling to your name. He looks down, holding eye contact with you and only you, disregarding any other individual that distracts him from admiring your beauty under this antique chandelier tonight.
You’re reminded again of how easy you become lost with Yunho.
Lost in his world, even if it didn’t always accept you.
All it takes is a sweet look and you seem to fall right for his stupidly charming manners and protective presence. You smiled back nervously, the rubies embedded in the diamond necklace displayed on your collar bones, rising upwards as you inhaled to swallow back your nerves.
“There’s a lot of people here.” you muttered the obvious, biting your rouge coloured lips as you looked a little intimidated.
Yunho chuckles and holds onto your hand tight, leading you effortlessly.
“Let’s go find our seats then.”
The talk dies down as you arrive on the upper floors, a private balcony reserved with comfortable seats and complimentary opera glasses too.
You quickly turn to Yunho.
“You hate heights though,” you pointed out, brows furrowing.
The businessman chuckles, taking a seat and crossing his legs as you stand to admire the balcony.
“But they’re the best ones.”
When the curtains rise a few minutes later, revealing the opening act alongside booming orchestral music, your heart nearly jumps out of your chest.
It’s easy to become so immersed from the beginning, eyes glued to the stage for the next two hours as you sat the longest Yunho thinks he’s ever seen you go without fidgeting.
It felt too soon for the night to transition into what was now the final scene— the trembling voice of the baritone’s final words to his dying lover, as she succumbs to her tragic death in his arms.
Your heart pounds at the sight, the stage becoming blurry as the music grows stronger for the finale.
And all at once, the curtains close and the opera ends.
You clap the loudest out of everyone sitting near your area once it’s over, and Yunho is pleased nonetheless to see your vivid reaction to the performance.
Carefully, his hand slides over to hold your own.
“I believe you enjoyed it then?” he teases, taking out a handkerchief and offering it to you as you sniffle on the way to the elevator. An unforgettable ache settles in your chest from the beautiful tragedy, quickly nodding back with no other words to say except how beautiful it was as tears filled your eyes.
Your first introduction to the world of opera ended that evening with an arm latched onto Yunho’s, following the crowd out into the street of waiting cars and limousines.
“What was your favorite part?” Yunho asks, the corners of his mouth already raised as he wants to hear more of your thoughts, anticipating an enthusiastic response.
“God, it has to be the moment from the garden,” you gushed, your cheeks aching from smiling too much. “There’s no other scene that was more romantic!”
He wrapped his coat around you as you spoke on and on about the singing and the storyline, ensuring you weren’t cold as a night breeze swept past.
“Thank you, Yunho,” you turn to him and say once you finish, reaching the tips of your heels as you try to peck him on the cheek. He leans down to meet you halfway.
“I’ll never forget tonight.”
Your smile causes Yunho to exhale shakily, trying to calm his beating heart and come up with a proper reply back, before something catches your attention from the corner of your eye.
You do a double take to realize a brightly lit hotdog stand was running just across the street. He follows your line of vision.
“Let’s go,” you grinned, tugging on the sleeves of his suit without sparing him another glance. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Yunho chuckles, judging the dingy street food stand as his brows knit together in a rare display of stubbornness.
“Yes, but not for that.”
You almost scoff in his face. “Oh c’mon, Yunho,” you say, interlocking your hands together and insistently dragging him towards the mouth-watering smell.
“You said you were hungry!”
He had no defense against you.
When you reach the hotdog stand, the billionaire stands stiff beside you, hands tucked into his pockets in clear hesitation at the questionable sanitary conditions.
“Sweetheart,” he bends down, muttering into your ear whilst pointing towards the unchanged grill.
“That is not safe, nor fine dining.”
Rolling your eyes, Yunho watches helplessly as you step towards the vendor whilst fishing out a few bills from his own wallet in the pocket of the coat draped over you.
“Two hotdogs with a bit of everything on them, please,” you asked the man, glancing back to the billionaire with an excited smile.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little weiner, Yunho.”
He frowns, having kept his arms crossed since he entered the vicinity of the cart.
“I’m not scared,” he replies calmly. “I just don’t see why anyone would willingly consume something made… from here” he pauses, interpreting the picture of a giddy animated sausage on cart sign.
The vendor being a much older man, shuts your sweet date up with one good stare.
Two hotdogs in hand, you thank the owner sweetly and bring Yunho off to the side so you can eat. If he was skeptical at first, hopefully he’d be more convinced by the smell of caramelized onions and smoked sausage wafting through your noses as you handed him one.
He looks at the greasy foil.
“I can have my staff make you something on the jet. Something with actual nutritional—”
But you’ve already beaten him to it, taking your first bite of sausage and bun and drowning out his words as you smiled in bliss.
“Oh god,” you groaned dramatically, eyes shut as you consumed the satisfying food.
Yunho watches you carefully with reluctant amusement, one hand still buried in his pockets that has yet to unwrap the silver foiled hotdog.
Seeing how happy you were makes him reconsider.
All jokes aside, what was he waiting for? If the taste was that special to you, he wanted to experience it as well.
Yunho takes his hand out from his pocket and unwraps the foil, bending down to take a big, solid bite encasing sausage, condiments, and toppings.
It was quiet for a moment, both of you chewing slowly before your date reluctantly smiles with full cheeks, nodding his head.
“It’s good…”
You grin proudly, swiping a pickled jalapeno slice off of his hotdog.
“Not so bad, right?”
And just like that, you and Yunho shared a casual yet comfortable dinner before heading back onto the private jet. Two hot dog combos and many shared conversations later, fast food wrappers laid scattered across the glass table. A bottle of champagne and fresh white peaches present for dessert.
“So,” you grinned proudly, shuffling your bare feet closer on the seat as your heels laid discarded somewhere.
“I just introduced you to your first hotdog, then?”
The bowtie of Yunho’s black tuxedo is long gone, draped carelessly over the armrest, as the older man leans back into the leather seat. The dim cabin lights cast a soft golden hue across his jawline as he gestures to the mess on the table.
“I’ve had them before,” he corrects, like it’s a fact of deep importance that he’s not that bred in upper class luxury.
You suspected the opposite.
“Well the ones you had probably weren’t even real,” you argued with a roll of your eyes, imagining hor d'oeuvre cocktail sausages or something else ridiculous.
“If a ‘real’ hotdog comes from a dingy little stand on the corner of a street, then sure,” he says with a bite of amusement. “I'll let you educate me then.”
You hold down a smile. “See! You’re learning!”
Yunho shakes his head, revealing a full smile which tells you he’ll let you have this one.
Who knew this would be so natural with someone like him. That despite the expensive tours and shopping sprees, what fulfilled you the most these past few days was sitting here, barefoot, eating three-dollar hot dogs, discussing life and the events of your separate pasts.
It’s true that the world you're flying above right now belongs to people like Yunho. People with money, wealth, and unlimited freedom. But right now, up here in these clouds, it feels like this tiny corner of the sky belongs to you too.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asks while sitting across from you, eyebrows raising as he takes another swig of champagne.
Your head rests against the fabric of the leather seat, eyelids shutting closed as you ponder.
“It'll be my last day,” you mumbled carefully, the clarity of your words catching you off guard the second they leave your mouth.
Yunho stills for a moment.
“That can’t be.” the billionaire murmurs back, holding his gaze on the rim of his wine glass. It doesn’t settle with him well either.
The cabin goes quiet all of a sudden. Empty, yet filled with realization neither of you wants to name. It was all according to your agreement.
Four days.
Eight thousand dollars.
That was the deal.
To think you’d place so much weight on a job that was always meant to be short-lived. It was hard to believe time had gone by so quickly.
Very soon, this fairytale lifestyle you’d been living with would disappear with a simple goodbye, and you and Yunho would return to your respective places in the world. Him, conducting meetings, flying in private jets, and bargaining billions over company titles, while you remained as a waitress, barely making enough to afford milk that was past its expiration date.
The chain of events set into motion the night that armed gunman tried to rob the convenience store, had led you somewhere you’d never imagined possible. Meeting Yunho, spending time with him—having him care for you so effortlessly and spoiling you with money, but also more warmth and tenderness than you knew what to do with— felt unreal.
You’ve spent your whole life yearning for someone like Yunho. But it's hard to consider whether someone like Yunho could ever need or be satisfied with someone like you.
Imperfections and all.
“I feel as though I still know so little about you,” he says, breaking your inner monologue as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“Tell me, what was your past like? I’m curious to know what you were like in your early twenties” he grinned, amused at the thought of an even more bold and unafraid image of yourself.
You find yourself looking away.
Young, dumb, and dancing naked for money. That’s what you were doing in your early twenties.
“...I used to dance.” you responded with a tinge of hesitation, swallowing lingering discomfort down your throat that always followed when you brought up your past.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. You just left out the part that you danced to entertain people waving wads of cash that would keep you from resorting to worse situations awaiting you on the streets.
For you, and for countless girls like Miko you’d met during those nights at the club, it had all been about survival. You weren’t completely ashamed of your previous job, and that’s because it was more than just how others saw it and because you knew that it isn’t something anybody can do.
Sure, at first you thought the experience was manageable. Fun even. Though that was probably because you were young and uninformed. But with no real backup plan and no proper college degree, dancing was a way to get by. Convincing yourself the sore muscles, unfair treatment, and wandering hands were simply things you had to endure. As though your entire existence was for anyone’s taking, disposable and easily forgotten.
After obtaining your current job, you realized how important it was to make choices that didn’t force you to go back to that life.
“A dancer?” Yunho repeats. “I never knew you danced,” he smiled warmly.
“I work as a waitress now” you replied back, unknowingly picking at the nail of your thumb in habit. “It’s not much, but it’s better than what I was doing before”
It was at this moment you found yourself standing on the edge of something you didn’t know how to step into, words staying stuck behind your teeth. Telling Yunho about your past felt less like honesty and more like setting yourself up to be judged—like another lap dance you weren’t sure you had the guts to finish.
Yunho doesn’t rush you. He never does.
Instead, he studies you in that observative way of his. Like he already knows everything you can’t bring yourself to say. He exhales softly, standing from his seat to shift closer beside you, pulling a soft, folded blanket from somewhere.
Without asking, he drapes it around your shoulders, tucking it in as though he’s trying to keep you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Then, you feel his hand come up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch careful enough that it felt almost like permission.
“You know, people like to create stories out of what they can see.” His gaze drops for a moment, deciding how much of himself he can give you in return.
“In my case, it’s a bit ironic. Everyone sees the heir. The family name. The brand that can become just another financial asset…”
You stare back into his eyes, listening carefully.
“People think they understand the shape of my life just because they can name it.” Yunho states laced with a heavy tone.
“But what most people don’t see… is that I was adopted. And a lot of what I’ve been called—what I’m expected to be—was decided long before I even understood what any of it meant.”
His words hang in the air for a moment, unadorned and leaving you in a bit of shock. You think back to the conversation with the Chairwoman, the night Yunho had that business dinner.
“No one can learn much when they're surrounded with shadows, darling. But in truth, that’s all that Yunho has had up until now.”
“Business makes it worse,” he continues quietly. “Because it’s never really about truth. It’s about perception. About what people choose to believe is true. And sometimes that perception gets twisted—by ambition, by greed, and…” his words die off, knuckles clenching around the fabric of his pants as if he’s recalling a distasteful memory.
“... by people you thought would know better. Even family.”
There’s a brief pause, something heavier flickering behind his expression. You already know what he means by your conversation with Madame Choi.
She hinted towards something about Yunho's past, the strained relationship he had with his relatives clawing for the title of heir.
In an act of support, you reach and grab his shaking hand, taking it away from digging itself in him and interlocking fingers with his own.
It was your way of telling him you were here. That you were listening.
“I’ve always had people close to me try to take pieces of my life like it was just… up for claiming,” he says, more factually than bitter. “And I learned early that no one is really what they look like from the outside. Not completely.”
Panic settles in as you worry he's caught on.
Instead, his eyes return to you now softer, shifting the weight away.
“I’m not telling you this because I’m perfect. I’m telling you because I’m not. No one is.”
A small breath leaves him, like he’s releasing something he’s held for too long. Yunho leans closer, careful with what comes next.
“Y’know, I think everyone is deserving of a bit of grace. To be given another chance. Even that stupid boy, Choi San, who won’t let me buy his grandparents company” he jokes flatly, gaze flickering over your face when you let out a small chuckle.
He thinks he could crack a million more bad jokes if it means he’ll hear that sound again.
Yunho pulls you much closer, his nose almost hitting your own as he refuses to let your strict self-judgment distort the image you carried of yourself.
“So if you feel out of place, like you’re an imposter in this world, let me tell you I’ve been doing the same all my life. I feel as though I’m living a lie every single fucking day” he mutters, the two of you sharing breaths now from the close proximity.
Your breathing changes, feeling the warmth of his body close to your own.
The billionaire’s voice softens, keeping it steady.
“As someone who lies to live, and works among people who lie just as easily, I’ve learned to value authenticity. It’s not about what others think." he states.
"People will always see what they want to see anyway.”
Suddenly, his eyes flicker down to your soft lips, parting with a distinct type of desire. But he doesn’t kiss them just yet.
“And what I see is a very bright…”
First, a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Very beautiful…”
A kiss to your nose.
And he stops in front of your lips before whispering softly. The truth he's starting to believe in more than his painstaking business deal.
“...very special woman.”
Silence fills the space between you, the sounds of the plane engine whirring as you look into the eyes of the man sitting in front of you.
Yunho releases a small breath when you lean forward to collide your lips with him, connecting your mouths in yearning and full vulnerability. The air in his lungs is knocked out, hungrily reaching and grabbing at each other just to feel the sensation of your lips connecting in undwindling passion.
A squeeze and grope follow here and there with each other's bodies, tongues swirling with utter obsession.
Yunho immediately reciprocates your bold move by pulling your body closer to his, fighting a straining feeling that builds in the confines of his pants. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough for Yunho, so his two strong arms grip around your waist, pulling your lips apart momentarily in a surprised, breathy moan, as you’re now maneuvered to straddle thick, strong thighs.
“I meant everything I said,” he whispers breathily, a large hand coming to stroke the back of your head softly as the other grazes your face so you look at him properly.
“You are special."
An overwhelming sense of gratitude floods your emotions. You didn’t notice it at first, but fresh tears have escaped your eyes, coating your eyelashes as you look back at Yunho.
The older one brings a thumb to cascade over your wet cheeks.
“C’mon now, don’t cry sweetheart” he grins softly, feeling the need to protect yet also tease the sight of you becoming all teary eyed and begging for his touch.
He presses a quick kiss back to your lips once more, pulling back to whisper tantalizingly into your year.
“You haven't even taken my cock yet.”
That’s when you realize tears weren’t just dripping down your cheeks, but now also down your legs.
Yunho was determined to show just how hungry he was for you. Just how much he wanted to love you, to fuck you, to taste and share only the good things in life with the women he just met four days ago in a dingy convenience store on Hollywood Boulevard.
That night must've really changed both your lives.
Whimpers escape your throat as you attempt to taste Yunho’s devotion. Your knees struggle to support your body weight, keeping you hovering over his crotch with carefulness not to sit down on the aching mound just yet, though you’re curious of the sensation it'll bring.
Yunho lets his hands settle around your waist, grip firm as he releases tension you were holding on to, pulling apart to finally give you both some breath.
“C’mon sweetheart. You can sit on it.”
He was starving for a taste of you.
“Yunho.”
Your breath hitches as his hands wander, pushing your thighs to relax and spread even more so your wet core settles over the gigantic mound of fabric hiding his leaking, hard cock.
“Fuck,” he stutters, his breath tickling your neck and he inhaled your scent deeply. He was unstoppable, he just had to feel you.
“I want you,” he mutters, coming out muffled against bare skin. “Want you so bad.”
You were no different. Pawing at the buttons of his crisp white shirt that was becoming wrinkled with every passing second you gripped and released the material, finding something to hold on to as your hips rocked back and forth slowly, nudging your leaking bud against imposing layers.
“Ah- Yunho-” you gasped, feeling him kiss the crook of your neck, his mouth growing wider and more insatiable as he trails further down, drool forming near the corners of his mouth.
Never of you had been this needy before.
“You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you sweetheart?” he groans, letting a large hand smack the flesh of your ass covered by your dress. A whine rolls off your tongue, echoing in the quiet passenger cabin as you nod fervently, disoriented sounds leaving you while clutching onto his shoulders to keep your soaking cunt attached to his pants.
Yunho brings a hand to slide over your shivering bare thighs, exposed to the cool air because of the small leg slit you had on the side of your dress. With every touch, the slit stretches wider in your position, making you weak to the billionaire’s greed.
He grits his teeth, staring at your breathless expression when he shoves your lace panties to the side and lets the long digits of his index, middle and ring finger slide against the slick of your cunt.
“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked.” he grunts, throwing his head back as his digits do all the work in opening you up for him. Then all at once, he dives all three in, stretching you out perfectly like no had ever done before.
You scream, overwhelmed by how full you already feel with his two thick fingers.
“Oh p-pleaseee- fuck! s’too much Yunho!” you pant like a whore, making him stretch his fingers even wider to feel you suck him in so lewdly.
“Slow down—”
“Do you feel how deep I am, sweetheart?” he cuts you off, his hips jutting up so he too can achieve some sort of relief. You notice, a hand reaching down, traveling through the tight web of limbs help him by laying your palm over his hardness. Just a simple touch and—
“Hands off.” Yunho quickly orders, bringing your hand away as he holds onto your wrist tightly.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?” he scolds, his business tone coming out as he orders you to only take his fingers, planning to save his cock for the one thing he wants most:
Your swollen, puffy cunt.
It’s incredibly unfair, how helpless you feel as his right hand pummels his digits faster into your hole, the sound of filthy squelching noises filling the room as he doesn’t even mind your cries of ecstasy.
“How many d’you think I’ve got inside you, hm?” he toys with you, getting off on your shaking body and quivering nub like the perverted CEO he was. You can’t even answer from the moans you’re releasing.
And here you thought Yunho was going to fuck you gently after all that talking.
“Fucking tight,” a breath escapes his lips without even knowing.
You squirmed, eyes squeezing shut.
It seems as though there’s been a huge misunderstanding on the type of man Yunho was.
The businessman won’t waste time treating you like the queen you were— showering you with gifts, bags, clothes, and jewelry that can make you start to think he wants to put a ring on you and have you carry his babies.
Which, with the way you’re taking him right now— quivering and crying out his name in broken little whimpers, even as his wrist starts to ache from how long he's been bullying his fingers in and out— he’s starting to genuinely consider it.
But you’ve been expertly deceived.
Yunho isn’t a gentleman. He’s one sick, obsessed bastard that longs to touch, finger, and fuck your gummy walls to a state of complete ecstasy.
“I… I really can’t hold on much longer—”
He loves that. Loves that you’re broken down to a mess of slick and sweat like this. He latches his mouth back onto yours as he feels you clench harder with every passing minute around his digits.
“Gonna cum for me? My sweet, sweet girl is gonna cum?- hah fuck-” he coos, holding back and focusing on making you spill first.
He was almost there. He just needed to make you cum first and prep you real good so you could take him raw.
“Yes Yes fuck- ngh Yes, Yunho–” you sobbed, too overstimulated to say anything else. Yunho releases the wrist he’s been holding onto since before, letting his hand come up to swipe some spit from his mouth before he shoves his wet fingers into the open cleavage of your dress, thumbing your sensitive tits with his drool.
Oh god, now he’s really done it.
“Cum for me, sweetheart.” he grunts in one final thrust.
That’s what sends you over the edge completely, shoving your cries and open mouth moans into the fabric of Yunho’s dress shirt, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as your body convulses from the intense orgasm. Soft praises reach the shell of your ear.
“Look at you..” He coos proudly, kissing you gently on your cheek.
“Took my fingers like a fucking champ.”
You wince at the sudden emptiness as he pulls out, despite him trying to slide his fingers slowly for your sake.
You lean back to watch the man with tired eyes, feeling a shiver run down your spine as Yunho maintains full eye contact while bringing his tongue out to lick at your slick. Closing his eyes and groaning pathetically at how sweet you tasted.
“Fucking pervert,” you exhaled, ignoring the deep laughs proudly leaving the CEO’s sweaty chest under his unbuttoned dress shirt.
It’s not long before the rest of the buttons are opened, revealing his toned chest as the top of your dress gets shoved down to spill out your soft tits for Yunho to latch on to.
“Yunho!” you reply in shock, not realizing how fast he was going to dive into them. “Slow down!”
“But I’m in love with your tits.” he confesses though it comes out muffled. As if justifying his hunger.
You’re still straddling Yunho’s thighs, though now, you’re in an awkward stage of being partially naked, partially clothed, with only the essential barriers out of the way for you to take his cock properly now.
He unbuckles his pants to free his member, letting the long, girthy tip slap you against your abdomen as your dress has become ruined with the way it’s scrunched so high to reveal your ass completely.
Yunho takes a hold of his shaft and pumps himself a couple times. You watch him as he does so, a spark shared between you two just as he taps his tip against your puffy folds. He’s ridiculously proud of the way he’s prepped you so well for him.
“Ready?” he stills, taking a moment to hold back from the obsession to really make sure you wanted this. Wanted him.
You nod, grinning softly.
Long forgotten is the conversation you were going to have with him about your past. Now replaced with a bodily confession that was more important to you and him right now.
You figure you’ll tell him later…
“Just take me, Yunho,” you pleaded softly.
He smiles, kissing you again as he finally swats his cock in between the leaky opening.
All at once, you feel his incredible girth that you were waiting for this whole time, stretching you out, and throwing your head back as far as it would go.
You nod, eyes clasped shut at the delicious feeling you craved. No one could fuck you this good again.
“F-Fuuck, gorgeous…”
Yunho keeps his strokes against your pulsating walls slowly but so precisely it drives you to the brink of insanity. And yet, he can’t seem to stop watching you in awe the entire time. The way you let out soft screams when he hits so deep, right in the perfect spot. The way your hair is let loose, messy and free while your back arches so sinfully yet beautifully.
Your body felt holy. A temple for him to worship.
And he's purring in your ear, telling you how good you are to him, how well you're taking his fingers and how beautiful you look taking them
The squelching sound from before comes back, even louder this time as it accompanies each skilful pump of Yunho’s cock instead of his fingers.
As you’re babbling upon his sheer length, Yunho clasps onto one side of your hips. Using the rest of the energy and strength he has in him, he helps you bounce on his dick, riding your godforsaken high through the shaking of your thighs.
You squeeze around him, making him curse wildly. It’s enough to also whimper from the stinging feeling that comes back each time.
“Please—”
You tense, feeling a familiar feeling creeping up on you.
“Please what?” He held firm even as you glared weak little daggers down at his face, looking up with his shirt open and a burning desire behind wild eyes.
“Yunho I’m not kidding, I’m g-gonna–”
He’s too distracted, too lost in the intoxicating sight of his cock drilling through your hole, having not taken his eyes from where you were connected. He already knows what you mean. How close you were to finishing. So he changes his pace, rutting relentlessly, hips snapping harder as he chases the view of your tits shaking in his face, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck—yes.”
“Gonna cum?” He asks with baited breath. “Gonna let loose for me, my love?
You just whine, crying and bouncing and nodding and nodding because that was all you were capable of doing right then and there.
In a complete mess of sweaty limbs and hot, flushing cum, you both reach your pinacles. The pace turns slower, enough for you to hug Yunho closer and whisper words of chastisement for how rough he was with you. When Yunho calmly kisses you and asks if it was too much though, you can’t help but shake your head and sink your pussy deeper, showing him that you still loved every second of it.
Just as he’s about to grab a tissue from nearby and clean you up, a soft bleep of the intercom echoes a slightly discomforted voice, stilling only Yunho’s body who has enough consciousness to register the current situation. You're too far gone, using a small remaining amount of energy to grip onto the fabric of his shirt for dear life.
“Um—Mr. Jeong,” the pilot’s voice crackles awkwardly through the speaker, followed by a brief pause that feels far too long to be professional.
“We’ll be arriving at the hotel in about ten minutes, so I, uh…” another cough. “I ask that you please observe the seatbelt sign and fasten your seatbelts as we prepare for landing.”
A beat passes, raising your head to look drowsily up at Yunho when you hear a much quieter, comment from the pilot:
“And—um. My apologies for the interruption.”
A small smile creeps upon your tired face, relief washing over you as Yunho holds you close and reassures you.
“Don’t move. I’ll take care of you.”
The promise sounds as soft as he’s ever been. He leans forward and grabs a glass of water for you to take a quick sip from, followed by a cloth to clean your slick.
“I’ll give you everything, all the money I have,” Yunho mutters in a state of hypnosis, eyes glistening as he looks down at you lying against his chest so peacefully.
You wonder if your ears deceive you when you hear a quiet plea that borders on begging.
“Just stay with me longer…”
The last thing you remember is warmth.
And releasing a soft “Okay”.
When you come back to your senses, you find yourself stirring awake in a large, familiar bed, a vast cold area of mattress greeting you from beside. The empty sheets of cotton and silk surround you with a bare feeling of comfort as you squint at the clock on the bedside table.
Four am. And Yunho was nowhere in sight.
Your bare body shivers as you sit up and the covers fall down, exposing you to the empty room. Your head spins a little, probably from all the drinks you had earlier in the plane.
The plane.
Suddenly, it comes rushing back, the events that happened on the jet. Yunho’s confession — his way of telling you that you didn’t need to feel ashamed of yourself to him. The way you were going to tell him about your past and the reasons that led you to this point.
And then the sex.
Your core almost tingles at the memory with Yunho. Fucking you so good you passed out unconscious.
Sighing as you rubbed your temples, you reach for the nearest piece of fabric that could warm you up— his navy robe that sits on a chair nearby.
The soft material weighs you down, it's sleeves clearly too big for you but not minding much as you step over the soft, carpeted hotel floor. When you shuffle out of the room and down the steps to the first floor, the wide city view through the windows captures endless buildings glowing against the night, showing a city that never seemed to need sleep at all.
Quite similar to someone you trying to find.
As if on cue, your body does a little jump back in surprise when you turn and catch Yunho leaning against the marble countertop of the open kitchen, bare chested as a pair of blue gingham pajama pants hung low on his waist.
“Jesus!” you muttered, squinting when you saw the tall man turn with what appeared to be a tub of half-eaten vanilla ice cream. The metal spoon was warm in his hands from grasping it for so long.
“Did I wake you?” Yunho replies calmly, paying you no mind.
“I’m sorry,” he coos, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
You sigh, gently paddling over cold tiles as your hands reach and grasp the ice cream like it was yours. You inspect the container, brows quirking.
Yunho lets you do as you please, as if everything belonged to you.
You sigh as the chilling taste of creamy rich vanilla hits your mouth, using his spoon to dig a shallow crevice in the melted dessert and feed on it.
“You didn’t wake me…” you pointed out, feeling the man dip his head into the crook of your neck and leave kisses all along the area. You shivered from his cold lips.
“What are you doing up so late?” You asked, enjoying your ice cream whilst Yunho enjoyed you, inhaling your soft scent once more.
“You seemed so peaceful, I didn’t wanna disturb you” he mumbled. You smile quietly to yourself, realizing how this big, intimidating CEO of a powerful business corporation could easily mimic a lost puppy just by being in your presence.
“Yeah right. You probably just wanted this whole tub for yourself.” you muttered, feeling his lips turn upwards against your skin.
Yunho raises his head to face you properly, caressing your face as he focuses on your features. You swallow carefully as you ask the next question.
“What happened after we landed?”
His face is illuminated by moonlight. Yunho’s lips slowly grinned at the memory. “I cleaned you up, buckled you in, and we landed on the rooftop of the hotel where I brought you to my room to rest” he stated, bringing his right thumb to brush away the corner of your mouth as ice cream was left smeared. He brings it to his mouth, sucking the sweetness without breaking eye contact.
“Was I too much?” He can’t help but ask with caution, leveling with you as he gazes deep into your eyes. A look of concern flashes over his face.
You shook your head, amused by his protectiveness. He brings his arms to connect around your waist, hugging you closer to inspect the hickies littered all over your neck. He almost gets hard again from the sight and hearing your answer at the same time.
“Nope. I liked it” you assured him, whispering seductively to his ear.
You break into laughter as Yunho playfully tickles the sides of your body in response.
To be fair, your hickies weren’t that bad compared to his shoulder and back muscles left with various bites and scratches. Lingering evidence of hanging onto Yunho as he fucked you so well.
“Of course you did.” he sneers at you proudly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips as you swallow a bite of cream.
You both taste incredibly sweet, and you fear it’s not just from the sugar.
“Yunho..” you began as you pulled away, watching his eyes narrow in on your lips as he leaned forward in greed of another kiss. You stopped him as you put the ice cream container down the counter and rested your hands against his bare chest.
“Did you mean what you said on the plane?”
His eyes soften.
“Of course I did. I think you’re a very spec—”
“—Not just about me. But about wanting me to stay… longer?” you drawled out carefully, looking up at him for an explanation.
Yunho pauses for a moment.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” you confess, breaking a wonderful illusion with realistic questions you knew you couldn’t just ignore.
Yunho furrows his brows.
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” he says, scanning your expression.
When you look down, refusing to meet his eyes, Yunho gently hoists you up to sit on the counter, coming closer to look at you as his hands lean against the kitchen countertop and cage you in.
“Talk to me, sweetheart” he pleads, his tone gentle and calm.
You inhale once and exhale quietly, waiting with baited breath to think of how you wanted to say this.
You slosh the spoon around in the tub of melted ice cream beside you, searching for a distraction.
“I really don’t think I belong here,” you uttered softly, reality hitting you.
Your thoughts are elsewhere—back to the history of judgement and outcasting you’ve experienced from so many people when they found out you were formerly a stripper.
How easily affection can be conditional.
Like the moment they all learned the truth, you stopped becoming human and started becoming temporary. Disposable. Something to indulge in quietly, then look down on openly.
Your own family, friends back home, even previous partners as well.
The worst thing about it was that they’re right. In their eyes, how could you not be easily discarded?
You believe Yunho would eventually think the same as well.
Cause at the end of the day, all you were was an escort that was paid for the sum of four days, just to provide him with company and sex that was hidden in various contract terms, that could never actually amount to more than what was agreed upon.
He stills, as if he can listen to what you were thinking.
“But I think you’re exactly where you should be,” he says with such certainty.
Your heart clenches from looking up and seeing Yunho continuously shower you with this endless affection you didn’t deserve.
In habit, you begin to deny him first for your own sake. Refusing to get your hopes up as you tried to pull the billionaire from the outrageous idea.
“I’m not,” you swallowed back, shaking your head. “I-I’m really not because if you realized what I’ve done, Yunho, you’d feel disgusted like any other-”
“Why should it matter where either of us are from or what we’ve done?” he protests, not holding back.
“We’re together now, aren’t we?”
You exhale uncomfortably from his words. Probably because you know he’s being so sincere with you like he's always been, even when you haven’t done the same with him.
Yunho takes the ice cream carton from out of your hand, placing it gently on the counter and slotting his body in between your spread thighs. You gasp, flinching when the cold marble comes in contact with your skin.
“I’ll prove it to you.”
It's not long before Yunho is eating you out, bare ass against his kitchen counter, grabbing onto cold marble for support as his jaw opens and closes with feverish tasting.
The conversation can’t slip away like this again!… you plead, brain fogging as Yunho presses compliments against the skin of your thighs.
“Don't bring yourself down, love.”
He pulls back, smooth, strong chest rising and falling as he captures the image of you spread out for him, moonlight catching on your wet, shiny bud as he gathers something in his mouth.
You jump when a forceful contact hits your sensitive mound.
Yunho just spit a dollop of saliva onto your pussy, watching with baited breath and pure obsession as it drips down your slit and into the deeper crevice. He shudders when your hole instinctively sucks it in.
Fucking. Hell.
“Yunho...” you muttered with a firmer voice, trying not to let your temptations distract you from what you’ve been meaning to tell him.
If he has to hear the truth, it needs to come from out of your own mouth.
A faint ringing noise echoes from across the marble counter, a corded telephone echoing as a call comes through.
You look up, neck straining as you question the ringing so early in the morning.
“S’fine. Probably just front desk” he hushes, closing his eyes as he laps up your juices, his arms bulging as he grips your thighs open to prevent them from closing.
“Shouldn’t you answer it still?” you squirmed, moaning as Yunho shook his head, causing his sharp nose to brush against your nub too.
“Nope.” he mumbles, utterly lost in between your legs. It just doesn't sit right with you still.
“YUNHO” you breathed out loudly, finding the strength to push him back and grasp his wet chin, staring back at pussy-drunk eyes.
“I think you should answer it” you huff firmly, growing weak when he sighs and pecks you on the mouth, sharing the taste of slick.
With a groan, his long upper body reaches for the phone, picking it up as he presses one last chaste kiss to your lips, sliding his hand on your spread thighs to grope you in the ass.
You slap him hard, yelping as he smirks evilly and brings the receiver to his ear.
“Jeong Yunho speaking”, eyes never leaving your own as he continues to kiss your legs.
You shuffle, biting your lips at the ticklish feeling, unaware of the storm waiting on the other end of the line.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
It was his lawyer, Patrick. And he sure didn’t sound as happy Yunho was at the moment.
“Busy” he hums, continuing to tickle you with his obnoxious kisses.
You scold him, softening when he intertwines his hand with your own.
“I can tell.” His lawyer’s voice comes out flat, hiding a grim, menacing tone. Papers shuffle aggressively through the speaker.
“Tell me something, Yunho—was this weekend supposed to secure the Marinex corporation, or was it supposed to become a vacation?”
Patrick has finally earned his attention because Yunho’s expression immediately cools.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Patrick says bluntly. “You skip one of the most important acquisition meetings this quarter, leave the Choi family sitting there questioning whether you’re capable of rebuilding their company, and suddenly nobody can get a hold of you.”
Your smile leaves as you watch his expression fade, clutching Yunho’s robe closer to your body.
The CEO straightens slightly, forgetting his playful demeanor and replacing it with his business side he had coexisted with for all of his adult life.
“I’ve talked to their grandson,” he argues. “The contract wasn’t finalized because of hesitation on Mr. Choi’s part, not because of me. I clearly pushed the agenda that we could rebuild his family's company and remake it into something triple the price he was offering–”
“No, Yunho” Patrick cuts him off coldly. “His grandmother made him hesitate because they think you’ve become distracted.”
A tense silence follows.
“And we both know why.”
Yunho’s jaw tightens.
“It’s because of that girl, isn’t it?” Patrick mocks condescendingly into the phone.
His eyes flick toward you instinctively. You stare back, a lump forming in your throat.
“Patrick,” he warns quietly, jaw clenching. But his lawyer continues.
“Well guess what? While you were off playing with your playboy bunny in Beverly Hills, the Choi family did their own digging.”
Yunho’s grip on the phone stiffens.
“And I think you’re going to want to see what they found.” With a sigh, Patrick leans into his office chair and lights a cigarette while speaking into the phone.
“I sent a package to your suite and had them leave it on your kitchen counter.”
His eyes dart toward the thick brown file that’s gone unnoticed, sitting by itself on the edge across from you both.
Your eyes slowly followed, grasping Yunho’s arm carefully as an ominous feeling fell upon the room.
“Yunho, what is it?”
He leans forward and turns the cover.
The moment he opens the file, the air leaves the room. Photographs stare back at him instantly.
You beneath neon lights. Onstage. Lines of white powder served on your chest. Contorted into a vision of pure sex for hungry clients to see.
Patrick puffs out a cloud of smoke as his voice lowers.
“She’s a stripper, Yunho. You paid eight grand to let some washed up, crack-whore stripper spend the weekend with you.” Patrick snickers, venom laced in his voice.
It all comes crashing down in an instant.
Because no matter how warm Yunho had made you feel, the truth of who you were finally followed you here too.
And suddenly, you feel so entirely exposed. Even while wearing a robe with his initials on it.
The carton of sticky vanilla ice cream somehow becomes spilled upon the marble countertops, leaving one giant mess.
At least this one could be solved. Your’s was a bit more complicated to say.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yunho states quietly, calling out your name.
It’s frightening how calm he is. Not a single expression of disgust, resentment or anger building upon his face despite knowing how badly he must want to throw those awful photos in your direction.
Yunho would never. He’s too good for that.
His question cuts deeper than it should. Typically, you would have retaliated with a bit more emotion. Confess with tears and beg for forgiveness as you explained your reasons.
Instead, your laugh comes out hollow. This was the end of your contract either way.
“Would you have looked at me the same if I did?”
His brows pull together immediately. “That’s not what I asked—”
“You didn’t know,” you interrupt, stepping back from him. “That’s the only reason any of this worked.”
Yunho exhales sharply, rubbing a hand across his jaw as the remaining pressure from the call still hangs over him like smoke.
Patrick's quiet threat was more than just targeted to you. His words also held importance to that fact that if Yunho wanted to secure his highly expensive grand scheme of business relations he’s been building upon since his parent’s death — particularly by avoiding a news scandal with a former stripper— he would have to pull himself together and take care of his image with Marinex corporation first, as they had the upper hand in this case. And that meant surrendering to the Choi's.
“You liked me because you thought I could help you play it safe.” you fought back. "To relieve your needs and make you feel better."
“This isn’t about that.”
You look at him in disbelief. “Then what is it about?”
“The Marinex deal has completely fallen apart,” he says, frustration finally slipping into his tone. “Patrick’s losing his mind, the board’s probably already heard about this, someone has been investigating you, and now that bastard San is probably reveling in the fact that he’s gotten the best piece of dirt on me to give the press if I don’t—”
“So I'm the dirt.” you realize.
Yunho’s expression shifts slightly. The room falls silent again.
He sighs, rubbing his face as he retracts his words. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes, it is,” you mutter. “You’re just trying not to say it directly. Just admit it Yunho. I fucked it all up. Your business deal, your family image–”
“Fuck the image!” he barks as he steps towards you abruptly. “If anything, I want to know exactly why you hid this from me.” His eyes widening as he grasps your wrist.
“Clearly you’ve debated telling me even before I asked about your past, meanwhile I told you my own fucked up story with complete truth” he breathes heavily.
“When you told me you ‘danced’ —jesus christ— I thought it meant at parties or events!” Yunho states in disbelief.
“Well that’s not exactly a lie, Yunho.” you spit back, tears forming in your eyes.
“I did dance. I just did it in heavy ass stripper heels and not pointe shoes.” you snapped, standing straight as you walked closer to his face. It’s dangerous how much he’s letting you run your mouth at him.
“Why? Does that turn you off?” you challenged. “Do I make you disgusted? As if you’ve I’m used goods?” you plaster on a fake smirk as painful tears release from your eyes.
The vein on the side of Yunho’s neck bulges as he clenches his jaw, hands coming to rest on his hips as warns you in a tone you’ve never heard him use before.
“Stop that. You can be a real piece of work when you’re angry, you know that?” he snaps, voice sharp enough to cut through the glass window of the city skyline. Slivers of gold and orange dance around the nightly blue as dawn begins to break, signaling the day has only just begun.
Yunho’s chest rises as he stares at you, confliction flashing across his face before frustration wins again.
“You think this is about me being disgusted?” Yunho breaks bitterly, dragging a hand through his hair. “You really think that’s the part I care about?”
“Well what else could it fucking be?” you fire back immediately.
“It’s the fact that you never trusted me enough to tell me the truth!”
The room falls silent with thick tension. You even have to look away for a moment, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.
When you begin to understand how Yunho feels, a wave of indignation washes it back.
“Do you think it was easy for me?” You grit as you turn your head back. “The times I felt like I had to be someone else just to be in the room with you?” you raised your voice, fresh hot tears streaming down your face.
The CEO blinks softly, guilt filling his chest.
You shake your head, walking away from the conversation and towards the bedroom to retrieve your things. You’ve had enough of Beverly Hills and stupid high society.
But Yunho still follows, hot on your trail.
“No. I never wanted you to change. I wanted you. And if I ever made you feel that way…” he begins, clenching his fists as he owns up to his mistake.
“I’m sorry.” he apologized, wanting you to look at him. But you couldn’t handle his apology, nor the painful fact that it came so easily for him. That unlike any other partners you’ve previously had, Yunho was the first to chase you after hearing you were a stripper, providing the bare minimum and more.
With embarrassment, anger, and your dignity on the line, you rush to grab your items, looking for the worn out bag you arrived here with and ignoring the boxes of luxury clothes and shoes Yunho gifted you this weekend.
“Listen to me” he states, frantically calling for your name to set the record straight,
“I’m not angry because you’re a stripper. I’m disappointed because you lied.” he emphasizes, using a tone of voice that makes you want to barf from how grown-up it is.
Perhaps it was also because secretly, deep down in your heart, you know that what Yunho is saying is far more productive than the childish show you’re putting on right now, hiding and running away with embarrassment of getting caught.
“You looked me in the eye and told me you were a dancer.” he states, pointing a finger at you as he lays down the facts. “You built a version of yourself just to keep me from seeing the real you.”
“Well, of fucking course!” you snap, voice cracking despite yourself. “Because this is what always happens! News flash, Yunho, this is LA. People lie here all the time. They sell whatever version of themselves they need just to claw their way higher up the chain.”
Your gaze hardens as you step closer to tell him.
“And I’ve seen you do the exact same thing.”
Yunho stiffens, towering over you as he watches you suddenly shove off the suffocating robe to change into your panties and underwear laying on the ground beside him. Not caring if you have to change in front of him mid-argument.
If anything, the arguments just come hurdling back even stronger this time.
“Well what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He presses, voice rising.
“Oh come on, Yunho. You think the corporate men of America are any different than what I did? That dancing naked is any different than the bullshit you put on everyday while pretending you’re doing something noble and important? You screw people over for their money! You’re a capitalist dickface that attacks smaller businesses!”
“If you even understood a fraction of the things I’m responsible for — the companies that depend on my management of their shares, the people that work for me—“
“ —And I would know because I was one of them.”
A look of hurt flashes across his face.
“You meant more than that.” He responds quietly.
You bite down on your lip, scoffing.
“If I meant more than that then why are you angry at yourself then? Why are you holding back on the blame you want to put on me for ruining your deal and for scandalizing your entrepreneur image?” You’ve reached a tipping point. A point where you find yourself spiraling with anger and resentment at both Yunho and yourself.
“Just admit it, Yunho. I’m disgraceful. I’m the one who’s embarrassing. A liar for trying to survive in a world that was always meant for people like you.”
His voice is strict, calling for your name to slow down and listen to his words but you don’t.
Your bra strap snaps against your skin as you adjust it aggressively, looking around before snatching a random slip-on dress from the pile of clothing to wear as you collect your bag and leave the room in a hurry.
Shouts of your name echo again.
Yunho rushes behind, taking far fewer strides than yourself to keep up with the pace.
“I get that you think there's a difference between someone like me and you. That there are different titles we are associated with in society.” he says as you roll your eyes.
“But that’s not what I saw during the time we spent together. I always tried to treat you equally.” he points out.
“I told you things. Things I’ve never told anyone else. You made me feel like I could trust you. But then I find out you’ve been keeping this part of you locked up like it’s something ugly. Like you’re something ugly—“
“Because I am, Yunho! What is the point? That I took my clothes off for money before I ever let you touch me? That I didn’t fit the fantasy?”
He runs his hands through his hair, trying to reason with you through gritted teeth. “I’m telling you I don’t fucking care about a fantasy! I care about you. Your safety, and the fact that you looked me in the eye and didn’t trust me with the truth. That I’m just one more guy you had to perform for.”
You exhale with a shaky breath. How could you tell him right here that that was the problem. He’s turned into someone with far more value than the guys of your past. It was too much to imagine how he’d react to that piece of news in this situation as well.
Shaking your head as you walk away overwhelmed from the conversation, a hand suddenly reaches out and grabs you with a solid grip. Yunho pulls you to look at his face properly, practically seething as frustration wears his serious expression down.
“When someone older speaks to you, you listen, do you understand?” he mutters quietly, holding firm but not hurting you.
You look up stunned. Your throat tightens, tears threatening to spill as you immediately throw his hands off of you.
“You don’t get to act as betrayed as you are right now. You have no idea what people become the second they hear what I was.”
Yunho’s expression hardens, but not in anger this time.
“And you decided I’d become one of them before even giving me the chance not to.”
You can see the conflict in his face now—the exhaustion, the pressure, the disbelief at everything unraveling all at once. But instead of comforting you, the hesitation only confirms your fears.
Your chest tightens painfully. Sighing as the hot, molten anger melts to reveal the cold truth you always come back to after surviving in this world and by forgetting your fairytale books.
“You paid for four days, Yunho.” you force a sore voice out.
“That was all this was ever supposed to be.”
His eyes slightly widen in alarm when you throw the towel into the ring.
“Don’t say it like that. Don't do what I think–”
“But that's exactly it, Yunho. I’m not gonna do anything.” you say, straightening the strap of your bag on your shoulder as you turn. You reach for the door handle despite his calls of your name.
“We’re not done with this conversation!” he swears, eyes glistening as he holds back tears in panic. But you ignore it all.
“You know the worst part?” you begin, voice breaking as you finally tell him through quiet sobs.
“I really did want to tell you. A hundred times, I really did. And I’m sorry Yunho, but every time I looked at you… I panicked.”
“Why?” Yunho immediately asks as he walks further, tears falling as the stupid facades you’ve both put up with now crumble. “Fear of money? Of being disposed of?” He answers, guilt shooting through his heart at the flawed way he’d been living. The companies he's broken down. The people he’s cornered for their titles and shares.
Money meant nothing to him anymore. Not if you were threatening to leave.
But it wasn’t any of those things.
“It’s because you started to make me think I wasn’t disposable.” you responded back, staring at the man in front of you. Your expression softens.
“I don’t know how to be someone who gets chosen, Yunho, because being chosen doesn’t last forever. You could spend the rest of this month with me and still find that you grow tired of me, and things would fall apart just as easily as this contract was formed.” you predicted through bitter tears.
Then why don't you let me choose you forever? Yunho asks himself.
In reality, he should’ve said it out loud to you, but he too was clouded with fear. Fear of moving too fast. Of being too sudden and scaring you with a hasty decision that didn't read the room or considered you.
Your body moves first, inching closer to the door.
He calls your name firmly, trying to stop you. For a second, you almost do. But looking back to see Yunho standing with his hands by his side — revealing momentary hesitation, as if contemplating what move he should make next — that tiny moment of hesitation makes your heart sink completely.
So you walk past him, rushing a goodbye and leaving the penthouse in silence as Yunho remains the only one standing.
Alone. Back to how it was before you entered his life.
LA was one of the stranger places to call home.
It wasn’t always welcoming, but it wasn’t completely foreign either. Years of survival had changed the bright-eyed, determined young woman you were when you first arrived, to slowly adapt to the fast-paced life that brought more disappointments than fairytale stories.
Perhaps that’s why you felt the need to cut your story so short. For a city filled with people chasing dreams so desperately, it was important to know when things have gotten out of hand.
Back in your run down flat shared with your roommate Miko, you realize how long four days can feel when you've been away.
Her cheerful greeting dies down when she sees blotchy eyes and your front lip quivering as you barely make it through the front entrance, holding only your run down bag in hand, pockets empty of any type of money or compensation.
You left the gifts back at the penthouse. You couldn’t bring yourself to take anything that would remind you of what happened.
“Oh, honey…” your roommate hesitates, carefully coming to catch you as you collapse onto your knees when the door closes. The stream of tears follows quickly.
“I left him...” you mumbled softly in choked cries.
Your best friend reassures your heartbreaking sobs by patting your back in slow beats, shushing you despite your eyes continuing to water and seep into the old t-shirt she woke up in.
“It’s okay, honey” she softly mutters, not having to ask too many questions to know why you were in such a state. She takes a quick inhale and sighs, trying her best to convince you.
“Everything will be okay.”
But you couldn’t find the courage to imagine it would be. How could it? When you feel as though you’ve made a sacrifice for Yunho — to better his life and free him of your messy past — that puts your own affection and liking for him on the line.
“But you don't get it, I left him, Miko” you hiccuped, eyes puffy as you pulled back to emphasize the word to her face. “I was the one that couldn’t stay after seeing him react to my past. If only you saw the look on his face, fuck- h-how shocked he looked and how tired I felt of feeling like I was in the wrong to have stepped into his life and–”
“Hey, shhhh. It’s okay.” Miko tries her best to calm you down, carefully helping you up from the floor and guiding you toward the couch with peeling leather cushions. She wraps a blanket around you, the one you both stole from a laundromat months ago because neither of you could afford heating.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” she asks with a pointed look.
You shake your head immediately, watching as she doesn’t change her expression. Then you nod, breaking slowly once again.
“He looked at me like…” Your throat tightens.
“Like he wanted me to stay.”
“Then why didn’t you?” your roommate asks utterly bewildered, brows pulling together slightly. “I thought everything was going amazing?”
“His lawyer told him about me being a stripper. He beat me to it. And once the conversation started, I realized how much of his life could change because of the picture I painted for him. Of someone who definitely didn’t belong in his world,” you recalled painfully.
Miko pulls back.
“But did you stop to think how much your life changed after meeting him? The positive things that came out from the both of you being in this relationship?”
"There was no relationship. It was just business." you say sounding like you were trying to convince yourself more.
You raise your head to look at her crossed arms. Your roommate's image defensive as she sighs with a shake to her head.
“Listen carefully babe. What I’m trying to say is that careers are able to be rebuilt. Money ultimately comes and goes. But that connection? The one you told me over the phone that you shared with him? The way you said he looks at you? Now that doesn’t just come from nowhere.”
She helps you recognize that regardless of what happened towards the end, the past four days with Yunho had to have meant more than just business to the both of you. Especially with the way Kumiko thinks Yunho was trying to hold on to you based on your retelling.
“He still hesitated.” You dismissed her. “It was only for a second, but I-I knew what that look could mean–”
Your roommate sighs in response, rubbing her temples at your somewhat hasty and stupid actions.
Your cries of frustration come out miserable. “Okay whatever! I know how it sounds like because normal people hesitate all the time, right? But with him, Miko…” You wipe harshly at your face, reminding yourself that Yunho hardly ever hesitates.
"He probably felt the exact way I predicted he would feel towards me. Regret. I just couldn’t stand it staying there and waiting for his say on anything else. If I was actually 100% worth choosing or not.”
Miko’s judgement softens as she raises her brows.
“Well damn.”
A breath escapes you, leaning back against the seat as you shut your eyes in fatigue.
Miko eventually reaches over to tuck your hair behind your ear, the same way she used to after exhausting late-night shifts when the two of you would stumble home with aching feet. Her voice is smooth. “For someone terrifying enough to make grown men cry, he sure made you cry a lot too.”
“It feels exhausting...” you responded, biting the inside of your mouth.
“But…” She emphasizes, glancing toward the apartment window that reveals early morning sunlight to peeking through.
“Isn’t that what love is?” she tells you, making you open your eyes to look at her properly.
“You loved him. I can tell because it's written all over your face and explained through the way you acted.”
The ache in your chest sharpens instantly.
Loved. Past tense.
You don’t want to correct her. You find it would be easier to just shut out the part of yourself that repeats perhaps you still do love Yunho.
The rest of the morning is taken to lay around at home, swallowing down all your emotions and thoughts of regret by rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, hoping to find some sort of leftover alcohol to help. Kumiko warns you about daytime drinking, but she decides to leave you in peace as she heads off to her day job.
“Listen, I know you’re wallowing in your pain right now, and I completely support it, but I left Hime with the skinny convenience store kid for him to watch when I was gone.” she confesses, putting in her left earring as she shows up in her waitress outfit.
You stop rummaging through the pantry and look up in her direction at the mention of the scrawny black cat.
“Will you do me one favour and pick her up? The kid's probably done with his night shift about now.” she comments hesitantly, looking at her watch.
Through the pile of food items, you barely manage to shove a weak thumbs up in her direction, saying nothing more as you can’t find the energy to do so.
All you can do is sigh, standing up properly to grab a t-shirt from your room to change into. Kumiko rushes over and hugs you from behind as you walk, trying to cheer you up in her usual, clingy fashion.
“Thank you, I literally love you and promise to bring leftovers for you on the way back.” she says, knowing that it was a usual routine of yours that always made you feel a bit better. Yet still, her expression falters when she sees you're unable to give a full smile.
“Give it time, honey” she pats your back, wishing you rest.
"Give him some time too."
She hands over the keys and wipes a few stray tears from your puffy eyes when you mumble back unconvinced.
“I highly doubt it.”
The fluorescent lights flicker overhead as you wander through half-empty aisles in the dingy convenience store on Hollywood Boulevard, exhaustion still sitting heavy in your chest from the breakup hours earlier.
It’s unusual to find yourself here so early. Usually you’re visiting during midnight hours, when you’ve finished your night shifts.
Just outside, the city of LA has barely awakened. Police sirens echo somewhere in the distance while the sky hangs in that pretty orange-blue color with a smell of burnt coffee and cheap cigarettes lingering in the air.
It’s funny, you think as you grab the cheapest can of beer out of the back fridges. Out of all the places you could’ve gone to after leaving Yunho, you ended up here— back where you first met him.
Your fingers curl around the metal can, the lukewarm aluminum far from cold enough for your liking as it brushes against your skin. Exhaustion drags through your limbs while you sluggishly make your way to the checkout counter, placing the single drink onto the table with a quiet clink.
“It’s not even noon, y'know," Timothy comments dryly, the teen boy yawning as he still helps you checkout. After pressing a few buttons on the cashier, he peers outside the window, looking out for the next employee to swap with him.
“Surprised you didn’t grab the half-priced milk this morning,” he comments, absentmindedly brushing through the dark fur of Hime as she sits atop the glass checkout counter, peacefully enjoying her final few minutes with him before his shift ends.
"Your cat practically hangs near the milk section every time she's here."
You shut your eyes, cursing quietly under your breath as a frustrated groan leaves you. With your chest still heavy from everything that happened this weekend, you realize you haven’t been paying attention to anything around you at all. Not even to the fact that you have to feed your cat, and not even when the bell hanging on the doors chimes, signaling another person has come in.
“One second,” you mumble with your back to the part-timer, walking towards the half-priced refrigerated goods section to grab the carton you always purchased.
The fridge doors hum softly as you pull one open, leaning down as lukewarm air brushes against your flushed face instead of the cool chill you were waiting for.
“Seriously, you guys need to fix the thermostat in here or someth—”
The words die instantly in your throat the moment you straighten back up.
Because the moment you lift your gaze, a head of messy jet-black hair and a Burberry coat come into view near the register.
Your breath catches instantly.
Yunho’s hair is disheveled, strands falling messily over his forehead like he’d been dragging frustrated hands through it all morning. Dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes as exhaustion is written plainly across his face while his coat hangs off him carelessly.
The state of his eyes catch your attention the most. Red-rimmed and restless. Desperate in a way that makes your stomach turn.
You doubt you look much better yourself.
For a long moment, neither of you speak. The buzzing sounds of the fridge and freezer sections feel so deafening. But if anything, this hurts more than yelling ever could. To stand here in complete silence with someone who once knew almost nothing about you and now knows too much.
When your name leaves his mouth, you swallow hard, instinctively taking a step back until the refrigerator door presses cold against your spine.
“What are you doing here?” you ask in disbelief, though the question sounds far more accusatory than angry.
Yunho exhales heavily through his nose. “I caught your roommate before she left your apartment.” he responded, eyes never leaving yours for even a second.
“She said I'd be able to find you here.”
You shut your eyes briefly, silently cursing your friend for being too honest for her own good.
Before he can answer, you hurry toward the checkout counter, desperately needing something else to focus on besides the look in his eyes. Your fingers fumble for a crumpled ten dollar bill before abruptly dropping the carton of milk onto the counter hard enough to make poor Hime jump at the vibration beneath her paws.
“Keep the change,” you mutter quickly, shoving the bill into Timothy’s hand before reaching over to gather Hime against your chest and collecting your purchases.
The feline lets out a small confused meow, Yunho stepping closer.
“Please, let me say something” he calls your name softly, shortening the distance and immediately making you set the drinks back down with a sharp clink.
The cat watches in silence as she’s put down back onto the counter as well.
“What is there even more to say, Yunho?” you retort back. “I’ve said everything I needed to and left your life so you could fix this mess I made and forget this even happened.” you break, reaching a tipping point when you remember the sacrifice you made to move on.
But for him to come back so quickly, to go out of his way to find you back here in this area of town makes it so much harder.
“But I haven’t told you everything I wanted to say,” he argues firmly, brows furrowing as he walks closer.
“I fired Patrick and canceled the Marinex deal,” he reveals.
When you ask him in utter disbelief why he did such a thing, his response only comes back even stronger with disposition.
“Because last night I held you in my arms while you told me you’d stay, and then this morning you disappeared like I imagined the entire thing up,” he recalls, his voice breaking at the edges now, disbelief bleeding into more raw, unguarded emotions.
“I realized I needed to get rid of the people that were in my way. The things that were preventing me from what I really wanted," he explained.
"Which is you.”
Your throat physically burns. “Well,” You bite back, clenching your fists. “Don’t you know people say things they don’t mean when they’re drunk and fucked until unconsciousness?”
The young cashier standing only a few feet away, blinks between the two of you awkwardly. Yunho doesn’t even spare him a glance, nor does he react to your attempt at deflection. Your sharpness and effort to maintain a distance is just absorbed quietly with unflinching patience.
“You're not allowed to erase us like that,” Yunho demands, steady despite everything he wants to say. “Because I remember exactly how you looked at me when you said it.”
Very slowly, Timothy sinks back behind the counter, giving you some space.
Your jaw tightens instantly, sighing loudly.
“Yunho, you can’t just—”
“No.” he repeats, firmer this time. “I’m not doing that again. I’m not leaving just because you’re scared. I spent the last few hours thinking about everything you said to me. Reanalyzing the past four days we spent together in this fucked up proposal I offered you where I exchanged your comfort and presence for money. And I realized what you said about LA was true. People sell pieces of themselves every single day just to survive. They lie. They cheat. They pretend to be things they’re not. I probably do it best. But you? All you did was survive without becoming cruel. You did what you had to do when nobody else was there to save you. And even after everything, I can't believe you can't even realize that you’re still kind. Still smart. Still brave in a way I don’t think you even understand.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a strained breath that sounds like pure awe laced with disbelief. "You do realize you threw yourself in front of an armed gunman for two other people, right?” he asks incredulously as he refers back to the first night you met.
Your mouth goes dry. Stunned silence makes you unable to retort back with any response this time.
“So I’m telling you this for the last time because you deserve to know.” he says firmly.
“I don’t care that you used to strip. I don’t care who touched you before me or what job you have or what anybody else thinks they can call you. I don’t care who you had to become to survive before me. I care about who you are when nobody asks anything from you. The person you are now. I care that somewhere along the way, it somehow got into your pretty little head that surviving something difficult could make you any harder to love.”
Tears finally spill down your face. No one has ever looked at the ugliest parts of your life and treated them like wounds instead of evidence.
Yunho notices your expression crumble and immediately wraps his arms around you.
You never knew how meeting this man would’ve changed you. In front of him, you wanted to be the absolute best version of yourself. To please him in return for the gentle love he offered to you so easily and humbly. But now you understand it was because there was no extent to his affection for you. For someone you couldn’t imagine a future together if he found your secret past, he’s proved wrong by coming back for you. To tell you properly face to face that he still wanted you.
As he daringly encases your body within his arms, Yunho embraces you in a firm yet gentle manner.
“How could I not be scared when I didn’t know how to believe you?” you admitted, muffled against his strong chest as hand cradles the back of your head. His heart breaks at how easily you turn your pain inward and how quickly you become your own sharpest critic.
“Will you believe me if I tell you that I love you?”
It leaves him so simply this time. No hesitation present. It’s not needed when it’s his pure, unfiltered truth.
You pull back shakily, looking up at him.
“Y-You can’t just love someone after four days!” you shake your head, though your heart races from reciprocation.
Yunho scoffs faintly, looking down at you as you stumble over your words.
“We had a contract, a deal that—”
“I love you not despite your past and not because I pity you, but because I just do.”
For many years, he’d drowned life under business calls, endless contracts, and nights spent in boardrooms instead of surrounded by warmth. The idea of love was so distant in the CEO’s mind. But with you, it was as though a whole new life was restarted.
His eyes glisten as rays of morning sunshine poke through the dirty glass windows.
A soft exhale escapes you through your tears, the words finally cutting through all your resistance that he’s chosen you. That he’s already chosen you long before you were brave enough to accept it.
Yunho brings his lips down to share a slow, grounding kiss. Not like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, because the second your hands grab the front of his jacket closer, you melt completely.
The mild can of beer and weird-tasting milk slips forgotten on the checkout table behind you as hands rest steady around your waist, pulling you against him like he’s terrified to lose you again. Hime meows softly, licking her fur as if entirely unimpressed by the emotional collapse happening nearby.
Outside, sirens still scream somewhere far down the street.
Inside the tiny convenience store, under flickering fluorescent lights, a horrified expression clouds Timothy’s face behind the aisle of potato chip bags.
It doesn’t matter. Because when the two of you finally pull back, tears still caught in your lashes, you say something quieter and far more important than any billion-dollar deal signed by a man like him.
Yunho always had money. He just never had someone who could give him something even more valuable.
“I love you too.”
𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄:
“Have you got everything?”
You nod, nervously sucking in a deep breath as you gripped the straps of your tote bag. The newly purchased textbooks felt heavy in your grasp, their covers glistening with newness. But that didn’t intimidate you as much as you thought it would.
It served as a firm reminder of why you were here and why you wanted to do this.
“Notebooks, pens, pencils?” Yunho lists, brows furrowing as the billionaire himself gets nervous for your first day of university. “Did my chef make you your lunch like you wanted her to?”
You nod, feeling so loved and well prepared thanks to your fiance’s care. “Mhm.”
He nods, letting out a deep sigh as he pulls you in and presses a gentle kiss on your forehead, reminding himself that you were.
“Don’t be too nervous making friends, everyone is going to love you. If anyone says anything to hurt you, you have my legal teams number plus a list of all the top lawyers within the county-”
“Yunho,” you gently called out.
The corners of your mouth lift as you reassured him by interlacing his fingers within yours.
“I’ll be fine.” you smiled, nervous but still nonetheless excited to go back to university and finish your studies like you always wanted to. The new support system around you brought the courage to pursue a higher degree than just a highschool diploma.
Yunho watches his fiance standing in front of him, an excited smile on her cheeks as bright eyes look up at him. He has half the heart to just ditch the office and spend the whole day with you on campus, not wanting to spend a single second apart. But seeing as other students independently walk pass on their way to class, he simply caresses your face.
“I’ll be waiting for you when you finish, alright?” he promises softly. “I want to hear everything about your first day.”
You nod and grin.
“Have a good day at the office.”
“Have a good day at school.”
And with one last kiss, full of warmth that lingers long after it ends, you finally slip from his arms and take your first steps onto the fresh green campus grounds. It may be nerve-wracking, but it’s not frightening.
Because even as you move forward on your own, you know someone who loves you is still there behind you.
❛ during his rut, nicholas always kept you at distance, afraid of hurting you, his human mate. he just should've known better than that. his female is stubborn, and completely obsessed with him. ❜
( 王奕翔 && fem!reader ) ⋮ 𝗦𝗠𝗨𝗧 ⋮ tiger hybrid!nicho, rut, knotting, breeding kink, multiple positions + orgasms, squirting, nicho calls you 'his female', nicho just wants his kits, rough sex, under the influence (?) (i mean, he's not in the right state of mind), blonde mullet nicho!!, cunnilingus, blowjob, lactation kink, a lot of drool, this is filthy okay, sorry ⟡ 𝟿.𝟼𝟹𝟻 words !
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡ reblogs and comments for a cookie!
The relentless buzz of your phone had gone unanswered for hours, each unanswered call twisting the knot in your stomach tighter.
Nicholas, you tiger hybrid boyfriend, was in the grip of his rut again, and he’d shut you out like he always did. Suppressants didn’t work on his kind, at least not yet—tiger hybrids ike him had to ride it raw, instincts raging without chemical mercy. He’d lock himself away in his apartment, convinced that his feral side would snap and hurt you, his fragile human mate. For you, it was bullshit. He had you, his mate, to take care of him in these times, he was just too stubborn. You know he’d never hurt you, but still he didn’t want it.
The idea of him suffering alone, denying you both the comfort of your bond, felt like betrayal, honestly. You were his mate; you needed to be there, to touch him, to ground him through the storm.
And you definitely needed him fucking the shit out of you.
Tired of the silence, you grabbed your keys and stormed out. “If the tiger won’t come to his female, the female goes to her tiger.”
In his apartment, Nicholas had just stepped out of his fifth shower of the day—and it was barely 9 a.m.—the icy blasts doing little to quench the fire raging in his veins. His cock had been hard and throbbing since he woke up at dawn, every pulse a reminder of you—your scent, your soft curves, the way your body fit against his.
He’d gripped the shower wall, teeth gritted, fighting the urge to stroke himself to thoughts of burying deep inside you, claiming you until the rut burned out. But he couldn’t risk it. Not with you, his precious female.
Then it hit him—your scent. Sweet, intoxicating, seeping under the door like a siren’s call.
His nostrils flared, heart slamming against his ribs. His amber eyes threatening to shift to that orange hue. Hallucination, he told himself. The rut playing tricks, conjuring you to torment him further. He shook his head, droplets scattering across the tiled floor, his towel slung low on his hips, barely containing the thick bulge straining against the fabric. Precum had already soaked through once during the shower; now it beaded again at the tip, his body betraying him.
“Nicholas, you better open this damn door.” Your voice cut through, sharp and insistent. “I’m not leaving.”
He growled low in his throat, a rumble that vibrated through his chest, but his hand moved on instinct, twisting the knob. The door swung open and there you stood, eyes wide and determined, all pretty for him. His gaze locked on yours, orange eyes like you’ve never seen before, swirling with barely contained hunger.
“I told you you shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, voice rough like gravel, his broad frame filling the doorway.
Steam from the shower lingered on his skin, tiny rivulets tracing down his toned chet, over the ridges of his abs, disappearing into the towel. His blonde hair damp and tousled, the mullet framing his sharp jawline and those eyes—god they were even prettier—pupils silating as your scent flooded his senses.
You didn’t back down. Instead, you pushed past him, your shoulder brushing his damp arm, sending a jolt straight to his groin. His cock twitched visibly under the towel, the outline thickening as he fought the urge to grab you.
“It’s unfair what you’re doing,” you said, voice trembling with a mix of anger and need as you stepped fully into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.
The space was dim, curtains drawn against the morning light, the air thick with his musky arousal—earthy, primal, like the wild heart of the tiger he carried.
“You think I can’t handle this? That I don’t want to be with you through it? We’re mates, Weno. I need you too.” you voice got needier the more you talked.
He backed up a step, hands clenching at his sides, claws itching to extend from his fingertips. “Go home, you stubborn female,” he urged, but his body betrayed him, leaning toward you even as he circled away.
You advanced, determined to close the distance, your eyes raking over him—taking in the water-slicked skin, the way his muscles tensed under the faint stripes of his hybrid markings, faint black stripes down his sides that seemed to darken when his rut peaked.
The towel hung precariously low, the bulge beneath impossible to ignore, his erection pressing insistently against the thin barrier, the head outlined clearly, leaking steadily now.
You reached for him, fingers grazing his arm, but he dodged, pivoting around the edge of the living room sofa like it was a shield in some absurd dance.
“Stay back, female,” he warned, voice dropping to a growl.
His long legs carried him in a wide arc, towel flapped slightly as he moved, the apartment’s coffee table nearly tripping him. You mirrored him, slipping around the other side, your heart pounding with a cocktail of frustration and desire.
“Tiger,” you said in a warning tone, trying to reach him again.
The emotional tension crackled between you, thick as the heat radiating from his body. He was suffering, you could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the sweat beading anew on his brow despite the cold shower.
“Stop running from me,” you pleaded, voice softening as you lunged forward, trying to catch his wrist.
He twisted away, but not before your fingers brushed the warm skin of his hip, inches from where the towel knotted.
A shudder ran through him, his cock jerking hard, a wet spot blooming darker on the fabric. His eyes flashed fully orange now, the golden amber consumed by the rut’s fire, pupils slitting like a predator’s. He panted, chest heaving, the scent of his arousal intensifying, mingling with yours as your own body responded—heat pooling between your thighs, nipples tightening under your shirt.
“I’ll hurt you,” he admitted hoarsely, circling the sofa again, his movements more frantic, like a caged animal pacing. But you didn’t stop, matching his steps, closing in with each pass.
The sofa became your battlefield, a ridiculous loop of pursuit and evasion that belied the raw intimacy building. Every near-miss sent sparks through both of you—your hand skimming his thigh, his breath ghosting your hair as he spun away.
“You don’t get it. The rut… it make me want to pin you down, fuck you until you can’t walk, mark you so deep you bleed my scent, fuck—put my cubs in you.” His words hung heavy, explicit and unfiltered, stoking the fire in your core.
You could see the strain in him, the way his hips shifted unconsciously, seeking friction against the air. “Then do it,” you challenged, voice breathy, finally cornering him against the arm of the sofa. Your body pressed close, breasts brushing his chest, the heat of him searing through your clothes. “I’m not afraid. I’m your mate, your female. Use me however you want, tiger. Put your cubs in me.
He froze, orange eyes boring into yours, the internal war raging across his face. His cock throbbed visibly, tenting the towel to its limit, a bead of precum trickling down the inside of his thigh.
The emotional dam cracked; his hand shot out, not to push you away, but to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. The hard length of him ground into your belly, hot and insistent, as a deep growl rumbled from his throat.
“Fuck… you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, lips crashing down to claim yours in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation, tongues tangling as the rut finally won.
His lips devoured yours with a ferocity that stole your breath, the kiss deepening as his tongue plunged into your mouth, stroking against yours in wet, insistent slides.
Nicholas’ hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, claws pricking your skin through your clothes as he backed you toward the sofa. The towel finally gave way, slipping from his waist to pool at his feet, his thick cock springing free—veins bulging along the shaft, the head flushed in a dark red and slick with precum that dripped in a steady string onto the floor.
He couldn’t care less; all he could focus on was the taste of you, the way your body yielded under his touch.
With a guttural growl vibrating against your lips, he shoved you backward onto the couch, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thud. You bounced slightly, legs splaying open instinctively as he loomed over you, orange eyes blazing with unrestrained hunger.
His hair fell forward, framing his face like a wild mane. Droplets of water—or was it sweat?—trailed down his chest, catching on the faint tiger stripes that rippled across his skin with every heaving breath. His cock bobbed heavily between his thighs, brushing your knee as he knelt down, the heat of it searing even through the fabric of your shorts.
“Gonna taste you first,” he rasped, voice thick and broken, his rut demanding he claim you slowly to keep from losing control too soon.
But even as he said it, his body trembled, the need to bury himself inside your tight heat clawing at his insides.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, but no—instinct took over. His lips curled back, revealing sharp canines as he leaned in, teeth sinking into the fabric right at your hip. With a savage yank, he tore through the material, the sounds of ripping cotton echoing in the room. Your panties followed in one brutal pull, his teeth grazing your skin as he shredded them away, exposing your bare pussy to the cool air of the apartment.
You gasped, the sudden exposure sending a rush of arousal flooding between your folds, your clit already swollen and aching. Nicholas’ eyes locked on your core, nostrils flaring as he inhaled your scent—musky and sweet, driving his tiger instincts wild.
Saliva pooled in his mouth, his jaw working as drool escaped the corners of his lips, dripping onto your inner thigh in warm, messy trails. He didn’t wipe it away; instead, he dove in, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart, knees hooked over his arms to pin you open.
His tongue flattened against your pussy in one long, dragging lick from your entrance to your clit, lapping up the slick arousal that coated your lips. The texture of his tongue—rougher than a human’s, with a faint rasp from his hybrid nature—sent shocks of pleasure ripping through you, making your hips buck up toward his face.
He groaned into you, the vibration humming against your sensitive flesh as he licked again, slower this time, savouring the way your juices mixed with his spit. Drool spilled freely from his mouth now, slicking your thighs and pooling at the base of your ass on the couch cushions, turning the fabric dark and sodden.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered against your folds, words muffled as his lips sealed around your clit and sucked hard, pulling the nub into his mouth with wet, slurping sounds.
His tongue flicked over it rapidly, circling the swollen peak while his drool bubbled out, mixing with your growing wetness to create a filthy, slippery mess that dripped down your ass. You could feel it everywhere—the slick glide of saliva and arousal coating your skin, making obscene squelching noisees every time he moved.
One hand braced on your thigh, claws dimpling the flesh without breaking skin, while the other slid up your inner thigh, fingers tracing the soaked path his tongue had blazed.
He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, the intrusion stretching your walls as he curled them upward, seeking that spongy spot that made you cry out his name. Your pussy clenched around the thick digits, pulling them deeper as he pumped them in and out, the motion deliberate and rough.
Each thrust displaced more of the messy combination of his spit and your cream, forcing it to squirt out around his knuckles with lewd, wet pops. He added a third finger, stretching you further, his thumb pressing down on your clit to grind in tandem with his sucking mouth.
The pressure built fast, your body arching off the couch as he finger-fucked you relentlessly, his tongue lashing your clit between deep, probing licks into your entrance.
Nicholas’ cock throbbed untouched against the edge of the sofa, precum leaking in heavy beads that smeared across the upholstery, but he just couldn’t stop—not yet. The more he tasted you, the way your pussy fluttered and gushed around his fingers, the more the rut screamed for him to flip you over and slam his cock balls-deep inside.
He growled low, the sound sending fresh vibrations through your core as he sucked harder, teeth grazing your clit just enough to sting. Drool poured from his mouth in rivulets, soaking your pubic hair, running down to where his fingers plunged, making ecery slide smoother, filthier. Your arousal squirted lightly with each curl of his fingers, splattering his chin and wrist, the scent of sex thick and heady in the air.
He pulled his fingers out briefly, only to shove them back deeper, scissoring them to open you up while his tongue delved inside alongside, fucking into your hole with broad, sloppy thrusts.
The mess was everywhere—your thighs glistened with it, the couch beneath you growing damp and sticky, his face shiny with saliva and your juices.
“Need to be inside you,” he panted, voice ragged as he lifted his head just enough to speak, orange eyes wild and unfocused.
But he dove back down, latching onto your clit again, sucking and licking with desperate fervor, fingers pistoning faster now, determined to make you cum on his tongue before he lost the fragile thread of control holding him back.
Your hands fisted in his damp hair, pulling him closer as the coil in your belly tightened, the dual assault of his mouth and fingers pushing you toward the edge. He was relentless, drooling and devouring like a man possessed, the filthy wetness amplifying every sensation until you shattered, pussy spasming around his fingers as you came with a keening moan, flooding his mouth with more of your release.
He lapped it all up greedily, but the taste only fueled the fire—the need to fuck you raw, too fill you with his cum until it leaked out in messy streams, overwhelming him completely.
Your body still quivered from the orgasm crashing through you, pussy clenching around nothing now that Nicholas had withdrawn his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.
He rose up slightly on his knees between your spead thighs, his face glistening with the messy blend of your arousal and his drool, chin dripping as he licked his lips with a swipe of that rough tongue. His orange eyes burned into yours, pupils blown wide with the feral haze of his rut, but beneath it flickered a thread of restraint—the human part of him clinging to control.
His cock stood rigid against his abs, the shaft so thick it curved slightly upward, veins pulsing along its length, the head an angry red and weeping in thick ropes that stretched and snapped as he shifted. It was impossibly long, easily nine inches, the tip already swelling faintly with the promise of his knot.
He panted heavily, chest rising and falling, water from his earlier shower long evaporated into sweat that beaded on his tiger-striped skin. One hand wrapped around his cock, stroking once, twice, to spead the slick precum over the length, making it glisten obscenely.
The tiger inside roared in his mind—take her, claim her, breed her now—but he forced the words out, voice a gravelly whisper laced with desperation. “Please… tell me I can fuck you. Need to be inside you, but… don’t wanna hurt you. Say yes, female. Let me have you.”
Your nod was immediate, heart pounding at the vulnerability in his plea amid the primal storm. “Yes, Weno, please. Want you—all of you.” The words ignited him; a low snarl rumbled from his throat as he surged forward, hooking your legs over his hips to pull you closer.
The couch creaked under the shift, the cushions already soaked from his earlier attentions, but he didn’t care. He lined up his cock with your entrance, the fat head nudging your slick folds apart, teasing your clit before pressing down. With one controlled thrust, he sank in halfway, your pussy stretching around his girth with a burn that bordered on pain, walls fluttering to accommodate the invasion.
You cried out, nails scraping down his arms, leaving red trails on his damp skin.
“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, hips snapping forward to bury the rest of his length inside you in a single, depp plunge.
His balls slapped against your ass, the fullness overwhelming as his cock bottomed out, the tip kissing your cervix with a jolt that made stars burst behind your eyelids. He filled you completely, every inch throbbing hot and heavy, the thickness splitting you open while the length reached places no one else ever had.
He held still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling in hot bursts as he adjusted to the vice-like grip of your pussy milking him. Drool escaped his lips again, landing on your collarbone in a warm splatter, mixing with the sweat slicking your bodies.
Then he started moving, pulling out slowly until just the head remained, your arousal coating his shaft in a shiny sheen that dripped down to his balls, before slamming back in with a wet smack. The pace built quickly, his thrusts powerful and unrelenting, hips pistoning as he fucked you into the couch, your back arching off the cushions to meet him.
Each drive hit deep, his cock dragging along your inner walls, the ridge of the head scraping that sensitive spot inside that had you gasping, toes curling. The filthy sounds filled the room—skin slapping skin, your pussy squelching around him as he churned your mixed fluids into a frothy cream that leaked out with every withdrawal, soaking the base of his cock and the couch beneath your ass.
“Gonna put my cubs in you,” he babbled, words tumbling out in a feverish rush between grunts, his rut overriding any filter as he rutted into you like an animal in heat. “Need to—fuck, fill this pussy with my seed, breed you full. Watch your belly swell with my kits, mark you inside and out. You’re my female, gonna knot you and—shit—pump every drop deep where it belongs.”
His voice cracked on the last word, hips stuttering as the words fueled his frenzy, thrusts turning erratic, deeper, harder, the couch frame groaning in protest. Precum leaked steadily from his tip, mixinf with your wetness to make each slide smoother, messier, the excess bubbling out around where you were joined and trickling down your ass.
You marked him in return, driven by the same wild instinct, your hands roaming his back as claws of your own—metaphorical, but no less fierce—raked down his spine, nails breaking skin in shallow scratches that welled with thin lines of blood.
He hissed in pleasure-pain, the sting only spurring him on, and you leaned up to sink your teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave indents that bruised instantly, tasting the salt of his sweat and the faint mettalic tang of blood.
He marked you too, one hand pinning your hip with bruising force, fingers digging in to leave imprints on your skin, while his other hand claimed your breast, kneading the flesh roughly before his mouth descended.
His teeth found the top of your left breast, right over the existing mate mark he’d given you before—the two small puncture holes from his canines, healed but forever scarred as proff of your bond. He bit down again, not piercing but pressing hard enough to reopen the sensitivity, sucking on the mark with a possessive growl that vibrated through your chest.
The pain mingled with pleasure, your pussy clenching tighter around his pounding cock, pulling a guttural moan from him.
“Mine,” he snarled against your skin, tongue lapping at the twin holes before he lifted his head, eyes locking on yours with feral intensity.
But before he lost himself completely, he softened for a heartbeat, leaning down to press his lips tenderly to that very mark, kissing the two small punctures with a reverence that contrasted the brutal fucking, his tongue tracing the raised edges as if worshipping the bond he’d sealed there.
“Love you,” he murmured, the words barely audible over the wet slap of his hips against yours, before the rut reclaimed him fully.
His thrusts gew frantic, cock swelling thicker inside you, the knot beginning to inflate as he chased his release.
“Coming—fuck, gonna cum inside you,” he gasped, burying himself to the hilt one last time, the head of his cock pressing flush against your cervix.
His body tensed, muscles rippling under your hands, and then he erupted, hot spurts of cum flooding your pussy in thick, endless ropes.
The sensation was overwhelming, his seed painting your walls white, filling you to the brim as his knot swelled fully, locking him in place just inside your entrance—not forcing the full bulge past to avoid tearing you, but enough to seal everything inside.
He stayed like that, hips grinding in shallow circles to push every drop deeper, ensuring his cum bathed your womb, the warmth speading through your core as excess pressure built but stayed contained by his knot.
The rut burned hotter in his veins, his tiger nature granting him endless stamina that refused to let him rest. Even as the last pulses of orgasm faded, his cock throbbed insistently inside you, already hardening further against the slick confines of your pussy.
Sweat dripped from his brow onto your chest, mixing with the drying saliva from his earlier bites, and his amber eyes—now fully orange with feral hunger—locked onto yours.
A low growl vibrated through his chest, the sound primal and demanding, as he gripped your hips tighter, claws pricking your skin without breaking it.
“Not done yet,” he rasped, voice thick with need, his breath hot against your ear. “Need more of you, fill this pussy until you’re leaking me everywhere.”
Without waiting for a response, his hands slid under your thighs, strong fingers digging in as he lifted and flipped you over in one fluid motion. The sudden shift made his knot tug at your entrance, sending a fresh wave of pleasure-pain through you, but he was careful, easing out just enough to maneuver you onto your stomach on the couch.
Your knees sank into the cushions, ass raised instinctively as he positioned you on all fours, the position exposing you completely—your cum-filled pussy still clenching around emptiness, a thick trail of his seed already dribbling down your inner thighs, mixing with your own arousal to create a sticky mess that cooled against your skin.
Nicholas knelt behind you, his large hands spreading your ass cheeks apart, thumbs pulling your folds open to expose the creamy white evidence of his release leaking from your hole. The sight made him snarl, tongue darting out to wet his lips as drool gathered at the corners of his mouth.
“Look at that,” he murmured, voice husky and reverent, one finger tracing the puffy lips of your pussy before dipping inside to scoop out a glob of his cum, bringing it to his mouth to suck clean with a lewd slurp. “All mine, dripping out of you. But I’m not finished breeding my pretty female.”
He lowered his head, rough tiger tongue lapping flat against your slit from clit to entrance in a long, deliberate stroke that gathered the mingled fluids—your wetness, his cum, the remnants of his saliva from before.
The texture rasped deliciously over your sensitive nerves, making you shudder and push back against his face. He groaned into you, the vibration humming through your core as he devoured you hungrily, tongue thrusting inside your pussy to fuck the leaking cum back in, swirling around to taste the salty-sweet blend. Drool spilled from his lips freely now, unchecked by his rut-fueled frenzy, coating your folds and dripping down to your clit, where he flicked the tip of his tongue rapidly, circling the swollen nub until your thighs trembled.
“Fuck, you taste so good with me,” he mumbled against your skin, words muffled as he sucked your clit between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to sting.
His hands kneaded your ass, pulling you wider as his tongue delved deeper, lapping up every drop that escaped. But he didn’t stop there—his rut demanded more, every inch of you. With a possessive growl, he tilted his head lower, tongue tracing the path from your pussy up to your ass, over the sensitive skin of your perineum, until it reached the tight pucker of your asshole.
You gasped at the unexpected touch, body tensing, but he held you firm, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you arched.
“Relax, my female,” he soother, through his voice was edged with raw desire. His tongue circled your rim slowly, wetting the ring of muscle with broad, flat laps that made it clench and flutter.
He pushed the tip against the entrance, not breaching but teasing, rimming you with insistent pressure while his thumb rubbed circles over your clit to distract and heighten the sensation.
Saliva poured from his mouth, slicking your ass thoroughly, the wet sounds obscene as he ate you out from behind—tongue alternating between your pussy and asshole, dipping into one then dragging to the other, creating a filthy trail of spit and cum that soaked your thighs and the couch below.
Your body responded despite the novelty, hips rocking back to chase the pleasure, moans spilling from your lips as his rough tongue worked you open, the dual assault pushing you toward another edge.
He spent what felt like ages there, feasting on you relentlessly, his face buried between your cheeks as he licked and sucked, fingers joining to pump into your pussy alongside his tongue’s explorations. Two digits curled inside you, stroking that spongy spot while his mouth rimmed you, the combination filthy and overwhelming, your arousal spiking as drool and fluids smeared across his chin and your skin.
Nicholas panted heavily, his cock bobbing against his thighs, leaking fresh precum that splattered onto the cushions. The endless stamina of his rut kept him tireless, his tiger instincts driving him to prepare you, to claim every part without mercy.
Finally he pulled back with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting his lips to your ass before snapping. His hands gripped your hips, yanking you back as he rose up, the head of his cock—thick, long and veined—nudging against your entrance.
“Want it in your ass too?” he asked, but his tone was teasing, almost mocking, as he rubbed the tip along your slick crack, bumping your rim just once. You whimpered, the contact electric, but he chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Not today. My cum is only for our kits—gonna keep pumping it into this pussy until you’re bred full. That’s where it belongs, deep in your womb.”
With that, he thrust forward, slamming his cock balls-deep into your pussy in one brutal stroke. The stretch looked even more intense from this angle, his length spearing you open, the head battering your cervix as his hips met your ass with a resounding smack. You cried out, fingers clutching thecouch cushions, a string of “Weno” falling freely from your lips.
One large hand tangled in your hair, not pulling but guiding your face down, pressing your cheek firmly into the soft fabric of the cushion. “Stay down,” he ordered, voice a guttural command, his palm holding your head there as he began to fuck you from behind, each thrust driving deeper than the last.
The angle allowed him to hit places inside you that made your vision blur—his thick shaft dragging along your walls, the girth splitting you wide while the length punched into your depths, forcing out obscene squelches as his previous load churned with your fresh arousal.
He pushed your head harder into the cushions with every snap of his hips, muffling your moans as drool escaped your open mouth, soaking the fabric beneath your cheek. Your tiger drooled too, the rut making his control slip; saliva dripped from his fangs onto your back, trailing down your spine to pool where your bodies connected, adding to the slick mess that frothed around his cock with each withdrawal and plunge.
“Deeper—fuck, take it all,” he grunted, free hand spanking your ass sharply, making it sting as he redoubled his pace.
His thrusts grew savage, hips pistoning with animalistic force, balls slapping against your clit rhythmically, the impacts jolting pleasure through you. He leaned over your back, chest pressing down to cage you, his breath hot on your neck as he nipped at your shoulder, teeth grazing without breaking skin. The hand on your head kept you pinned, fingers splayed to hold you steady while he railed you, cock swelling thicker inside, another knot as he chased his release.
You felt every inch of him—the veins pulsing against your inner walls, the way his tip ground against your cervix with each deep hit, forcing more of his earlier cum to bubble out around his base, coating his sack and your thighs in a creamy sheen. Drool pooled under your mouth, your body limp and pliant under his dominance, waves of ecstasy building as he fucked you relentlessly.
Nicholas’ stamina showed no signs of waning; if anything, the rut fueled him, his growls turning to babbles of possession. “Gonna fill you again, female. Pump more of my seed in, make sure it takes. Pussy’s mine—squeezing me so tight, milking every drop.”
He hit deeper still, adjusting his angle to grind the head right against that barrier, the pressure intense and bordering on too much, but the pleasure overrode it all. Bot of you were lost in the haze, drool slicking skin and fabric, bodies slapping together in a rhythm that echoed through the apartment.
His knot began to inflate, catching on your entrance with each thrust, stretching you further as he barreled toward climax, determined to flood you once more with his intent to breed.
His pace turned frantic, hips slamming forward with unyielding force, the knot at the head of his cock inflating fully now, stretching your entrance to its limit as it locked in place just inside you. The pressure built unbearably, his thick shaft pulsing wildly, and then he came again, roaring through clenched teeth as ropes of hot cum erupted deep into your pussy.
Each spurt was forceful, splashing against your cervix and overflowing despite the seal, the escess bubbling out around the base to trickle down your thighs in sticky rivulets. He ground against you, hips circling to milk every last drop into your womb, his body shuddering with the intensity of his release, claws digging into your hips just enough to leave faint lines without drawing blood.
Nicholas collapsed over your back for a moment, chest heaving as he panted hot breaths against your neck, his orange eyes half-lidded in sated haze. But the rut’s fire still simmered, his endless stamina ensuring he wasn’t done—well, not by a long shot, at least.
With a low rumble in his throat, he eased back, his knot deflating, but still tugging insistently before popping free with a wet sound, unleashing a gush of his cum that poured from your abused hole, soaking the fabric beneath you. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, body trembling from the aftershocks, your pussy clenching around nothing as more of his seed leaked out, coating your skin in a glossy sheen.
Before you could fully collapse, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, flipping you onto your back once more with effortless strength.. The world spun briefly, your head landing softly against the armrest, legs splayed wide as you gasped for air, chest rising ans falling rapidly.
Your body ached in the best way—thighs quivering, core throbbing from the repeated poundings, skin slick with sweat, saliva and cum. Nicholas loomed over you, his muscular frame glistening, blonde mullet damp—now with sweat—and tousled, those piercing orange eyes fixed on you with a mix of feral hunger and tender possession. His cock, still rock-hard, jutted out proudly, smeared with your combined fluids.
You were still catching your breath, lungs burning, when the urge hit you—a deep, needy craving to taste him, to give back some of the pleasure he’d wrung from you. Despite his earlier words about saving his cum for your pussy, for breeding kits, you reached out, fingers wrapping arund his slick length, stroking tentatively.
“Let me… Wanna taste you, Weno,” you murmured, voice hoarse and breathless, eyes pleading up at him as your legs wobbled even from the slight shift in position.
He paused, a growl vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb tracing your swollen lips. The rut made him possessive, every instinct screaming to claim your cunt again, to flood it with more seed. But seeing you like this—flushed, marked as his, offering yourself so willingly—stirred something softer amid the primal drive.
“Fuck,” he muttered, orange eyes darkening with lust. “You need a break, don’t you?” still, you caught a glint of regret in his eyes.
“Weno, just sit back and relax, yeah? Your female is gonna do the work and you just… relax,” you said, caressing his body as he stepped back to lean against the sofa’s edge, broad shoulders relaxing as he spread his legs slightly, cock bobbing invitingly.
You slid off the couch onto your knees before him, the carpet rough against your skin, but you didn’t care—your focus was solely on him. Legs still shaking from the relentless fucking, you steadied yourself with your hands on his thighs, feeling the powerful muscles tense under your touch, black stripes flexing subtly.
His scent enveloped you—musky arousal, sweat, and the faint wild tang of his hybrid nature—making your mouth water. You leaned in, nuzzling your cheek against the base of his cock first, inhaling deeply as you pressed soft kisses along the veiny underside, tasting the salty mix of his cum and your pussy on your lips.
Nicholas groaned, one hand threading into your hair, not pulling but guiding, fingers massaging your scalp as he watched you with hooded eyes.
“That’s it, take your time. Show me how much you want this cock.” Emboldened, you parted your lips, tongue darting out to lick a broad stripe from his balls to the tip, gathering the smeared fluids with a hum of appreciation.
His sack hung heavy, skin taut and warm, and you didn’t hesitate—sucking one ball into your mouth gently, rolling it on your tongue while your hand pumped the shaft slowly, twisting at the head to coax out fresh beads of precum.
The taste exploded on your tongue—bitter-salty precum mingling with the creamy remnants of his earlier releases, thick and coating your mouth like a forbidden treat. You released his ball with a pop, saliva stringing from your lips to the damp skin, and moved to the other, lavishing it with wet, slurping sucks that made obscene sounds fill the room.
Drool already gathered at the corners of your mouth, your own arousal spiking as you worked him, pussy clenching emptily and leaking more of his cum onto the floor between your knees.
Shifting higher, you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking greedily on the flared tip, tongue swirling into the slit to lap up the steady drip of precum. He was so thick, your jaw aching slightly as you stretched your mouth wider, taking inch after inch past your lips.
The veins pulsed against your tongue, the heat of him searing as you bobbed shallowly at first, hollowing your cheeks to create suction that drew a hiss from him.
“Shit, yeah—just like that. Deeper, female. I know you can take it.” His voice was rough, hips twitching forward instinctively, but he held back, leting you set the pace while his free hand gripped the sofa behind him for support.
You obliged, relaxing your throat as you pushed forward, gagging softly when the head bumped the back of your mouth, but you powered through, saliva flooding to ease the way. Inch by veiny inch disappeared between your lips, until your nose brushed the coarse blonde hairs at his base, his cock fully sheated in the wet heat of your mouth.
Tears pricked your eyes from the stretch, but the thrill of it—feeling him throb on your tongue, hearing his ragged breaths—made it all worthwhile. You held there for a beat, swallowing around him to massage his length, the constriction pulling a moan from deep in his chest.
Pulling back with a gasp, strings of spit connecting your lips to his glistening cock, you dove in again, setting a sloppy rhythm. Your head bobbed faster now, lips sliding messily along his shaft, saliva dribbling down your chin and onto his balls, soaking them further.
The blowjob turned filthy—wet slurps and gags echoing as you choked yourself on his length, one hand bracing on his thighs while the other fondled his sack, rolling and tugging gently. Drool poured freely, mixing with precum to create a slick froth that coated his cock and your fingers, dripping onto your breasts and the floor in lewd patters.
Nicholas’ control frayed, his hand tightening in your hair as he started to thrust shallowly, fucking your mouth with controlled snaps of his hips.
“Look at you, drooling all over my dick like a good little female. Fuck, your mouth’s so hot,” you moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs quake, and redoubled your efforts, tongue pressing flat against the underside to trace every ridge and vein as you deepthroated him repeatedly.
Gagging sounds grew louder, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, running in rivulets down your neck, but you didn’t stop—hollowing your cheeks on the upstroke, swirling your tongue on the down, determined to make it as messy and intense as his rut demanded.
He watched you intently, orange eyes blazing, fangs peeking as he panted. “Gonna cum soon… female,” the warning sent a shiver through you, your wobbly legs pressing together to ease the ache in your core, but you focused on him, sucking with renewed vigor.
Your jaw burned, throat raw, but the sloppy glide of his cock—slick with your saliva, precum oozing steadily—kept you going. You popped off briefly to catch your breath, hand jerking him furiously, twisting over the head while your tongue lapped at the slit, then plunged back down, taking him to the hilt again.
The room filled with the sounds of your devotion, wet smacks of lips on skin, your muffled whimpers, his deepening growls. Saliva slicked everything, your chin shiny and dripping, his cock a mess of spit and veins standing out darkly. You felt him sweel thicker on your tongue, the knot beginning to form, pressing against your lips as you worked the shaft.
“Close—fuck, yes,” he grunted, hips bucking erratically now, hand guiding your head to meet his thrusts. You let him use your mouth, relaxing as he fucked deeper, the head battering your throat until tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing with the drool.
With a final, savage thrust, Nicholas came, cock pulsing as thick jets of cum shot straight down your throat. You swallowed convulsively, the hot, salty flood overwhelming but you took it greedily, gulping around him to milk every spurt.
Excess spilled past your lips anyway, dribbling down your chin in white streaks as he kept pumping, his endless stamina ensuring the orgasm dragged on, filling your mouth until you had to pull back slightly, the last ropes landing on your tongue for you to savour. He shuddered, groaning your name as you licked him clean, tongue tracing every inch to gather the remnants, swallowing with a satisfied hum.
Panting you knelt there, legs trembling harder now, face a wreck of spit, cum and tears, but a triumphant smile curved your lips as you looked up at him. Nicholas pulled you up gently, drawing you into his lap as he sat fully on the sofa, his cock still semi-hard against your thigh, ready for more.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, the rut’s fire reigniting in his eyes. “Rest a second. Then I’m breeding that pussy again.”
But his hands were already roaming your body, fingers digging into your hips as he lifted you effortlessly to position you on your back again, knees drawn up to your chest, exposing your dripping folds completely.
“Need to fill you up,” he growled, eyes locked on your core as he aligned his cock, the thick head nudging your entrance before thrusting in with one brutal snap of his hips.
The stretch burned deliciously, his veined length bottoming out against your cervix in an instant. You cried out, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails over his tiger-striped muscles. He didn’t hold back—pounding into you with feral rhythm, the sofa creaking under the force as his balls slapped wetly against your ass.
Drool escaped his parted lips, fangs glinting, and he leaned down to capture your mouth in a messy kiss, tongues tangling sloppily while saliva swapped between you. His thrusts grew erratic, hips grinding to bury deeper, and soon his knot swelled, locking him inside as he came with a roar, hot spurts flooding your womb until cum overflowed, soaking the cushions and your skin.
He stayed knotted for what felt like ages, panting against your neck, nipping lightly without breaking skin this time. When it deflated enough, he pulled out with an obscene squelch, a torrent of his release gushing from you onto the sofa. But he wasn’t satisfied—far from it.
Scooping you up, he carried you across the living room, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. “Every inch of this place is gonna smell like us.” He pressed yuo against the wall near the bookshelf, the cool surface a stark contrast to his scorching body.
Hours blurred like this in the living room—him flipping you onto the coffee table next, your back on the glass surface as he folded you in half, legs over his shoulders while he drilled down into you. The table shook, threatening to crack under his weight, your heels digging into his back as you clawed at his arms. Cum from earlier encounters smeared across the table, mixing with fresh sweat and spit as he came again, knot tying you together while he ground against you, ensuring every drop stayed buried.
By the time he carried you to the kitchen, your body was a wreck—limbs jelly, skin painted in bites and handprints, pussy raw and overflowing. The clock showed three in the afternoon, but time meant nothing in the haze of his rut. He set you on the counter, the cold granite shocking against your heated ass, spreading your thighs wide as he stepped between them.
“Hungry for more?” he teased, but his eyes were wild, cock throbbing as he rubbed the head along your slit, coating himself in the mess leaking from you. You nodded weakly, pulling him closer, and he thrust in deep, the counter digging into your back as he fucked you with long, deliberate strokes.
Kitchen tools clattered to the floor from the force, a spoon rolling away as his hips battered yours. He grabbed a nearby apple from the bowl, biting into it with a crunch before offering you a piece, juice dribbling down his chin to mix with the sweat on his chest. You licked it off him, the sweet tang contrasting the salty musk, and he groaned, picking up speed. His hands gripped your waist, lifting you slightly to angle deeper, cock dragging over that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyes.
Drool pooled on the counter from your open-mouthed gasps, and he leaned in to lap at it, tongue tracing your lips before shoving it into your mouth for another sloppy exchange.
“Taste yourself on me,” he commanded, pulling out briefly to smear his cock—glistening with your cream—across your lips.
You sucked the tip eagerly, tongue cleaning the veins before he plunged back in, fucking you harder now, the cabinets rattling behind you. Your ass slid on the counter from the building slick—cum, arousal, sweat creating a slippery puddle that dripped to the floor. He pinched your clit between thrusts, rolling it until you squirted, soaking his groin and the cabinets below.
Nicholas laughed darkly, the sound turning to a growl as his knot began to form, swelling to stretch you impossibly as he came, flooding you anew, the overflow cascading down the counter like a filthy waterfall.
He didn't let you rest—hoisting you onto the kitchen table next, clearing it with a sweep of his arm that sent plates crashing. On your stomach, ass up, he mounted you from behind, one foot on a chair for leverage as he pounded relentlessly.
His claws scraped the wood, leaving gouges, while his teeth sank into your shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood this time—the metallic tang mixing with his saliva as he licked the wound.
“Mine,” he snarled between thrusts, hips slamming so hard the table legs scraped across the tile. You pushed back against him, meeting his rhythm, pussy clenching to pull him deeper, the wet slaps echoing louder than the mess.
Sweat flew with each impact, your hair matted to your forehead, his blonde mullet swinging as he rutted. He reached under to finger your clit, two digits circling roughly while his cock stretched you, building you to another peak.
When you came, it was with a wail, juices spraying back onto his thighs, and he followed immediately, knot locking as cum erupted, filling you until it backed up and squirted out with every tiny movement. The table was ruined—scratches, fluids pooling in the grooves, the air thick with sex.
Exhaustion tugged at you, but his stamina was inhuman, the rut keeping him hard and insatiable. “Shower—need to clean you up just to dirty you again,” he murmured, lifting you once more, your arms looping around his neck as he carried you down the hall.
The bathroom door banged open, steam already rising from the hot water he must have turned on earlier in his frenzy. He stepped under the spray—both of you bare and filthy— the water cascading over his muscles, washing away some of the grime but not the heat.
Pinning you against the tiled wall, he hiked your leg up, sliding his cock home with ease, the water making everything slicker, louder. The showerhead pounded on his back as he thrust up into you, water streaming down your faces, mixing with tears of overstimulation and fresh drool from your kisses.
He panted, sucking on your neck, leaving a fresh hickey amid the bites. His hands roamed, one squeezing your ass, finger teasing your rim briefly before pulling away—sticking to his rule, no cum there.
You clung to him, nails in his shoulders, as he fucked you standing, the water turning the floor hazardous with soap and fluids. He spun you to face the wall, hands braced on the tiles, and entered from behind, the new depth making you keen.
His chest pressed to your back, one arm banding around your waist to hold you steady while the other rubbed your breasts, tweaking nipples until they ached. Drool mixed with water on your chin as you moaned, head lolling back against his shoulder for sloppy, waterlogged kisses.
The steam thickened the air, scents of soap undercut by raw sex—his knot swelled again under the spray, tying you as he came, hot seed pumping into you while water rinsed the excess down the drain in white swirls. But he kept going even knotted, rocking gently to prolong it, then pulling out to bend you over the shower bench.
On your knees now, ass presented, he ate you out first—tongue delving into your cum-filled pussy, lapping up his own release mixed with water, sucking your clit until you shuddered through another orgasm, squirting into his mouth.
Satisfied, he stood and thrust back in, fucking you over the bench with hands gripping your hips, water splashing everywhere. The shower lasted ages—him switching positions, from behind to pulling you onto his lap on the floor, riding him reverse as water poured over you both. Each climax built on the last, his loads filling you repeatedly, knotting until your pussy overflowed constantly, the drain struggling with the deluge of cum, water, and arousal.
Now, after the rut's frenzy had finally ebbed away, leaving your bodies exhausted and sated, you found yourselves tangled in the rumpled sheets of Nicholas's bed.
The apartment was quiet, the earlier chaos of slick trails and scattered clothes a distant memory as the night deepened. His massive form sprawled beneath you, chest rising and falling in steady rhythms, amber eyes half-lidded with a lingering haze of contentment. The feral orange glow had faded completely, replaced by the warm, golden hue that always made your heart stutter—his true self emerging from the beast.
You shifted atop him, thighs bracketing his hips, feeling the persistent heat of his cock pressing against your inner thigh. Even softened by the hours of relentless breeding, it stirred at your proximity, thickening slightly as you reached down to grasp it.
Your fingers wrapped around the veined length, guiding the flushed head to your entrance where his previous loads still leaked from you in slow, creamy dribbles.
The air smelled of sex—musky sweat, drying cum, and the faint tang of your combined arousal—but it felt right, intimate in the afterglow.
With a soft exhale, you sank down onto him, the stretch familiar now, your pussy yielding easily to his girth. Inch by inch, he filled you again, the ridges along his shaft dragging against your sensitive walls, coated in the messy remnants of your union. Nicholas groaned, a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest, his hands coming up to rest lightly on your hips—not to control, but to steady, thumbs tracing idle patterns over your skin.
"Easy, female... just like this," he murmured, voice husky and roughened from all the snarls and growls earlier, but laced with tenderness now.
You began to move, rolling your hips in a slow, unhurried grind, lifting until just the tip remained inside before descending fully, taking him to the hilt. Each descent pressed his pubic bone against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core.
Your breasts swayed gently with the motion, heavy and aching from the marathon of stimulation—his bites, the constant friction, the way he'd kneaded and sucked them raw. As you ground down harder on one particularly deep stroke, a sharp twinge bloomed in your chest, and you felt it: warm liquid beading at your nipples, trickling in thin streams down the swells of your breasts.
Milk. Just a few drops at first, pearly white against your flushed skin, but enough to catch the dim light from the bedside lamp.
Nicholas's eyes locked onto the sight immediately, nostrils flaring as he inhaled the subtle, sweet scent wafting from you. His pupils blew wide, amber darkening, and a fresh wave of hunger washed over his features—not the savage rut-lust, but something deeper, more possessive, like a mate envisioning his legacy taking root.
"Gods... you're leaking for me," he breathed, voice slurring with awe and need, one hand sliding up your side to cup the underside of your breast, lifting it toward his mouth.
He latched on without pause, lips sealing around your nipple, tongue pressing flat against the bud as he sucked—firm, insistent pulls that made your back arch. The sensation shot straight to your pussy, walls clenching around his cock in rhythmic squeezes, milking him in response.
You moaned, hands planting on his pectorals for balance, nails digging into the striped muscle as you continued your calm ride. His free hand mirrored the first, kneading your other breast, thumb circling the nipple until more milk welled up, spilling over his fingers. He broke away briefly to lick the droplets from his skin, then switched sides, mouth enveloping the untouched peak with a wet slurp.
Saliva dripped from his lips, mixing with the milk as it flowed freer now, encouraged by his eager nursing. He swallowed greedily, throat working around each draw, a soft growl vibrating against your flesh that made your clit throb.
"Taste so fucking good... my mate, bet you're full of our kits already," he mumbled between sucks, words muffled and dazed, his hips twitching up lazily to meet your descents.
He was pussydrunk on you—lost in the velvet grip of your heat, the way your juices soaked his balls with every roll of your hips, the intimate proof of your fertility dripping into his mouth. His cock pulsed inside you, not swelling to knot, but thickening just enough to stretch you further, the head nudging your cervix with each gentle thrust.
You picked up the pace fractionally, circling your hips to grind deeper, feeling the squelch of old cum being pushed out around his base, trickling down to coat his sack and the sheets below. The bed creaked softly under your movements, a far cry from the frantic slamming against walls and counters earlier.
Nicholas's hands roamed now, one staying at your breast to coax more milk—squeezing the globe until streams arced into his waiting mouth—while the other traced the faint swell of your belly, fingers splaying wide as if he could feel the life stirring there.
"Gonna keep you like this... swollen, leaking, all mine," he rasped, eyes glassy and unfocused, completely immersed in the fantasy of breeding you over and over.
The pull of his mouth grew hungrier, teeth grazing the sensitive areola just enough to sting sweetly, tongue lashing the nipple before he sucked harder, drawing out longer spurts that he lapped up like nectar.
Drool escaped the corners of his lips, trailing down your chest in shiny paths, pooling in the valley between your breasts. You whimpered, the dual sensations overwhelming—his cock dragging along your front wall, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids, and the relentless nursing sending jolts to your core. Your thighs trembled, slick with sweat and arousal, inner muscles fluttering as pleasure built in languid waves.
He released your nipple with a lewd pop, milk-smeared lips glistening as he gazed up at you, expression one of utter devotion.
"Harder—female, please... wanna feel you cum around my cock while I drink from you." His voice was a plea, soft and wrecked, urging you on without demand.
You obliged, lifting and dropping with more purpose, the slap of skin on skin echoing quietly, your pussy clenching to pull him deeper. He dove back in, alternating between breasts now, sucking one while pinching the other, ensuring both leaked steadily—warm rivulets soaking his chin, dripping onto his throat and chest hair.
Time blurred in the haze, your bodies syncing in a slow-building rhythm, breaths panting in unison. His balls drew up tight against you, the vein along his shaft throbbing as he fought to hold back, savoring every slide into your heat. You ground down fully, circling to rub your clit against him, the friction igniting a coil in your belly that wound tighter with each pass.
Milk continued to flow, spurred by the motion and his touches, and Nicholas hummed in bliss, swallowing it down as if it were the sweetest elixir, his pussydrunk state deepening into blissful oblivion.
"Close... fuck, you're gonna make me—" His words cut off in a groan as you clenched deliberately, walls rippling around him. The orgasm hit you first, cresting like a gentle tide—your pussy spasming in long, undulating pulses, juices gushing out to drench his groin. You cried out, head falling back, breasts jiggling as milk sprayed lightly from the peaks. Nicholas latched on through it, sucking harder to capture every drop, his own release triggered by the sight and feel of you unraveling.
He thrust up shallowly, once, twice, then held deep as he came—thick ropes of cum flooding your depths, mixing with the rest in warm, overflowing spurts.
No knot this time, just the intimate spill as he filled you one last time that night, body shuddering beneath yours.
You collapsed forward onto his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely, cock softening inside as aftershocks rippled through you both. He nuzzled your hair, lips brushing your temple, the taste of milk still on his breath.
"My everything... rest now, love. We've got forever." The words faded into murmurs as sleep claimed you, entwined in the quiet peace of your bond.
スカイ ﹕ finally after a few... weeks ig it's DONE!! omg i can't believe i'm crying tears of full happiness!! it's not proofread (i am tired of this one goddamn) so if you see any mistakes, you didn't. at least i learned a lot of new words awooooo
In the aftermath of global war, alliances are forged, and new bonds are tested. Dr. Tiana Belrose, a brilliant Androsian engineer, arrives in Paradis with cutting-edge technology, her country's hopes on her shoulders, and a guarded heart. Her brilliant inventions are the reason why Marley invaded and ravaged her country, but Tiana refuses to sit back and do nothing.
Assigned to be her personal guard, the stoic and battle-hardened Captain Levi Ackerman is known for his discipline, but as they spend countless hours together, he finds himself drawn to the woman he’s sworn to protect.
In the midst of battles against Marley, political intrigue, and the weight of their responsibilities, an unexpected romance begins to blossom between two unlikely hearts. As tensions rise on the battlefield and within their own ranks, Levi and Tiana must navigate their feelings in a world that doesn’t allow for weakness.
Love was the last thing either of them expected to find in the midst of war, but it may be the only thing that saves them. (Levi x Black OC)
boyfriend!taki who gets hard when you do absolutely anything.
boyfriend!taki who seems to always have morning wood, but it gets genuinely 10x worse when you’re in bed with him. the second you shift in your sleep and your ass pressed against his crotch, he’s instantly grinding his half-hard length against your ass, mumbling sleepy apologies while his hips twitch like he can’t help it. “m’ sorry… ugh—you’re too warm… fuck.”
boyfriend!taki who gets embarrassingly turned on by your voice in the morning when it’s all raspy and low. you say “good morning” and he’s already on top of you, kissing your neck. “can you keep talking…?… just your voice is enough to make me cum in my pants sometimes, i swear.”
boyfriend!taki who gets stupidly hard when you wear lip gloss. you’re just reapplying it in the mirror and he’s suddenly behind you, chin on your shoulder, hips pressed forward so you can feel how hard he is. “it looks so shiny… wanna see it smeared all over my cock, baby. please?”
boyfriend!taki who gets turned on when you’re too focused on a game. you’re biting your lip, concentrated, and he’s tossing his controller to the side, sliding between your legs on the floor, kissing up your thighs. “keep playing… i just need to taste you real quick, okay? i’ll be good.”
boyfriend!taki who gets embarrassingly hard when you praise him. you tell him he did well at practice or that his new hair looks good and he’s suddenly shifting, cheeks pink, trying to hide the growing bulge in his sweats. “don’t say stuff like that when we’re in public… i’m gonna need you to fix this now.”
boyfriend!taki who gets turned on when you’re mad at him. you’re scolding him for leaving his stuff everywhere and he’s standing there shifting on his feet with an obvious tent in his sweatpants, eyes avoiding yours as he tugs you into his arms. “i know i won’t do it again—just—ugh—i need you…please?”
boyfriend!taki who gets hard from the smallest pda. holding your hand in public, you resting your head on his shoulder, or even just wearing his hoodie makes him rock hard in seconds. he’ll pull you into the nearest quiet spot because he genuinely can’t wait to get home to have you. a quick blowjob in the empty practice room isn't that bad, right?
boyfriend!taki who gets hard when you send voice notes throughout the day. his replies start innocent but usually end shaky and breathy. “i miss you… i saw a pretty necklace at this shop i went to with nicholas, it would look so nice around your neck—” then you hear his breath hitch, “fuck… i’m hard again just thinking about you.”
boyfriend!taki who can’t handle you wearing skirts, it instantly gives him a hard-on. the second you bend over to pick something up, he’s rock hard and pressing up behind you, hands sliding under the hem like he has zero self-control. “i know we’re supposed to leave soon but—shit—i need five minutes. or ten. or we could just not go?”
boyfriend!taki who turns cuddling into foreplay every single time. you’re on the couch with his head in your lap, fingers in his hair, and he’s already pressing his hard-on against the cushion's, looking up at you with those big pleading eyes. “baby…your fingers feel too good in my hair,” he whines softly, hips twitching, “i’m so hard… can we do something about it please?”
boyfriend!taki who gets hard just watching you cook. you’re standing at the stove in nothing but his oversized shirt and he comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he slowly grinds his growing bulge against your ass. “smells good… but you smell better.”, its extremely distracting and of course you scold him, but never actually stop him—even as he’s tugging your panties down.
boyfriend!taki who gets hard even during aftercare. you’re both sweaty and tired, you’re gently playing with his hair, and he’s already twitching back to life against your thigh. “i knooow i’m greedy…but baby—you’re being too sweet right now. can you go another round?", and you can never seem to tell him "no".
boyfriend!taki who gets embarrassingly hard when you laugh at his jokes. you’re giggling, head thrown back, and he’s biting his lip so hard, shifting in his seat because the sound goes straight to his dick. “stop laughing like that… i’m serious, i'm hard.”
boyfriend!taki who gets instantly hard when you call him by his full name—“takayama riki.”—especially if you say it in that slightly scolding tone. he’ll freeze, cheeks flushing, hand already adjusting himself. “… fuck, can you say my name like that while i’m inside you?”
boyfriend!taki who pops a boner the second you sit on his lap. doesn’t matter if it’s in the dorm with the members around or even in the car. he’ll bury his face in your shoulder and subtly roll his hips up, voice muffled, “don’t move too much…i think i’ll cum in my pants…”
boyfriend!taki who gets hard just from smelling your perfume on his clothes after you’ve left. he’ll jerk off to it in his room, moaning your name into the fabric, then send you a shaky voice note later: “i missed you so much today… my hoodie still smells like you and i’m hard again. come over please.”
boyfriend!taki who gets hard during movie nights. you’re cuddled up under a blanket and your hand just rests on his thigh. that’s it. that’s all it takes. within minutes he’s guiding your hand higher, whispering, “i’m sorry, i can’t help it… your fingers are so close.”
boyfriend!taki who can’t stay soft around you for more than ten minutes. you could be doing the most normal thing and he’s already aching, looking at you with those big needy eyes, voice all soft and desperate: “baby… i’m hard again. can you help me? i’ll be quick…promise.” (spoiler alert. it's never quick)
boyfriend!taki who gets hard when you softly say “i love you.” he hides his face in your neck, embarrassed at how whipped he is, mumbling, “i love you too, but im hard again.”
he’s just so insanely down bad for you in every single way! literally anything you do has his cock jump twitching and bulging, butttt he’s never even a little bit ashamed of showing you exactly how crazy you make him~
warnings. MDNI (there will be a warning cut), angst angst angst!!, everyone cries a lot, heavy angst..., slowburn, vomiting, insecurity, depressive behaviour, hyperventilation and panic attacks, attempts (just one attempt), heeseung is so fucking desperate, featuring: alpha!jay (our target again), alpha!jungwon, wolf hybrid!sunghoon, fake-omega!sunoo (pls i love him), beta!jake, beta!ahn yujin, omega!rei, not beta read we die like injang, ok just hmu if i miss anything!!!
word count. 19,810
note. girl wtf tumblr didn't let me post the whole fic!!! im crying, part 3 coming right up!!
For the first time in his life, Heeseung wants to stay.
No. He wants you to stay.
But he doesn’t dare say anything. He doesn’t even know if he deserves to open his mouth. It’s like a knot of uneasiness has lodged itself in his throat, preventing him from moving even an inch of his muscle.
Not that he can even move, honestly. His entire body is on fire, his scent gland is pulsing in pain. But nothing, nothing can compare to the hollowness in his chest.
Nothing comes close to the gravity of the situation, slowly settling in his mind.
Heeseung can’t breathe.
Across from him, you’re leaning on your cheerleader friend for support. Someone he vaguely recognises as Riki’s cousin—Rei, if he’s not mistaken. She has rushed out of the crowd when people had stopped dancing to watch a literal romance suicide happening in the backyard.
“Oh my Goddess—you’re bleeding—Riki! Call the ambulance!”
“Let’s just drive her to the hospital,” Jake, a beta who belongs to the frat house, emerges from behind Riki, looking more sober than the other guests. “It’s faster.”
Among the chaos, of people murmuring in surprise, of your friend and his friend fussing over your condition, you stand there silently. If you were pale before, you’re looking even more ghostly now that if someone were to cut your cheek, there’d be no blood coming out.
He watches you, eyes never leaving your face, begging, pleading through his gaze for you to meet his eyes. But you never do.
You keep your head low and let Rei and Jake usher you away, steps wobbly and unsteady.
Heeseung can’t breathe.
It feels like he’s underwater and his lungs have turned to bricks.
“—seung! Breathe!”
Heeseung snaps out of his thoughts and realises that his knees have finally given up. He’s on the ground, the tiles bruising his knees as Jay crouches beside him, shaking his shoulders. He realises, as his chest burns and moves rapidly, that he’s been hyperventilating.
Heeseung can’t breathe.
“Oh God—” he chokes, clawing at his burning throat. Sweat dots on his forehead, his face turning red with each passing second. Beside him, Jay is shouting at someone over his head, but the sound is muffled to his ears.
All he can hear is the echo of your voice.
‘I ended it.’
The pain cracks through his chest. The tears are unstoppable now.
‘There’s nothing between us anymore.’
Heeseung thinks he might die.
A violent sob racks through his chest, both of his palms touching the ground. He can faintly sense Riki’s presence around him, the younger trying to lift him up with the help of Jay, but Heeseung’s body is dead weight.
His wolf refuses to move.
This is all your fault, his alpha growls in his mind.
You defied fate and now we lost her. This is your fault, Lee Heeseung.
Heeseung covers his face, feeling the wetness on his cheeks. His body shakes with every sob, showing no signs of stopping. On either side of him, Jay and Riki have given up on trying to help him stand. The two watch as their friend cries his heart out.
Out of sorrow. Out of grief.
Out of regret.
“I’m sorry,” Heeseung sobs to no one, the words dripping with remorse.
He looks up, chasing the ghost of you with his guilty eyes—but you’re long since gone. The weight of the abandoned bond now sits heavy on his chest, pulsing in pitiful longing.
“I’m really sorry.”
The space swallows his words, the emptiness a permanent reminder of his too-late apology.
Hospitals aren’t exactly a place you look forward to visiting.
But right now, you are willing to take anything to escape the eyes. You silently curse yourself for pulling that scene in a place where privacy is a luxury, but at least now you have escaped from it.
From Heeseung.
Most importantly, from the consequences of your actions.
You bring your finger to your nape and graze the scent gland gently. The pain it has borne for the last two weeks has finally stopped. It brings great relief to you, really—not having to feel the slow death of being an unwanted mate. But freedom has its cost.
You’ve never felt so empty.
You don’t know how your omega did it, but the bond is severed. Traces of Heeseung’s pheromones are nowhere to be found. Gone are the warm, spicy cinnamon and the cool, salty sea air that used to linger around your sweet scent faintly.
You no longer smell like him. You no longer feel the need to see him. You no longer feel the agonising pain shooting up your spine every time he kisses someone who isn’t you.
Yet you feel empty.
You expected more pain. You expected longing. But your body feels quiet. Your omega, previously hysterical and loud, is dead silent inside. A protest to the Goddess or she’s just genuinely exhausted, you don’t know. You can’t put it past her if it’s both.
You sigh, dropping your hand on your lap as you stare at the blood stain on the sleeves of your cardigan. You pay no mind to the nurses and patients passing by in front of you. Jake and Rei left not too long ago, after you managed to convince them that you’ll be okay and that Yujin is on her way.
As if on cue, your nose picks up the smell of green tea among the sterile and sharp odour of the hallway. Yujin.
“Y/N!”
Your friend greets you with a slightly breathless voice, clearly running her way into the hospital. She bends down and immediately makes a show of inspecting you, turning your body left and right frantically. When her eyes drop on the dried blood staining your sleeves, she nearly shrieks.
“Who the fuck must I kill?!”
“Shh! Keep your voice down!” You hush her, sending apologetic looks to the nearby people who have become alert of Yujin’s death threat. “And no, you’re not killing anybody.”
“Please tell me what happened before I lose my mind,” Yujin pleads, the worry on her face softening her features. You halt.
Before you know it, your eyes have turned glassy. The weight of everything—the constant pain, the relief, the broken bond—you finally feel the full force of it. As if the gate has been completely destroyed, it’s so easy to cry now.
You let yourself get pulled into a hug, clutching at the fabric of Yujin’s shirt desperately.
Your bitter scent washes over her, smelling of heartbreak and guilt. You think of Heeseung; of how devastated he looked when you broke the bond, like he had lost something precious—which should be a lie, shouldn’t it? He never acknowledged the bond. He never admitted to it.
Then you think of yourself; of the way you used to carry the pieces of your heart everywhere, begging for him to see the bond that used to tie the two of you together. The bond that you treasured, the bond that bloomed hope in your heart, making you believe in a future together with someone who was supposed to love you.
Something inside you breaks again.
You had lost something precious.
“I—I ended the bond with him,” you choke, the words struggling to get out. “It’s over. Yujin, it’s over.”
You feel Yujin freeze for a moment before she tightens the hug, feeling her lips touch your hairline.
“But why does it still hurt?” Your chest heaves with a new wave of tears, voice completely broken. “Why does it hurt so fucking much? I ended it, and—and he hurt me,” you hiccup, trying to arrange the string of your sentence properly.
“But I still want to hug him,” you whisper wetly, feeling your wolf stir inside you. “I still want to hold him and tell him I’m sorry for doing this to him.”
Yujin remains quiet, rubbing a hand at your back in an attempt to comfort you.
“It’s okay, Y/N. You did the right thing.”
She holds you and never lets go. She holds you the way that you wish you could’ve done to Heeseung; in the way that you wish he could’ve done to you.
That night, you let yourself surrender to the grief of something that you almost had. The grief of the tale of true mates that you used to hold close to your heart, longing for the wreckage of potential love that is damaged beyond repair.
You grieve for the love you could’ve shared, the life you could’ve had if only the world was on your side.
You grieve for Heeseung.
For the past of the warm embrace that he once gave you and for the pain he inflicted on you.
Heeseung never knew how hard it was to find you outside of the court and practice room until now.
He realises, with a regret that has become all-too-familiar now, that he knows almost nothing about you. Other than the fact that you can bake, that you’re friends with almost everyone on the cheerleader squad—he doesn’t know much about you.
And it kills him.
It takes him two days of losing sleep, of dragging his legs to classes, of forcing the pain in his chest down, before he finally catches a glimpse of you.
It’s completely accidental. He’s on his way to a group discussion, walking past the cafeteria when a breeze of air passes by him, carrying the soft scent of your pheromones.
Light, blooming daisies and sticky, sweet honey.
Heeseung halts in his steps, his alpha already whining in longing.
Across the hall, at one of the tables, you sit with your friends. A pair of chopsticks presses against your lips as you listen to your friend animatedly talking about her clumsy professor—something that’s only possible for Heeseung to hear had it not been for his dominant trait.
Heeseung doesn’t know what to expect once he sees you.
A small part of him foolishly hopes that you’d look back to him just as quickly, the way you used to do whenever he steps into the same room as you before.
Another part of him wishes that when he senses your scent, the usual undertone of his own scent would still linger underneath.
But you do nothing of those, completely oblivious to his presence, to his scent—like the mere his walking into the same space as you’re in doesn’t affect you anymore. And your scent is completely bare from any traces of his pheromones, the daisies and honey are completely and only you.
Right, Heeseung swallows thickly. Of course you can’t feel him.
The bond is no longer there.
You cut it a couple of days ago.
The wound is still fresh, pulsing in his scent gland like a reminder of his sin. His heart squeezes painfully, but Heeseung only presses his lips. Not a sound comes out of his mouth. Not even a breath.
He lets the pain course through his body, enduring it for as long as he can. He deserves this, he quietly thinks.
He deserves watching you from afar, feeling the one-sided bond punish every fibre of his being.
He deserves this; sensing your scent whenever you’re near, but no longer having the privilege to hold your eyes and share the same feeling only true mates understand.
Deserves the silence. Deserves you not looking up. Deserves being nothing to you.
There’s a gaping hole in his heart when he realises that nothing is tying him to you anymore. There’s no safety net of the Goddess of the Moon’s fated mates tale. There’s no longer the string that connects the two of you—no reason he can find to be anything to you.
A stronger, more desperate part of him forces him to take the leap. To just take over and charge. His feet shift forward slightly, the dominant alpha in him wanting to just grab you and tell you how sorry he is. He’d beg on his knees if he must, so long as you’d at least spare a glance his way, even if it meant you would look down on him forever.
But you look happier.
His eyes trace the curve of your lips as you laugh at something your friend says. The selfish part of him stubbornly stays to steal the moment, letting his undeserving ears hear your voice like a secret.
You look happier.
Heeseung takes a step back, angling his body to leave. He looks at you one last time, hoping to catch your gaze at least once. Just something—anything to soothe his anxious wolf, even when he doesn’t deserve it.
But you never look back. And something inside him cracks.
He can feel it—the incoming suffocation building up in his chest, like a storm waiting to happen. Before his scent could turn bitter, Heeseung forces himself to leave, eyes frantically searching for exit.
Heeseung is slowly breaking apart, and he does nothing to stop it.
“You’re so—” Jay stops himself, then sighs loudly. “I’ve called you stupid way too many times that I’m actually starting to feel bad now. Why did you skip your group discussion? Jungwon won’t stop asking me for you.”
Heeseung doesn’t react. After catching sight of you at the cafeteria, he’s rushed back to his house, deliberately skipping the group discussion with an apology over a text. The hyperventilation—an occurrence that is frequent now—comes back, and Heeseung doesn’t intend for you to see him unravel like that.
Not out of pride or shame. God, no, there’s nothing left of him to care about those. Heeseung just doesn’t want you to feel bad seeing him like that. Because you shouldn’t feel bad for cutting off the bond.
After all, he did hurt you to the point of death.
Jay studies his friend, watching as Heeseung sits in his producer chair and stares blankly at the monitor. He was just about to go for a gym session with Riki, but decided to stay at home after Heeseung burst through the door, gasping for air with a red face. And it broke his heart.
Calling out Heeseung for his ignorance is one thing that he’s not sorry for, but seeing him in this condition? It kills him. He just wants everyone to stop hurting each other. But first of all, he knows he has to start with Heeseung.
“Hee,” he calls, but Heeseung barely moves. Jay presses his lips. “Hee—”
“I saw her.”
Jay pauses, holding back his tongue when he hears his voice. He waits patiently, giving Heeseung the space he needs.
But Heeseung doesn’t say another word for a few extended seconds, just sitting there like he was talking to himself. If it weren’t for the small movement of his chest, Jay would’ve panicked and thought that he’d lost his friend.
It is quiet until his voice, smaller and quieter, echoes inside the room again.
“She always looks prettier than the last time I see her.”
There’s a heavy silence between them. Jay takes the chance to look around the room.
It’s Heeseung’s producer room, the room Jay let him take to do whatever he wanted with it. The lighting inside this room is moody, dim purple and blue LED lights alternating every minute.
The glow washes over everything in slow pulses—across the mixing console, the twin monitors, the mess he never bothered to clean. Cables snake along the floor like they’ve settled there for good, curling around the legs of the desk. A track sits paused on the screen, its waveform frozen mid-breath, like it, too, is waiting for something to break.
Jay slowly exhales, his chest tightening as his gaze drifts from a closed notebook to the abandoned headphones hanging at the edge of the console. This room feels less alive—not like what he last remembers of it.
It used to pulse with passion. Whenever he walked in, Heeseung was always up to something. The bass would play like a behind the scene, his sweet voice would sometimes blend with the strum of his newly-bought acoustic. There’d be balls of crumpled papers rolling on the floor, rejected lyrics that he’d still pick up and look back before he went to sleep.
But now, the room is too clean. Ever since he carried Heeseung on his back from Jake’s frat house a few days ago, this producer room has been nothing more than a haunted house.
And at the center of it, is his dying friend.
“Hee,” Jay starts, breaking the silence. He gives his words a lot of thoughts, carefully curated to make it clear that he cares. “Heeseung, you must do something. Or you’ll die, and I won’t let you die.”
Jay grabs his shoulder and turns him around, the chair spinning to face him. Heeseung’s face is void of any colour, sunken eyes looking like faded embers. His lips are dry and chapped, his skin dull and grey. Inevitably, something sharp twists in his chest at seeing his best friend in this state.
“God,” Jay breathes out, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. He’s so fucking scared. “You’re dying, Heeseung, and I—”
Jay hangs his head low, closing his eyes as he tries his best to compose himself. Heeseung needs me, he whispers in his head, Heeseung needs me.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Jay takes a deep breath and lifts his gaze. Heeseung is looking away, blank face staring lifelessly at the wall like a portrait of emptiness and grief. His grip on his shoulder tightens.
“I talked to my parents,” Jay tries again, “there is a way to fix this. Two, actually.”
The moment stretches without any reaction from Heeseung. Jay takes it as a sign to continue.
“We can save this if you…if you can win her back and make her omega want to patch the bond back up.”
The tiniest flicker of something crosses Heeseung’s eyes. His jaw twitches almost imperceptibly.
“Or,” Jay licks his lips, preparing himself. “You can cut the bond from your side, too,” he finishes.
Heeseung turns his head to look at him, wide eyes watering with unshed tears.
“Cut it clean once and for all, Heeseung.”
His lips part, but nothing comes out. Despite his passive façade, Heeseung’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and regret.
Fix the bond and face you, which he doesn’t think he deserves.
Or cut it off and lose you for good.
For the first time in his life, Heeseung doesn’t know which option is worse.
The nightclub is still as noisy as he remembers it. Blinding lights that hurt his eyes, loud bass that pierces his ears. People are dancing with their company, seeking friction and heat between slicked bodies.
Heeseung used to be in the center of it all, basking in the attention of perfectly-manicured nails on his chest and the alluring scents enveloping him. A perfect distraction from a rejected demo. A relief for his frustration over a losing game.
The escape he always chose to run from facing negative emotions.
But tonight, he stands motionless in a corner, lips pulled in a tight line.
There’s an old pull coming from the crowd. After all, having people worship your body does feel addictive at one point—and Heeseung is no exception to that. He’s used to showcasing his dominance whether it was on the court or in a bedroom, a drug he kept feeding his alpha to the point of no return. He’s used to command and dominate, a trait that helps him as a captain and as a pleaser.
Like facing a withdrawal, his hands twitch by his sides, itching to inch forward.
You are feeling bad now, a voice whispers in his head. Go on. There are plenty of omegas that can make you feel better.
Heeseung forces his gaze down. No, he counters.
No more of that life.
Heeseung is dominant in every aspect of his existence—from biological traits down to his own personality and mindset. But when his mind drifts back to the thoughts of you, he finds himself crumbling in submission.
It hurts his pride. God, it hurts so much.
But the ache doesn’t compare to the look on your pale face when you break the bond you shared with him, like cutting an infected part of a root that’d destroy your field of daisies.
Nothing hurts more than being the reason you had to resort to such a critical decision, that might cost you your own life.
The urge finally quiets down after a few seconds of redirecting his thoughts to the more pressing matters at hand. Heeseung smooths down his clothes in an attempt to calm himself.
He’s wearing one of his baggy graphic T-shirts, black and bigger than his frame. A picture of The Strokes, stretched and scratched from use clings to the fabric. Beside him, Jay stands tall in his usual button-up, always looking out of place in the nightclub thanks to his distinguished gentleman image.
On the other side of him, is a cute menace.
“Okay!” Sunoo claps his hand, adjusting the collar of his yellow sweater. “This is a bad idea, but since you’re a masochist, let’s do what we’re here for!”
The sass in his speech doesn’t go unnoticed by both alphas. Jay lets out a big sigh, already massaging his temple, while Heeseung only gives him a side-eye, hardly offended by his words.
He’s right, of course. Sunoo’s never wrong.
The brown-haired boy, feigning ignorance to the stares he’s receiving, continues. “Since you want to cut the bond clean—”
Jay interrupts sharply. “Try to cut it clean.”
“Right,” Sunoo gives a small smile. “Since we want to try cutting it off clean,” he makes a show of slicing the air with his hand, “let’s find you an omega and see if you can kiss her or him without throwing up.”
Heeseung lets the bass swallow his voice, already hating the idea inside his head. Which is ironic, because just a few days ago, he was adamant on trying to convince himself that he didn’t have a mate.
Oh, well. Just look at him now.
Jay seems to share the same sentiment as him. “This can either turn worse or better. Are you sure you’re doing this?” Jay looks back from Heeseung to Sunoo. “Can’t we find other ways?”
Sunoo taps his chin, looking serious for the first time that night.
“I don’t think we can. The one breaking the bond should be his wolf,” he starts, pointing to Heeseung’s chest. “And since he’s been giving Heeseung a silent treatment, we have no idea where he stands now. This is the only way to trigger a reaction.”
Heeseung thinks he’s had enough of being talked about like a case study. “What do you mean? We don’t know where he stands now?”
Sunoo pats his shoulder, understanding his confusion. “Yeap. We don’t know whether your wolf is okay with cutting the bond with Y/N and finding another mate, or if he still wants Y/N and wants to fix the bond with her.”
“It’s one-sided, Heeseungie hyung. Your wolf didn’t agree with the breakup,” Sunoo then lowers his voice, now talking softly when he notices the gloomy look on his face. “That’s why we either cut it or fix it,” the alpha fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater, already feeling emotional.
“Or you could die, hyung. That’s the reality of true mates.”
He’s right. Heeseung knows, despite being a little devil that he is, Sunoo will never lie about something as serious as this. Especially when it involves life and death.
But Heeseung hasn’t been on good terms with his wolf. They’ve been clashing since the night that he met you, always debating whether you were his fated mate or not. And each time, it was Heeseung who never listened. It was Heeseung who refused to give in, in denial to the possibility of a mate and…love.
Even tonight.
“Let’s just cut it off,” he grunts, his voice grim and clipped. Sunoo and Jay whirl around and look at him like he’s just lost one eye.
“I just told you, we can’t just—”
“He’s not responding, and he never will,” Heeseung exhales through his nose, frustration spilling into his scent. “My wolf—”
“That’s because you never wanted to listen to him, Hee.” Jay finally speaks up, cutting the conversation short. Heeseung pauses, his voice dying in his throat.
From his left, Jay’s citrusy pheromones—bergamot and lime with a soft undertone of amber and metal—swirls into his senses with an air of authority. Heeseung recognises this. It’s the accent that Jay uses when he wants someone to relax and listen to him.
The dark-haired alpha plays with his whiskey, watching the liquid swirl and the ice spin as he speaks.
“Or to me. To us.”
He lets the words linger, as if begging Heeseung to finally understand. Jay meets his eyes, looking into him with desperation. There is a flicker of something there; something that makes the wall inside him rattle.
“Please. Just tonight. Please try for us. For you,” his voice is lower, shaky, “I don’t want to lose you, Hee. Please.”
“I just don’t want to hurt her anymore.” Heeseung hesitates. “What if I touch another omega and I hurt her again?”
“You won’t,” Sunoo convinces. He nudges Heeseung’s shoulder with his. “For now, she won’t feel anything because the tie is broken. It won’t be easy, but saving yourself means saving her too.”
A heavy silence falls upon them, filled with unspoken tension and pleading eyes. Jay and Sunoo share a look, each of them on the edges of their nerves waiting for Heeseung’s answer.
At last, Heeseung finally relents. A small sigh escapes his lips and he takes a step forward.
“Okay. Let’s give this a shot.”
It isn’t hard to find someone to kiss. It was never hard for Heeseung. He manages to mask his gloomy scent that could shoo people away from him and gets into his flirty mode. His smile, though a little strained on the edges, still looks pretty as ever.
Soon enough, he already has an omega in his arms, tucked away in a dimmed corner near the bar. Sunoo and Jay keep a safe distance from him, not too close to intrude but not too far out of his sight.
“You’re so tall,” the omega purrs, gliding her pretty nail up his arm. Heeseung barely responds. “Tall and so handsome.”
His heart is telling him how out-of-place the touch feels. The familiar feeling comes back. The same feeling he ignored for two weeks in fear of confronting his own destiny. The same feeling he buried for the sake of proving to no one but himself that he’d do fine without you; without the sacred bond that connected you both.
He wants to flee. He wants to push her away and scratch at the spot where she’s touched him. Where her skin meets his skin, Heeseung feels the strongest urge to recoil. The same nausea returns, clouded by her scent that doesn’t sit well in his nose.
But his rational mind reminds him of the intention behind this.
“Yeah?” He tries, struggling to look her in the eyes. He tightens his grip on her waist and hesitates before pulling her slightly closer. “I’ll need to bend down to kiss you, then.”
The girl lets out an airy giggle. She circles her arms around his neck and pulls him down, peering at him through her lashes seductively. “Mhm, bent down enough?”
Heeseung freezes. It’s going to happen. Heeseung fights the urge to turn his face away, but Sunoo’s words serve as a reminder that stops him from doing so.
Saving yourself means saving her, too.
Shakily, he exhales, closing the gap between their lips as slowly as he can. His heart is angry behind his ribs, his pulse rushing loudly in his ears. Heeseung braces himself until the pout of her lips brushes against his.
The kiss starts gently, mainly initiated by her. Heeseung tries to follow, tries to lead, but the feeling of her mouth on his feels so wrong. It doesn’t feel right. It’s like fitting a triangle puzzle with round pieces.
He opens his mouth, trying to deepen his kiss when something inside him stirs.
No. His wolf finally speaks. It’s no longer distant and muffled.
Like a wolf being reborn from the first death, this time, his voice is sharp and clear.
Not her.
Heeseung closes his eyes, feeling a bile rising behind his throat. But instead of darkness, what he sees instead is an image of you. Your soft features, your silky hair, and your pretty, pretty eyes that he can only see in his memory.
The eyes that used to look at him with sparkles of hope, waiting for him to notice the magnetic force of a bond that you shared with him. The same grateful eyes that looked at him under the moonlight, when the convenience store was empty except for the two of you.
His stomach turns sharply he might actually be sick.
Oh Goddess, what has he done to you? Why did he do you so wrong? Why did he think so highly of himself that he thought he was above love and fate?
A drop of tears slips down his cheek.
Before he knows it, Heeseung is already crying into the kiss. Hot, fresh tears seeps into the lock of their mouths, making the kiss taste like salt and grief; just like how his scent smells right now.
I want Y/N. His wolf echoes again, firmer than he’s ever been. We want Y/N.
At last, after weeks of battling himself, Heeseung finally listens to his wolf.
He breaks the kiss with a breath, pushing her gently by the shoulders and putting a distance between them. Head dipping low, Heeseung lets himself cry, watching the tears drop from the tip of his nose to the sticky floor. The omega is left confused, but she doesn’t say a word.
If anything, Heeseung looks so pitiful that she forgets about feeling upset.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, bringing his hands to his face. He doesn’t realise how hard he’s shaking until she places her hand on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I can’t do this—”
“Hey, it’s okay,” the girl convinces, pursing her lips into a straight line. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
Heeseung doesn’t answer. Drops of grief and regret keep pouring out like a broken faucet, staining his cheeks wet. The sound that leaves him isn’t even a sob; it’s something raw, broken, pulled straight out of his chest.
“My heart belongs to her.”
Heeseung feels his wolf paw at him, finally winning the prolonged war of love and pride. A war whose price may be greater than the sin he’s committed.
His scent gland is pulsing even harder, as if reminding him of the bond still barely alive.
With a shaky exhale, like he’s at last allowed himself to be free, Heeseung tries to let it out.
“I think…” his voice breaks, softer now, like he’s afraid of the truth even as he says it.
“I think I finally accepted that my heart has always belonged to her.”
For the first time, Heeseung doesn’t try to deny it. His wolf purrs, almost crying from relief.
“And she doesn’t want it anymore.”
It is very early in the morning. Rays of orange glow cracks through the horizon, bleeding light into the ground. Somewhere in the distance, the moon is slowly getting swallowed by the sky and soon enough, the sun is proudly ascending.
It’s a Saturday, which means, there’s no classes scheduled today. But Heeseung finds himself stepping foot on the campus ground. Faintly, from where he’s standing at the car park, he can hear whistles coming from the field. His wolf, who’s done giving him the silent treatment, nudges him to hurry.
Right. He’s here, abandoning his usual sleep-in on the weekend to find you. It’s the only place he knows where you’d be and he might’ve just bribed Jake to tell him when his football friendly match is going to be.
Taking a deep breath, Heeseung finally moves his legs. His ribs rattle with how fast his heart is beating. He purposely chooses to come fifteen minutes before the match ends—he’s not exactly here to see Jake play (sorry dude). He doesn’t know what to do with himself if he has to wait around for hours just to talk to you. He might go crazy.
Well. That is, if you want to talk to him.
“Don’t discourage me now, you dog,” he mutters under his breath, berating his alpha.
The field is not that far from where he parked his (Jay’s) car. A few paces more and he’s going to see the vast green-grassed space where a bunch of alphas are running around chasing a ball using their legs.
But to his surprise, the field and the bleachers are almost empty.
“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath and checks his watch. He still has three minutes left before the game ends—if what Jake told him was true. Did they end it earlier than planned? He could’ve sworn he heard whistles just now!
You spent too much time on your pep talk, his wolf rolls his eyes.
Heeseung doesn’t waste time. He whirls around and forces his brain to think quicker. His legs move faster, turning corner after a corner in search of you.
Where would the cheerleaders go after a game? To the locker room? No, that’s for the athletes. To the car park? That’s possible, but he didn’t cross paths with anyone on the way here. To the practice room? He rounds a corner. Okay, that actually—
A subtle wave of daisies and honey washes over him almost instantly. Heeseung immediately stops, his breath catching in his throat.
Standing in front of the vending machine, just a few feet away from him, is you. You’re wearing your usual costume—sleeveless top that cuts right at your waist and pleated skirt that ends just above your mid-thigh. But today, the theme seems to be pink. You have your hair up in an updo, a blue ribbon—the official representative colour of the college—is tied neatly around the silky strands of your hair.
There’s only a glimpse of your side profile visible to him, but it’s enough to quiet the prideful alpha in him. He’s not even sure if he’s said it enough, but every time his eyes land on you, you just get prettier.
For a second, Heeseung thinks he doesn’t mind dying at that moment.
You don’t look up to him instantly, or sensing his presence by his pheromones—another reminder of the broken bond that you used to share. Heeseung gulps down the hurt, clenching his sweaty palms into fists.
A clang of a can dropping in the vending machine booms through the hallway. You bend down to take it.
Call her name. His wolf urges. Idiot, just call her name!
Heeseung gathers his breath.
“Y/N?” Your name leaves his name like a sacred prayer, tender and delicate, like a whisper only the Goddess can hear. You freeze in your spot, finger brushing the can only a fraction.
The silence stretches for a few seconds. In waiting, Heeseung holds back his breath, afraid that another sound from him will scare you away.
But you only straighten up, abandoning your can of drink and turn to him. The edges of your eyes harden at the sight of him.
You hold his gaze, lips unmoving before you finally say his name.
“Heeseung.”
It’s flat. It’s polite. It’s cold. It’s nothing like the night when you ran into his arms. It’s not warm like the way you called his name before falling asleep on his shoulders, back when your wolf trusted him with your life.
Back when the bond was still there. Back when his name was still written in the stars beside yours.
Heeseung thinks this is worse than death.
“Can I…” he pauses, already fearing your rejection mid-sentence.
Saving yourself means saving her, too.
He pushes through.
“Can I talk to you?”
The words finally leave his lips, and Heeseung doesn’t move. It’s as if he was intruding; like he was poking your safe bubble and he wasn’t allowed to move without your permission.
Your eyes assess him, like you’re deciding if he was a threat. Then, with a firm tone he never heard from you, you reply. “I have practice.”
“I won’t take long,” he rushes out, the words tripping over each other. “Please—just for a moment. Please.”
Please.
The one word you’d never expect coming from a dominant alpha like him. Someone who seems prideful in everything he does, who commands attention wherever he goes with his voice alone.
So he does have the courage to talk to you. He does know what he did was wrong on so many levels—and yet.
Yet it took you almost dying for him to learn.
Yet it took you bleeding on the floor for him to realise.
For once, you really thought you could be the bigger person. You really believed that your heart, as soft as it always has been, would fold and melt the moment his honeyed-voice greets your senses again.
But you were wrong.
Your resentment still lingers, caging your chest in a protective embrace, not daring to lose its heartbeat for the second time.
“No.”
You take a step back, and this time, you make sure it is a line being drawn.
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
Your verdict echoes like a gavel tapping against a sound block. It’s straightforward. It’s clear. But to Heeseung, it’s a punishment too small to what he did to you.
He tries his best to school his expression, swallowing the lump in his throat with force. He then nods, weakly, then a bit too fast.
His wolf cries, not willing for him to back down so easily. His human part, on the other hand, is split into two.
Old Heeseung is ready to isolate and never reach out again. Same old habits that used to bring him comfort and distractions.
This is why you don’t do commitments. Just forget about this.
Another Heeseung, a new side that feels awkward but is still slowly growing, is trying to rationalise your decision and understand your boundaries.
Give her time, Heeseung. The wound is still so fresh.
“Okay.” He finally breathes out, the heavy word weirdly sending relief to his system. “Okay. I understand.”
You don’t move for a moment, just staring at him blankly like he might change his mind, before you nod. You honestly don’t know what to expect, but this is a pleasant surprise. You don’t think you can handle a pushy alpha now—especially the same alpha who had pushed you too far.
You leave without another word, feeling his eyes boring into the back of your head as you round the corner. Once out of his sight, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding,, gripping the wall for support.
Your heart pounds like a war drum, threatening to break out of your chest. Seeing his face after actively avoiding him seems to be harder than you’d thought. You didn’t know he’d come looking for you on the weekends like this.
The Heeseung you remember always leaves first.
You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm your frantic heart, and realise one thing with a sinking feeling.
Your quiet omega is still silent, lips sealed shut. Not even a word was heard from her since that tragic night.
You sigh. Heeseung’s got a really long way to go.
On the other side of the wall, Heeseung trails after your steps with his gaze—longing, hopeful, and sorrowful.
He’ll wait. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed yet, but he’ll wait.
Heeseung heaves out a long sigh, his throat feeling dry. The vending machine suddenly looks interesting to him. Rows of canned drinks lined up the interior but Heeseung already has his mind set on his go-to Zero Coke.
The can drops with a loud clang. Heeseung reaches down, ready to feel the coldness of the red-canned drink, only to pause when he sees green instead.
Grape juice.
Oh, right. You forgot your drink.
He takes both cans, but his attention on his Zero Coke is long gone. He inspects your drink instead, eyes lingering on the brand like it’s something precious, his fingers wet from condensation.
So you like grape juice.
Heeseung finally learns something about you today.
But waiting is easier said than done.
Anxiety lives under his skin, prickling in his system like thorns in flesh. Every time he closes his eyes, the memory of you bleeding in the frat house haunts him back. He’d wake up gasping, lungs burning like he just survived a drowning.
Your silence has turned his longingness into a desperation so deep you practically could smell it on him. Heeseung can’t be with himself, not when he’s been spending every hour fighting every instinct to scream your name and throw up.
And that’s exactly how Heeseung finds himself lingering around the business building not long after the last time spoke to you.
He doesn’t know your schedule, he doesn’t know what classes you’re in, or the circle of friends you have other than the cheerleaders. He only knows where you live because he sent you home the night you fell asleep on his shoulders—but he doesn’t think going to your house is appropriate. It’s too private and he doesn’t want to stain your safe abode with his presence.
Which is why he decided to wait at the campus, at the building he’s not familiar with.
Heeseung never hated himself more than he does now.
Fuck. How ignorant had he been towards the person who was supposed to be his mate?
Is it too late to learn about you now? Is it too late to knock on your door and hold his heart in his hand like a beggar right now?
So Heeseung spends hours waiting for you without even knowing if you’d come to campus today. He messaged Sunoo for help, but it has slipped from his mind just how busy a med student can be. Sunoo’s probably losing his mind over human anatomy again. The text remains delivered until the night falls.
Black sky takes over the horizon, only lending lights from the moon and the stars as a mercy. Heeseung’s feet are numb from walking around and standing for too long. He looks around the emptying hallways, not sure where exactly he is other than the fact that he’s at the business compound—a path where most students use to get to their classes.
He glances at his watch. It’s almost 8 pm. Most classes have already ended, and the last session would have ended half an hour ago.
You’re probably not here anymore.
Heeseung bites back a groan, licking his dry lips as he turns around to leave. Meeting you at the court is not possible until a few weeks more for a friendly match with that eastern university team again. He can’t possibly wait until then—so he’ll come back tomorrow.
Heeseung knows that he’s a walking contradiction. He vows to respect your decision, to let things go with time. To step back when he’s asked to, to wait around until the tide dies.
However, wasn’t this the way he lost you?
For being too passive. For being too cowardly. For running away.
Heeseung really wants to give you time, but at the same time, he doesn’t know if your ‘no’ yesterday is still applicable today. He should at least try today, right? Or should he wait more?
Fuck. With self-hatred thicker than before, Heeseung curses himself for not knowing. For not understanding. He’s only well-versed about omegas when it comes to sex, but other than that, he doesn’t fucking know. His carelessness and ignorance are biting him hard in the ass right now.
Though, the desperation persists.
He just needs one thing: closure.
Not for himself, but rather for you.
You deserve to know only the truth.
But it’s getting late, and the thin layers he’s wearing aren’t doing a good job to protect him from the chill. Now, he hopes you’re already home, safe and tucked in warmly in your room.
He will try again tomorrow.
Just as he’s about to leave, as if the Moon Goddess finally hears his prayers, Heeseung catches the sound of your voice drifting down the hallway.
You’re here.
God, you’re actually here.
Before he can overthink it, Heeseung is already on his feet, following the trail of daisies and honey using his sharp senses. And he sees you—just rounding the corner, talking to your classmates while heading towards the exit.
He can no longer hold back the instinct to call your name.
“Y/N.”
You freeze in your spot, recognising his voice in a heartbeat. You hate that you do.
He’s already on his way, closing the distance between the two of you with a look of desperation that seems foreign when he wears it. Beside you, your classmates are already whispering, equally surprised as you are.
“Is that Lee Heeseung?”
“Isn’t the music faculty so far from here?”
You pretend you don’t hear anything and frown instead.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can we talk?” Heeseung blurts out the moment he’s close enough. There’s still an elephant distance between you and him, but he doesn’t dare step closer.
Can he even be near you? Is he allowed to?
When there’s no answer from you, he tries again. “Please, can I please talk to you?”
“Just go home, Heeseung.” You mutter, already walking away. You send an apologetic look to your classmates and start to leave, but Heeseung is already hot on your tail.
“Y/N,” he croaks out, the tremble in his voice almost going unnoticed. “I just need ten minutes. No—give me five minutes, please.”
No response from you. You don’t even know where you’re going anymore, taking a turn after a turn to lose him.
How did he know where you were? Did he find out your schedule from someone else? What is he doing here? How long has he been waiting for you?
It doesn’t seem like he has another reason to be here. So did he wait around for you?
You bite your lip, not entirely prepared for the inevitable confrontation to happen so fast.
But you underestimate how desperate Heeseung is because he keeps following you like a lost puppy, long legs slowing down slightly so as to not crowd you from behind. Being this close to him allows your nose to pick up on his sense—eye-watering cinnamon spiking with anxiousness with an undertone of a brewing sea storm.
Heeseung can’t stand the silence any longer.
“I was wrong.” Fuck. If you won’t even look at him, that’s fine. But he needs you to know how sorry he is. “I know what I did was terrible and I—”
“Terrible?” You finally come to a stop and whirl around, your scent brimming with anger. “Terrible? I almost died, Heeseung!”
Heeseung catches himself before he crashes into you. He stares at you, wide-eyed, as you crane your neck to look up at him. The unwanted memory comes flashing back—of blood and tears and regret he’d never move past.
Your eyes glisten with angry tears, fists trembling by your sides.
“What you did was almost criminal.”
Heeseung flinches. He doesn’t expect the word to land so heavy in his chest, so sharply in his gut. His hand flexes by his side, urging him to cradle your soft, soft face in his hold and pour out every single apology he’s been carrying but he stops himself.
“I know, and I’m not asking you to forgive me,” Heeseung murmurs, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. “I just want you to allow me to fix the bond.”
You let out a laugh. A hollow, humourless laugh. The emptiness doesn’t even echo in the air.
“So now the bond is real to you?” You spit out, venom leaking into your voice. “Wasn’t it all just in my head, Heeseung? Wasn’t it all just my heat messing with me.”
Heeseung is hit with a pang of shame, not expecting you to throw his words back at him. He cowers and lets the full impact of his hurtful choice of words consume him to the bone.
You put a fist over your heaving chest, your tongue getting loose now that the inevitable has come.
“I thought I was losing my mind,” your voice trembles slightly, treading along something dangerously close to a breakdown. “I thought something was wrong with me. I was sick for weeks and none of the doctors could cure me! And the whole time it was just…”
You swallow, blinking back tears furiously.
“The whole time it was just you choosing someone else over me.”
It’s like sand has filled up his mouth. Every answer tastes wrong and bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t even know what to say to that for how true it is.
How was he supposed to atone for a sin that nearly killed his mate?
“I know,” is the only thing he can whisper. Shame spreads across his chest like a disease. “I know. I—I did that. I’m sorry for not choosing you, Y/N.”
There it is. The truth, bare as it is, lies there like a final verdict. It feels almost tangible for how suffocating it is. It feels almost too cruel for how much it hurts you. It feels almost alive for how hard it is pulsing in your ears.
The dam finally breaks. “How long have you known that we—” your voice catches, silent tears gliding down your cheeks. “That we were fated mates?”
Guilt gnaws at his chest. “Two weeks before the tournament,” he quietly answers, already feeling small.
So since the beginning of your streak of pain.
You feel sick to your stomach.
“How many of them?”
“What?”
“How many omegas did you fuck to convince yourself that I wasn’t your mate?”
Defensiveness flares up in his chest. “I didn’t fuck them. I couldn’t. I tried—”
“But you still stayed there, trying to prove to everyone in this world that that’s what you wanted and not me!” Your voice booms, no longer holding back on the pain.
Silence rings so loud afterwards, it stretches and stretches until the tension is left in a tight thread waiting to snap.
You stand there, shoulders shaking from sobbing quietly. Long, silky hair cascades around your face as you look down, biting back any sound.
And every hitch of your voice rips his heart apart.
His wolf, wounded as he is, thrashes inside. Shivering daisies and acrid honey droops around him, eliciting another whine from his alpha. Heeseung braves another step forward, hesitation edging on his heels.
“I messed up. I hurt you all because I tried to prove to myself that I didn’t need you.”
His hands twitch, hovering mindlessly on his sides.
Heeseung has promised himself that he’d only say the truth from now on. Harsh as it is, bitter as it is—it’s the only thing you deserve to hear. He couldn’t conjure any more lies to protect himself.
God. Even his lies are killing him now.
“I never slept with them. I couldn’t touch them without feeling like I was about to throw up,” he goes on, voice softening around the edges. “I couldn’t even walk into a room without hoping that it’d be you.”
You shake your head. “But you still did.”
He nods weakly. “That doesn’t erase the fact that I did. I chose to run away because I couldn’t handle the fact that our fate is bigger than what I was willing to hold.”
Our fate.
Heeseung inhales shakily.
“I forced myself to enjoy the touch because I was so fucking busy proving the Goddess wrong.”
A sob escapes your lips.
Why does our fate have to be so tragic, Heeseung?
“I was dying, Heeseung,” you whisper wetly. “Your actions were killing me.”
Heeseung bites his tongue. “I know. I was wrong.”
A minute passes without any words. The hallway is only filled with the soft sobs and sniffles coming from your lips. Heeseung stands, wretched and torn. One leg is urging him to go to you and hold you. Another leg is forcing him to stay because he doesn’t think he deserves to touch you.
What he knows, for sure, is that this image of you crying in front of him will haunt him in his sleep.
After a moment, you finally speak, your voice hoarse.
“I don’t think we can ever come back from this.”
Heeseung’s throat closes up, a sudden stab lodging its pointy end into his chest. No, his wolf cries out. Please, no.
He lifts his hand, longing to touch you, but then decides to drop it. “Y/N. Please—”
“I don’t even know how we can fix this,” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand. “My omega has been silent since the day she cut the bond.”
In response, his wolf whines, trying to get a reaction. But you feel nothing.
Not a stir. Not even a shift. Your omega is deadly unresponsive. If it’s not for your beating heart, you’d think that you’d been dead since that night.
“I don’t know if she still wants this or not. This—bond. You.”
“But do you?” Heeseung can hear his voice cracking, and he thinks his heart is facing the same fate too. He’s sure of it.
“Do you still want this?”
You are silent for a moment and it’s the longest second Heeseung has ever gone through.
“I—I don’t know,” you quietly mutter. “You hurt me more than anyone ever did, Heeseung.”
Heeseung would have preferred you shout at him than this. He’d rather have the heat of your hatred than this.
This cold winter of your uncertainty. This soft, subtle turndown, like you’re already resigned to the fate of not having him in your life anymore.
Heeseung’s knees hit the ground with a thud before you can stop him.
It’s not weak, or pathetic. It’s utter devotion, surrendering his heart stripped bare from pride and lies to you. It’s complete submission, one that his dominant side has always found it hard to do but done it so easily when it comes to you.
Heeseung doesn’t do worship, but you’re the only altar he will ever kneel to.
His head hangs low, burgundy hair falling over his eyes as his shoulders shake once.
“I know,” he mutters, sounding wrecked.
Heeseung has his hands fisted on his lap, as though it’s his only source of strength, shaking from the overwhelming desperation brimming in his scent.
“I was a coward.”
You gasp, not expecting such action. “Heeseung, get up—“
“Not until you hear me out,” he pleads.
He lifts his head. Heeseung’s wide, bambi eyes look up at you, veiled with a thick layer of tears.
“I fought the bond because I was afraid. I was so fucking scared. I was always the one to leave first, to run and detach fast, but you, Y/N…”
His fingers twitch, fighting the urge to reach out.
“You made me want to stay.”
Your breath catches.
“I’m scared because giving in would mean finally belonging to someone.”
His eyes find yours again, looking soft and destroyed all over. Your heart traitorously skips a beat.
“But right now, I’d give up everything to belong to you.”
His vulnerability, raw and edged with hopelessness, tugs at your wounded heartstrings. You instinctively step back from the sheer weight of it.
“Y/N, please. If your omega never forgives me,” he chokes out, feeling the distance like a slap in the face. He bites back the instinct to take your hand, but he doesn’t dare touch you.
Not until you allow him to.
“If she never forgives me, I’ll spend the rest of my life earning forgiveness from you.”
A teardrop spills from his lash line, staining his cheeks wet.
You give a helpless shake of your head, your resolve slowly crumbling.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“Then I’ll show you. I’ll show you that I mean this.”
His knees scrape against the floor as he inches closer. Tears stream down his face in relentless waves, the lower part of his lips trembling greatly.
“I’m not asking you to take me back. I just need permission from you,” he begs, almost sobbing into his speech.
“Please let me try. I want to become the man that deserves you, Y/N.”
Your lips part, a ghost of a shaky breath escaping your lips.
You’re not used to this kind of devotion.
Not from those alphas who wanted you because they thought having the shy girl who barely talks to men was trophy-worthy. Not from those men who see you as nothing more than their kink fantasies. Not from those guys who thought you were boring and not exciting.
But tonight, as moonlight leaks through the glass of the windows and spills across the floor as if the Moon Goddess has decreed this to happen herself—Heeseung sits there, bruising knees digging into the marble tiles, and begs you to give him a chance.
You’re not used to this kind of devotion, yet you let a small part of your heart, a traitor that it is—flutters from the impact of his words.
You take another step backward, as if being physically away from him would help recover your resolve.
“I…” you can’t find your voice, not when he’s looking at you with regret spilling from his round eyes. Not when he’s gazing up at you like he was a sinner and you were his only saviour.
“I don’t understand, Heeseung,” is the only thing you can whisper, deciding to be truthful. “You were so—so hellbent on trying to deny the bond. You even went to Narin after I confronted you,” you lick your lips, gut twisting sharply at the mention of your captain. You still haven’t spoken to her until this day.
“Why now? Why…change your mind? I already made it easier for you—I cut the bond!”
Heeseung flinches. The reality slaps him in the face again, presenting him with the consequences of his actions on the table.
He knew it won’t be easy, but God—hearing the hurt in your voice pains him more than the ache in his knees.
Heeseung almost crawls forward.
“I’m a coward, Y/N,” he breathes out. “Losing you made me realise that I was never trying to escape the bond.”
His head dips lower, shaking it slowly to himself.
“I was trying to escape what the bond demanded of me.”
Heeseung lifts his gaze, raising his hands, gesturing to you like a priceless painting. There’s a sad smile on his face.
“Settling down, staying, being devoted only to you…those are the only things you deserve. Nothing less.”
His voice is somehow louder than the racing pulse in your ears. You know what’s coming, yet you’re still not prepared for the sting of the truth.
“I am everything less than that,” he finishes. He closes his eyes, not willing to see the look you might wear on your face.
There’s a long pause. The world is quiet outside, not even a sound of cars passing by can be heard. Heeseung doesn’t know how late it already is, or how long he’s been on his knees, but he doesn’t care.
Hurting his knees is the kindest punishment you can ever give him.
You, on the other hand, are beyond devastated. Truly, you don’t think Heeseung could ever hurt you more than he already did. But his confession—fuck.
Heeseung wasn’t ready to step up and become the love that you deserve and it’s killing you that he chose to run instead of try.
It’s killing you that you weren’t an option until fate decided to twist everything around.
With resentment and resignation, you finally decide.
“The bond is no longer there. You can just forget about this, Heeseung.”
Heeseung thinks being shot to death would hurt less than this.
You, however, are already shutting him out.
“If you need closure, just know that one day I will forgive you. It’s not now, not next week, and probably not in months.” Or years. “But I will.”
There’s a strange ache blooming in your chest. One that comes as a price of letting something precious go.
“I hope that’ll help ease your mind.”
God, the bond was precious to you. Heeseung was precious to you.
How did it come to this?
Across from you, Heeseung is crumbling down.
“No, please—” he chokes, scrambling for some air. He can’t breathe.
“Please, Y/N. Give me a chance to be forgiven.”
“You don’t have to try so hard, Heeseung. The bond is gone.”
“I don’t care about the bond!” He hits his chest with a fist, the pain becoming unbearable. “I hurt you, Y/N. With or without the bond, nothing can change the fact that I hurt you and I can’t live with myself knowing that I hurt someone innocent.”
Heeseung can feel the sting of his nails digging into his palm. Anytime now and he’ll be drawing blood from how hard he’s fisting it.
The tears are welling up in your eyes again but you hold your ground.
“Please, I beg you, and I beg you hard, Y/N.”
Heeseung clasps his hands, the pink of his nails turning white from how hard he’s doing it.
“I beg you—please let me try to fix this. Please let me earn your forgiveness. Please, Y/N.”
Your heart breaks at the determination in his voice.
“It won’t be easy.”
“However long it takes,” he pushes, searching your eyes with his glistening ones, his voice raw with urgency.
“I won’t wait for you.”
His eyes burn with more hot tears.
He’s lost you for good, hasn’t he?
“You don’t have to,” he quietly whispers. “I just need your permission to try.”
You swallow down the urge to scream. His promise sounds bigger than his whole existence, yet your heart foolishly roots for him.
“You can try. But I can’t promise you anything.”
You don’t wait for his reply. Quickly, as if your heels were on fire, you turn around and leave him.
Alone, still kneeling. Traces of his regret are still wet on his cheeks.
You hear him sniffle, but you don’t look back.
Heeseung sits alone in the darkness of his producer room.
The space resembles a shipwreck. If Jay didn’t see any crumpled papers the last time he was here, he’d be surprised to see the growing pile of them now.
Heeseung has tried to write something. Or anything that could get this remorse out of his system. He wants to translate his grief into something that is at least listenable. Not whatever mess he is inside.
But nothing really comes out.
The bullpoint of his pen ends up writing your name instead. In round letters, in cursive. In shaky hands, and in tears.
Y/N.
I’m sorry, Y/N…please forgive me.
A word of your name turns into long written words of regret and silent confession. Letters that he will crumple and throw, then pick it up to read back and add more.
There is a dull ache in his knees, turning purple from the time he spent on the floor for you. He lets the bruise pulse, making no attempts to ice it or stop it. It’s a reminder to him.
A reminder of the ticket of mercy you barely granted him.
A reminder of the bond still hanging limply by his finger.
It’s not even a pain if he put it beside the suffering you went through because of him.
You’re a coward.
His wolf suddenly speaks, adding salt to the wound.
Heeseung closes his eyes shut.
“Shut up,” he grumbles, not appreciating being reprimanded when he’s already a wreck. But his wolf, justifyingly so, seems to hold a grudge against him because he doesn’t stop.
I lost my mate because of you. You ran away from her.
“Yes, I did. I know that,” he grunts. He already resents himself for it, why is he wolf making it harder for him as if they weren’t two halves of one soul?
Knowing isn’t enough. Remember the night you made her bleed.
The memory, as if summoned, crawls its way back into his mind. As if he was brought back to that fateful night, Heeseung can feel his gut twisting sharply inside.
Remember the night she trembled and cut the bond because you went too far.
“Stop,” Heeseung whisper-shouts.
It feels like the room is shrinking and the walls are closing in on him because the air can’t seem to reach his lungs. Heeseung cowers, covering his ears with both hands. The sting of hot tears starts to burn at the corners of his eyes.
Your face, pale and ghostly, haunts the edges of his thoughts. He still recalls how hard you shook from shock. He still recalls the tremble in your legs as you hold onto the door for dear life.
He really went too far.
And if proving his point, his wolf taunts more.
Remember the omegas you touched while she was dying when I kept telling you to stop.
The pen drops and clatters on the floor. Heeseung stands and sways, his vision blurry from unshed tears.
He remembers it.
The nights he spent trying to bury any attachment towards you and the bond. The nights he spent pleasing other omegas despite not enjoying it at all. The nights he spent ignoring the ache in his chest, the voice of his wolf—as if running away would ever be enough to excuse him from his fate.
While all the time, you had been suffering alone.
Nausea creeps up the back of his throat.
“No, please stop—”
His wolf snarls, pent-up anger and frustration finally spilling out.
She could be in someone else’s arms now. Someone gentler. Someone braver than you.
The nausea punches through his chest.
Heeseung scrambles for the door, yanking it open and stumbles out of his producer room to the bathroom. He barely makes it before his stomach churns violently and doubles over.
He throws up his long-forgotten lunch because he missed his dinner, the bile unforgiving to the spasms in his gut. Heeseung knees over the toilet until his stomach empties and grief starts to taste metallic on his tongue.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slumps onto the floor. It’s a ringing silence in his ears before a sob escapes his lips.
Then another.
Before he knows it, it has turned into a full-on wailing. The tears are finally giving up, now streaming endlessly down his cheeks like tiny rivers.
Heeseung lets himself remember the faces of the omegas he touched. A betrayal of the bond he’ll never forgive himself for.
Heeseung lets himself remember the person you are—someone who deserves protection and affection. Someone who can be literally with anyone; any deserving alpha who knows how to treat you right.
Anyone in this world. Anyone from his campus. Anyone from his team. Anyone from his house.
Heeseung is fast to turn around and vomits again. The image of Jay being the perfect alpha for you makes his chest caves and breaks.
Fuck. Fuck, no. Please—no.
He always made fun of Riki when the younger complained about their too-good alpha friend. He never really understood why Riki is still on edge whenever Jay is around his girlfriend, despite knowing that him agreeing to help with his girlfriend’s heat was purely out of kindness.
But now he knows. Now he fucking knows.
Jay is just too good to be true. Jay never touches omegas carelessly. Jay lowers his voice when he speaks to them. Jay likes taking care of people like they’re his own.
Jay also cares about you. He knows that. The punch he almost threw at Heeseung that night was proof enough.
And in a peak of complete crumbling from his desperation to be forgiven, from his humility to admit to his mistakes—a fast-growing insecurity is piling up in his chest.
Heeseung can’t breathe.
He’s suffocating again.
A sudden thought flashes through his head. His frantic mind, desperate for some relief, entertains the thought without thinking further.
Just cut the bond too. End this suffering and cut the bond.
Heeseung raises his finger to his scent gland, still thudding violently from the rush of his emotions running in his veins.
Could he really cut the bond?
Don’t you dare.
“But it’s too painful…” he cries.
She’s my mate! If you end it now, I will tear you apart myself. You will fucking die, Heeseung.
Heeseung folds in on himself, crouching lower on the floor. His whole body shakes from the force of his tears.
“Why her?” he whispers helplessly.
“Why someone so precious? Why her?”
His wolf doesn’t answer. Heeseung is left sobbing to himself, already resigned to his fate and the silence from his alpha.
Because he knows, only the Goddess of the Moon has the answer to that.
Only she knows why he was sent something holy when he’s too ruined to hold it.
You never would have expected to get hurt from the one thing you wanted the most.
Love.
The tale of true mates.
Maybe that’s the reason why most people dislike it. Maybe all this time, it wasn’t because of envy or ridicule. Maybe all this time, people had already realised how destructive it could be before you did.
Something intangible that can only be felt has the power to destroy you through someone else’s actions and decisions? It’s no wonder, really.
You were just too blind and too delusional for even dreaming of it in the first place.
Life hasn’t been easy since the breaking of the bond.
You went on autopilot for the first week, just trying to save yourself from a bad attendance record and getting kicked out of the cheerleader squad. The latter proved to be harder to overcome since the source of your pain and the current centre of your universe—Heeseung—was always there on the court, glancing at you at every chance he got.
It’s almost laughable, the way he’s trying to catch your gaze now when he used to avoid it so much.
You dated people a couple of times before, but the breakups were never this bad. They hurt, of course, but this bond seemed to amplify every emotion you felt for Heeseung and yourself. Again, one of the reasons you believe why most people started hating it.
The whole time, you only had yourself. Sometimes Yujin would come into your room to cuddle you and let you cry into her shoulders. She’d stay as long as a med student could—watching movies together, painting your nails, crying with you.
All the time when you thought you craved love, you sometimes forgot that love doesn’t always mean romantic relationships. Sometimes it comes in the form of Yujin waking up before her alarm to make you your favourite pancakes.
Sometimes love comes in the form of Rei, despite the two of you having only gotten closer recently, checking up on you every meal time to make sure you eat well.
Sometimes love comes through a phone call with your parents, asking about your day and showing you the small garden they’re growing in the backyard.
And slowly, eventually, you realise that love also means choosing yourself over the bond.
Choosing yourself means stop clinging onto the bond. Choosing yourself means not waiting on Heeseung to get his acts right or for the right apology. Choosing yourself means you stop letting the bond and Heeseung dictate how you go about your life from now on.
Heeseung can try all he wants, and you might or might not see his efforts—but you won’t wait for him.
You’re done waiting.
Strangely, it doesn’t feel bitter. The thought of finally letting go of the bond sounds more freeing. Like the air is finally settling in your lungs after weeks of drowning.
You find your way back to the pieces of you since the bond broke. For the first time since you cut the thread, your world revolves around something other than pain.
Life comes back in fragments. In trying out pilates with Yujin and laughing when the instructor turns her back to you because Yujin just sucks at stretching.
In late-night convenience store runs with Rei to eat extra spicy noodles that’ll upset your stomach the next morning.
In falling back to your old study habits and excelling a difficult pop quiz.
In helping the squad choreograph for the upcoming routines—because alphas just run hot and can’t seem to stop challenging each other in sports.
You laugh freely now. You don’t have to spend the night worrying about a thread tugging at your ribs.
You don’t have to overthink about…Heeseung. Not anymore.
For a moment, he becomes a maybe. For a few days when you successfully avoid him, he becomes an ‘if only’. A background noise. A consequence.
A wound becoming scarred.
Nothing more.
Or so you tell yourself.
There’s been barely anything from Heeseung since he fell to his knees for you a few days ago. For a while, you think maybe you scared him too much—frightened him with the possibility that you may never come back, until he decided to let silence become his apology.
But apparently, you just don’t notice him trying.
Heeseung, you realise, moves in quiet devotion.
It starts with a can of your favourite grape juice sitting beside your tote bag every time you come back from the restroom. You assume it’s Rei being sweet as always—the omega has taken a great liking to you since the day you first spoke.
You don’t notice how consistent its appearance is with Heeseung’s promise.
You overlook the fact that it starts showing up the very next day after your painful conversation.
“But how did he know?” you whisper to yourself, staring down the can like it’s a threat now.
You turn it in your palm, feeling the coldness seep into your fingers. Then, faintly, you smell him.
His pheromones. Cinnamon and sea salt clings to the can like an afterthought. Like Heeseung didn’t mean to leave his traces but the scent lingers anyway.
It’s been quite a while since you smelled it. Ever since you cut the tie, you no longer can sense his pheromones from afar. It only happens when you’re in close proximity to him, which is very rare to happen now.
Now, as his scent drifts to your senses, you find yourself actually missing it. Missing the warmth and safety it used to offer. Missing the familiarity of it.
Your heart aches.
No matter how forward you’ve moved in your healing progress, there’ll always be a big why living in the back of your mind.
You really could’ve had it all.
But you don’t let it get to you. In all honesty, it is a sweet gesture and a nice start, yes, but it’s not enough. Even your baby cousin knows that you’re crazy about grape juice. Heeseung didn’t exactly make a groundbreaking discovery with this one.
The thought still counts, though.
It slips from your mind faster than you’d like to admit. Apart from the upcoming great friendly match between your basketball team and their sworn rival the eastern university, you have a business case study pitching competition set in two weeks.
Meetings become more frequent, time spent at the library becomes longer. You wish they would pick another place to do the discussion because the library is literally an air conditioner reincarnate—always too cold for your body.
The chill autumn air only worsens the cold. Winter is coming and you can’t help but keep adding more layers to your clothes each time you walk out of the apartment to visit the library.
Except today, there is someone already waiting by the library door. A face that you recognise with a single glance. Features that you memorise by heart, stopping you in your tracks before you reach the door.
Heeseung.
His body is adorned with a brown trench coat that reaches his calves, outlining his proportions and tall figure perfectly. He has one hand resting in one of the pockets, while another is holding a pink paper bag.
Burgundy hair curtains his forehead, a complement to his already-handsome features. But the look on his face is forlorn, distant eyes staring into space, looking lost in his own thoughts.
You try not to pay him any mind and start walking again.
As if he was wired to only sense your presence, Heeseung snaps out of his trance and whips his head to you. His eyes soften, lips parting slightly. You avert your eyes.
“Y/N.”
This time, you pretend you just notice him and give him a nod. “Heeseung,” you reply, already moving away to get inside. But Heeseung is fast to stop you.
“Wait! I–I have something for you.”
Heeseung holds out the paper bag to you, his own ears turning the same shade. You blink up at him before trying to peer inside, not yet accepting it.
“What is this?”
“Something to keep you warm,” he breathes out, like he can’t believe you’re actually talking to him. “It’s getting chiller. Please accept it.”
For a second, you just study his face. His round eyes look at you like he’s appreciating and memorising your face all at once. There is something about his expression that looks like he’s hopeful that you’d accept the paper bag, but at the same time, already expecting you to reject it.
After a few seconds of no signs of you accepting his gifts, Heeseung slowly lowers his extended arm. His face falls, but he quickly schools it into a neutral expression.
“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to,” he licks his lips with a swipe of his tongue, already foreseeing the rejection.
“Why are you doing this?” you ask and instantly regret your tone. It’s unintentionally clipped, very unlike you.
But Heeseung isn’t fazed. If anything, he looks shyer now.
“I don’t want you to catch a cold,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. The pink in his ears has turned bright red—from the cold or from his own shyness, you’re not sure.
One thing you know is that you’re not used to this side of the dominant alpha.
The side that he showed you once before he dipped. That night when he held a heat pack in your hand, insisting on keeping you warm. For a split second, you wonder if it was instinct or if he really meant it, already knowing the answer to it.
It was probably the former.
A gush of chill air passes by and you shiver. Right, you’re still standing outside of the library with two layers of sweater and are still trembling.
Finally, you take the paper bag from him. Heeseung startles, not expecting the sudden gesture and definitely not expecting the graze of a touch of your finger brushing his. It makes him shudder, like your touch is bigger than the cold autumn air.
“Thank you,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, watching as his expression brightens up. Without waiting for his reply, you’re already heading to the door, ready to leave the alpha behind.
Before the door closes, you hear a whisper of his voice, carried by the bone-chilling air.
“Good luck with your competition, Y/N.”
You wonder how he knew about it, but the moment you sit at the table right in front of Jungwon—one of your teammates—you finally remember that they’re somehow friends.
The alpha gives you a dimpled smile. “Hey, Y/N. You’re early.”
“You too.” You pause, weighing the words in your head. “Jungwon, do you know Heeseung?”
Jungwon doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he eyes the pink paper bag now placed on the table, then nods to himself.
“Yes. Please don’t get mad at me, though. I’m kind of rooting for him.” He peeks into the paper bag and whistles. “Wow, hyung really doesn’t play.”
You snatch the paper bag and put it on the chair beside you. You’ve peeked inside, and is it a surprise to say that you were surprised?
A bunch of heat packs. A pair of blue mittens. A pack of tissue. A minty inhaler. And the one that contributes the most weight—a can of grape juice, already unchilled.
It’s that night all over again. The paracetamol that you downed because you did get a headache after a whole night of crying. The wet tissues that you used to wipe your tear-stained face. The heat pack that kept you warm the whole time you sat outside of the convenience store.
Everything Heeseung picked out has always been too…thoughtful.
While waiting for the rest of your group members to arrive, with Jungwon already typing on his laptop and talking about something you’re too distracted to hear—you’re swamped with your own conflicting emotions again.
Heeseung has always had the capability to care for people. To care for you. He was gentle with you that night. And fuck, you still hate what he did to you—but even the day he called you delusional, he was very soft with the way he talked to you.
The cruelest part is that Heeseung was never incapable of tenderness.
He had simply been too afraid to offer it where it mattered most.
He told you he wasn’t ready to step up to be the man that you deserved, but that sounds like a flimsy excuse now.
What was he so afraid of?
You really don’t want to make it easy for him, and you’re already ahead of the bond and the concept of love. You’ve already learned your lesson. You still remember the pain.
But, dear Goddess, sometimes you really wish that he was brave enough.
The rest of your group members arrive shortly after, each wearing thick layers like you do. As Jungwon begins the discussion that will continue on until late evening, you reach inside the paper bag and grab one of the heat packs.
Silently, you thank Heeseung in your head.
Just as you have expected, the discussion wraps up when night has already fallen. You stretch in your seat, taking your own sweet time as your group members tidy up.
Jungwon is the last one to leave, carrying his backpack on his wide shoulders. He looks at you finally standing up with a cheeky smile on his face.
“See you tomorrow for the consultation, Y/N. I would’ve offered to walk you home but I don’t wanna ruin the chance for a certain alpha.”
Your brows furrow, not really catching the meaning behind his teasing smile.
“What do you mean?”
“Just make sure to use the front door,” Jungwon is already walking away, giving you a dismissive wave of his hand. “Night!”
You stare at his retreating figure and then something clicks in your mind. Like an instinct, your heart starts racing fast.
Did he mean Heeseung?
Your hands quickly gather your stuff and toss them into your tote bag. The paper bag from Heeseung hangs tightly in your grip as you near the entrance of the library.
True to your speculation, Heeseung is already waiting outside. He has ditched his trench coat, now wearing his jersey that shows off his arms. The number ‘1’ and ‘HEESEUNG’ on the back of his jersey stares at you, unmistakingly him.
You quickly move past him as if you didn’t see him. Almost less than a second after, his footsteps are already echoing from behind you.
“Y/N, wait!”
Heeseung is barely panting in front of you, blocking your way home. You sport a blank expression despite the skips your heart is making.
“What are you doing here?”
“I,” Heeseung catches his breath, and you can’t help but notice the goosebumps in his skin. You almost frown.
What the hell was he thinking, wearing that sleeveless jersey in this weather? The trench coat must be inside his duffle bag, because you don’t see it hanging in his arms.
But the thought remains in your mind. And will probably stay there forever.
You almost miss it when he continues.
“I want to walk you home. No.” Heeseung gathers his voice, now sounding softer, asking for permission.
“Can I walk you home?”
Your answer is quick. “No.”
You can almost feel the pause in his breath. Heeseung blinks once, regaining his composure after a few seconds.
“...Okay,” he nods, eyes slightly distant like he’s not even sure if he means it. “Okay. But can you let me call you an Uber?”
You shake your head, standing your ground.
“My dorm is not far from here.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“I want to walk.”
Silence passes by, along with the air that’s borderline freezing. You don’t know if alphas just naturally run hot, because you’re close to turning into ice despite the layers, but Heeseung doesn’t even flinch.
He finally takes a step back, slightly dipping his head as he nods.
“Okay,” he says again, more like convincing himself. But then he meets your eyes, and the wistful glint of his gaze doesn't go unnoticed by you. Something tugs at your heart.
“At least let Jungwon know when you’re home. Please?” he pleads. “You don’t have to text me. I’ll just—hear from him.”
You purse your lips, giving the alpha a once-over before finally giving in.
“Fine. I will.”
The corner of his lips quirks up but Heeseung covers it quickly. He steps aside, clearing the path for you to go home. You don’t waste time and begin walking, feeling his eyes boring into your skull.
“Please be safe, Y/N.”
You never reply.
The next day, the alpha is not waiting by the door. Jungwon stands in his place instead, the paper bag now has been upgraded to a reusable lunch bag with flower motifs on it.
“Your alpha has a producer meeting today.”
You’re quick to deny.” He’s not my alpha.”
Jungwon ignores you like you’re a wall and opens the lunch bag for you to see.
“Two thermos there. One is chicken porridge, another is hot tea. Not sure if you’re a coffee-person or not, so Heeseung hyung wanted to be safe.” Jungwon speaks like he’s rehearsed it, and to be honest, he kind of did (Heeseung forced him, but you don’t have to know that).
You’re stunned. “What?”
“Don’t worry, it’s grape tea. I don’t know where he got it from, though,” Jungwon shrugs then continues his duty as Heeseung’s greatest accomplice. “More heat packs. I didn’t see you use the mittens yesterday so I told him maybe you didn’t like blue…? So he prepared the red pair for you.”
“Wait, Jungwon—”
“And lastly, a lunch bag with daisies prints, for his most precious daisy in this world.” Jungwon beams wide, dimples curving deep and shoves the lunch bag into your bag.
“How’s his performance?”
“You’re insufferable,” you scoff and snatch the lunch bag from his grasp. You quickly go inside, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks betraying your indifference.
Your mind, another traitor, is filled with the thoughts of Heeseung.
Is this him trying?
You’re not sure how to feel about it, but your heart surely knows her shits—fluttering like you’re a virgin being courted.
Which, technically, in every way possible—you are.
You try to ignore it. During break, you remember to control your expression as you eat the porridge, aware of Jungwon’s hawking eyes gauging at your reaction.
Heeseung is sure smart to pick him as his wingman. That alpha is a persistent menace.
But no. You’re not going to fold easily.
Your omega is still silent, and the damage has been too severe. For all you know, Heeseung might be just performing remorse. Only time can tell if he was really sincere and serious or not.
After all, consistency is a great telltale of devotion.
However, as if the world was suddenly eager to prove you wrong, Heeseung keeps showing up.
He comes again at night, this time fully covered up and looking dashing in his white button up and loosened tie. You guess he just came back from the meeting, judging from the formality of the attire. But you can’t help but let your eyes linger longer on his face, suddenly too conscious of his height.
Okay, what the fuck. He’s always been handsome. There’s nothing surprising about it.
“Can I walk you home?”
You’re snapped out of your thoughts when his voice, low and soft, reaches your ears. You shake your head.
“No.”
“I’ll keep my distance,” he says quickly. “You won’t even notice I’m there. Please?”
You keep your walls steady. “Why are you doing this?”
The question hangs in the air. Heeseung’s gaze softens, but there’s a cloud of doubt swirling behind his eyes now. For the first time, you see the alpha shivers in the cold.
“You gave me a chance,” he says, voice clear and crisp. Like it’s a conviction. Like it’s something he’s deliberately chosen.
“I want to try until you can forgive me. And I know it’ll never be enough. I know I’ll be too selfish to hope…”
Heeseung swipes a tongue across his lips. He gives you a nervous glance, but seeing how attentive you look despite your indifference, Heeseung almost breaks down.
You’re still kind even in your resentment.
“But I still hope that one day you can accept me as your alpha.”
You hum, trying to sound unimpressed despite the loud thumping of your heart. The bitterness still leaks when you speak.
“You were my alpha.”
Heeseung shakes his head and gives you a humourless smile.
“No, I wasn’t,” his voice is strained, like he’s holding a storm of emotions with his palm.
“The Goddess might’ve assigned me to be your alpha. But I failed my duties. You were just forced to deal with what fate had chosen for you.”
The moonlight shining on him highlights the tired lines at the edges of his eyes. For the past few weeks, you have no idea how Heeseung was doing. And you know no one can hold it over your head for not caring.
But something in him feels altered. Not gentler—Heeseung had always been gentle in ways he never admitted.
He seems more humbled. Like the weight of pride is finally bowing his head down, his gaze always sanded down by grief. Every word now sounds chosen, as if he has learned the cost of speaking carelessly.
Heeseung holds your eyes, sincerity spilling over the edges.
“But now I want you to choose me. Not out of obligation, or because fate said so. I want to be chosen because you know I’m the right alpha for you.”
Isn’t it unfair?
You want the resentment to turn into fiery hatred, but your traitorous heart still melts at his devotion. How can you hate him when he makes you sound like you were the centre of his universe?
Still, you hold your ground.
“You know I won’t wait for you. What if I choose another deserving alpha?”
Heeseung’s face goes white. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows, but he still nods.
“I will break,” he admits, the most honest he’s ever been. “But I’ll still pray that he shows you the love I failed to give when I had the chance.”
The sheer weight of his speech almost renders you breathless. Remorse, as if it’s been a lifelong companion, drips heavy in his voice. For a short moment, you can’t hold his gaze—it looks so intense and longing, you don’t know if you can hold this newfound devotion. It’s too deep and full of regret.
It’s after a minute of silence that you finally find your voice.
“You can walk me home from behind.”
You turn around first before he can see the change in your face. Your stupid human heart, as if awakening from the slumber from weeks ago when things were still all butterflies and stolen glances—seems to recognise the alpha now trailing after you ten paces away and fluttering around shamelessly..
The moon shines exceptionally bright tonight, as if the Goddess herself is watching her war-torn lovers patching up the bridge once broken by pride and fear.
“Are you still angry?”
Once you’re home and stripped and showered, you stare at the dark ceiling of your bedroom. The moonlight cracks through the small space you leave open, decorating your bed with stripes of pale blue.
You put a palm over your heart, trying to feel your wolf.
“Are you still mad at him?”
Silence. There’s no response from your omega. You wait for a few breaths before sighing.
“You’ve always been the hard headed one out of the two of us,” you comment, suddenly missing the other half of your soul that’s been so long quiet.
“But it’s good that you are,” you slowly whisper.
“Because if you’re as soft as I am, then Heeseung would be forgiven already.”
This time, there’s no resistance as the memory of the burgundy-haired alpha comes back—not that he ever left, anyway.
“I’m still mad at him, too.”
You remember the time Heeseung actively avoided your gaze. You used to wonder why, but knowing the answer also didn’t help ease the pain. Knowing that he avoided you because of the bond never makes the pain feel less hurtful.
But the way he searches your eyes now, holding your gaze with a tenderness you’ve never seen before…it softens the pain.
Where he used to run from you, he’s now seeking you every chance he gets. After practice, after meetings, after classes. In sleeveless jersey, in suit and tie, in his usual baggy graphic T-shirts.
Heeseung used to be nowhere to be found, but he’s everywhere now.
The reality of his efforts to try patching up the bond suddenly feels too scary. Because if he’s changed for good, if he’s really putting his all to win back your heart—are you confident that you still can move past everything?
The sufferings you endured. The omegas he slept with. The sleepless spent chanting his name in pain. The night when everything fell apart.
Can you really let them go?
“I don’t know,” you whisper to no one, a knot of uneasiness tightening in your chest.
“I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
Heeseung seems to find you easily nowadays.
At first, you doubt the people around you. Everyone is suddenly related to him in some ways somehow. There must be an insider that tells him your whereabouts.
Whether it’s Jungwon or Yujin, you don’t know. You hope it’s not Yujin, though. You know she despises what Heeseung did to you, but the beta is also quietly rooting for him. She hid it well, too.
But her cover was blown one night when you were having a movie night in your bed. She was so close and she was typing something on her phone. You accidentally looked, but honest to Goddess your heart almost dropped when you saw Heeseung’s name.
“Why are you texting with Heeseung?” You forced your face into the screen, deliberately ignoring the sudden seeds of jealousy in your chest.
Yujin scrambled to sit up, but it was too late. You had already seen them all.
Lee Heeseung
did she arrive home safely?
You
Yeap!
Safely tucked in bed!
“Yujin, you traitor!”
“Ow! Ow!” Yujin ducked the pillow you threw at her, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid your punches. “Girl, hear me out first!”
“Why are you helping him?” you heaved out, glaring daggers at her. Yujin rubbed her arms, jutting out an apologetic pout.
“I’m so sorry…he just wants to know if you get home safe, Y/N. I don’t see anything wrong or invasive about that.”
Your heart stuttered. Did he really do that? But you feigned an angry look.
“So you just agreed to be his accomplice? You’re no different from Jungwon.”
“I mean, I lowkey ship you guys. But he has to grovel first, and I hope he’s been doing it right.”
You rolled your eyes and settled back under the covers. “How long has it been?”
“Don’t get mad at me please.”
“Yujin.”
“He’s been asking me if you reach home safely for more than two weeks now.”
Your breath hitched.
That’s…since before he started appearing at the library.
And today, as you see Heeseung lingering around the business compound, donning a thin brown cardigan that highlights his body snugly, you’re contemplating whether to assault Jungwon or Yujin through the phone after this.
But there’s no time to think, as Heeseung—curse his dominant trait, really—easily senses your scent and catches your eyes. He gives you a small smile and walks up to you. The grip you have on the strap of your tote bag has turned knuckle-white.
“Y/N.”
“Hey.”
“Have you eaten yet?”
You swallow, trying not to fold. “Yeah, just now. You?”
Heeseung nods.”I have too.” Then he extends a hand towards your tote bag.
“Let me hold your bag and walk you home.”
You hesitate for a moment before giving in.
Fuck, you curse the universe.
Why is he so consistent?
Heeseung knows he’s not being slick when he suddenly makes a detour to the convenience store under the pretense of feeling hungry.
But you follow him anyway, gullible enough to believe that he has more space for more food. Which, actually, you’re not completely wrong. Heeseung loves food. But he’s not exactly here to eat.
He’s here to steal more time to be with you.
The fluorescent lamp hums overhead, the convenience store smells like cooked noodles and microwaved pastries. Under this light, you look shorter than him, reaching not taller than his chin.
Heeseung holds back the urge to reach out and caress your head. He can’t ruin things now that you finally let him walk you home side by side. That’s progress. A couple of weeks ago, you didn't even let him follow.
He really can’t afford to ruin it.
Heeseung trails after you to aisle number two where rows of snacks and chips line up the shelves. There’s something almost domestic about watching you hum as you skim through the options.
It feels more intimate than kneeling at your feet ever did.
“What do you usually get?” he asks, trying to sound casual.
You hold up a bag of snacks, a small grin unknowingly splits across your face.
“This one,” you shake the plastic with eyes shining bright. Heeseung thinks he’s lost his breath. “These seaweed tempeh chips.”
Heeseung stares at you like you just handed him a sacred relic, eyes dripping with silent, genuine surprise.
“These are your favourite?”
You blink and tilt your head, not sure how to make sense of his stunned reaction. “Yeah…?”
A small smile breaks on his mouth. Heeseung looks down at the bag of chips, feeling his chest tightens just from that simple information.
She likes grape juice. She likes tempeh chips.
God, I’m learning about her.
His silent meltdown goes unnoticed by you. You walk further and stop by the drinks fridge, already reaching for your favourite grape juice.
This time, Heeseung couldn’t stop the chuckle that leaves his lips. “You really love drinking that, don’t you?”
“I sure do,” you glance up at him. “Since kindergarten, by the way. It’s just so good and cheap. What about you?”
Heeseung’s heart nearly stops.
“I’m sorry?”
“What’s your favourite drink, Heeseung?”
Heeseung forces himself to reply when you’re already looking at him suspiciously.
“Zero Coke.”
“Ah,” you nod, then reach up to where a line of Zero Coke is put on display. You pluck the second can in the line and hand it to him.
“Hygiene tips: always take the second or the third can,” you casually say and tap on the can. “Because everybody touches the first one.”
Then you turn around, drifting toward the candy aisle, blissfully unaware of his turmoil.
Leaving Heeseung stunned, standing like a statue of racing heart and quiet breakdown as he holds the can close to his chest.
Later that night, after sending you home safely, Heeseung enters his shared apartment wordlessly. He can hear the F1 sportscaster from the living room—Jay must haven’t gone to bed yet.
“Hey, Hee,” his friend greets, sprawled on the couch with a can of beer in one hand. But his focus on the television stops once he notices Heeseung’s red-rimmed eyes.
“Fuck. Heeseung!” Jay rushes to him and holds him just before his knees finally give up.
The anchor of sorrow and grief that has been weighing heavier since the convenience store run is finally pulling him down. Heeseung drops to the floor, already feeling the tears wetting his cheeks.
“Hee, what’s wrong?” Jay asks, trying to keep the worry in his voice. “Did something happen? Tell me!”
Heeseung shakes his head, curling up into Jay’s hold and sobs even harder.
“Jay-ah,” Heeseung chokes, unable to hold back his sobs.
“Her favourite chips are seaweed tempeh.”
Jay is rendered speechless by the unexpected revelation.
“...What?”
“Seaweed tempeh,” he sobs, voice cracking. “Seaweed tempeh chips, grape juice, gummy bears. She bakes when she’s stressed. She hates mornings but wakes up early. She has hygiene tips for canned drinks.”
His voice splinters, like a branch breaking down from the tree.
Jay blinks. “You’re sobbing over…basic information?”
“That I should’ve known.”
Heeseung clutches Jay’s shirt, the sadness now palpable.
“Simple things about her that I never made any effort to know because I was so fucking busy being an asshole.”
In that moment, it finally clicks in Jay’s mind. It was never about snacks.
“I was her mate and I didn’t know.”
It’s about regret.
Jay’s expression softens instantly, understanding settling in his features. He sits on the floor with him, letting Heeseung cry into his shoulders, shaking like a dead leaf. The distressed accent of his spicy and salty pheromones is drenching the air, but Jay fights the urge to scowl. Alphas don’t exactly respond well to another alpha’s distressed pheromones.
Beside him, Heeseung is still sobbing like a child experiencing a trip of his foot for the first time.
“Somebody else could’ve been in my place,” he cries softly. “She could’ve been asking another alpha, ‘What’s your favourite drink?’ and I almost made it not me.”
Heeseung cries for what it’s worth. For the regret and grief of the what-ifs that could’ve happened if only he didn’t mess up. For the gratitude that you’re finally letting him the access to the information only privy to those who are close enough with you.
For the unexpected relief when you asked him back.
“So you’re crying because she let you know her,” Jay concludes once Heeseung has calmed down enough to talk properly.
They’re still sitting on the floor. The F1 show that Jay was watching prior to his sudden breakdown is now playing like background noise.
Heeseung nods weakly. “Yeah.”
“What did it feel like?”
Heeseung gives him a wistful smile.
“Disbelief. Because I can’t believe it feels so easy to just…have this affection for someone over knowing what their favourite drinks are.”
Heeseung looks into the distance, lost in thoughts and memory.
“I never feel this way for anybody. It’s scary, because now I want to know more.”
He stares into the space in front of him, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his cardigan.
“I want to know how she likes her eggs. I want to know which detergent she likes to use. What side of the bed she sleeps on,” Heeseung whispers, voice trembling. “I want to know everything about her and it’s so scary, Jay.”
There’s a pause before he looks down, sounding more broken than he has been tonight.
“It’s so scary because I realised it wasn’t the bond that terrified me.”
Heeseung remembers how happy he felt when you still rub your nose every time you get shy. How excited he felt when you cover your mouth as you laugh—little things he used to know about you that still makes you you.
“It wasn’t.”
Knowing someone has never felt this easy and freeing.
“It was how badly I could love her.”
The confession doesn’t land hard. It settles slowly, like a missing puzzle finally finding its place. His wolf stirs inside, yipping happily at the declaration.
Jay takes a moment to process everything before he sighs. He reaches out a hand and pats Heeseung on his shoulder.
“There, there. You’re making progress, Hee. You’re starting to see her more than the bond you guys shared.”
As if summoned, his scent gland pulses sharply. Heeseung yelps, clutching his nape with a quick hand. His scent spikes dangerously, spicy cinnamon burning the atmosphere.
“Hee!”
“It hurts,” Heeseung chokes, the pain quickly spreading to other parts of his body. “Fuck, Jay—”
Drip.
Both alphas instantly freeze.
On the carpet where they sit, is a drop of blood, staining the cream-coloured material with crimson red.
Jay slowly looks up, heart beating fast, chanting ‘No, no, no. Please, not you, Heeseung. Please,’ in his mind.
To his horror, the blood came from Heeseung’s nose.
Jay can feel his gut sinking to the floor.
“Hee,” he grabs his shoulders, eyes trained on the trail of blood dripping down his philtrum and his chin. “Hee, listen to me and answer me, okay? Please don’t panic.”
Inside, Jay is already panicking.
Heeseung tries not to, but his body feels scalding hot. The pain comes in waves, not once stopping even if he were to rip his heart open.
“Heeseung, answer me. Did you tell Y/N about the two options or not?”
Jay’s voice is muffled to his ears, but through his hazy mind and blurry vision, Heeseung can still make out the words.
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Why?” Jay whispers, breathless and shaken.
“I didn’t want to pressure her into thinking she has to choose me to save me.”
Heeseung’s unfocused eyes find him, desperate and so pitiful that his heart clenches painfully. Jay drops his head on his best friend’s shoulders, fear consuming his being.
“You idiot,” Jay sobs, the dam breaking almost instantly. “She might’ve chosen you anyway.”
Heeseung feels lightheaded. Jay’s voice is like a distant dream—something he’s not sure if he hears or not. Dark spots start appearing on the edges of his vision, almost turning black no matter how hard he blinks.
“Jay-ah…”
The last thing Heeseung remembers before he loses consciousness is Jay screaming his name, voice cracking and hoarse.
It’s finally the day of the competition.
Yet you haven’t heard from Heeseung for days.
You try not to make it obvious, nor to show how much you care. Not when Jungwon wouldn’t say anything either.
The younger alpha has been replacing Heeseung instead, walking you home while chatting about anything but the elephant in the room.
Or, in your case, the wolf in your universe.
There’s a lump of disappointment lodging in your chest whenever you think about it. You think that Heeseung has finally given up on trying to make up. You think that you’ve been too indifferent and unintentionally have pushed him away further than the two of you have ever been.
You don’t know why the thought makes you feel bitter.
“Our pitching is next,” Jungwon whispers next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You watch the group before you begin their pitching presentation.
In the first stage, the pitching was done in separate rooms to make it less time-consuming. But your group has advanced to the final stage, and now you have to convince five professionals from the business industry why your business idea is better than three other groups in front of hundreds of audience.
The image makes your blazer suddenly feel too tight around your ribs. You shift, trying not to think about the eyes watching every movement of the participants sitting on the far end of the stage.
Where the hell did this many people come from, anyway? You never see this crowd in lecture halls!
“Y/N. You’re nervous.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“Well, you don’t really smell like you’re relaxed right now.”
You purse your lips. Jungwon is right, of course, except you actually feel like your nerves are on the edge of bursting.
You’re not exactly good with stage fright. Especially in front of all these people whose names sound way too dramatic, like they don’t belong to the normal citizens like you. Their eyes are too penetrative, like they’re already figuring out every single doubt and nerves in your body, ready to tackle with impossible-to-answer questions.
You move in your seat again, trying to find comfort. But the seat is too hard for your tailbone. Beside you, Jungwon leans closer, speaking over the speaker blasting by your ears.
“Are you going to Jake hyung’s after party tonight?”
“His after party?” your eyebrows shoot up. Then you remember the invitation and something inside you sinks.
“Oh. Right. It’s his birthday today, right?”
And Heeseung must be there, you think bitterly, unaware of the withering daisies now wafting from your neck. They’re close friends, after all.
You don’t understand why, or you maybe actually do, but the lump in your chest only gets bigger. Really, you shouldn’t expect much by a man. They’ll always prioritise their homeboys over you in every way, your brain adds to the fuel.
Jungwon chuckles when he sees your frown, showing off his perfect dimples that could disarm any opponent.
Something clicks in your mind. Yeap. That’s right. You just need to force Jungwon to smile in front of the judges and surely—
“Relax, Heeseung hyung’s daisy. Look to your right.”
You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of his name finally being mentioned by the younger alpha, or the flutter in your chest at being called his daisy—but your head whips so fast in that direction, heart ramming behind your ribs.
Seated at the front row, standing out too much due to his handsome features and not-so-subtle hair colour, is Lee Heeseung. From where you sit, you can’t really make out his expression.
But the alpha is already staring at you, burgundy hair swept back neatly to expose his forehead. A small curve of his lips quirks up like he’s been expecting you to notice him.
You sit dumbly as he gives you a tiny wave, not sure what to do now that the alpha is actually here.
Here. To watch your group presentation and not there: To celebrate Jake’s birthday at his party.
For the first time in weeks, you feel your omega stirs and you almost choke.
“It’s our turn!”
You inhale sharply, snapping your eyes back to the centre of the stage. The previous group is already receiving applause and walking towards the other end of the stage to join the audience.
Okay. It’s actually your turn.
You feel sick to your stomach. You almost miss it when Jungwon nudges at you to stand, smoothing down his own blazer as he shoots you a dimpled smile. On the way to the centre of the stage, your mind is nothing more than a whirlwind of overthinking.
Trailing after Jungwon in your heels is nerve-wracking because what if you trip?
Bowing down to greet the judges and audience is scary because what if you lose your balance?
Staring back at the audience is distressing because what if they silently judge your makeup?
But all thoughts fly out the window when you meet eyes with Heeseung again.
As if the noise in your head suddenly vanishes, you can feel your frantic mind quieting down and your breathing, previously quite erratic, steadies without so much effort.
And it only happens when Heeseung holds your gaze, trusting and comforting all at the same time.
It’s like the stage was a tidal wave and Heeseung was the shore that keeps you safe.
Your omega stirs again.
Before you know it, Jungwon is already passing the mic to you. You take in a shaky breath, sweaty palms almost slippery, and imagine that every cell in your brain is filing up your speech in a neat line.
Despite your worries, everything goes well.
Your presentation goes on without a hitch and it ends exactly the way your best-scenario imagination does. You even manage to answer one out of five questions from the panel, and you can’t help the pride swelling in your chest when your group is announced as the first runner-up of the competition.
It’s a national-level competition, so being in the top three is already satisfactory for you and your group members, who were lowballing to only bring home participation certificates.
“First runner up is good enough! Congrats!” you squeal, almost hugging Jungwon in your excitement. The alpha dodges you as if you were a bullet, eyes darting to somewhere behind your head.
“Hey. You dodged my hug,” you huff.
“I have no intention to challenge a dominant alpha,” Jungwon gives you a teasing smile and wiggles his eyebrows. You raise yours, and before you can ask what he means by that, Jungwon is already raising his hand and waving at someone.
“Heeseung hyung! Your daisy is here!”
Your daisy. Heeseung hyung’s daisy.
His daisy.
Crimson red blooms across your cheeks, and your heart decides to skip a few beats you think it’s going to fall to the floor from how fast it's pounding.
Jungwon is fast to grab your shoulders and turn you around, like a proud parent introducing their child to their conglomerate friends. Your protest dies in your throat once your eyes settle on Heeseung’s approaching figure.
He’s donning a white dress shirt with slightly rolled-up sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms and athin silver bracelet. A dark gray vest, tailored and buttoned neatly hugs his frame snugly, showing off his narrow waist. There’s a big bouquet of pink roses held close to his chest, handled delicately like it’s something sacred.
His eyes, round and soft around the edges, are already trained on you. A wide smile curves up his lips, charming and disarming you’re sure the omegas around you are stealing glances.
Inside, your omega stirs again.
“Hi, Y/N.” He holds out the bouquet to you, his smiling turning shy. “For you.”
You take it slowly, admiring the beautiful petals. There are tiny daisies filling up the spaces between the roses and you feel something tug at your heartstring.
“Thank you, Heeseung. How’ve you been?”
Closer, only now do you notice the lack of colour in his face. His cheeks are losing its radiant flush, and his lips are void of its usual pinkish hue. There’s a slight delay before he responds and his smile comes slower than usual.
Up close, something feels off. Not obvious enough to name, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.
As if noticing your stare, Heeseung tries to cover his face. He raises his hand and pretends to cough.
“I was quite sick,” he says after a moment, trying to sound casual. He gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry that I didn’t show up without any updates.”
“It’s okay,” you softly say. You don’t know if it’s truly okay, though, because now your heart thinks that there’s something wrong.
Is he hiding something from you?
“I came to see you,” he says, like it’s the only place he’s ever meant to be. “I didn’t want to miss it. Congratulations, Y/N.”
He really came for you. Not for Jungwon or anyone. Not to Jake or anyone. But for you.
You can faintly hear your omega murmuring something, but your racing heart is louder than any noise in your head.
You’re about to reply when Jungwon inserts himself into the conversation, announcing his presence like a royal entering a ball.
“Thank you, hyung! I know we were great.” Jungwon says way too loudly, forcing Heeseung to shake hands with him. You let out a laugh while Heeseung only rolls his eyes.
“You too, Jungwon.”
“Anyway, why don’t we take a picture?” Jungwon, ever the trusted wingman, wiggles an eyebrow at Heeseung, hoping that you won’t notice. You actually do, but for some reason, you don’t say anything against it.
Heeseung studies your face. “Can I take a picture with you, Y/N?”
You hesitate for a second, heat sweeping across your cheeks before you nod. “Sure.”
Jungwon instantly pushes you in Heeseung’s direction. The dominant alpha, not expecting his accomplice to take such a bold move, catches you by the elbows instinctively. His fast reflexes are proving to be useful in the situation.
“Okay, look at the camera. Y/N, don’t be so stiff!”
Jungwon, that menace. One of these days you’re gonna beat his ass for sure.
“Heeseung hyung, is that a GDP gap? Get closer!”
“I’m sorry about him,” Heeseung whispers into your ears and chuckles breathily. Something kicks in your heart. “He’s a bit annoying, right?”
You just cannot hold your tongue. “He is, and I had to stick around with him when you weren’t around,” you catch yourself saying and silently curse yourself. Beside you, Heeseung stills for a second.
Why are you already whining to him? Fuck these stupid feelings, man. You’re still mad at him!
But Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grin only gets wider. He leans down further, hot breath brushing against the shell of your ears.
“I’ll keep trying,” he murmurs, edged with his usual determination. “Even if you don’t let me.”
You try not to notice that Jungwon has been silently snapping the candid moments. You also try to ignore the way your heart beats like a war drum. You try not to think too much about the manly pheromones coming from Heeseung—the cinnamon and sea salt that are awakening old memories, and the way his taller shoulder brushes yours.
“On three!” Jungwon interrupts, a boyish smirk on his face. You quickly clear your throat and smile at the camera.
“Two!”
Heeseung’s left shoulder bumps into you softly from behind, angling his body to face you. His hand hovers a safe distance from the back of your waist, not touching you even by accident like he’s afraid even that would be too much.
“One!”
As the flash goes off and you hold the bouquet dearly to your chest, you quietly wonder when it stopped hurting so much.
okay dang tumblr said this post has reached its limits wtf im gna kms!!! anyway posting a part 3 real soon!!!
SUMMARY: park jongseong is the kind of guy who likes to put his back against the wall to observe everybody before him and he likes the calm high only marijuana can provide when jake forces him out of his bedroom to socialize. enter you: a beautiful enigma in a black mini skirt and the only person who could get him higher than his favorite drug.
NOTES: a purely self indulgent fic. happy birthday jongseong 🖤
WORD COUNT: 23.8K
WARNINGS: marijuana use, extensive dry humping, jay being equally obsessed with ass and tits, reader having a rack and a big ass, oral (m & f receiving), mild ass play if you squint, confident & slightly bratty mc, unprotected sex, mating press, solo masturbation (m), jay is a walking green flag. I wrote most of this while stoned so maybe that should be a warning in itself...
🎧 kiss it better — the playlist
Jay doesn't have to announce that he smokes; his clothes smell earthy with the faint scene of leaf and smoke that lingers on all of his shirts and jackets. He always keeps a lighter on him in case there's an opportunity to get high or help someone else achieve that euphoria. Most times, Jay smells of vanilla and sandalwood from his favorite cologne that he intentionally sprays on his body for the longest lasting effect. It masks the scent or marijuana and wafts through his jet black hair, which has been cut short as of a week ago. He keeps to himself mostly, often preferring not to mingle with people who don't know how to carry a conversation. Jay hates unnecessary small talk. He'd rather people call him recluse than subject himself to people who only talk to him out of obligation.
Despite his quiet and introverted tendencies, he's friends with Jake, who is almost always the loudest person in the room. Jake is the type of person who can crack a smile and start a conversation with anybody. He doesn't mind if the small talk is bland and boring, unlike Jay, who counts the seconds until it's over. Jake loves it when the attention is on him like any other twenty-year-old something who's just gotten used to leaving home for the first time.
Their apartment on the outskirts of Seoul is less of an apartment and more like a small house, courtesy of Jay's exceptionally rich parents who dropped an unprecedented amount of money into his bank account despite the fact that he has a job. They don't particularly love that he works at a guitar repair shop or that he occasionally teaches people how to play the instrument when he has a free weekend, but Jay's never been the kind of person to care about what other people think of him as long as he's doing what he loves.
Well, that's how he's been ever since he started smoking.
Some time back in high school during the summer before his third year, he'd somehow met a freshly graduated student looking to sell off the rest of his marijuana before moving away for college. No way he could pack that shit in his luggage and fly halfway across the world with it in his possession. The plug was a friend of a friend. On a hot Thursday summer night, Jay smoked from a bong for the first time. He coughed and coughed, grateful that neither his friend nor the plug laughed at him for too long. The high didn't kick in until the third try when Jay had learned how to properly inhale.
If he could describe that first taste of euphoria, Jay would probably say it felt like walking on cloud nine with his head feeling heavier than a rock while the rest of his body felt as light as a feather. He could finally focus on one thing at a time instead of his brain running with a million thoughts. This was what it meant to let loose and be in the present moment. His friends thought he spent too much time worrying about the future instead of basking in the here and now. Jay finally understood what they were talking about.
When you first catch his eye, it's in the basement of his apartment. You arrived forty minutes prior along with your friends, some of whom he knows from around campus, and he looks at your exceptionally short black skirt that hugs your curves. The weather is starting to warm up with summer approaching beyond the horizon, even during the nighttime. Jay's red, bloodshot eyes rake over the expanse of your exposed legs and stop at the hem of the fabric before he peeks at your top, which is surely too small to properly cover your chest. It's a wonder how you haven't noticed him blatantly checking you out, but then again, the music is loud and there's far too many people in this room to make him stand out.
You look at Jay when the rest of your friends start to gather around the couch he's sitting on. Jake, who has migrated towards the coffee table with bottles of beer and soju, puts the drinks on the surface and starts pouring shots like the alcohol will give everybody enough courage to fly if they tried hard enough. He watches as you take a look at him too. Jay wears loose fitting black jeans and an old grey t-shirt he's worn one too many times. He's ditched his signature leather jacket because the apartment is warm with all the bodies that move before him and because it's his place. There's no use putting one on when he can walk upstairs to his bedroom if he gets cold. He never does. Several silver necklaces adorn his neck accompanied with matching silver jewelry that somehow makes his fingers look much longer than when his hands are completely bare. The callouses on his fingertips wrap around the joint in his hands—which is halfway finished—by the time you walk around the coffee table and look down at him.
"Is this seat taken?" Jay shakes his head.
"All yours."
He hears your polite thank you amidst noise. There's far too much for him to focus on, namely the chatter of multiple conversations and Jake's twenty-seven hour long playlist he puts on shuffle every time he hosts a party. Now he has to add in your perfume into the mix, which smells something like almond and cherries. Jay doesn't mean to inhale your scent, but it's kind of hard not to when you're sitting so close to him. The couch is only so big, anyway. Your thigh might as well be pushing against his if you weren't so polite.
"I like you what you did with your hair," you say, turning your body to look at him.
"Hm?" Jay hums.
"You hair. I like what you did with it," you repeat, using your index finger to point at his gelled hair, which he styled last minute thanks to Jake's suggestion. "It looks good on you."
"You think so?" You nod a few times. Jay can tell you're drunk from pregaming and the drinks his roommate and your friends have been passing around for the last hour or so.
"You look…edgy."
"Edgy?"
"Like, way too cool to be here."
Jay nearly scoffs at that. Too cool. Nobody's ever used that phrase to describe him before. Most people think he's too quiet for his own good or that he's a bit of a snob because he refuses to be part of the crowd that goes along with anything for the sake of looking like he has friends. Jay is the kind of person who keeps to himself until he feels comfortable enough to open up. Being vulnerable is not his forte. He'd rather keep everything to himself until he's given a reason to spill his guts. People tend to compare him to Jake and always wonder how the two of them are so close despite being so different. His best friend's loudness complements his quiet nature, even if it gets to be too overwhelming sometimes.
You, on the other hand, are the epitome of cool. Jay's never spoken to you in his life, but he's seen you around before. You never walk around campus without somebody trailing after you and on the rare occasions you're alone, he's seen you call out to somebody as they pass by. Jay doesn't know if you're a natural socializing magnet or if people seek you out on purpose. He doesn't know if there's much of a difference. Jay has never found the appeal of having a large friend group because he'd rather find a few people who he can trust than entertain people who don't really care about him. He doesn't know you well enough to make any assumptions beyond what he's witnessed, but you're friends with the girl Jake is talking to, which means he's been seeing you more than he ever has.
With his joint still lit, Jay laughs and the sound vibrates deep within him as the high continues making him feel like his head is much heavier than the rest of his body, just how he likes it. "You flatter me."
"You're Jay, right?" You ask. You tell him your name, which he already knows, but he chooses not to tell you that.
"Yeah, I am. Jake's roommate."
"I've heard a lot about you."
"Have you?"
"Good things, I promise," you tell him with a sweet smile. Jay's eyes barely flicker to your lips. You'd notice if you were sober, but you aren't. "Jake told me you play guitar. I think that's really cool."
"Do you play too?"
You shake your head. "Nope. I grew up playing piano. My parents never let me learn guitar because they wanted me to become a pianist."
"How's that going for you?"
"I can play Tchaikovsky without sheet music, but I really like learning about astronomy."
"You're either a disappointment or an exceptional daughter."
You giggle. Jay doesn't think he's made anyone make that sound before.
"Maybe a little bit of both. I crushed their dreams of seeing me in Carnegie Hall, but they're happy I chose a hard science as my major. I'm planning on going to grad school after taking a gap year."
"You're…very confident."
"Is that a bad thing?" You ask with the tilt of your head.
"Not at all. I'm just surprised."
"You are the cute guy with a joint and enough jewelry to last a lifetime. You look pretty confident to me." Your eyes rake over his hands, which are adorned with an assortment of silver rings before passing up his neck and to his ears, both of which are tastefully decorated. Jay looks at you and notices you're decked out in jewelry too. The gold tones complements you well.
"I think people shouldn't be afraid of accessorizing," Jay says.
"Fuck the clean girl aesthetic." You laugh. "I'm just kidding. People can do what they want. But I don't feel like myself unless my eyes are caked in eyeliner." Your makeup looks expertly put on. It's messy in a tasteful way, like you didn't try too hard even though you probably took your time getting ready.
"It looks nice on you."
"You think so?"
Jay nods. "Makes you look like a rock star."
"You're one to talk," you say, letting your eyes fall again.
The joint burns quicker than he'd like and in lieu of a response, Jay takes another puff and hopes he doesn't come off as socially awkward. He inhales and holds it in his lungs as casually as he can before turning his head away to blow the smoke anywhere but in your face. Jay can feel your eyes watching his lips as he brings the joint to his mouth and feels his neck start to warm up.
"Do you want to take a hit?" He asks, holding the joint out for you.
"Do you care if I get lip gloss on it?"
As if he'd pass up the chance to taste it.
He pushes the joint closer to you until your nimble fingers take it from him and he watches intently as your lips enclose around the opening. You've already got your lip gloss on it, something he can only describe as cherry cola, but he doesn't really care. Maybe he's high or maybe he knows a thing or two about pretty girls who like to make their lips look real kissable, but Jay takes note of your brown lip liner that makes you look even more delectable than when you were standing across the room from him.
Like the polite girl you are, you turn your head away to blow the smoke out of your mouth. You take it like a champ, too. You inhaled quite a bit and he was sure he'd have to get up from his spot on the couch to grab you a glass of water—or make Jake do it—but you cough only once to clear your throat before turning back around and inspecting the lip gloss that's managed to taint the paper. You smile and laugh when you notice it, flicking your eyes back towards Jay as you pass the joint back to him.
"Sorry," you apologize. "I really tried not to get any on there."
"S'okay. It happens," he mumbles, trying not to become too transfixed with the way you rub your lips together.
"Do you always offer your joints to strangers you see at parties?"
"Only if they're pretty."
Jesus. He's never this bold when he's sober. Jay sees a flicker of bashfulness in your expression when he says it, though. He isn't used to talking to girls like Jake is because he's got more things to worry about than wondering when he'll get his dick wet. He's the kind of guy that likes to take things slow and only jumps in on opportunities if they happen naturally. Jake's tried to introduce him to a few girls in the past but it never felt right.
Something about you smoking the joint he rolled twenty minutes before this party began is making him feel differently.
"Do you think I'm pretty, Jay?" Caught between embarrassment and bravado, he chooses the latter.
"Very pretty."
"I think you're pretty too."
"Do you?"
You nod. "Always have. I've seen you around campus before. You've got this mysterious thing going on. It works for you."
"Did Jake put you up to this?" He asks, shaking his head before inhaling a small puff.
"He didn't," you tell him. "I'm not really friends with Jake. Well, we know each other because we've shared a few classes and because he's talking to my best friend. No colluding here."
You move closer to him only slightly, but Jay's high and the only thing he can focus on is your exposed thigh inching closer towards his own. Your skirt has already ridden up so far because of the position you're sitting in and because it's hard to fix your clothes when you aren't standing up. If he looked down, Jay would see your tits practically shoving themselves in his face because of the tight, low cut. But even when he's inebriated, Jay is a gentleman, so he maintains his composure and keeps a respectful distance.
"Can I have another hit?" He gives the joint back to you and tries his best not to gawk at your lips again. "This isn't your scene, is it?"
"It is if Jake asks me to come," he answers, watching you tilt your head back to exhale. "I'm not a party guy, but it's my house and it'll be just as loud in my bedroom."
"I see," you say with a hum, looking at the group of people that have gathered near the table at the far end of the room. "It's not really my scene either."
"It's not?"
You shake your head. "I go to these things because my friends like to and I like them. Don't get me wrong, I like going out, but I think I'd rather smoke with a few people in my apartment instead."
"What would you rather be doing?"
"Depends on my mood. Right now I'd rather be high on my roof stargazing. I also like watching anime a lot. I'd rather be doing that alone in my bedroom."
"You must really like your friends to come out tonight." You laugh and Jay thinks it sounds like his favorite melody.
"I have my moments where I want to go out. I think my introversion comes out sometimes, but it's my last year of university and who knows when I'll be able to see all my friends in one place. What about you? What would you rather be doing?"
"Is it obvious that I'm bored?"
"Well, you look like you'd rather hide in your room than stay down here."
"I don't know anyone well enough," Jay tells you. "Not bad company, everyone's just a stranger tonight."
"But not me, right?" You ask, leaning in closer to him.
His eyes flicker down to your lips before looking back at you.
"No. Not you," he murmurs. "I know you now."
"Come play beer pong!" Jake shouts, interrupting the conversation from halfway across the room. When Jay turns his head to look, everyone has migrated to the table with red solo cups perfectly aligned on both sides. Your friends call out for you and Jay assumes you must be really good at this game if they're this adamant about you playing.
"Come with me?" You ask him, standing up while outstretching your hand to him. He only hesitates for a second before putting the joint in his mouth and putting his hand in yours.
Already, he notes how soft your palms are and the long, pointy shape of your nails that have been painted a dark shade of purple. Jay tries not to stare at your joined hands for too long because he doesn't want to seem like he's gawking, especially when he's surrounded by people you know. You lead him towards the crowd as Jake pours beer in the remaining empty cups.
You don't drop his hands immediately. Instead, you turn towards him and look up, batting your eyelashes. "Can I have another hit? For good luck?"
"Won't that make you loose focus?"
"I'm really good at beer pong."
Instead of giving you the joint, Jay holds it up to your mouth and watches you envelope the tip into your mouth. He doesn't hide the fact that he's staring, nor do you hide the fact that you're looking at him as he looks at you. He can hear your friend telling you to hurry up but you don't, instead choosing to inhale as much as you can before pulling away, holding it in your lungs, and blowing the smoke behind you.
"You know the rules," Jake says, standing across from you with a ping pong ball in his hand. "No pushing or blocking. I want a clean, fair game."
"Until the next round," your friend says.
Jake smirks. "Until the next round."
You finally let go of his hand to stand next to your friend and Jay can't help but trail his eyes until he looks at your ass. Fuck. You look exceptional in that skirt. He pulls his gaze away to avoid looking like a creep checking you out while you're bending over, but can anyone blame him? With every move and every stop, your skirt rides up your incredible thighs and he almost wishes he could push the fabric up just to see what you look like underneath it.
True to your word, you're really good at beer pong. Jake is far more drunk than you and your friend and his partner is barely carrying his weight. You, on the other hand, manage to sink the ping pong ball into the cup every single time you throw it. Jay relishes in Jake's defeated expression when he has to drink out of a cup, partially because his best friend wouldn't allow him to hole himself in his bedroom all night, and partially because Jay finds your hand-eye coordination really attractive. He finishes the remainder of the joint and finds a spare ash tray somewhere behind him.
The game ends eventually. Jay watches you and your best friend share a celebratory embrace and he can't help but let a ghost of a smile adorn his lips when he sees how happy you are now that you've won. Half of your drinks are still on the table while Jake's cups are nearly empty. Your friend walks to the other side of the table to console his best friend, who asks to team up for the next round as an excuse to be close to her, when you grab a two of the red cups and lift one to his mouth.
"Drink with me?"
He doesn't say no. Jay's knees nearly buckle when you maintain eye contact over the rim of the cup until you finish yours, which prompts him to finish his own. He doesn't particularly like the taste of warm, cheap beer, but he'd drink the rest of it if that meant staying by your side.
"Congratulations on the win. Jake's really bad at beer pong and hasn't improved in the four years I've known him," Jay says somewhat awkwardly, too high to find the confidence to act like he's sober enough to have a proper conversation with you. You're faring much better than he is, but he thinks it's probably because you're naturally good with people.
"I've played him a few times and you're right, he's terrible at it," you say with a short laugh. "What about you? Are you any good?"
"I'm decent, but I prefer staying on the sidelines instead of playing."
"That's okay." You smile up at him. "You can be my cheerleader from now on."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm," you hum. You hold your hand up in front of him. "Give me your phone."
"My phone?"
"I wanna give you my number, silly."
Jay nearly chokes. You're really pretty. He'd have to be an idiot to deny your request.
He fishes his phone from his pocket, grateful for his past self that decided to bring it downstairs instead of leaving it in his room like he usually does. After unlocking it, he hands the device to you and watches the way your fingers wrap around the case as you type your number. He's surprised when you take a picture of yourself in front of him to have as your contact photo before you hand it back. Your contact name is simple, spelled in all lowercase with a singular black heart right next to it.
God, you're something.
"Don't be a stranger, okay?"
✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･
It's been two weeks since then.
Sober Jay from the morning after somehow convinced himself that you weren't serious about him texting you. It must've been the weed, right? Or maybe it was the atmosphere at the party. Things like this happen to Jake, not him.
But here you are, walking towards him with a big smile on your face.
Lee Heeseung cocks his head and looks between the two of you. He watches Jay notice you from the corner of his eye, slowing his gait as if to check if it's really you, before looking ahead and taking another step forwards. Heeesung raises an eyebrow and pulls Jay by the arm.
"You shouldn't ignore a gorgeous girl who wants your attention," says Heeseung, clearly giving you a once over. You don't seem to notice because you're too busy trying to get Jay's to look at you. "Do you know her?"
"Barely," Jay mutters.
"It looks like she knows you."
"We met at a party a couple of weeks ago, is all. We barely know each other."
"I'll come over after work," Heeseung says, effectively patting Jay on the shoulder before he leaves.
"Heeseung—"
"Jay!" You say from beside him. He looks down at you, giving Heeseung the chance to slip away without saying a proper goodbye. "Who's your friend?"
"Nobody important," Jay mumbles. "What are you doing here?"
"In the public quad?" He tries not to let a blush form atop his cheeks. "You didn't text me."
There's no use in trying to come up with a cohesive answer. He opens his mouth like he's a fish out of water, but you keep looking at him like you're amused.
"I didn't think you were serious."
"I even added a contact picture."
It's a fucking good one too.
"Here," you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket. "Put your number in my phone."
"This feels like déjà vu."
"I thought about finding your Instagram or asking around for your number, but you could've ignored me there too. I figure I'd find you and ask you myself."
Jay's never had anybody this interested in him. He's had girlfriends in the past, but they always felt like placeholders. He's pretty sure his ex-girlfriends felt the same way about him too. You, on the other hand, have been bold and forward ever since the first time you laid your eyes on him. Ever since sharing that joint a couple of weeks ago, Jay's felt this strange sense of his heartstrings being pulled involuntarily.
The truth is, he hasn't stopped thinking about you since that night. In the evening, when Jake is asleep or gaming with his noise cancelling headphones, Jay would pull up your contact and stare at your image for hours. He'd fantasize about seeing you again before feeling embarrassment for conjuring such an image. There have been to many times where he'd draft a text message just to delete it altogether. Jay can't pinpoint why he refrained from reaching out to you, but deep down, he knows it's because he's scared of being rejected by you.
And yet, here you are, asking for his phone number.
you: hi jay!!
"Don't be a stranger. I mean it this time," you tell him as you pocket your phone and walk away.
"Fuck," he whispers. He's never felt such exhilaration in his entire life.
Jay does text you back. He texts back approximately four hours later (after conferring with Heeseung on what he should say) and settles on being just as direct as you. He figures dinner and a movie is a safe bet, especially since he doesn't know you well enough to know what you'd be interested in. Heeseung tells Jay he's overthinking and fuck, he knows that, but it's hard not to when he really wants to impress you and make you believe he's more than just some guy you got high with at one of Jake's parties.
Sometimes Jay wonders if he jumps off of the deep end too fast. He'd never purposely make you feel like you need to rush into anything with him right off the bat, but he can't deny that his feelings towards you compile into something that feels like a crush. Smoking with you didn't feel like a one-time thing, especially since you held his fucking hand and told him to join you during that beer pong match. You let everyone see you drag him to the group. You didn't drop his hand for the sake of not wanting to be seen with him, but because your teammate needed you to be laser focused to win against Jake and his partner.
He'd never admit that you're on his mind at every waking hour. Perhaps he's been such a loner for so long, but Jake and Heeseung both would argue that Jay isn't a loner per se. Rather, he's someone who takes his time and has impossibly high standards because he wants to be completely sure about a decision before he goes all in. He's always been a bit indecisive like that, even in childhood. But it's not his fault that he's a careful person. Jay's careful with his mind, body, and soul.
You came into his life like a fucking thunderstorm. You've unarmed all of Jay's senses and made him forget being cautious like he usually does despite having only spent a few hours with you a couple of weeks ago. There's no rhyme or reason for your existence in his life and all you've done is share a joint and talk to him like you've known him all your life. He loves people like that. Jay's first encounter with Jake was at orientation during their first year of university and the latter had struck up a conversation because he simply didn't know anybody at the time. It was alarming in the best kind of way and Jay decided to take a leap of faith to befriend Jake. The rest is history, as they say.
Is it pathetic that he's thinking about making space in his life for you when he barely knows who you are? He knows you're beautiful, you like to get high, and you're exceptional at beer pong. There's not much he can go off of when he allows himself to fantasize about what it would be like to call you his girlfriend. God, Jay must be truly fucked in the head to think that far ahead when he's only hung out with you once. He'd never call himself a hopeless romantic or the kind of guy who believes in love at first sight, but something about your wondrous self makes him think otherwise.
Eventually, the two of you sit across from one another in a late night diner after seeing The Drama.
"This whole movie was bullshit," you say, dipping french fries into a mixture of ketchup and hot sauce. "I mean, Emma didn't go through with her original plan. Her belief system was completely shaped after finding her friend group. Shouldn't that count for something? Everyone else at that table did some fucked up shit, but Emma was the only one who didn't."
"Rachel was a terrible friend," Jay says with a definite nod. "Her husband—what was his named again? Mike?—was useless the entire time. All of this could've been avoided if Emma and Charlie postponed the wedding to talk about it."
"I couldn't help but notice how everyone except for Emma showed their true personalities. Rachel locked that kid in a closet and didn't help him. She got spooked and let left him to the wolves, which is exactly how she treated her best friend. Mike was a pussy who used his ex-girlfriend as a human shield and he did that again by hiding behind Rachel, no? And Charlie…he didn't even know what happened to the kid he cyberbullied and wrestled with that until he got over it. All three of them repeated their mistakes but Emma was the only one who didn't."
Jay can't help but look at you in awe. Underneath the awful diner lighting, you look beautiful as you dive straight into your analysis and your late night dinner. He can get talkative too, something his parents used to scold him for, and part of him thinks they're the reason why he feels conditioned to keep his opinions and feelings to himself. There are a few people, like Jake and Heeseung, who naturally bring out his loquacious tendencies. Jay feels that way with you and he loves that you aren't afraid to tell him what you think, even if it isn't pleasant.
"How did you feel about the ending? When Charlie and Emma met up at the diner and pretended everything was okay?"
"I honestly don't even know," you say with an exasperated sigh. "If that were me, I would've advised both of them to postpone the wedding and get extensive couples therapy. You?"
"I would've done the same thing," he replies. "They didn't seem like a great fit to me from the start. I mean, why didn't Charlie just read the book before their first date?"
"Men are the worst," you say, rolling your eyes. Jay nods in agreement. Men really do suck.
"Hopefully our night will end better than theirs."
You raise an eyebrow. "With me in a wedding dress and you bloody and bruised?"
Picturing you in a wedding dress makes his heart skip a beat.
"No," he said with a slight blush. "I hope we enjoy our food and maybe you like me enough to want to do this again."
"Let's see how the night ends first," you say coyly. "But I'm having a great time, if that's any consolation. The movie might've been bad, but the company isn't."
Jay laughs and looks down at his plate. "You say things that make me think you're flirting with me."
"What if I am?"
He looks back up at you. "Aren't I the one supposed to make you blush?"
"We still have the whole night ahead of us, Jay. There's plenty of time for that."
"I was surprised when you came up to me at the party," Jay confesses. "I'm not the type of person to just…go up to people the way you do. I thought that was cool. I didn't want to fuck tonight up."
"You could've texted me sooner," you tease, grabbing a fry from his plate. "But it's fine. I'm the kind of person who believes in fate, or whatever you want to call it. Whatever happens is supposed to happen."
"That's a beautiful way of putting it."
"Do you remember what I said to you? I could've looked you up on Instagram or ask Jake but you could've ignored me there too." Jay blushes, shutting his eyes closed. You laugh when you see him and take a sip of your chocolate milkshake.
"God, I don't know why I convinced myself that you were joking."
"Well, I actually told myself that if I saw you in person, that would mean it's worth trying again."
"Really?" You shrug.
"Yup. Simple as that. I desire many things and let fate handle the rest."
"You are…extremely poetic."
"I'm not afraid to say what's on my mind," you tell him. "I think you could learn a thing or two from me."
"I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen," Jay says without missing a beat. He holds your gaze, which makes his fingers twitch, but he doesn't relent. It's your turn to be bashful now and he relishes in the sight of you breaking eye contact first.
"You really flatter me, Jay."
"I'm only saying what's on my mind. It's all I've been thinking about for the past two weeks, actually. I can't seem to get you out of my head and I can't tell if that's a good or bad thing."
"It's a good thing," you say. "Definitely a good thing."
Jay pays the entire bill. Your apartment isn't very far from here, just a short seven minute drive. With you sitting in his passenger seat, he has the itch to put his palm on your thigh as some kind of silent claim, but he doesn't because the two of you haven't even kissed.
The short drive ends quickly and you make a passing comment about how the night is still young because it's Friday and you don't have anywhere to be tomorrow morning. Jay decides to push his overthinking tendencies to the side, asking if you'd want to keep hanging out while he drives aimlessly all over down. You say yes and make a joke about how much gas he'd be wasting, but he tells you he doesn't mind it if you're the one he's driving with, and that makes you blush.
It's unfathomable how comfortable Jay is with you already. It's only been one date (two, if you count when you first met), but he's already falling in deep. You talk about life like you're excited to be alive and make him feel like there's something at the end of every tunnel. He learns so much about you by listening to all the things you aren't saying and asks question after question. You do the same, making him feel like he's part of the conversation instead of focusing solely on yourself and Jay gets the sense that you really want to get to know him too. Sometimes he thinks he can talk for hours without anyone interrupting and he feels like this habit of his annoys people around him. But not you, apparently. You hang onto every word and don't interrupt him.
After a near hour of driving, Jay finds himself back at your apartment and walks you to the front door like the gentleman he is.
"I had a really great time tonight," he says, looking down at you. It's unfair how beautiful you are underneath the moonlight.
"You surprised me, Jay."
"I did?"
"Mhm. I always thought you were the lonesome, brooding type. You're intimidating, you know that? Especially when you're smoking. You look…untouchable." He laughs at that.
"Is that a good thing?" Jay asks, looking at the way your eyes travel up and down his body. His neck feels warm all of the sudden.
"It's a really good thing," you say, pushing yourself closer to Jay. "You're too cool to be in most places."
"You're one to talk. You know exactly who you are. That's intimidating."
"I don't go out with just anyone, you know. I made an exception."
"For me?"
"For you."
His eyes flicker down to your lips. He can barely believe his life. Jay must look like he's fighting some invisible urge to remain the gentleman you deserve, but you aren't having that. "Kiss me, Jay."
He does.
God, your lips are so soft. The lip gloss rubbed off an while ago but he still tastes the remnants. Jay's already lost in the feeling of your mouth on his, carefully putting both of his hands on your hips. The feeling of pure adrenaline becomes more intense when he's kissing you with his eyes closed and Jay can only feel an exhilarated jolt in his body when he realizes you're kissing him back. The kiss is as polite as it can be for two semi-horny twenty-year-old-somethings making out in the dead of night, right where anyone could see the two of you. Jay doesn't care, though, and he doesn't think you do either.
It's short-lived because you drop your keys, startling the two of you until you both pull away.
"You taste incredible," Jay says without fully thinking.
"Come upstairs with me?" You ask him in a rush, bending over to pick up your fallen keys.
"Only if you want me to."
"I do, Jay. Come in."
Jay doesn't have time to look at the decor in the living room because you're hauling him past the dark kitchen and up the stairs. You drag him in such a haste that he stumbles as he takes his shoes off, unable to place them neatly by the door. For a second, Jay's worried that the two of you will wake up your roommate, but you open your door and pull him inside with brute force that he stops thinking with his brain and starts thinking with his cock.
Your room is cute. It's very you, dark with red and purple accents with posters and artwork covering every inch of you wall in a tasteful manner. Your desk is littered with makeup, your headphones, and other miscellaneous items Jay can't make out in the dark. The window by your bed provides a bit of moonlight for him to see and he's grateful for it because he's watching you take off your shirt. Your bra is midnight black. A push up, most likely, making your chest look like a cardinal sin. Jay can't help but let his eyes drop to your tits, his eyes watching you breathe heavily.
"Fuck me," Jay whispers. It cuts through the silence of the night and he's about to apologize when you pull him by his neck until his lips are back on yours.
The two of you tumble onto your queen sized bed, effectively pulling Jay's chest to fall flush against yours. He feels you try to push off his jacket, to which he pulls his arms out before tossing it somewhere behind him, while his lips chase after your plush ones. Your hands are all over his body and Jay's horny brain prevents him from holding back like he was when the two of you were outside your front door. You're kissing him just as enthusiastically, fingers clawing at his clothing as your hands explore his chest and abdomen, making Jay recoil at your sensitive touch.
He doesn't know what to focus on. Your voice is breathy and light and your mouth tastes like an invitation to sin underneath the moonlight. Jay can barely register your tits pressing up against his chest because his dick is starting to harden in his jeans with every second that passes. Your mouth leaves his own and he holds back a pathetic whine because he wants to keep kissing you while you're underneath him, but your wet lips attach to his hot neck. He almost forgot how good it feels to be touched by somebody he's actually excited about. Sex isn't always just sex to him and he thinks there must be something fundamentally wrong with him for being unable to truly live in the moment if he isn't completely attracted to the girl he's with. Hovering above your semi-naked body with your mouth sucking on his warm skin makes him feel like his soul is on fire burning with unashamed desire.
It's hard to keep still when you're kissing him like you're desperate for him too. His fingertips itch to move your bra and panties out of the way, but he doesn't want to ruin a good thing by acting out of haste. When you pull your head back, presumably from the discomfort of craning your head at an uncomfortable angle, Jay sees his opportunity to make you feel as good as you make him feel. His mouth presses long, wet kisses along your jawline until you're moaning straight into the air and right next to his eardrum.
God. You sound divine.
You sound like a siren luring him into the deep end. He's a sailor braving the storm when he hears your song echoing from the distance, turning his ship from the traveling course to sail wherever you are. Your breathy voice and rolling hips makes his dick impossibly hard and Jay never imagined he'd ever get like this over dry humping, but you seem to take him out of his element and reward him for it.
Jay has long since stopped asking for verbal permission because he keeps getting cut off by your eager lips. Your hands have found their way to the back of his head, tugging on his soft strands the more he travels down your neck. His mouth sucks on the spot just underneath your earlobe and the euphoric tension makes your legs wrap around his body, effectively trapping him right where he wants to be. Jay would never complain about you clinging onto him like this. In fact, he wants to be as close as he possibly can with you.
Tugging on his roots causes him to groan against your skin. Your silent room makes the combination of your moans sound like something out of an amateur lewd film and it makes Jay's senses go haywire. The more you tug on his hair, the more he pushes his covered dick against the fabric of your panties. He can feel you. Jay notices the way you push your lap straight into his like you're trying to feel his cock through his denim. He savors the way your body arches deeply when his tongue licks your earlobe, making your entire body shudder to the point where Jay's arm catches you before you roll over.
"Take your shirt off," you moan with an opened mouth, moving your hands from his head to underneath the hem. Jay grunts when your manicured nails scratch down his toned abdomen. Fuck, your touch might as well send him in a spiral.
The shirt comes off and it'll live on your bedroom floor for the foreseeable future because the only thing on Jay's mind is the pure desire that emanates from your gaze. You resemble that of a hungry feline ready to pounce on your prey and Jay doesn't care that your eyes are raking all over his body. In fact, he finds it incredibly sexy that you're objectifying him like this—is it objectification if he allows it?—because it turns him on. Knowing you want him as badly as he wants you is the very on top. When it comes to you, getting his dick wet means absolutely nothing if you aren't into him too.
He's caught off guard momentarily, allowing you to push him until his back hits your mattress. Jay follows your body, watching and feeling the way you climb onto his lap like you're its rightful owner. This moment is something out of his wildest wet dream—you in a black lace bra with panties pasted onto your pussy because of how wet you've made them. Jay could only guess how turned on you were but now that he has a clear view of you, he almost can't believe you're letting him see you like this.
Jay doesn't think when he brings his thumb to nudge at your wet center. You buck your hips at that and let out this soft, airy moan that makes his cock twitch. He's sure you can feel it but he doesn't particularly care, not when you're grinding again his thumb that's rubbing you right over your covered clit.
"You're so wet," Jay groans, pushing the pad of his thumb harder against your swollen bud. "Your panties are soaked."
"You turn me on," you confess unashamed, hands coming to the button of his jeans as you try to take them off. Your long nails prove to be troublesome, though. Jay chuckles at your frustration and unbuttons his pants as you lift off of him until he's able to push them down far enough to reveal his boxers and the hardened outline of his dick.
His jeans sit uncomfortably halfway down his legs but Jay can't bring himself to care when you're looking down at his lap like his cock is a piece of mean. Did you mean to lick your lips or was that a natural response? You marvel at it for a short moment before crawling your way back up until your clothed core drags along his boxers and for the first time in a while, he doesn't have to rely on his hand or a spare toy to get him off.
Feeling your warmth is enough to get Jay's blood pumping even harder. He feels the metronome that is his heartbeat pounding in his ears when your hands roam around his naked chest, feeling every ridge and dip his abdomen and pecs have to offer. You run your fingertips over his nipples and Jay visibly shudders at that, to which you smile wickedly and laugh like you find him amusing. Your hips don't stop moving either, slowly grinding your panties over his boxers as if you've decided to take your sweet time with him compared to when you latched your mouth onto his neck like a leech.
Every drag of your hips brings him closer to Heaven. Jay's grateful he's sober for two reasons: he'd probably cum in his pants the second he saw you in your bra and the feeling of your hand repositioning his dick in your boxers so that your clit can rub over his tip is sensational. Jay's never fucked a girl who was so intentional before. He's familiar with putting on this persona of the guy who wants to take care of every girl he sleeps with (that's true for the most part) but his heart isn't in it half the time. But you…you know exactly what you want and you aren't afraid to take it. It's what he's grown to like about you over the course of his date with you and Jay's experiencing what that's like right now.
"Drag your pussy over me like you mean it," he grunts, bringing his hands to your body as if to guide you in a steady rhythm.
"Fuck," you curse. "This feels so fucking good."
"Your body's phenomenal," he groans like it's a confession he wants you to hear. "Why have you been hiding these pretty tits from me?"
You laugh at him, arching your back to give his face a full view of your chest. "You like these?"
"I love them," he replies, digging his fingertips into your flesh. "Makes me wanna see them with your bra off."
You comply like the deviant you are, expertly unhooking your bra and tossing it somewhere onto your bed. Jay almost drools at the sight of your erect nipples, licking his lips involuntarily. You look like a beautiful, demonic succubus straight from the deepest pits of hell meant to seduce Jay. He'd gladly sell his soul if that means he gets to be the only one to experience you like this.
Watching you from below might as well be the last thing he sees before he dies. Your tits look phenomenal as they bounce the more you drag your covered pussy over his lap. The soiled fabric must feel so good against your bare, wet pussy because you're moaning like your life depends on it. Your vocal moans bring him closer and closer to the edge he's trying not to peer over, but you make it hard when you look and sound like that. Sexy beyond compare. Jay's pictured this exact moment every single night as his hands cup his dick without him realizing it most times. He finds that his body responds to yours in ways it's never responded to anyone before and at this rate, he's let his cock do the thinking for him. Every single rational thought he's had about being a gentleman tonight has been thrown out of your window, never to be seen again.
Jay yanks you down by your neck and pushes your lips with his own until your tongues collide and smash against one another. The wet spit makes the whole affair that much more erotic, especially when Jay's bending his legs and lifting them up and thrust his covered dick right against your panties, paying no mind to the fact that his jeans are technically caught at his ankles. You two must look like two desperate people rutting your laps against one another, if he had to guess. Fuck it. It feels so good. Grinding into you like this makes him feel like he's in a quick haste. He wishes he could do more, like peel your clothes off and kiss every inch of your skin until he memorizes what your body tastes like, but you're both too far gone to think about that right now. You moan hotly against his lips and push your tongue against him harder like you're trying to get underneath his skin. It's working and Jay grabs your ass cheeks, gripping onto your meaty flesh while he moans and thrusts his hips like a wild bull.
"I'm close, Jay. Fuck, keep doing that and you'll make me cum," you moan, grinding your ass back onto him. The way the tip of his cock hits your wet patch is indescribable. He wishes he could feel that with his raw cock instead.
"You feel me like that? The way my dick pushes against you?" Jay grunts, bucking his hips. "This is just a preview. I'm going to fuck your pussy until you crave me when I'm gone."
"Yes, fuck!"
"Gonna fuck that drooling pussy of yours." Something about one particular thrust makes you yelp, making you cling onto him like your life depends on it. "Cum for me," Jay moans, gripping your ass tighter until you're moaning louder. "That's so hot. You're so hot."
"Cumming, cumming!"
"I'm cumming too," he grunts in short breaths.
Your covered pussy pushed against him when you come and Jay follows soon after. He feels the way his hot seed shoots straight from his slit and onto his boxers, the sticky substance rubbing against his skin with every thrust. Jay feels like a teenager coming like this but it's worth it when he looks up to see your eyes closed shut, mouth hanging open as you catch your breath and relieve yourself from the incredible high. The sweat on his forehead starts to cool when his hips thrust haphazardly against you and Jay spills the last of his semen into his pants when you drop your head to his shoulder.
The sounds of your heavy breaths fill the quiet room. Jay strokes your back when you breathe against his neck in a silent attempt to calm you down from the dirty affair, readjusting himself to let you lay your head completely on his chest. He kisses the crown of your head as you curl your fist against him and the feeling of your mouth littering soft kisses on his naked body makes his heart flutter.
However, the moment is cut short when you receive a call on your phone, startling the both of you. You yelp in his arms and his heart rate skyrockets until you're both looking at each other and laughing at the absurd juxtaposition having made each other come to an orgasm before your phone rang. Jay reluctantly lets you go, but he watches the way you turn back to look at him before answering.
"Now?" He hears you say. "What? I'm not out of breath. I just ran up the stairs, though. Okay sue, fried rice is fine. I'll see you in fifteen. Drive safe."
"Who was that?" Jay asks when you hang up the phone.
"My roommate," you reply. "I thought she was gonna be out until tomorrow, but her plans changed and now she's coming home with takeout."
"Great roommate, awful timing."
You smile at him apologetically, walking towards him until you're standing in between his legs. He sits on the edge of your bed and places his hands on your hips to draw you in closer to him, neck craning to look up as you bend down to give him a kiss.
"I'm sorry, Jay," you apologize. "I don't want to kick you out, but she's going to question you like she's my mother. You remember the girl Jake's talking to, right? That's her."
"She seems nice, though."
"She's the best," you say with a smile against his mouth. "She's my best friend and she's really protective over me. I don't really want her first time meeting you to be like, well…this."
"We've met before, though?"
"Yeah, but not as the guy I'm seeing." Jay feels his heart bounce against his chest. He likes the sound of that.
"Don't worry about it," he says, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your skin. "I had a great time tonight. The date and the sex."
"I can't believe we dry humped on my bed," you giggle, looking down at his naked torso. "You're really hot, Jay."
"You're hotter," he says, kissing you again. "I should probably get dressed, huh?"
You pout. "I don't want you to go."
"I don't want to go either, but your friend is coming back." Jay pecks your lips and pushes you to the side to grab his discarded clothes and to fix his pants. His come is sticky in his boxers but there's no time for him to clean himself up, so he decides he'll brace the uncomfortable drive home.
"Stop being such a green flag," you grumble cutely, eyebrows furrowing like you can't believe he has the audacity to be respectful.
"You're so cute," he admits without thinking, leaning down to kiss you again before kissing your temple.
The two of you put your clothes back on and he stumbles back down the stairs, pretending like his legs aren't jello from humping you ten minutes ago. Jay becomes a happier version of himself when you walk him to his car and he kisses you one last time, his hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you in place. He leaves soon after that, watching the way you touch your lips and smile to yourself in the rear view mirror.
You're so cute.
✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･
Despite that incredible night, exams get in the way of spending alone time together.
The two of you hang out on campus more than not after realizing the pathway to your classes overlap. Jay doesn't mind these innocent run ins (that have turned into intentional dates spending time with one another) because he learns more about you the more you talk. And the more you talk, the deeper he falls.
There's something about the way you carry yourself. You embody confidence that makes Jay want to kiss you all over and let everybody know you're with him. They probably do, since the two of you have graduated to holding hands in public (so much so that Heeseung and Jake have since started teasing him for it). Life feels better with you in it. Jay's never been the kind of person who lives for other people, but you're a welcome presence that feels like a steady addition to his life instead of a burden. He wakes up in the morning looking forward to hearing your every thought until your lungs burn from talking so much. He could listen to your voice forever. And you listen to him too, letting him drone on and on about everything and nothing at the same time. The conversations don't feel forced or make him feel like he's supposed to be interested for the sake of being polite.
Everything happens for a reason, right? People fall into place when the universe aligns or some shit like that. That's what Jay thinks when he's high out of his mind, sitting on his bed as he watches anime on his TV. He's been having more of these sentimental epiphanies lately. It's like his mind focuses on the positives instead of what obstacles he has in front of him. He used to think you were a welcomed distraction, but now he thinks you're actually a perfect complement.
There's no stress with you. Jay lets himself fall deeply through your intuitive nature and all the subtle things he picks up. He loves that you're more considerate than you give off, always taking the temperature of the room and thinking before you speak. You're loud, animated, and entirely too whimsical to ever peak in university. You've got a million stories to tell him and he learns so much about you with every anecdote that passes through your lips. Jay notices how guarded you are and can't help but feel so special that he's an exception to this condition. It almost feels like he's in the inner circle, but the payoff has less to do with access to you and more to do with the fact that he's watching you grow softer. It's as if you're allowing yourself to fall for him too.
He'd never rush or make you choose him when you aren't ready. Jay's the kind of person who adapts and takes things for what they are instead of trying to find the deeper meaning when there is none. You're so delicate in Jay's eyes. He's stopped overthinking with you and started taking initiative for things like holding your hand or suggesting things to do when the two of you aren't getting stoned or studying. He tries not to look at you when he sees you blushing, but it's hard to ignore how cute you look when you're trying (and failing) to pretend you aren't affected by Jay's ability to read your mind. He's developed this canny ability to read you like an open book. It's adorable to see you opening up to him in ways you don't with other people.
The four-day weekend is exactly what Jay needs.
Something about a student-led event followed by a national holiday. It doesn't matter. Jay has no interest in keeping up with student life nor did he care about it in the first place, but he's grateful for it this year because that means getting to spend more time with you. On Thursday, the two of you spent the entire day at the aquarium whilst high on edibles. On Friday morning, he paid for breakfast. Now it's Saturday evening and your excuse for knocking on his door at nine in the evening is because apparently, your best friend and Jake were planning on hooking up at your place and forgot to tell you.
You come to Jay's apartment naturally. You say this to him like it's a no-brainier before he could ask you why Jake hadn't invite your friend over instead because he hates making people feel like they have to go the extra mile to get what they want. But you laugh, already a bit high from an edible you had taken earlier, and ask him to roll a joint to share. Either way, the two of you will be alone and it doesn't really matter the location, your place or his. It starts to make sense the second Jay's high kicks in because he's noticing the fact that you're wearing a shirt that lets him know you aren't wearing a bra.
His mind wanders and he thinks about all the selfies you've sent him where your tits are clearly on display. Somewhere along the way, you've graduated from sending photos of yourself to pictures of your body like you're trying to entice him. It always works, especially when the photo is just shy of a proper nude. He thinks it's sexier that way and he's grown enough confidence to send you things as a thank you, including shirtless photos, dick prints, and pictures of himself after getting out of the shower. He'd like to think you're using these to get off, imagining what you'd look like shoving your fingers inside of your pussy. Jay pictures your toes curling and eyebrows pinching when that final thrust makes you come, your free hand scrolling through all of the suggestive photos he's sent you as you orgasm.
It comes to a head one night when he received a picture of your ass when he asks you about the color of your nails since you had mentioned an appointment earlier that day. God. It looks just as plush as it does in real life. One of your hands cups your ass cheek, your perfectly manicured nails on display right next to your perfect ass. Jay grows rock hard in record time, his dick swelling in his sweats until he pulled it down just enough to reveal himself. He sat in the middle of his bed with his back against the headboard, one hand stroking himself as the other holds his phone so that he could stare at the image. Tugging on himself wasn't enough. Jay wanted you to be the one to do it. Dry humping can't be how far the two of you go. Imagining himself burying his face in your ass is what compels him to record a video of himself finishing, angling his dick towards his chest as he comes everywhere as he moans your name. He sends it to you without thinking and you call a minute later. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize the two of you ended up having phone sex.
And well, Jay is a man after all. This is all he can think about as you're sitting next to him on the very couch you sat on when he first met you. It doesn't help that he's high, which is making him laser focused on the image of you grinding on top of him.
With the ceiling fan turned on and Jake out of the house, Jay doesn't bother stepping outside to light his joint. Not that Jake would mind. Matter of fact, it does something to Jay's psyche knowing you're smoking his stuff and getting high off of it too. It makes him feel like he has some invisible claim on you, even if you're getting high with other people. He'd rather not think about that.
"What do you wanna watch?" Jay asks after blowing out a puff of smoke. He passes the joint to you as you sift through the abundance of movies and television shows, aimlessly scrolling past them without giving it too much thought.
"I'm in the mood to watch something supernatural," you say. He watches you look at his TV intently. "Have you ever watched Castlevania?"
"Can't say I've ever heard of it."
You turn your head like what he's said is completely outrageous. "You're lying."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"I need a hit after hearing that." You laugh, making Jay want to physically melt into the couch as if his skin and bones are made of butter. You inhale the smoke like a professional and tuck your legs underneath your body to make yourself more comfortable on his couch.
"Is it that good?"
"Jay, it's like, the best show I've ever watched. It's about this guy named Trevor—who comes from a long line of monster hunters, fighting Dracula because his wife was accused of being a witch and burned at the stake. Everyone's a vampire. It's sexy."
"You like the dark and supernatural, don't you?"
"It's only the best genres ever, Jay." You take another hit from the joint. "What kind of things do you like to watch?"
"Sports, mostly. I could get into a thriller every now and then. I'm more of a music person, honestly. I don't watch a lot of movies or TV."
"Hm," you hum. "You'll have to show me what kind of music you listen to someday."
"Yeah," Jay replies with his eyelids focusing on your pretty lips. "You should come over when I'm not stoned out of my mind so I could show you my records. I feel like a limp noodle right now."
"I'd really like that. I have a few vinyls but I don't have a record player. I should bring some over."
"I'll bet you have great taste in music."
"Duh," you say playfully, smoking from the joint. "We don't have to watch Castlevania if you aren't into it. I'm sure I can find something else."
Jay shakes his head. "I'd love to see what kind of things you're into." You turn towards him and cock your head to the side.
"Yeah?" Jay nods and you smile at him like you're amused. Maybe the marijuana is making him lost his mind more than it usually does. In actuality, this is how Jay feels when he's with you, stoned or sober.
It's really hard to focus on the screen in front of him when you're sitting so close. It started at a respectable distance with his arm resting by his sides. The last thing Jay wants to do is make you uncomfortable in any way, especially because he knows you're high. It's the first time you're hanging out at his place without a bunch of other people here too. The two of you are alone with nothing but the sound of Castlevania echoing in his living room and the lingering scent of marijuana in the air despite an opened window and the fan above.
Halfway through the episode, you make a comment about how cold it's gotten since you first arrived and Jay's quick to get on his feet and retrieve a spare blanket from his room. He drapes it over you like you're something precious he wants to tuck into bed, which makes you laugh, and Jay swears he could listen to you make that sound every day without getting tired of it. Just as he's about to sit down, you open the blanket and tell him it's big enough to share, and Jay's smart enough not to tell you he's actually overheating like a furnace because his body runs warm. He'd gladly let trickles of sweat collect on his forehead if that means getting to be next to you without a barrier holding him back.
It's difficult to pretend he hasn't been half-hard ever since he watched you take your first puff. Jay was somewhat grateful that you got cold enough for him to throw a blanket over you and even more grateful that you insisted on sharing it with him. You must be doing this on purpose, right? Or is this all in Jay's mind?
It doesn't really matter. Not when you're sliding to the floor, kneeling in front of him.
Jay almost feels sorry for you. Your favorite show is playing but your back is turned to it in favor of staring at the tent that's forming in his pants. These cursed grey sweats. Yeah, maybe he chose to wear them because he knows girls go crazy for dick prints. His mind wandered to the night you bounced yourself on his clothed lap until you came and didn't seem to mind that he was rutting himself against your covered pussy. Driving home was pure torture for him but he didn't want to overstay his welcome, especially with your roommate coming home.
So, yeah. Sue him. Jay isn't so naive to think you wouldn't have paid any attention to him with these particular pair of sweatpants on. In fact, you seem to look at him like you're hungry, barely paying attention to the way he's staring down at you like he's nervous for what you'll say or do.
You catch him off guard when you nuzzle yourself straight into his lap. He nearly jumps at the contact of your nose against his dick, feeling the way you drag it up before using your lips to feel him beneath the sweats. You're slow with your movements, kissing your way from his base to the tip, feeling the way he twitches against your touch. He's caught halfway, somewhere between embarrassed and shameless as he watches you push your face right into his lap. Jay's imagined what you giving him a blowjob more times that he can count and he's had so many wet dreams of you jerking him off with your hands instead of his own. But he never quite pictured you to be the kind of girl who truly savors her time. Maybe it's because you're both high or maybe, just maybe, you like him, but Jay can hardly believe you're pushing your face into his cock without taking his pants off.
He's starting to think you're way freakier than he could've ever imagined. It's making him horny.
Eventually, your fingers hook on the band of his pants. Jay gets the hint and lifts himself off of the couch just enough for you to completely pull the fabric off of him, letting them pool to his ankles before helping him step out of them completely. He doesn't know what you do with them as he's far too excited, if that isn't completely evident by the way his dick starts to stand at attention. He's on his way to being the hardest he's ever been, he thinks. You eye him like you're hungry and you might as well be drooling because you're licking your lips at the sight of his flushed tip.
Jay doesn't know what to expect. It's been a while since he's been this turned on and watching you arch your back and pucker your lips just to press the softest kiss to his tip makes his entire body shiver. He's masturbated while high a million times before and knows what kinds of things make him tick and reach his orgasmic peak quickly. It's different with other people, though, and much different with you.
You've managed to catch Jay by surprise in more ways than one. He's confident when it comes to his music and walking through life without thinking everybody who remotely looks in his general direction has it out for him, but when it comes to girls, he doesn't think he's as experienced as Jake. Yes, he's had sex and short flings before, but they've never held any merit to what he wants in life. Jay doesn't see the use in wasting his time having mediocre hookups or entertaining people because they clearly think he's the hot loner who looks sexy when he's high (which was the case of his last hookup and the reason why he swore off of sleeping with random girls he meets at parties Jake forces him to go to).
You seem to be the complete opposite of anyone he's ever met before. You're like him in some ways—paying no mind to outside opinion. Even prior to meeting you, he's seen the way you carry yourself when you walk and how you treat people like they're a close friend even if you've just met them. He felt that way the night he properly met you for the first time and it caught him by surprise when you admitted to being serious about wanting him to text you. In a way, it's almost like you're pursuing him, even though you aren't. All you're doing is asking him to hang out and he's saying yes like a puppy who follows its owner wherever she goes. In fact, Jay wants you more than you could ever imagine. It's just that, well, you're very fucking beautiful and he's afraid he'll mess it up if you found out how often he imagines you laying in his bed stuffed full with his semen.
That, and he's scared of what you'll think if he ever admits that he'd like to take you out for breakfast after he fucks you.
"You're bigger than I thought," you say in a near whisper. Jay twitches at that and you let out a breathy laugh. It hits his skin and he tilts his head back as it teases him.
"You can't just say things like that," says Jay, looking back down at you. "You're going to kill me someday."
"Death by orgasm. Doesn't sound too bad."
"You don't know how good you look right now."
"Oh, I think I do," you say confidently, pushing your head forward to lick his slit, to which he hisses. "I know I look good sucking dick, Jay. I'm really good at it too. Do you want to see what I can do?"
"You're an evil person," he says without thinking. But you laugh like you enjoy seeing him in such agony, knowing your warm and wet mouth is almost where he needs you the most.
"Give me the joint." Jay hands it to you, watches as you inhale some of it, and feels his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when you exhale right on his cock.
Your mouth follows soon after. Without using your hands, you dip your head until your mouth catches his tip to envelope it into your mouth, letting his velvety texture become familiar with your tongue. You're intentional with your movements as if you're really trying to savor the feeling of his hardening dick as you push him inside little by little. Because the apartment is empty, Jay can be a little louder with his moans than usually. When he knows Jake's home, Jay shoves a pillow over his face to drown the sound of his deep, breathy moans to avoid an awkward encounter with his best friend once he's finished. He should be embarrassed that he's already making all kinds of sounds the more you get his dick wet, but he doesn't care. Not when this feels so fucking divine.
Curse your shorts. When he looks down and past your mouth on his dick, he looks at your plush ass as you arch your back to fully grasp him. Jay wishes he could reach down and take that stupid fabric off of your body and he supposes he could if he really wanted to, but the tone you've set is far more sensual than how he'd like to have you. He isn't picky, though. He'd rather endure your slow, sensual torture than scare you off by putting his dick inside of you right off the bat.
Your tight mouth takes him inch by inch at a snail's pace, but there more be a method to your madness because you make him wetter with each push and pull of your head. You periodically remove yourself from him to smoke from the joint before the leaf completely burns until you become tired of not being able to use your hands. Jay takes it from you and inhales a long, satisfying puff. It settles into the depths of his lungs and when your free hand cups his balls, his head tilts back and the smoke rises as he blows it out.
You're the devil reincarnate. Or you're a demon who's wickedly good with her tongue. Maybe you're some kind of angel whose sole purpose is making him come. Jay doesn't really know what you are, but he knows you know exactly what you're doing with his mouth. He doesn't want to think about how many people have experienced this side of you before because he'd rather pretend he's the only person you've ever treated like this.
The high is pure ecstasy. Jay looks down to see your beautiful mouth wrapped up in his cock, head pushing yourself down on his long, girthy dick until your mouth stretches around it. He loves that you aren't neglecting his sack either, rolling them between your fingers until it makes his toes curl. You hum in pleasure when he moans after your index finger traces the seam, making something shoot up his spine when you do. His thighs flex underneath your touch and he sees himself glistening with how much drool is coming from your lips. It makes the glide easier and he feels the way your throat constricts around him every time you push yourself further down.
The sight of his dick completely disappearing inside of your throat is fucking sinful. You push your nose against his pelvis until your choking around him and the gagging sound makes his balls tense up. Jay tries not to drop the joint and considers finding a nearby ash tray to put it out just to avoid accidentally dropping it onto the couch or, God forbid, you. Spit completely falls from the corners of your mouth but you don't give up either. He groans loudly and uses his free hand to stroke your head as if he's using you as an anchor.
"Oh my God," Jay moans. "Your mouth is so fucking tight. Fuck, you like to deep throat?"
You pull yourself off of him, not bothering to wipe any of the drool from your mouth. He watches the way the spit connects from his tip to your tongue before you break the chain to stroke him some more and it nearly puts him into a coma.
"I can do a lot more than that," you tell him. It's like you're trying to remain playful while simultaneously wanting to show him just what you can do. And fuck, Jay's more than willing to let you do whatever you want to him.
"Oh yeah?" Jay asks coyly. "What else can that mouth of yours do?"
You don't answer him with words. Instead, you lift his cock with your hands and bow your head until you're spitting leftover drool from deep throating him right onto his balls. He hisses when the warmth hits his most sensitive area and his next moan comes somewhere from deep within him. The surface of your tongue licks it up until you're lapping at him like a kitten drinking milk. He feels the pass of your wet muscle over and over again while your hand has started to move in tandem with your mouth, stroking him while you work on his balls.
He doesn't think he's ever experienced a girl pleasing him like this. Jay's has blowjobs in the past, but it always felt like the girls he'd sleep with viewed blowjobs like it was a chore to thank him for going down on them first. With you, Jay gets the sense that you like giving blowjobs and playing with his dick because it turns you on, not because you think it turns him on. God, he's so attracted to the fact that you don't really care about anyone but yourself. That's not completely true, and he knows it, but your ability to chase after what you want without caring what other people thinks turns him on more than seeing you sucking him off (which is a lie, Jay is so fucking horny).
"Holy shit," Jay curses under his breath. He shoves the tip of the joint in his mouth and savors the feeling of that initial inhale. He groans when the smoke leaves his mouth. "You're so fucking good at this. Treating my dick so well. Fuck."
You moan against his balls, rewarding him by pushing against him even harder and squeezing his cock at the same time. Your hand is so wet and the sound that echos the room sound better than Jay could've ever imagined. His own hand doesn't do him justice, not even when he gathers enough spit to pretend his palm is your warmth mouth as he fucks into his fist like his life depends on it.
His moans seem to motivate you to make him come faster because your mouth trails from his wet and swollen sack right back to his cock. Your hand hold him by the base before angling your mouth right over him and pushing his dick past your lips. Unlike before, you aren't slow with it. Instead, your head's moving at a faster rate until he feels the gentle scrape of your teeth along his sensitive veins and the way your tongue moves in a circle every time your reach his hip. He grunts every single time it passes against his slit and feels the pressure building in his balls as if he could finish at any moment, but he tries his best to keep going steady because he wants to draw this out for as long as humanly possible.
It's beautiful how your throat accommodates his cock. With your mouth completely stuffed the more you push your head down onto his exceptionally hard dick, you choke and gag without stopping. Jay feels fucking invincible right now.
"What a good mouth," he moans, legs widening as he slouches from how good you're making him feel. "You feel so fucking good around me. Your mouth is so tight and wet, fuckkk. Squeeze my balls too—yes, just like that. Shit, you're gonna make me cum soon. I'm so fucking close."
You moan around him and renders Jay completely fucking useless because of how good that vibration feels. He bucks his hips until the tip hits the back of your throat involuntarily but you don't stop your ministrations. You keep your fast pace as you squeeze his sack in your hands, letting the drool coat them as you push him closer to his climax. He thinks about cumming straight down your throat but thinks that might be a little too much for the first time you're blowing him. Would finishing on your face be more appropriate? Every single open seems more lewd than the next, but he can't deny that he'd like to see what you look like with his semen splashed all over your pretty cheeks and lips.
"I wanna cum on your face," he moans, fighting the urge to fuck your throat like he'd fuck your pussy. "I want to drown you in my cum."
You pull off from his mouth and use both of your hands to jerk him off with his tip angled right at your beautiful face. "Cum for me. Make a mess on my face."
"Fuck, you'd let me?" You nod rapidly.
"Cum on my fucking face, Jay. I want it so bad."
You don't have to tell him twice. When he feels his balls twitch for the last time, Jay's cum shoots from his slip and hits your cheek first. His semen splashes everywhere—your lips and across your nose—as he moans, holding tightly onto the joint to prevent it from falling. It's a wonder he's able to preserve it as he comes, his hips jerking as a consequence to the intense high as he climaxes all of your face. You take it like a fucking champ, too, smiling with your eyes closed as you feel his warm come seep right onto your face. You truly are a freak if you love this feeling. You're even laughing. Jay's never seen anything hotter in his entire life.
"Fuck me," he curses as his cock softens. He takes a short drag from the joint and stares at the beautiful mess on your face, nearly choking on it when he sees your tongue dart out of your mouth to lick the cum that has landed on the corners of your mouth. "You're a fucking fein. A fein for my cum, or something." You laugh again, scooping what's on your cheek with your fingers before sucking on them. "Yeah, you really know how to make a guy feel good. Stay right there. Let me clean you up."
Jay feels terrible and leaving you in his living room on your knees with his come all over your face, but he'd rather soak a wash cloth in warm water than let it dry all over you. He comes back quickly after having cleaned himself up in a haste and gentle swipes the fabric until you're clean.
"I have face wash if you want to use it," Jay says as he wipes the corner of your eye. "I don't want my come staining your gorgeous face."
"You're so thoughtful, Jay," you reply. The sincerity in your voice is a complete turnaround from your lewd acts just a few minutes prior. It makes something swell within his soul because he's suddenly picturing his future looking like this domestic, wonderful bliss with moments of eroticism.
You take him up on his offer and make a comment about how this expensive the face wash is. Jay's mom got him an entire line of skincare for Christmas and he's a bit reluctant to admit that his skin looks so much better now that's he's actively taking care of it. You reassure him, letting him know that there's nothing hotting than people being self sufficient and caring for themselves before swiping the face wash all over your face. It takes you a good minute to completely rid yourself of his come. Jay leans against the door frame with his hands crossed over his chest, smiling like an idiot at how domestic this all feels.
Call him crazy, but Jay's the type of person to fall fast. He's learned lessons the hard way, which typically entails falling for people who don't feel the same way about him, but spending time with you makes him think otherwise. Jay realizes you enjoy getting to know him too and you never silence him when he apologizes for talking so much. There's an equal balance of talking and listening on both ends, something Jay wishes he could achieve with every person he meets. He hates getting his hopes up just for things to fall through. It doesn't matter if it's a friendship or a relationship because it's mostly the same to him. He hates people who aren't honest and deceptive. College is the time to experiment and figure out who you are, sure, but Jay has always known that he's the kind of guy who values loyalty and transparency above all else.
Despite his best efforts, Jay manages to fall for you every time he holds himself back. Vulnerability is a hard thing to come by and he's more scared of being honest about himself than he lets on. It's scary to open his heart and share parts of himself to people who aren't guaranteed to stay forever. That's part of life, but it gets to a point where being vulnerable means getting his heart stomped all over in the name of having "fun." But it's not fun for Jay and he's as honest as they come. He'd rather be alone for the rest of his life than entertain people who don't have his best interest in mind, especially when they tell him they care about him but don't mean it.
Perhaps his general nonchalance about what other people are doing intimidates those who have deep seeded insecurities that can only be fixed by pretending to be someone they aren't. Jay has this crazy theory that probably isn't true aside to feed his own ego, but his friends have said he's a mirror. He reflects every beautiful and ugly trait right back to others, forcing people to confront who they are in the midst of standing right next to Jay, who accepts himself for who he is, faults and all. He's learned that people don't typically like it when they're reminding of things they'd rather forget. Jay is as open as they come, willing to experience things for a good story to look back on or learn from past mistakes. Learning how other people aren't as keen on growing into a better version of themselves made the world look absolutely bleak and meeting new people makes Jay weary from the get go.
Despite his brain telling him to be extra cautious, he can't help but give all of himself to you. Every conversation pulls him deeper into dangerous territory but for the first time in a while, Jay isn't so scared of the unknown. Even if, God forbid, this ends in heartbreak, Jay doesn't think he'll crumble into a hollow version of himself. He'd be sad, but he'd be content knowing he gave it a shot. The act of trying is better than being held back by fear.
The two of you smoke some more and restart the first episode at Jay's request and when his hand inches towards your lap to return the favor, you intertwine your fingers with his and kiss him on the lips. We've got all the time in the world, but I really want you to watch this first. You can eat my out afterwards, you say, smiling against his mouth before kissing him again. How could Jay say no to that? Besides, his brain is short-circuiting after receiving the most mind bending blowjob he's ever had in his life. A guy needs to recover from such an experience. The fact that you, someone who refrains from physical touch, is actively clinging onto his arm and cuddling against his side is far better than anything he could've ever hoped for.
He becomes engrossed in Castlevania and the two of you end up watching another episode. Jay glances down at you every once in a while and can't help but play with your fingers the more he watches the television. All of this feels so incredibly domestic and Jay has to force himself to stop smiling because he thinks you'll view him like a lovesick idiot. Maybe he is.
✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･
"Do you want me to pick you guys up?" Jay asks on speakerphone as he fixes his hair with a little bit of styling gel.
"No, we're gonna split an Uber. No use coming when I'll see you anyway."
"You know I don't mind," he says casually.
"I know, baby. That's real sweet of you, but don't worry about it."
"You could spend the night and I can drive you back tomorrow morning, if you want. So you don't have to spend more money."
"Oh, Jongseong, do you want me to spend the night?"
"Of course I do," he says with a smile on his face as he hears you laugh. "I always want to spend time with you."
"You…Are such a little shit. Don't make me blush on the phone."
"Let me pick you up so I can make you blush in person."
"You two are disgustingly cute," your friend says from beside you. "Like, I've never seen her act so cutesy before."
"She's so cute when she's trying to be tough."
"That's true," says your friend. "But remember, she was mine first, okay?"
"Of course," Jay replies, "I'd never get in the way."
"Good! We'll be at your place in thirty."
"See you soon, Jay," you tell him before hanging up the phone.
You come in wearing the most gorgeous dress with golden accents all over your body. Jay can hear you before he sees you because your bracelets smack against one another every time you move and he thinks that's the sexiest thing a woman could ever do. Unlike the first time he met you, he isn't afraid to pull you by the waist and join your little parade as you walk around to greet every person you know, taking shot after shot along with the joint Jay's passing around to anyone who asks.
When you finally register Jay's presence beside you, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the way you're eyeing him like a piece of meat. His biceps are on display along with a nasty stack of rings that make him look like walking sin. There's something about Jay tonight that makes him look extra delectable and you're looking at him like you'd pounce if there weren't so many people around. You almost parade him around like he's arm candy or another accessory for your outfit. Even Jake, who usually has to force Jay to put a little effort into coming out of his bedroom, nods in approval.
You only leave his side for ten minutes when a girl you know is asking you to help her redo her eyeliner in the bathroom, apologizing to Jay before skipping off to help her. He doesn't mind, though. In fact, he loves that you're eager to help others and make yourself available for people who politely ask for your help. You're considerate and generous like that.
"You guys look cozy," Jake says, bumping his elbow against Jay's forearm. "I can't believe you actually wanted to come out of your room tonight."
"I only come if the company's good," Jay retorts, bringing his cup to his mouth.
"Hey!" The two of them share a laugh. "She's good for you, Jay. You light up every time she walks in the room."
"That's the corniest thing you could've ever said to me."
"It's true though. I know you, man. You need to get to know somebody before you like them and you like her. You'd be crazy not to ask her out officially."
"I was planning out asking her to be my girlfriend on our next date," Jay confesses. "She loves mini golfing and she's extremely casual about a lot of things. Hates fancy dinners and making a big show of things. I wanted to ask her when we get food, or something."
"That doesn't sound super romantic."
"Trust me, it is," Jay says. "She's the kind of person who can appreciate big gestures, but I know she loves it even more when people pick up on the small thing. She hates being the center of attention even if that's where she ends up, so I know she'd appreciate if I asked her casually. I mean, it's not casual, but it's not over-the-top, you know?"
"I totally get it," Jake says with a nod. "What's meaningful to her is more important than looking 'romantic.'"
"Exactly. Don't get me wrong, though. I'll wine and dine her as long as she lets me."
"I'm sure she'd appreciate that."
"But for now, I know she's got a lot on her plate and the last thing she needs is something to stress her out even more. She'd probably say no if I made a whole show of it."
"You're so attentive and I think that's probably why we're friends," Jake says, patting his friend on the shoulder. "You'll be a great boyfriend."
"This is oddly mushy."
"Yeah, it feels weird not to bicker with you." Jay tilts his head back and laughs when he sees you walking out of the bathroom.
"Are you boys up to no good?" You ask, leaning against the wall to look at the both of them.
"Depends what you mean by 'no good,'" Jake teases, raising his eyebrows at Jay before snickering to himself.
"Does he know something I don't?"
"No."
"Yes."
"Okay…" You trail off, squinting your eyes before laughing. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know unless I need to know."
"You're in good hands," Jake says, nodding at you before making an excuse to leave. He winks at Jay when you aren't looking and leaves to find your friend.
"Jake Sim is a weird motherfucker," you say against your cup. "But he's harmless, right?"
"As harmless as they come. I think he likes riling me up."
"We all do."
Jay laughs too. "You look beautiful tonight.
"I look hot, don't I?"
"I'm trying to be respectful here."
You kiss his cheek. "You are such a gentleman, Jongseong. But you don't need to be like that thing me all the time. I think we've crossed that line ages ago."
Well, shit. His cock might as well be stirring in his pants now that you've given him the mental image of all the times he's seen you naked.
"You look hot and I'm going to fuck you when you're ready to leave," he says in a low murmur, his voice steady like it's something he's something he's been thinking about all day. You press a small kiss to his jawline.
"I can't wait."
The two of you could technically make a break for his bedroom, but you're clearly having a lot of fun drinking with your friends and sharing Jay's joint with everyone who wants a hit. Jay, too, is enjoying himself for the first time in a while now that he recognizes some of the party goers. It's easy to have fun when the people he's surrounded with seem to want to talk to him too. You clue him in on inside jokes and he has the time of his life playing bartender, mixing drinks for strangers with the very limited knowledge he has after one summer bartending because he was bored. He's a hit with everyone who wants alcohol and he gets extra bonus points for having a stack of joints readily available in his pocket when the one he smokes runs out. It pays to be a man with marijuana and a lighter.
Jay's newfound role has garnered a lot of attention. From girls specifically, since tonight there seems to be double the amount of people than usual. Jay doesn't really pay much attention since he's too busy peeking at you from the corner of his eye, sending a wink your way with every drink he serves. You, however, have gravitated closer towards the bar station every single time a girl comes up to him to strike up a conversation or worse—touching his arm while trying to play it off as something casual. He'd shrug it off, of course. The only girl he wants is you.
You make haste and appear by his side in record time, handing off drinks like you're being paid to do it. Jay doesn't miss the way you squeeze your way in between himself and a stranger trying to fish for attention. It's kind of hot that you've pushed her away with the touch of your hip, barely intruding while smiling politely like you've done nothing wrong. He would've said something before you got there. It's not like the two of you haven't been draped all over each other all evening, so really, everyone here should know he's off limits.
Jay isn't oblivious to the sudden switch of your mood every time a girl comes up to him.
It's funny to think that a month earlier, girls usually pursued Jake. Jay knows he comes off as this aloof, barely-there kind of guy, like someone too intimidating to pay attention to for the fear of failing. He's the embodiment of the classic rock star: wickedly good at guitar and an attitude that screams do not fuck with me. Jake is an easygoing, open kind of guy. He'd take any chance to make a new friend. It's part of him charm, but it's not one he shares with Jay.
You're a very sweet person. Blunt? Yes, but you always say it like it is and don't coddle people to make them feel better when there's no use. Jay loves that about you. He doesn't have to guess where your head is at or question your intentions because you're upfront and honest. He can count on you to tell him the truth, which is a skill most people lack. It's refreshing to meet somebody who can put her heart on the line while maintaining integrity. People tend to say one thing but disregard it's meaning until it becomes something new entirely, but not you. You're Jay's safe space whether you realize it or not.
This new emotion—jealousy?—is something new for Jay to see in you. You both have breached the threshold of being touchy the first time you dry humped in your bedroom. You've been much bolder now, but it's only escalated to grabbing his hand and letting him hold yours. There's an unspoken line that has yet to be crossed, never mind the fact that you gave him the best head of his life not too long ago.
But tonight, you're clinging onto his arm like a koala and pressing your body against his side. It's because you're wearing a tank top, you muttered in disgust as you watched yet another girl cower away underneath your gaze. They're looking at your fucking biceps. And you're letting them.
Jay is thoroughly amused. You have an edge to you, even if this is a side you don't show anybody else. From the beginning, he got the sense that you were the type of person to keep vulnerability at arm's length. But the way you're acting tonight tells him you're jealous. You, the independent and secure girl he's crushing on, feel protective of Jay and his body. Entitled, even. But it's so fucking sexy to be desired by you. It boosts his ego, sure. He's a man who thinks with his cock sometimes and you're no exception. Mostly, Jay's turned on by how much you desire him too. It isn't the attention. It's you.
He wouldn't stoop so low to exploit that. Jay would've told these girls to fuck off if you hadn't said it on his behalf. It's kind of cute, honestly. You resemble a baby lion trying to roar for the first time. To these other girls, you bark like a guard dog. He doesn't even think you know how intimidating you look when girls lower their gaze to the floor and back away from the two of you cautiously. Serves them right, honestly. Can't they see that he clearly isn't interested?
"Freaks," you mutter under your breath. "They're all freaks for coming up to you when I'm right here."
"I probably should've worn a different shirt." You shake your head, hands running from his bare shoulders down to his bicep. You give him a squeeze and he feels the tips of your nails digging into his skin.
"You look really fucking good, Jay," you all but moan.
"Did those girls bother you, baby?" Jay asks, turning to face you. He sets his drink down on the counter and cages you in between his hands.
"They should know better than to talk to you," you say without stuttering, your lips barely touching his own. "I hate that they had the audacity to think they have a chance when I'm the one you want."
"You're the one I want," Jay whispers against your lips, stealing a soft peck. The innocent sound of lip smacking makes his cock ache and he can't help but pull you closer to try and relieve even an ounce of friction.
"These freaks can go fuck themselves." God, you found so sexy when you're jealous.
"You know what I think?"
"What do you think, Jay?"
"I think that we should ditch this party and go back to my room," he says, caressing your covered ass. "We can light a joint and smoke a little. Get away from the crowd. How does that sound?"
Your eyes dart from his lips to his eyes. "Take me to your bedroom, Jay."
He's grabbing your hand without another word and hauling you off upstairs. Jake sees the two of you pass him by and gives his friend and encouraging two thumbs up, to which Jay can't help but roll his eyes but he laughs anyway. The noise from the party subsides but a little bit, but he can hear the music and the murmur of the crowd even with the door closed.
There you are, looking like absolutely devious in your short and tight dress all up in his bedroom. You've been up here a few times and take perch on his bed like you always do when Jay walks towards his nightstand and opens his drawer to pull out marijuana and rolling paper.
"I was going to do this on our mini golfing date," Jay says, busying his hands with preparing another joint. He hears you move across the bed after having kicked off your heels, knees padding until he feels you right behind him. It calms his nerves to feel your arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, mouth pressing against his ear as you little his skin in soft little kisses.
"What were you going to do?"
"Ask you out. Properly, I mean."
"Are we not already going out?"
He stills, dropping the materials from his hands to turn around and face you. God, you look so gorgeous like this. By now, he's already learned that the black makeup around your eyes make you look like a sexy feline and the scent of your almond and cherry perfume make his senses go crazy. Jay would be absolutely crazy to think you'd stick around forever if he never communicated his feelings to you. With his hands now free, Jay pulls you close by your waist.
"I wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend on our mini golfing date," he admits. "I know you're not into big gestures because it puts you on the spot and I know you hate being put on the spot. I wanted to do is casually. Maybe after the last round or whenever we left to get food. I don't want to make you feel like being with me is just sex or getting high. Or anything other than dating, really. I like you a lot. I think I have since the night we met and I don't want you to think I'm interested in other girls because I'm not. I want you."
For as much as Jay thinks he knows you, his heart pounds in his chest like a beating drum that refuses to stop. Part of being vulnerable and putting himself on the line means being honest about his feelings and to his delight, a beautiful smile graces your lips until you're leaning forward to put your mouth on his. It's a soft, simple kiss that makes his head spin and you pull away with his lovesick glint in your eyes he's never seen before.
"I'm not the best with affection but it's different when it's with you, Jay." Your arms come to wrap themselves around his neck, pulling his face impossibly close to yours. "Being with you feels right. Like I never saw you coming, you know?"
"I know," he murmurs, softly pecking your lips. "I'll make up for this shitty confession, I promise. Be my girlfriend?"
"You're so stupid, but I think you're really cute," you whisper with a smile you can't seem to contain before kissing him again. "You were right by assuming I'd want you to ask in the most casual way."
Jay lets out a strained sound from his throat. "Yeah, but a bunch of girls tried it with you tonight and basically ruined my entire plan."
"Mm okay, I'm still mad those girls clearly couldn't see we're together. But I think being honest is more important than how you ask, you know?"
"You are a fucking dream, baby," Jay says, pushing his lips harder against you until you giggle into him. "It's real cute how you got so jealous."
"I wasn't jealous."
"Territorial, then."
"Mhm," you confirm with a single nod, smiling against him. "People need to know what's mine. That's all."
"Yours?" He asks with an amused grin. "I like the sound of that. I'll be your trophy husband."
"Husband," you say, testing the word on your tongue. "Awfully sexy of you to imagine me as your wife."
"I've been imagining taking a wedding dress off of you since our first date," he confesses without shame. "I don't mind being your trophy husband."
What starts off as an innocent kiss turns into something erotic quickly with your back resting comfortably on Jay's mattress while his body's on top of yours, reminiscent of the time he first saw your apartment. The kiss grows hungrier with every moment that passes by and the inebriated haze has slightly worn off because of the stone cold, sober truth of Jay's confession. He doesn't spare you another pass at being a gentleman because he's learned that you trust enough to allow him to take whatever wants. Jay knows you'll tell him to stop if it comes to it. And in turn, he's learned that it's okay to desire someone so much that he loses control.
Jay pulls away to catch his breath and the whine that escapes your lips makes his cock jump in his pants. He laughs at your neediness and laughs again at your immediate silence when you realize he's grabbing the marijuana to roll a joint for you.
"I wanna roll one on your body," Jay says, eyelids growing heavy the more he visualizes it.
"Fuck," you moan. "I think that's the hottest thing you've ever said to me."
"Can you take your clothes off for me, baby? I want to see that gorgeous body of yours."
The music thumping from downstairs serves as the soundtrack for tonight. You make haste and get off of the bed as Jay sits on the edge with his legs open as you face him. Jay's dick hardens during his own personal strip tease and he watches the way your soft hands run all over your body like you're the devil trying to seduce him. Your fingers catch underneath the hem of your short dress but you don't take it off like he thinks you will. No, instead you reach underneath to pull off your black thong until you pull it down your legs at an agonizingly slow pace before tossing it in his lap.
What's a guy to do? Jay grabs your panties and hears that melodic laugh of yours he loves so much. He squeezes it in his hand—is that a wet patch?—while the other palms himself through his pants the more you twirl around for him, making a show out of jutting your ass out the more you sway your hips to the muffled bass from outside. When you do finally take your dress off, Jay intently watches the way you slowly expose yourself to him. His eyes rake over the first peek at your bare pussy, your torso, your tits, and finally your face as you toss the dress somewhere behind you.
"Come here," he beckons, throwing your panties to the side when you take a step closer to him. He makes room for you in between his legs, using his hands to spread your own apart until he has a view of you from the front. Jay lifts his finger to run a single digit over your folds and relishes in the way you moan from above. "Have you been wet this entire time?"
"I've been wet since our phone call."
"My poor baby," he tuts, letting his finger slowly glide against your wet lips, occasionally grazing over your clit. Jay doesn't want to miss a single thing and looks at the way you struggle to maintain eye contact with him. It's so cute and hot at the same time. He lifts his finger to show you the wet glisten before licking it clean, groaning at the first taste. "Delicious as always."
"Fuck," comes your whine. Jay feels you trembling between him.
"Come lay on the bed for me. I want your ass facing me so I can use it as a table, yeah?"
You make haste and Jay hums in satisfaction, standing to grab his materials before making his way over to you. He feels the way your eyes watch him and looks at the way you're laying comfortably on his mattress, arms tucked underneath your head like you're in some kind of blissful state of mind. You look delectable like this. Jay has half a mind to pull his cock out and push it inside of you right now since you're wet enough, but he holds himself back because in his opinion, there's nothing better that drawing out orgasm after orgasm while high.
He doesn't immediately put the paper and marijuana on your body. He lets curiosity get the better of him and allows his fingertips to drag along your upper back, tracing an invisible line down the curve of your spine before he reaches your ass. You part your legs instinctively and Jay mutters a quiet good girl that makes you clench against absolutely nothing. It's so hot. He bends down and presses a kiss to your slit and licks your arousal right off of his lips before pulling back to grab his materials, letting them rest on your back as he gets to work.
You crane your neck to watch as he focuses on rolling the joint without spilling. Jay's done this a million times, but he's never had the pleasure of fixing one on the prettiest girl he knows. It's clean and quick. He's managed not to spill any of the marijuana as he grinds it, expertly placed the leaf inside of the rolling paper, then uses his fingers to push it into place until it's snug. Jay folds the tip of the joint before pushing the excess paper down and presents you the most gorgeous, fat joint you've ever seen in your entire life.
"You can do whatever you want to me," you blurt out.
"Whatever I want?"
"If you fuck me within the next minute, yes." Jay laughs and grabs his lighter, holding it up to the end of the joint until it lights up. He takes the first hit to ensure the joint burns properly before passing it along to you, happily watching as you eagerly inhale.
"I'll fuck you real good," he promises, taking his shirt and pants off the longer you smoke. "I want to do it my way. I want you to feel that aching burn between your legs until you can't think of anything but cumming on my cock. I want you needy and desperate for me."
He takes his clothes off and feels his dick throbbing when he watches you smoke on his bed. It's a sight right out of a wet dream and he's probably thought about this exact moment a million times over, using this exact fantasy to get himself off more times than he can count. You've maneuvered onto your back and Jay marvels at your gorgeous tits when you bring the joint back up to your lips. He puts both of his knees on the bed and knocks your legs open to put his body right where it belongs, stealing the joint from your hands before smoking it again. Your mouth welcomes his exhale when he leans above you. Like clockwork, the smoke travels from his mouth right into yours and Jay feels your chest arch right against him just as your lips touch. He's careful not to drop the weed as he watches the way your eyes become more red by the second. Jay's positive his eyes look exactly the same.
"I'm gonna eat you real good," he mumbles as he drags his mouth along the column of your neck, trailing wet kisses down your skin.
The cool drag causes goosebumps to arise, making you gasp right into the open air. Jay takes his time, stealing another smoke when he makes his way to your chest and he makes a pit stop, handing you the joint before using both of his hands to cup your tits. They spill over just the way he's always pictured and he brushes his thumbs against your perky, sensitive nipples. Jay marvels at the sight the more he toys with them. He becomes entranced from the high, zeroing in on the way your tits move and spill from his fingertips. Jay pinches your nipples and relishes in the way you gasp at his touch, which makes him laugh and lean down to lick one of them.
"Perfect tits, perfect body," Jay moans, attaching his mouth to your hardened bud. His tongue rolls right over it as he makes himself comfortable between your legs, his own body relaxing with his cock sandwiched between his torso and his mattress. The sound of his lips sucking on your nipple and his hands squeezing on your chest like they're his own personal stress toys makes you moan in deep pleasure, letting the high consume you like never before.
He moves onto the neglected bud with his eyes closed, moaning around your most sensitive area. He loves how responsive you are with your quiet moans and your chest pushing against his face. Jay's mind is in a haze the longer he has his mouth on you, dick swelling with every breath he takes like his life's purpose is to kiss every inch of your skin.
Jay doesn't stick around your tits for very long, especially not with the way you're accommodating his body by spreading your legs open for him. He kisses down the valley of your breasts and reluctantly lets go of your chest to venture down your torso, dragging his lips and leaving messy wet kisses in his wake. He grabs the joint from your hands and inhales before tapping it hard against his ash tray to kill it before gripping your thighs and blowing the smoke right against your wet hole.
The sound you make is indescribable. It's somewhere between primal and desperate, especially when the forced air makes contact with your wet lips. Jay watches the way your hole twitches in anticipation and sees the way your hands grab onto your chest for stability from the corner of his eye. Your arousal drips from you like a waterfall and he hastily licks a strip up your slit. When he reaches your clit, he lets the surface drag slowly with the kind of pressure that makes your legs shake in their place, allowing his tip to flick over the sensitive bud. Jay witnesses you throwing your head back like you're starring in your very own pornography film and the view of from below makes you look like walking sex.
Jay descends with his tongue lapping at your eager pussy. He tastes every crevice and fold you hide while gripping onto your thighs to keep your legs open for him. He feels your resistance and laughs against you like this whole affair is for his entertainment only. But really, knowing he could get you to fall apart on him like this is the cherry on top. You're the most put together person he knows. Watching you lose your mind on his tongue feels like his greatest accomplishment.
"I love watching you fall apart," Jay moans against you, pushing his tongue inside of you. He hears you cry out his name and grip his hair as you tug in response to the sudden intrusion, keeping his tongue stretched out to thrust it in and out of your wet hole. It's a tight fit and he can only image what it would feel like to slide his engorged cock inside of you.
Your arousal slips and falls from the corner of his mouth along with his spit when Jay starts to grind his dick against the bedsheets. Your hips start to roll against his tongue like you're chasing your own high too. It's so hard for you to keep still and for your legs to remain on the bed, that much Jay can tell for sure. You're writhing underneath his touch despite his best efforts to keep you in place, but his pride swells with every cry and moan. Jay pushes his mouth harder against you, sucking and slurping on your folds like he's trying to eat you alive. He doesn't care if spit dribbles down his chin nor does he particularly care about keeping this ordeal clean and tidy. Unlike rolling a joint, Jay wants sex with you to be messy. He wants the nasty, filthy, horny affair to feel raw.
The high makes his skin buzz and his body feels like it's at an all time high. It feels so good to rub his bare dick against the bed, listing to the loud moans escaping from your mouth. Never mind the fact that his room isn't technically sound proof, but the music is going a great job at drowning out the sounds from his bedroom. Not that Jay would mind, of course. He doesn't think you'd care either. In fact, you'd be happy knowing other girls could hear the way Jay's making you feel.
"Fuck Jay, your tongue feels so good. How did you learn to eat pussy like this?"
He chuckles, dragging his tongue to kitten lick your clit. "You like it when I have my mouth on you?"
"Yes—fuck!"
"Mm yeah, love it when you make that sound," Jay says after he spits directly on your clit. He lets his digits trace your folds, dipping the tip of his pointer finger tip into your hole. You tense up against him but he tuts, shaking his head. "I won't have that. Open up for me, baby. Relax and let me feel you."
"S-So sensitive," you mutter.
"Already? How are you gonna take my cock?" Jay mocks, pushing his finger inside of you until you adjust around him. He can feel your pussy squeezing around him already. "I need to make sure you get a taste of what's to come. Need to watch you fall apart on my mouth and fingers."
"Fuck!"
"Yeahhh. That's right, honey. Make those pretty noises for me." The pet name makes our eyes roll to the back of your head and your grab a fistful of his blankets the faster he pumps his finger inside of you. Jay adds another finger and fucks you faster, relishing in the way you're moaning like your life depends on it. He bends his head down to lick at your clit at the same time and the sensation is overwhelmingly euphoric for the both of you. From here, Jay watches your mouth hang open and your hands clutching his bedsheets like that'll give you stability. It's so hot the way you're falling apart on him.
Your orgasm completely washes over you the longer Jay laps at your clit. He stares at you as best as he can while trying to keep you still before him, but your rolling hips make it difficult for him to focus on helping you feel out your high. He tries, though, removing his fingers from your pussy to grip your thighs so hard that you buck against his face and rut all over him.
"You taste so good," Jay moans when your body finally subsides. He keeps licking the remnants of your orgasm, catching every last drop on his tongue before it gets the chance to escape him.
"I don't think I've ever had anyone eat me out like that," you say, catching your breath. "You're eager."
"Eager for you, yeah."
"So cheesy." Jay watches you hide your face in your arm like you're too shy to admit how much that turns you on. He laughs at your bashful nature and kisses his way up your body, temporarily stopping at your breasts to lick around your nipple and tug at them with his teeth. You reach down to grip his cock in your hands after you've spit directly into your palm, twisting your writ to jerk him off when he removes himself from your chest.
Jay looks down and watches your smaller hand around his girthy, thick cock. He can barely register his reality because of the marijuana and remembers he still has half the joint left. With the flick of his lighter, he's smoking once again and pushes his head back to blow the excess smoke towards his ceiling, moaning when you squeeze him.
His attention resumes on your hand when he feels you press the underside of his cock against your wet slit, watching the way your hips grind against his bare dick. The tip is just shy of breaching your hole every time you grind yourself against the head and Jay bucks his own hips in response. He gets a preview like this, watching exactly how far he'll disappear inside of you. It makes him crazy to see you like this, too. Pre-cum leaks from his slit the drips down your onto your pussy to make an ever wetter mess, the sound of the splash ringing in his ears the more the two of you grind against each other. He passes the joint to you and you eagerly accept, inhaling a long puff and expertly holding it in before exhaling.
You nearly drop it when Jay angles his dick to press the entirety of his cock into you. He catches you by surprise as he's able to grab it from your fingers before it falls onto the bed. The stretch is already unimaginable and he takes his sweet time pushing himself into you, allowing his gaze to fall where the two of you connect. Jay witnesses as your tight, velvety walls make room for his thickness and you're taking him like the champion he knows you to be. Jay drags his cock out and thrusts shallowly to let you get comfortable with his impressive size. His eyes roam across your body until they land on your plush lips and he bends down to steal a kiss while keeping the joint steady in his hands.
You eagerly kiss him back as if his mouth distracts you from the initial pain of his dick. Jay keeps fucking into you little by little, letting the sound of your shared arousal echo within the room. "You hear that? Baby. That's all you. You made us this wet." You tense around him and clench at his words, lips chasing his own in a messy kiss the more he pushes himself inside of you. "Your pussy's been aching for me, hasn't she? All the times we've fooled around prepared you for this, honey. Feel my cock. Feel it go in and out."
"It feels so good."
"I know it does," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Feels so good when you're high, doesn't it?"
"Yes," you moan. "I'm so fucking horny, Jay."
"I know you are, baby. You're so wet."
He kills the joint for the last time before tossing it on the ashtray to focus on you. The last push of his cock feels like pure heaven as his balls hit your ass cheeks the second he bottoms out, and his tip hits the deepest part of you. Maybe it's the high or maybe it's because sex with you is no longer a mere fantasy, but Jay can feel every movement from your twitching hips to the way you're constantly clenching around his dick.
Fucking you is insanely different than fucking his hand at the thought of you. Your walls enclose around him like a vice meant to keep him addicted to you forever. Every single drag and thrust of his hips makes Jay lose his fucking mind because his dream girl is underneath him with her legs spread wide open for him to fuck. Jay collapses right on top of you the second your arms pull him by his neck. He doesn't fight, his body already soaring through his high like he has the ability to fly. The combination of Jay's attraction and the his inebriated state contributes to how his arousal that seems to be never ending.
Your hole is so slippery. How can one person be this wet? Jay thanks whatever god is listening to him the more he ruts himself against your lap like a crazed sex addict. Or, he sure feels that way since you're gripping him with your pussy and your arms, pulling him impossibly close to you like you're trying to become one with him. Jay doesn't mind feeling your sharp nails down his back. He grunts at the mental image of the red lines decorating his skin when he gets the chance to look at himself in the mirror. He'd do anything to see you get off on his cock.
Jay buries his face inside of your neck and lets his warm breath fan over your skin. The entire room smells like weed and sex, two very important things to Jay. He can't remember the last time he was so horny that he thought his dick would fall off the longer he fucks himself into a tight hole, but your wetness paired with your angelic moans continue to push Jay closer and closer to his first orgasm. He's determined to keep himself from coming too quickly, though. He kisses along your neck and doesn't care that he's probably moaning too loudly against your ear.
"Harder," you croak, voice dry from the marijuana and from the constant moaning. "Fuck me harder."
You don't have to tell him twice.
Jay positions your legs on both of his shoulders, admiring the way your tits look. They're big and round and they jiggle every time he moves your body to put you in the exact spot he wants you. The way your nipples move at every slight movements makes Jay kiss the back of his teeth and slot his cock right back into you before he pushes his cock and his chest forward, effectively bending you in half.
His cock reaches a whole new angle the more he's able to push himself down. You cry out a broken moan when his dick pierces a new depth and he silences your cry with a kiss to your lips. Spit falls everywhere the more your mouths mash together, tongues fighting like the two of you are locked in an intense battle. Jay repositions himself until his legs are spread wide, the balls of his feet planted on his mattress before lifting his hips just thrust into you with a newfound strength that makes your eyes squeeze shut.
He drinks up your moans like it's liquor. Jay's abdomen tenses as he holds this position, feeling the burn in his legs the longer he uses his strength to push and pull himself in and out of your body. The drag is delicious. It's so good that he hisses and closes his eyes to focus on the feeling of your wet cunt gripping onto him like you're afraid he'll leave if you aren't tight enough. Sweat has formed along his forehead and your bodies are slippery from the sexual workout, but it adds to the intensity of it all. Jay has never felt enamored with a girl like he is with you and the sheer magnitude of his attraction outweighs any drug he's tried in his lifetime. He'd happily quit smoking marijuana if you asked him too. But lucky for him, you can keep up.
"Tightest pussy in the world," Jay groans, slamming his cock into you and holding your body underneath him until you're pinned between the mattress and his chest. His cock is lodged deep into your pussy with no signs of letting up and the way you squeeze him from the inside out is enough to make Jay feel like he's seeing stars. "Are you always like this? Do you always make people feel so fucking crazy?"
"Just you," you say, barely able to speak from the intensity of the position.
"Just me," he repeats, grunting through his nose. "Only me, baby. Only I can make you feel like this."
"Only you."
"Only I can get you high like this," he grunts, lifting his hips to slam them back down onto you. You cry and it sounds like a fucking hymn. "I want you to cum like this. Can you do that for me, honey? Cum right on my dick."
And you do. It's like a command, almost. He knows you've been holding out and waiting for him, but you deserve to come as many times as you want without asking for his permission. He loves knowing he can get you to feel as free as you do without worrying about other people. It's so sexy that you're as considerate as you are, but as far as Jay's concerned, you could come on his cock a million times over and he wouldn't care about getting off it you were satisfied.
He feels the tension in your body as you focus on your orgasm. Jay moves in tandem with you, letting his cock impale your pussy and pushing past your hole when you clench around him. The tightness squeezes him until his tip is hitting the very spot that makes you scream out his name like it's a prayer, and you come like you've never experienced such an orgasmic high before. He feels you come. Jay savors the way your body arches as you reach your peak and it takes everything in him to stay as still as he is, his abdomen aching and his legs burning from holding this position. But it's worth it to watch the way you fall apart on him completely.
"You're so hot when you cum," Jay mumbles against your lips, letting your legs fall from his shoulders and allowing himself to break from his previous hold. He kisses over your lips to soothe you as he slowly rocks his hard cock in and out of your pussy, using your orgasm as lubricant. "It makes me wanna fuck you within an inch of your life."
"Do it," you taunt, smiling up at him with a fucked out grin that makes Jay think you're a succubus. Your lack of a refractory period is pure insanity. He can barely believe your pussy doesn't ache from his mouth, fingers, and his cock. Or maybe it does but you aren't saying anything. You're taking it like a fucking champ.
"Bend over," he instructs, pulling his cock out to stand while you turn your body over. He strokes himself in the meantime, watching as you spread your legs and arch your back like a feline waiting for its reward. Your pussy is on full display in front of him and he can't resist getting on his knees to shove his face in your lap again.
There is no rhyme or reason to it anymore. Jay has turned into a dirtier, hornier version of himself the more his high climbs up an invisible mountain. His tongue licks over your delicious folds and licks up every drop of your come like it's syrup spilling from a maple tree. Jay makes a complete mess of his face and slurps at your wetness, drinking your sweet nectar like it's the only thing he could ever imagine in his mouth.
He lets go of his cock to grip your ass cheeks and moans straight into your pussy when he ruts his cock against the side of the bed, thrusting every single time he pushes his tongue deeper into your wet hole. You moan before him and push your ass right against his face, making him bury himself deeper into your hole as though he never wants to leave. He doesn't, really. He'd be perfectly happy if he died with your pussy on his tongue.
Jay removes himself from your pussy when he feels himself get closer and closer to the edge. The soft material of his bedsheets would be enough to throw him off the deep end if he isn't careful. He gets back on his feet after licking up a stripe and pushes his tongue up your slit until he licks your wrinkled hole. Your body tenses at the strange sensation but you aren't completely turned off by it. In fact, Jay notices your legs spreading even wider as your back arches deeper like you're in some kind of trance. He takes his chance and spits directly into your tightest hole with a slow drip, listening to a moan that comes deep within your chest the second it hits you. He brings his thumb to gently rub it in, temporarily neglecting your pussy to watch the way you're writhing as he brushes his finger over your asshole. It's incredible how responsive and trusting you are. If he was a worse person, Jay would put the very tip of his cock right against your hole. But he isn't and he figures if you liked it enough to endure his curiosity, you might let him try putting his dick in there one day.
He lines himself with your pussy again, flicking the head across your folds to gather enough slick. Jay lets his tip pass over and over again until you're whining like you'll die without his dick. The desperation in your voice turns him on so much that he feels his balls twitch when you let our a particularly high-pitched noise. It's enough to make him sink back into your pussy, hands gripping your hips for stability. He feels his own legs shaking from the new angle and the sight of your back arching in front of him.
Without a single warning, Jay fucks you. It's the kind of pace that only occurs when he's so horny that he can't think about anything other than finishing himself off. You claw at his bedsheets and manage to grab one of his pillows to hold against your chest. His blunt nails dig themselves right into your meaty flesh as he brings his right hand to smack your right ass cheek. The sting is incredible and he must assume you love this kind of pain because the long, drawn out moan rings in his ears like it's Christmas. He smacks your ass again while he bucks his cock into you like a madman, spanking you over and over again until he feels a bit sorry for the pain he's causing you.
Jay's sack bounces against your puffy clit with every thrust and he's positive you've started whining because you feel another orgasm approaching. He wishes he could hold himself out longer too, but the two of you are higher than a pair of kites in the sky and your incredible moans and tight pussy push him to his limits. He clenches his ass to prolong this feeling, hissing at the intensity of your walls gliding against him every time he drags his cock out of you just to push it back inside your hole.
"One last time," Jay grunts, reaching one hand to toy with your clit and making you moan into his pillow. "Come for me one last time, yeah?"
"C-Come together," you barely manage to say.
"Yeah, baby. Let's come together. Fuck, give it to me and I'll give you my cum too."
Lost in the chase for his own orgasm, Jay's knees nearly lock when he's about to come. He braces himself at the very last second and falls until his cheek hits your upper back, feeling the way you clench around him before finishing for the third time. Jay follows soon after, spilling his seed directly into your hole without ceasing his hips from fucking it back into you. He doesn't care that the mixed cum starts to seep from where you're both connected, nor does he care that it's starting to drip down onto your thighs. He keeps thrusting until he's managed to overcome the peak and ruts into your hole.
When all is said and done, the only thing that registers is his heart beat and your breaths. Jay kisses the back of your neck with such tenderness that it pulls a satisfied moan from your throat. He can't help but laugh and twitch inside of you as his cock grows soft. You eventually push him out with a single clench, feeling the way his dick falls to your thigh as leftover semen seeps from his slit and onto your skin. The room is hot, wet, and far too overwhelming to properly come down from the insanity of tonight.
"You did so good, honey," Jay murmurs against your shoulder, peppering sweet kisses as you close your eyes. "My good girl. My sweet, sweet baby."
"I'm your baby," you whisper in a fucked out bliss.
"That's right." He nods and brings his face to yours, kissing you once before turning your body over to face him. Jay brushes your hair out of your face and cups your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. "Are you okay? You sounded a little dehydrated."
"It was the weed," you say with a quiet giggle. "So worth it, though. But I could go for some water."
In record speed, he's able to clean the both of you up and fetch some water from the kitchen without making too much conversation. He avoids Jake, who looks at him and whistles as he walks back to his bedroom. To his surprise, you're up on your feet and digging through his closet with one of his shirts draped over your body.
"Aren't you beautiful," he says, bringing the water up to your lips. You laugh at the absurdity but drink from his hand anyway.
"I can drink by myself, you know. I'm a big girl."
"Yeah, but I like the idea of taking care of you."
"Are you still high?"
"Yeah." Jay laughs. "But I'd tell you that sober too."
He beckons you to climb into bed next to him after he's opened all of his windows. After the intensity of sex, the softness of your head resting on his chest pulls a smile out of Jay. Your leg rests atop his own like a needy koala, but he doesn't mind. He loves it, in fact. He's positive you can hear how fast his heart is beating.
"Breakfast tomorrow?" You whisper already half-asleep. Jay kisses the crown of your head and pulls you closer to him.
"Sleep. I'll be here in the morning."
✧･ﾟ─────────── ✧･
please condsider reblogging and leaving a comment (or two!) x
summary. the world thinks that you're a beta. you and your best friend, nishimura riki, think same thing too—until you're proven wrong. until instincts and scents take over and everything changes overnight.
warnings. MDNI, reader is a late-presenting omega, mutual pining, oblivious pairing, jealous and possessive riki, unprotected sex (DON’T!! even think about it), marking, knotting, p in v, dirty talk, dom!riki, idk it’s my first time writing smut, alpha!jay, alpha!jungwon, alpha!heeseung, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, reader is suuuper horny, poor jay, i tag as i go, not beta read we die like injang, i don’t think this a/b/o is as accurate as the norm but we ball, angst if you squint
word count. 14,896 words
note. stepping out of my comfort zone with this one, my first time writing a oneshot. i hope you love it (hiding in a cave as we speak). mostly inspired by a/b/o fics i read on ao3. don’t forget to stream the sin: vanish! 🩷
You have been to the gym more times than the library.
Not because you’re particularly athletic. No, God knows you’d rather nap. But it’s rather because of a certain six-foot Japanese guy named Nishimura Riki, who’s obsessed with having you watch him stretch before his basketball practice. Says it helps him focus better. Says you bring him luck to his games. Whatever it is, you are happy to indulge with his requests, if it means you get to have your free Baskin Robbins after his gym sessions.
And now, as the two of you walk down the pavement, hands brushing with each step, you’re brought back to three years ago—when Riki was still a head shorter, when his voice still had the childlike lilt to it, when he hadn’t gained all the mass and muscles he has now. The only thing that remains constant is this: his routine of dragging you to his stretching and practice sessions.
It still brings a smile to your face whenever you recall that moment, and Riki never fails to notice every time.
“You have that motherly sentimental smile on your face again,” he points out, eyeing you down like you were dirt on the ground, and you might as well be for how tall he is. “Whatchu thinking ‘bout?”
You roll your eyes. “Good old times, Ki. When you were less annoying and less tall.”
Riki snorts. “I’m always annoying. And taller than you.”
“Fuckass alpha genetics,” you grumble under your breath, the sharp end of your elbow meeting his ribs in a playful nudge. Riki lets out a loud hiss, draping his arm around your shoulders in a harsh tug.
“What’s got your panties in a twist, my favourite girl?”
“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I could’ve slept in instead of going to your alpha gym.”
“You love me too much to refuse me.”
You feel the air leave your lungs. That statement shouldn’t make your stomach twist like this, like you’re caught doing something you’re forbidden to. But if liking your childhood friend—your annoying, tall, and too-hot-for-his-own-good friend—is considered illegal, then by all means you’d rather serve your time in jail than admit it to him.
So you scoff, feigning annoyance as you shove his limbs off your body. Swinging your legs faster, you mutter something enough for his ears to hear, hiding the redness that blooms across your cheeks. “You know I only love your mom.”
“Yeah, but only for her sushi, though!” Riki retorts, chasing after your steps and catching up with you after a maximum of three long strides. Curse his long legs. “I know you’d marry into my family for her sushi.”
“I don’t plan on being a homewrecker. Konon is taken, and Misora is like my little sister.”
“Well, there is me.” There he goes again, making your heart stutter in your ribs, taking your breath away with words that might be simple to him but bring an entirely different meaning to you and your poor feelings. You bite your lip, refusing to answer. Riki takes it as a challenge.
“I’m the real deal, y’know?” Riki wiggles his eyebrows, hogging up your space like a fly, gauging your reaction with that smirk you know all too well. And fuck him for saying the truth. You really wish you could slap that shit-eating grin off his handsome face.
“What, for being an alpha?”
“Especially for being an alpha,” he replies, a cocky smirk adorning his plump lips, to which you just roll your eyes.
He isn’t wrong, and that’s what you hate the most. Alphas are sought after; as a leader, as an heir, as a symbol of dominance and power. They’re at an advantage with everything, including their physique. You have never seen a short alpha; at least none is shorter than you are. Alphas dominate sports, finance and business, politics, education, and even medicines.
It’s hard to argue with Riki’s point of him being the real deal, when the very system you live in is the truth and proof to his claim.
People always want an alpha, and that fact will stay forever so long this system still exists. And it’s a bitter pill to swallow because you also belong to that category—not exactly because you need an alpha, but because a certain first love of yours is, unfortunately, an alpha.
Unfortunate, because alphas only want omegas as their mates.
Not betas. Not you.
And Nishimura Riki is not an exception to that equation.
You are so lost in your own thoughts that you almost missed the entrance to the gym, if not for Riki tugging your sleeve to bring you back to earth. You blink, look at the sign, and sigh.
“Tell me why I’m here again.”
Riki’s face lights up with a grin, dragging you to the entrance. “Because you’re my emotional support,” he jokes again, earning a glare from you.
His voice rumbles in a deep timbre when he chuckles, his other hand pushing the door open and instantly, the familiar chime of the bell greets you with a cold breeze from the built-in air-conditioners.
Riki turns to you again, ruffling your hair affectionately, the same way he did when the both of you were eighteen; the same way he did when he was thirteen, begging you to wish him luck on his basketball match; the same way he did when you were eight, after you scraped your knees in the playground from a foul play.
“And because you’re a beta, you’re not affected by our pheromones.”
It’s a harmless reminder of your subgender, but it stings nonetheless. You give the receptionist a tight smile, hoping it doesn’t show the resentment you feel towards the flawed system, hoping the cracks from your own heart didn’t make its way into the lines of your mouth.
At first, you thought you were an anomaly to the system.
The doubt was inevitable when Riki presented at the ripe age of eighteen, and pretty much so did everybody else. You remember how lonely the classes were when Riki had to take two weeks off, and then the girl who sat in front of you did the same, and then the class president did so too, until there were only seven of you remaining in the class.
The appropriate age range to present is from sixteen to nineteen years old, but the most common one is definitely eighteen. So you told yourself to be patient and wait for your turn; that it might be you next day.
Then you hoped it’d be you next month.
Then you prayed it’d be you next year.
Then you wished the system never existed at all .
Because after three years, with you now turning twenty-one, the presentation never came. You told yourself it’s fine, it doesn’t exclude you from society because it just simply means that you’re a beta, right? Beta belongs to the subgenders too. But it’s hard to ignore the nagging voice of insecurity somewhere in your mind that keeps telling you how wrong everything is. It’s hard to ignore the changes when the changes happened so fast and so blatantly obvious—like the way Riki’s voice turned deeper, the way he grew into everything that an alpha is meant to be.
While you remained the same.
The poison seals its roots when you’re reminded of your family genetics—where every female of your bloodline was born an omega, someone who’s meant to be with an alpha, someone with a sweet and supposedly-alluring scent that you never get a whiff of. You feel like a tossed-aside rug, a forgotten scene from a movie. Hell, you even feel like an unknown city that keeps getting skipped in every world tour of your favourite boyband.
Excluded, out of place, and awkward. Like a piece of puzzle that doesn’t belong. Like a wrong digit in an equation, where the existence of you brings a decimal-answer when people are looking for a whole number.
So with a reluctant resignation, one that you wished would never come, you accept your fate that you’re not an anomaly—you’re just normal. You’re just a beta.
You’re just…not meant to be with Riki.
Perhaps you can try finding a beta that could fill the spot that Riki has. Jake Sim from chemical engineering is also a beta, and he is every bit a gorgeous man. But every time you attempt to look for someone else, someone who’s not over six feet tall, someone who’s not Japanese with features you memorise by heart—you feel your stomach sink with the urge to cry and throw up.
You want Riki. You only yearn for Riki, and it tears you apart that he is everything you want but can’t have.
It’s only morning, and you are already tormenting yourself with the thoughts of your unrequited love, your secret crush, your Nishimura Riki, Riki, Riki. You slump on the desk with a sigh, the lecturer’s high-pitched voice now a faraway island in your mind, earning a low chuckle from Jungwon, another alpha that you befriended on your first day here.
“You okay, Y/N?”
You muffle a small ‘yeah’ and lift your head to face him, the action making you dizzy. You frown. “Just…a bit hungry. I skipped breakfast.”
Jungwon leans closer, lunch invitation heavy on his tongue, but stops mid-way. His nose scrunches, sniffing the air around you like a bunny.
“Uh, did you wear a new perfume?”
“What?” Sitting straight, you mimic his action and start smelling your clothes. “I don’t?”
Jungwon shifts in his seat, taking another whiff from the space around your neck before leaning back, a glint of amusement and curiosity dancing in his eyes.
“Well, you smell different. In a good way.”
“That’s because I wear Chanel number 5, duh,” you say matter-of-factly, rolling your eyes to emphasise. Jungwon shakes his head.
“It’s not Chanel,” he moves closer again, and this time you actually retreat back from the sudden proximity. “You smell faintly like caramel. Like freshly baked cookies.”
“Okay, now you’re being creepy. I don’t smell like a bakery.”
Jungwon looks skeptical, watching you with that cat eyes of his, appearing contemplative and deep in thought before he shrugs and finally gives you some space. You breathe out in relief.
“Mhm. It’s about time you had a scent. Though yours is way too sweet for a beta.”
Your body seizes before your mind can catch up, every bone locking in place as you register his words. When you speak, your voice sounds foreign, even to you.
“I’m supposed to…have a scent?”
Jungwon tilts his head, not expecting that question from you. “Yeah? Everyone with a subgender should have one and can smell one. Can’t you smell me?”
No. The word is trapped behind your teeths, afraid to go out in fear of solidifying the truth that you were what you initially thought: an anomaly. Gulping down your nerves, you pretend to focus back on the lessons, though your lecturer’s voice is already drowned out by the loud thumping behind your ribs.
Jungwon doesn’t buy it, though. That alpha is eyeing you, trying to catch even a tiny telltale of your true emotions.
You settle for a lie. “‘Course I can. You smell disgusting.”
That gets him to react. “Hey! I smell second best to Riki’s pheromones, for your information.” Jungwon gasps, scandalised, and kicks your legs under the table. You suck in a breath, your mind zeroing on the small fragment of his statement: Riki’s pheromones.
You leave the hall an hour later with your brain a whirlwind of panic and unanswered questions, of how much you regret not paying attention to any of your omegaverse classes, of how different you are—again—from the rest of the world, but now with a painful addition that you are also different from a normal beta, and of how Nishimura Riki is allegedly the best-smelling alpha of the century.
The last thought is the loudest, if it’s not already obvious. But your insecurity seems relentless this time, because every time your brain wanders to how good Riki might smell like, it brings you back to the cold, harsh reality of your dysfunctioning senses. And that’s enough to push you off the edge.
The one-hour lecture was spent with you letting the weight of Jungwon’s words pressing into your mind. The concept of scent and subgenders aren’t foreign; not to everybody else but you. You know that alphas and omegas have a certain smell that tells each other apart. But you never knew that betas have one too.
Or they actually do. And it’s you who have none.
Fuck, why did you only sleep in those omegaverse classes in high school?
The distant voice of your omegaverse teacher nags at the back of your mind as you round the corner towards the library, forcing yourself to commit to another group discussion before you can retire and hide in your room after, but are blessed—or cursed—to see Riki instead. Your breath hitches, your steps halt.
The tall man is leaning against the wall with a laidback posture, one hand in the pocket of his sweats, scrolling his phone with a neutral boredom. Then, as if sensing your presence, he lifts his gaze, and lights up.
Fuck him, honestly, in every literal and figurative way possible.
He always lights up every time he sees you, and you hate how much meaning it gives you. Like you’re the only sun in his dark universe; like you’re the only water in the middle of the desert when it probably means nothing to him.
“Y/N, c’mere!”
You force a relaxed posture and a small smile as you walk towards him. And then, without warning, Jungwon’s earlier words invade your mind again, and now your whole focus narrows down to the thoughts of the pheromones of the alpha standing in front of you, and the cruelty of your anatomy to decide that you don’t deserve to smell him.
Riki frowns when you get closer, noticing your slightly pale complexion. One of his arms hover, ready to pull you closer like usual. “You good? Did you see a ghost?”
And this time, you let him tug you, pulling you in like a strong whirlpool in the ocean and you are nothing more than a helpless boat, and you almost swore that you heard Riki sniff you. At the chance of standing in such close proximity with him, you dare yourself to nose the collar of his hoodie, inhaling his scent, dreading the nothingness that might come from it.
You hum, surprising even yourself when you can actually smell him. Clean musk, cedar, and sandalwood. He smells homey. But why couldn’t you smell this before?
“You smell good. Is this your perfume?”
Riki laughs, though there is an edge to it .”What are you doing?”
Ignoring his question, you take a step closer, nosing at the fabric with newfound determination, unaware of the now-rigid posture of your best friend. Riki pushes your shoulders when you shift closer, holding you an arm’s length away from him in a swift motion. You blink, taken aback from the sudden shove, and scrunches your nose when you sense a spike in his scent.
You frown—your senses were never this sensitive.
Riki lets out a small chuckle after a moment of silence—and you can’t help but hear the faint tremble in it—then ruffles your hair.
“That’s my pheromones, idiot, you know I don’t like wearing cologne. Did you just notice it now?”
Ah. His pheromones.
So you can finally smell him.
You pause for a heartbeat before smiling. So I’m a normal beta, you think, feeling the relief washes over you, I can smell other people’s scents too. It might be a bit too late to notice these changes, but you’ll take anything that doesn’t label you as the exception to the system. Anything to fit in, anything that doesn’t point you towards the other end of society alone.
“With all that sweat you reek of? Yeah, I just noticed it now.” You retort, throwing him a teasing smile, stepping closer again to nudge his ribs like you always do.
This time, the sharp inhale that Riki takes is unmistakable. He takes a hold of your wrist and brings it to his nose, sniffing at it like another bunny that reminds you so much of Jungwon just an hour ago.
“You smell…different,” Riki takes another whiff, “did you get too close to an omega?”
Your eyebrows knit. “No, that’s my scent.”
Riki’s expression mirrors yours. “But you never had a scent before.”
“I know, Jungwon also said it’s about time that I had a scent.”
“Jungwon?” Riki echoes, his voice clipped. “You let Jungwon scent you?”
You blink, mouth opening and closing at the sound of his sudden grim voice. “I—No? He didn’t scent me,” you don’t know where this feeling comes from, but the thought of Riki thinking that you were with another man, of upsetting him, makes your stomach drop. “He just sat too close just now. And he smelled me.”
You wince at how wrong it sounded.
Nothing else is spoken between the two of you, save for the distant chatter of passersby and the occasional sound of the library door opening and closing, letting people in and sending them out. You crane your neck to your silent best friend, his clenched jaw catching the hallway lights as he gathers his thoughts.
You’re about to say something to break the silence, but another deep voice calls out to Riki. You peek at his shoulders and see two of his basketball teammates—Heeseung and Jay—calling at him from behind. They wave when they notice your presence, and you wave back once before Riki moves to block your sight.
“I have practice until late. Don’t wait for me,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes are heavy with something unsaid, giving you a gaze that sends shivers down your spine, slightly concealed by the fringes of his dark hair. You nod wordlessly, squeeze his arms goodbye, and watch him jog up to his friends, your mind a mess of everything that has just unfolded.
The day follows you home and into the evening shower, and the thoughts of your newly-discovered developed senses, of Riki, only stops when you put on your pajamas. Your favourite Kuromi set of wool pajamas, the one Riki bought from his last visit to Japan, suddenly sits wrongly on your skin.
It’s itchy and very uncomfortable, which is not what you felt when you wore it last week.
“What the fuck,” you curse, discarding the clothes in an instant. Standing half naked in your own bedroom, you inspect the fabric like a microscope to a cell sample. The fabric feels strange to your touch; it prickles like tiny needles that poke at your skin in an unsettling way. You drop the pajamas on your bed and start looking for another set to wear.
To your frustration, every piece of clothing that you touch doesn’t feel right. Too rough. Too itchy. Too irritating. It only stops when you find your long-forgotten satin nightwear—the one you shoved to the darkest corner of your wardrobe because of how tight it had become. You exhale, the exhaustion from the day pressing on your bones like a wet blanket, slipping on the only fabric that doesn’t feel like sandpaper on skin despite how tight it hugs your body despite yourself.
That night, you drift off to sleep and dream of a certain alpha with the most alluring pheromones, whispering secrets and oaths in messy sheets and slicked, tangled limbs.
The next morning, you wake up with a pulsing pain in your hips and lower abdomen. A groan escapes your lips as you search for your phone, checking the menstrual tracker with your eyes half-open. You are still two weeks away from the next cycle, but the pain is, if not more, merciless and unforgiving as ever.
But deadlines and tests chase you even in your sleep, so you brave up and force yourself to campus, all pained limbs and sweaty forehead. The painkillers work nothing to numb the pain, and you don’t want to risk going into the ER to swallow another one. So you endure. Or at least, you try to.
“Good morning, Y/N,” comes Jungwon, sharing yet another class with you. But his voice is loud, too loud for the morning to be good, so you snap at him before you can stop it.
“Can you lower your voice? You’re too loud.”
Jungwon stuns into a silence, gaping at you with his mouth hanging open before a flash of annoyances crosses his face. “Dude, I talk normally? What’s so loud about me?”
“You’re being loud now.”
Jungwon throws his hands in the air and plops down with a huff, pursing his lips in protest and refusing to speak to you for the rest of the lecture in an act of tantrum. You don’t say anything either, too occupied with your own thoughts, too irritated by the sounds of pens gliding across papers, too itched by the blouse you’re wearing, to care. At the first sign of the class ending, you bolt out of the class, leaving behind Jungwon and his unheard complaints about how sensitive and snappy you have been.
Sensitive. You’re sensitive all over your body, your senses suddenly reaching a new level of concentration that makes everything feel unbearable and irritating. You ditch the next class and go home, grab a new set of pads on your way, send a ‘sorry’ text to Riki’s lunch invitation, and sleep the day away in silk and satin. You dream of Riki again, of how safe you feel in his arms, of how much you like it whenever he towers over you with his height. You toss and turn all night, then wake up more tired than before when the first sunlight hits.
Weary and exhausted than ever, you groan as the aching in your body returns, and, perhaps amplifies, like something inside you is shifting. Like someone is renovating your organs and rearranging everything into a new layout, into a new system you’re too afraid to find out.
“Fuck,” you peel off every layer of your clothing and make home in your bath tub, basking in the warmth of the running water. Your muscles finally relax, and for the past two days of your pre-menstrual symptoms, soaking in hot water seems to be the only thing that helps. Only a soak and an odorless soap, though—because recently, your favourite sakura blossom-scented body wash has smelled too acidic for you.
When you’re done, you walk out to your roommate, Wonyoung, sitting on your bed with a stack of clothes neatly placed by her thighs. She looks at you with a scrunched nose, wearing an expression akin to concern. You greet her with a small, tired smile.
“Hey, Y/N. I brought my cotton clothes for you, but are you sure you’re okay?” She stands up and walks closer to you, touching your arms gently. “You don’t look good. And your scent…you’re distressed, Y/N. You need a familiar scent to feel better.”
You give her another dry smile. “I’m okay. Just PMS-ing.”
Wonyoung looks at you like she wants to say something but holds back. She rubs a circle into your arms, and for the first time ever, you can smell her—a soft, gentle scent of jasmine and warm milk, like a milk tea you get from a Chinese store. You sigh and unknowingly lean into the omega’s touch.
“Go to the doctor if it gets worse, Y/N,” Wonyoung urges you with a worry-laced voice. You hum and nod absentmindedly, not registering her words fully until she adds, “I think this is something more than PMS.”
Your stomach churns at her words, feeling the uneasiness crawl its way back into your spine. You wave a dismissive hand at her, attempting to look fine when you’re everything but. “I’ll get better after a nap, I promise.”
Wonyoung purses her lips, then nods. With a few words of comfort, she leaves your room, throwing one last look of worry before the door shuts with a click. You grab one of her cotton pajamas, feeling the smooth fabric with a content sigh and slip it on.
The buzz from your phone cuts your train of thoughts. Your heart leaps at the sight of Riki’s name blaring on the screen, hands scrambling to pick it up on the third ring.
“Y/N?” Riki’s deep timbre greets your ears, and you feel the hair rise in your skin. “Hey, where have you been? Jungwon told me you skipped classes today.”
Gosh, how you missed his voice. Overlapping schedules, his tournament preparations, and your aching body have become the reason for your lack of Nishimura Riki for the past three days. Hearing his voice now tugs something at your heart, like you need to see him now. Like you need to hold him now.
“Y/N?”
“Hey, Ki. I’m fine. Just a bit sore here and there, but it’s all good now,” you lie, because the last thing you want is for Riki to get worried about you and distracted from his practice. He can be a worrywart when he wants to be.
“You sure? Then do you wanna watch my practice now?” he suggests, letting a heartbeat of silence settle between the both of you before he says again, this time with a quieter, almost-shy voice. “I kinda miss your nosy ass.”
That gets a laugh out of you. You, in fact, miss him a lot too. “Glad to know it’s mutual. But what do I get? It’s too cold for me outside.” It’s not even winter yet, but your current condition has been acting like it. You shiver just thinking about stepping out of the comfort of your warm apartment.
“I’ll treat you to some steak after, your highness. And don’t be silly, I have my hoodie with me now.”
Something unknown stirs inside of you at the mention of his hoodie. It’s like something asleep is finally waking up, and your head is dizzy with the thought of his hoodie, his scent, his presence, him, him, him. You hum as a reply, already reaching out to one of Wonyoung’s cotton blouses.
And that reminds you: “It better be cotton, Ki.”
The basketball court doesn’t change from the last time you stepped foot on it, which already feels like years ago with everything that went down between you and your body. Your gaze sweeps over two groups of male players stretching and warming up, looking for a certain dark-haired man. But you stop in your tracks when your nose senses something.
The court smells…weird. You can’t exactly pinpoint what produces that smell, but the source is apparent: it comes from those athletes scattered around the court. You inhale one more time and immediately feel your chest tightens, the urge to turn around and leave suddenly hits you like a truck.
Too lost in your own thoughts, you barely notice the shadow that suddenly looms over your figure until that person speaks.
“Y/N, right?”
You look up and instantly recognise him. Park Jongseong, or Jay, one of Riki’s closest friends from his ‘only-boys’ friend group. You give him a polite nod, noting his still-dry jersey and slightly messy hair.
“Yes, that’s me.”
Jay’s lips curve into a boyish smile at that, and if it’s not for your huge, pathetic crush on Riki, you’d certainly let yourself fall for the handsome boy in front of you. “Riki’s gone to the locker room for a moment to grab something. Why don’t you sit at the bench first? We are about to start the friendly match soon.”
You agree without thinking, drifting further into the court like it’s routine. You’re a familiar face to them—the beta friend of Riki who always sits in the bleachers to watch him stretch and practice. You settle down on the bench at the furthest corner of the court, away from the buzz of alpha players and the smell that is getting pungent by the second, and closer to one of the goal hoops. Jay has gone to leave for a moment, but returns seconds later with a bottle of mineral water, condensed and wet.
“Have a drink first. He should be back soon.”
You receive it with a grateful smile. Riki always mentions how gentleman Jay is, especially towards the ladies. “Thank—”
“Yo, I already got her water.”
Riki strides in your direction, his voice playful but his expression hardens. He shoves Jay to the side, snatches the bottle given by him from your hand, and replaces it with another one. This time, the water bottle is still cold and wet from condensation, but is now wrapped by a few layers of tissues, just the way you like it. “Drink this instead.”
You beam at him. “Thanks, Riki.”
Beside him, Jay scoffs exaggeratedly. “I can’t believe you. Did it look like I was poisoning her?”
Riki doesn’t cast him a glance, his hands fast to untwist the bottle cap for you before you do, and miss the way heat makes its way on your cheeks. “You grabbed the wrong bottle.”
“Dude, they’re literally the same!”
“But did yours have tissues around it?” Riki shoots a brow up, and that makes Jay close his mouth. “Exactly. Now get lost, hyung.”
“Kids these days,” Jay mutters under his breath. He throws you another small smile before walking away with his rejected—or rather, discarded by Riki—mineral water. There is a triumphant smile on the younger’s face before he looks back at you already staring up at him.
Fuck, you probably look lovestruck. But you don’t find it in yourself to care in that moment.
Riki returns your gaze, his eyes trailing across your face before he ruffles your hair playfully. A giggle escapes your lips, trying to smack his hands away but Riki is always stronger than you. And that realisation makes something warm pool inside your belly.
“Is it still cold for you?” he asks, voice lowered and sounding almost intimate. You nod, willing yourself not to grin too wide when he drops his hoodie in your lap. It’s grey, bigger than your frame, and every inch of it smells like him. Like your Riki. “Wear this.”
The tension rolls off your body when you put it on, breathing in a lungful of his clean musk and sandalwood scent discreetly as Riki takes a seat beside you, his thigh brushing yours. For the first time in three days, the unknown force that’s been keeping you on edge quiets down, your chest lightens and your heart hums in contentment.
Safe. You feel safe. Riki has always been your safe space. But this time, you feel like you belong. Protected. You feel like you’ve been carrying the missing piece your whole life, and now it’s finally here.
“Better?” Riki muses from your side, watching you with an unreadable gaze, taking in the sight of your figure practically drowned in his way bigger hoodie. His jaw clenches, fingers twitching slightly before he forces his eyes back on you.
“Yes. Thank God it’s cotton, Ki,” you joke. Riki rolls his eyes.
“You know I only wear cotton.”
“Nishimura Riki!”
From the center of the court, Lee Heeseung, the senior you know to be the team captain, calls for your best friend. He groans, shouting back a ‘coming!’ before glancing back at you.
“Just a few rounds of friendly match then I’m all yours, okay?”
Your heart stutters at that. Then, subtle like it’s meant to be a secret, you notice the way Riki freezes, his nose scrunching slightly at something he senses. When his eyes snap back to you, they’re darker now, heated and heavy with something he won’t say. The short exchange renders you breathless, your voice barely audible when you finally speak.
“Yes. Okay.”
Riki lets his eyes linger on you for a moment before he nods. The warmth of his presence is instantly replaced with silence and coldness when he leaves to begin the match, and your heart deflates at his retreating figure. You grip the bench until knuckle-white, taking a deep breath to soothe your wailing heart, chest suddenly yearning for him to sit back on the bench with you.
“Get a fucking grip, Y/N,” you grit, head dizzy from Riki’s pheromones but your stomach is churning for no apparent reasons. “What the fuck is wrong with you lately?”
You decide to hyperfocus on the match commencing on the court to distract yourself from the confusing yet so consuming feelings that your mind and body have been going through lately. And it works for a while. You almost forgot how attractive Riki looks like when he’s on the court.
As if the universe had chosen him as the new gravity, every fibre of your being is drawn to him and him only. Your eyes follow his figure like a north-end of the magnet to the south, practically documenting his movement like a rolling camera. Riki moves like he dances; smooth and fluid, his reflexes against his opponent are faster than a venus flytrap. His boxy smile graces his features with every goal into the hoops, and you can’t help but let your heart flutter every time his eyes find yours with every point he scores.
You’re in love with Nishimura Riki. Your body knows it, your heart is no old news bearer to this. Heck, you think even your mom and Wonyoung know about this. Everyone does, except the person you love. Except Riki himself.
Loving him is so easy that it scares you sometimes. The hoodie presses on your skin like a symbol of his caring nature and a reminder of his platonic affection altogether.
You let yourself enjoy the match, the squeaking of sneakers against the floor becoming background noises. It’s a steady and peaceful match, or so you thought—until they start shouting.
It’s a friendly match, but an alpha's nature of competitiveness knows no boundaries. Your eyes flick to the scoreboard, the gap between the teams decreasing with each goal.
“Get your shit together, Taesan!” Heeseung barks at someone near the hoop, posture stiff, his booming voice makes your stomach twist. Soon, the air is condensed with adrenaline and rivalry, and before you know it, the palpable tension has already made its way into your head.
Your instincts kick-start at the heavy atmosphere, your nose twitching at the overwhelming pheromones that you sense. You gasp, the pain in your hips and abdomen resurfacing again, and this time you actually feel something shift inside. Your eyes widen in horror.
“Oh my God,” you clutch at the bench in desperation when you feel yourself falling. The floor catches you in a soft thud.
Somewhere in the distance, Heeseung shouts at a mistake the second time, leaving your nerves more restless than before. Your vision blurs, ears ringing with a pitch that is nearly splitting your head open.
The pain, the cramps—they stab deeper, they pulse harder, they scream at you that nothing about this is related to your menstruation. You groan in pain. The pheromones spiking in the air are pressing into your lungs, making every exhale of oxygen a struggle, your head spinning like a planet losing its orbit. Somewhere at the centre of the court, everybody freezes, the ball bouncing away with no one to claim.
Heeseung halts mid-shout. “What the fuck,” he physically recoils at the scent wafting in the air, his nose wrinkling violently, “there’s an omega here?!”
The room holds its breath with him, with you, before heads snap in your direction.
There, on the floor, you’re crouched down, noises of pain leaving your lips in breathless whispers. Your body is dotted with sweat, your temperature rising with each passing second, eyes wide and glassy. Oh God. Oh God. You clutch your stomach with a pained groan. What is happening to me?
It takes an alpha staggering towards you and a growl for all hells to break loose. Shouts come from every direction, Jay having to physically restrain one of their players from jumping on you. And among the chaos, there is one figure who stands still, a statue of anxiety and a pounding heart as his eyes locked on the outline of your body in his hoodie.
Another wail of pain leaves your lips and Riki finally snaps out of his trance. Without thinking, he’s already running towards you, snarling at another player who’s stepping in your direction and shoving him away with no care to the aftermath.
He drops to his knees, angling his body to shield you from the raging alphas behind him. His hands hover, not knowing where to touch or if he should touch you at all.
“Y/N? Y/N, oh my God—what—” Riki chokes on the intense scent oozing from your neck, forcing restrain into his mind and body. His jaw clenches when he sees how pale you are, panic mixing with a strange desire to mark you. To claim you. He shakes his head.
“Riki,” you breathe out, rasp and breathless, shivering from the cold despite your warm body. “It hurts. It hurts…”
Riki’s breath stutters at his name on your lips. It does something violent to his chest, like his ribs are caving in around his heart.
“I know,” he says, voice hoarse, forcing it low despite the way his throat wants to tear itself open. He wraps the hoodie tighter around you, hands finally finding purchase at your arms, your waist—grounding, anchoring. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
You’re not. He knows that. He smells it—sharp, sweet, wrong. Too much for this place. Too much for you.
“Everyone back the fuck up,” Riki snarls over his shoulder, teeth clenched as another alpha so much as shifts closer. The sound doesn’t even feel like it comes from him; it’s deeper, rougher, edged with something feral that makes the surrounding players freeze mid-step.
Heeseung recovers first. “Clear the court. Now,” he barks, authority snapping through the haze. “Jay—help me.”
Jay’s already there, shoving bodies away, creating space with his broad frame. “Move. All of you. Unless you wanna get decked.”
Riki barely registers them. His world has narrowed to you—the way you’re trembling, the way your fingers fist weakly into his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.
“It hurts,” you whimper again, forehead dropping against his chest. “Riki, it—”
“I know,” he repeats, softer now, forehead pressing briefly to your hair. His hands shake despite himself. “Don’t talk. Just—just breathe with me, okay? Look at me.”
Your unfocused eyes struggle to lift, but when they do and land on him, something in his chest breaks.
That’s it.
Decision made, instincts roaring.
“I’m taking her,” Riki says, already scooping you up carefully, one arm under your knees, the other braced tight around your back. “Someone call an ambulance. Now.”
No one argues.
As he carries you out of the court, ignoring the burning stares and the lingering pheromones that scrape at his skin, one thought pounds through his head, loud and unrelenting:
I should’ve known.
I should’ve protected you.
Riki likes to think that he knows you best.
You have been a constant in his life. Someone less than a companion, more like a feature infused in his system. The vital foundation. Someone that brings out the sides of him that he refuses to show others.
Fifteen years ago, when his family first moved to South Korea, Riki had already expected a dull, boring life. A six-year-old with every knowledge of Japanese but none of Korean, Riki initially thought that his parents were set on making him a loner.
But then came you. Knocking on his door with that small, soft fist of yours, hiding behind your mom’s legs the way he hid behind his mom’s. The both of you shyly looked at each other, listening to your mothers promising friendship and comfort in language that Riki was yet to understand.
Ever since that day, Riki found his life in a foreign country becoming bearable. Bearable, because his next-door neighbour is also his seatmate at school. You have always been the smarter one between the two of you, diligently teaching him how to read, to write, to speak in Korean, with a childlike patience that only someone like you could have.
Bearable, because his next-door neighbour was also a fierce kid, telling other kids off when they made fun of Riki’s accent. You were small, smaller than him, even, but the fire in your eyes when someone spoke badly of him made you seem bigger than the whole sky.
Bearable, because somewhere along the way; between nights of sneaking out and going home scolded, between every basketball match where your voice always sounded the loudest, between every petty fight and shared laughter during study sessions; Riki finally realised the way you have made home in his heart.
The way his eyes find your smile first in every joke. The way he looks for your presence before every game, and every time he scores. The way his heart aches with you when you fall sick, wanting the pain to consume himself instead of you.
Nishimura Riki is in love with you. The world seems to know it—except you.
Riki indulged in it, acknowledged it with his heart and arms open, until the day of his alpha presentation came. It was the first time in his life being away from you, separated from your warmth and presence. He spent restless nights dreaming of you, his instincts flaring at him to run and barge into the house next door.
The same way it does to him now.
Riki likes to think he knows you best, and that includes knowing that you’re a beta—a medical statement that broke his heart when he first found out about it because his mom is so adamant that he mates with an omega.
But now, as he stares at the text sent by your sister, Riki feels like everything he used to know about you dissipates, becoming the very air he inhales that makes his chest feel tighter and limbs heavier. It takes everything in him not to knock on your parents’ house, to force his way in, and cradle you in his arms the way his wolf tells him to.
future sister-in-law
y/n’s presenting as an omega
Two weeks went by in a blur. You drifted in and out of consciousness, your mom and your sister being the only thing you could remember from your fragmented memory. One time you were in the hospital. The next time you opened your eyes, you were back in your childhood room. Your body ached all over; it felt like your bones were shifting into a new spine.
When the daze of anesthetics finally wears off, a new day has already begun.
And you discover the earth-shattering truth with a shudder. It’s not only the day that’s new.
You’re also, apparently, new.
An omega. You’re now an omega.
“A late presentation, though rare, can happen, and your daughter is one of the chosen ones.”
You don’t know how to make of it. You just nod along, thoughts scattered everywhere, nose catching up scents that weren’t there before—or they’ve always been, but your senses only allow you to detect them now. The blooming rose, fresh rain scent of your mom. The citrusy pheromone of the alpha-doctor sitting in front of you. You have come for another check-up, a detailed medical explanation that your doctor has insisted you to listen to when you’re finally stable.
Your chest tightens as the scents sharpen—and you suddenly understand why your family always looked at you like you were missing something.
It settles wrongly on your chest, like a frame hung in a crooked angle. You’ve been wanting this your whole life—to be able to detect scents, to not feel excluded from the women of your family, to have a chance at love with Riki.
It’s not that you hate it. You just don’t know what to do with it yet.
“But that also means that you’re quite fragile for now until your first heat cycle comes,” the doctor speaks again, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gives you a reassuring smile, as if noticing your unfocused self. “And from the test results, it should come in very near time. Perhaps a week or two from now.”
“So soon?” Your mom sits straighter in her seat, leaning closer to peek at whatever medical result on the paper he’s holding. The doctor nods.
“This can only happen to late-presenting omegas. And since her body had developed way past its due age, it can be very dangerous if she spent it alone. She needs an alpha for her first heat cycle.”
That, finally, grabs your attention. Your body stills, the words hanging in the air like guillotine waiting to fall.
“An alpha?” you repeat, sounding disbelieving. The doctor confirms with a hum.
“Yes, a familiar alpha. Based on the examination, it seems that your presentation was triggered by overwhelming and heavy pheromones of agitated alphas. I was informed that you were watching a basketball match before you fainted, correct?” You nod, failing to find your voice to answer. “Omegas are very responsive towards alphas pheromones, especially when those alphas are running on adrenaline and being very competitive.”
Oh. You recall the way Heeseung’s loud voice shook you to your core, finally finding an explanation to the way your body reacted. You shift in your seat, suddenly too aware of your surroundings.
“And to tie it back to your heat cycle, Y/N, are you close with any of those alphas?”
The guillotine finally falls, cutting your oxygen like a cruel punishment meant to kill. You visibly stiffen, a certain face flashing in your mind like a broken record.
It’s your mom who speaks first. “Yes, she is close with Nishimura Riki. He was at the court with her.”
A small smile grazes the doctor’s lips. “Then that may be the safest option. Perhaps he can help with your daughter’s heat, seeing as she has no exclusive partner now.”
The doctor’s words keep looping in your head like a tape stuck on repeat—an alpha…a familiar alpha…
And somehow, you end up outside the locker room, waiting.
Waiting for the one person who has always been your anchor, whether you deserved him or not.
Nishimura Riki.
He steps out of the locker room with his usual lazy confidence, but there is a tension in his shoulders now. His hair is damp from a post-game shower, curly and messy, framing his eyes like velvet curtains. As if he was a radar specialised to sense you, his nose twitches, and then his head snaps in your direction.
There is a brieft silence between the two of you. You raise your hand and wave, and that’s all it takes for Riki to stride towards you with long steps. He drops his bag on the floor, not caring where it lands, and pulls you into his arms.
“Riki—” Your greetings die in your throats, muffled by the soft fabric of his hoodie as he tightens his hold. His palm, big and warm, cradles the back of your head in a firm yet gentle grip. You relax into his embrace, clutching at his hoodie, feeling grounded in his scent. He smells like soap and his own pheromones, and in the quiet, familiar warmth of being engulfed by Riki, you silently admit that your best friend does smell the best.
“God, Y/N,” he whispers, breath fanning the shell of your ears, making your skin tingles, “do you want me to die from worry? No replies, no call back. God.”
Your lips curve into a small smile before you break the embrace, putting a distance between the two of you to look at his face. His handsome, pretty face that you’ve missed so much.
“I’m sorry, Ki. Things were pretty rough.”
Riki doesn’t say anything. His eyes, heavy with care and unspoken desire, rake over your features before he slowly nods.
“I know. I’ve been through it too. How are you now?”
You bite your bottom lip, letting yourself indulge in his caring nature. “I’m good now. A whole lot different, but good.”
Riki’s face relaxes into a relief before he slings an arm around your neck again, his habit that you’re used to now. “Great. Now let me treat you to that steak place, you can’t say no—”
“No, Riki.” You cut him off, and that stops him in his tracks. Riki looks at you in confusion when you detach yourself from him, putting his arm back to his side. You throw the locker room a nervous glance, before looking back at him.
“There’s something…I must tell you.”
Riki’s scent spikes. You feel it like a soft punch in your chest.
“What is it?” he asks, voice too low, like he’s scared of what’s to come.
“I…you know I’m a late-presenting omega, right? The doctor says that I’m quite unstable now,” you swallow, fiddling with the edge of your sweater. The words are heavy on your tongue, like lead pressing on a mattress.
“My heat will come in a week, and…and I must spend it with an alpha to regulate myself back.”
Riki doesn’t move, and so do you. And in that moment, you feel it. The impending consequences that come from telling him the truth. But between losing a friendship with Riki, being denied from his company that’s caused by your unrequited love, and letting yourself into another person’s life, forever yearning for Riki but still remains his friend; you’ll always choose the latter.
Because you’ll have him, as whoever he is; as your friend, your unrequited love, your crush—than a stranger.
“Y/N—”
“I need Jay to be that alpha.”
His eyes darken. “What?” Riki tries to keep it calm, but his voice is low and tight. “What do you mean, Jay?”
You take a deep breath, suddenly feeling the walls too close to your skin. Across from you, Riki is staring with a sharp, heavy gaze, his eyes pleading for an explanation.
He takes a step closer. “Why Jay?”
“I—I mean, you always told me that Jay is a gentleman. And if you trust him so much, then I think…” your voice trails off when Riki takes another step, but you’re determined to stay rooted in your place.
“You think you can trust him just because I do?” He continues for you, his voice now an octave lower. You swallow.
“Not just because you trust him,” you say, voice shaky. “Because… because he’s the only one I know who won’t take advantage of me.”
Riki’s jaw tightens. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to bite the words out of you.
“You think I would?” he snaps, then immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone.
His expression changes. Softer now, but still intense.
“I would never—”
You shake your head, too quickly. “No, Riki. That’s not what I mean. It’s just—” Your breath hitches, and your voice breaks. “You’re my best friend. I—We can’t. Best friends don’t do that.”
The words hit him like a strong wave, and it might as well be true from the way he falters in his stance slightly. You feel his distress before you smell it; burnt sandalwood and bitter musk, a telltale sign of his emotions. Your heart lurches in your throat, begging you to embrace and comfort the alpha in front of you.
But before you can do anything, Riki takes a step back first. He nods curtly, schooling his expression despite his scent.
Then he speaks, voice low and clipped, like he’s swallowing a scream.
“Yeah. Best friends don’t.”
“Riki—”
“I’ll ask Jay about it,” he says, his voice sounding distant. Your heart breaks. “He’s a gentleman. He’ll be willing to help you.”
Without waiting for your reply, Riki turns around. He snatches his bag off the floor, posture rigid and tense as he walks away, leaving you behind with guilt clawing at your throat. Your legs weaken, and before you know it, you are back on the bench, clutching at your heart and feeling like you have broken something you shouldn’t.
riki ducky
jay agreed
You stare at the text, the last and only text you received from Riki since that fateful day at the locker room. He’s been avoiding you like a plague, keeping distance, and ignoring your texts and calls like you’re a desperate ex. You sigh.
“I just—I don’t want to ruin our friendship! He’s the only alpha I want, but—” you run a hand through your hair. Wonyoung is slouching on the other end of the couch, listening to you like an unpaid therapist. “But does he want me?”
Wonyoung licks her popsicle and throws you a knowing look. “In my opinion, Y/N—you just need to go to his apartment. Trust me on this.”
You groan. “I just asked you that question! We don’t even know if he wants me!”
“Oh my God,” Wonyoung rolls her eyes, kicking at your thigh from where she’s sitting. “You guys are so insufferable and dramatic. Just go before I deliver you to him myself.”
“I’m not a parcel!”
“Just go!”
So, with reluctance and doubt scratching at your skin, you drag your feet to Riki’s apartment. It has been five days since he talked to you, and with your heat approaching fast, with your pre-heat symptoms wearing at your bones like a curse, you’re not sure if it’s the right idea to do so. He might kick you out. He might not even answer. Either way, it’ll be less embarrassing with no witnesses because Riki lives alone.
Stupid rich Japanese kid.
To your surprise, the door opens after the first ring, revealing a disheveled, messy Riki. His hair is tousled, like it’s been run by his fingers way too many times. His tank top sits snugly on his body, slightly crumpled and damp from sweat. His eyes, usually bright and lively, are now sharp and dark. You blink at him, taking in his unkempt figure swallowing the doorway with his height, before you finally ask:
“Can I come in?”
Riki opens the door wider like an invitation, letting you pass the threshold before closing it shut with a click. He lets you toe off your shoes, lets you lead him into the living room, lets you admire his furniture arrangement—though right now the space is untidy with unfolded clothes and discarded socks—but says nothing.
The hush between the two of you stretches, until Riki decides to break it, his voice low and grim.
“Why are you here? You should be with Jay.”
There is a hint of bitterness in his tone, and the spike in his scent just proves it further. You take a step towards him, careful and slow, waiting for his permission. When Riki doesn’t move, when he doesn’t stop you; you take another step.
“Riki,” you start, hands raising to touch his arms but dropping them back. Riki only stares. “What’s wrong, Riki? You’ve been avoiding me.”
Riki doesn’t answer right away, a storm behind his eyes as he only stares at you with a blank face. But the twitch in his jaw doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m not avoiding you,” he mutters, a barely restrained voice that tugs at your heart. “Just busy.”
“You’re not even replying to me,” you speak again, hearing the crack in your voice. Riki stiffens, his hands clenching into fists. “It—It hurts, Riki. I don’t know why you can’t just talk to me.”
Riki says nothing. His mouth is a prison, staring at you like he’s figuring how to breathe again. His scent reaches you—clean musk and sandalwood—only now it feels heavier, like the fragrance has been pulled down by the weight of his emotions. The sandalwood smells faintly burnt, and the musk has a dull edge, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.
And you hate it. You hate it so much that he’s been keeping things to himself. In another desperate attempt to get him talking, you tug at his wrist, the skin warm under your touch, but you flinch when Riki snatches his hand away. Wide-eyed and caught off guard, you stare at him with your heart in your throat.
Riki takes a step back, his mouth curling into a tight line. “Don’t touch me. I—I can’t deal with this right now.”
There is a jab of pain in your heart at his words, but you’re not backing down. Not now when the only person that you’re scared to lose is showing signs of slipping away. Not now when the wolf inside you is whimpering, agitated from Riki’s actions.
You have an idea where this is all coming from. Truly, you aren’t that stupid to not notice his distance right after you requested to spend your heat with Jay. If you have to point in one direction, you’d say that Riki has been acting like a jealous boyfriend. Surprisingly, that speculation doesn’t bother you.
It’s the why that’s drilling into your mind, pulling you away from a good night’s sleep everyday. It’s the why that’s invading your thoughts, fraying every nerve in your system, keeping you hostage to your own overthinking.
Because admitting them will give you hope—and hope is a dangerous thing when you’re in love. Especially when it’s one-sided. Especially when it’s just you on the boat, drowning like a locked chest into the abyss when your lifeline, your Riki is walking away from the shore.
So you try to brave up. “Please, Riki. Don’t shut me out,” you exhale shakily, the words lodging in your throat, “if this is about me and Jay, you should just tell me.”
That seems to hit a spot. Riki scoffs, weaving his fingers through his already-messy hair, sounding disbelieving. “What, you think I’m jealous?”
Your eyes narrow, pulse racing in your ears. “It does seem like it.”
Riki returns your gaze, clicking his tongue, the one habit he does when he’s annoyed. “Don’t push it, Y/N,” he doesn’t hesitate his next words, eyes locked onto yours like he wants you to digest and understand them. “You can fuck Jay if you want. I couldn’t fucking care less about you.”
The words land like a slap, but it’s Riki who flinches. He stares at you, eyes widening, realisation dawning upon his features. But it’s too late.
Your scent takes a sharp turn, burnt caramel filling the air. You stagger one step backwards, and Riki’s heart lurches when he sees your glassy eyes.
You swallow. “I see.”
“No,” Riki whispers, his wolf wailing in regret at the sight of your anguished, crumbled face, “fuck, Y/N. I—I didn’t mean that.”
You shake your head, a small, humourless laugh slipping past your lips like something is breaking. And it’s probably your heart. It’s definitely your heart. “It’s okay,” you say, too calmly. Too gently. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”
Riki’s chest tightens at that. At how quiet you suddenly are.
You turn away from him, movements stiff, deliberate, like if you move too fast, you’ll shatter. Each step you take feels heavy, your body screaming for you to get out before you embarrass yourself further. Before he sees you cry.
“Y/N, wait!” Riki reaches out instinctively, fingers grazing nothing but air as you slip past him.
You don’t look back. You can’t. Your throat burns, your vision blurring as you make your way toward the door. The apartment feels suffocating now, walls closing in, every trace of his scent pressing down on your lungs.
“I shouldn’t have come,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry for hoping.
Sorry for loving him.
Sorry for thinking you meant more.
The click of the door unlocking sounds painfully loud in the silence.
“Y/N.”
His voice cracks this time. Not sharp. Not defensive. It’s bare.
You pause, hand resting on the handle, shoulders trembling despite your efforts to stay composed. Your scent curls tighter, darker—burnt sugar and salt, grief bleeding into the air.
“I can’t stay here,” you say softly. “Not if that’s how you feel.”
The door opens a fraction before Riki’s hand slams against it, stopping it from opening any further.
You gasp, startled, heart leaping into your throat as his palm presses flat against the wood beside yours. He’s breathing hard now, chest rising and falling like he’s been running after something he’s terrified to lose.
“I said I didn’t mean it,” he forces out, voice rough, desperate. “Don’t—don’t leave. Please.”
Slowly, you turn back to look at him.
Riki’s eyes are red-rimmed, frantic, his scent spiraling wildly—clean musk fractured, sandalwood raw and aching, like it’s been split open. He looks nothing like the composed alpha who pushed you away moments ago.
“I can’t let you walk out like this,” he says, quieter now, like a confession he’s been holding back for years. “Not because of something I said just to hurt you.”
His fingers curl against the door, knuckles white.
Your lips tremble as the dam breaks. “Then why,” you sob, pushing at his chest weakly, “why would you say those things? Why would you push me away?”
Your hands feel useless against his broad body, like you’re trying to hold back a storm with nothing but your fingertips. Your breath comes out in ragged bursts, and you can’t stop the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. The air around you feels heavy, thick with the scent of him — sandalwood and something sharper, like his anger clinging to him even now.
“I know, I’m sorry, baby,” his voice is quiet, not at all budging from your soft hitting. It’s strange how calm he sounds when you feel like you’re breaking apart. He grabs your wrists, bringing them to his lips. His mouth is wet, trembling.
You pause.
His lips brush your skin again, a gentle pressure that feels almost reverent. It makes your heart twist, because you don’t know whether to feel comforted or crushed. You’re still shaking, still sobbing, still trying to understand how he could make you feel so safe and so hurt in the same breath.
“I care about you too much. So much that it drives me crazy.”
Riki finally looks up, his glassy eyes mirroring yours. The sandalwood now hangs bare in the air, stripped of any traces of pride. He looks smaller, like the weight of what he’s feeling is pressing him down.
“I’m so fucking jealous, Y/N. I—I can’t,” Riki swallows, closes his eyes in desperation, and then he drops.
He drops to his knees, and the sudden movement makes your breath hitch. His neck cranes to see you, like he needs to make sure you’re still there. His arms, pliant and strong, wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you in like you’re the only thing that keeps him from falling apart.
You can feel his heartbeat through his chest, fast and wild, matching your own. For a moment the world is just the two of you—his scent, his trembling breath, your tears—everything else fading until all that exists is the raw, aching truth between you.
Riki buries his nose into your stomach, the fabric dampens with his tears. “I’m sorry, so sorry, Y/N. Please, and this time I mean it, please don’t go to Jay.”
Your hands hover at your sides, not knowing where to place them. When you feel the muffled sob against your stomach, you finally let them drop into his hair, caressing the strands like you do a puppy. And right now, in this position and situation, Riki doesn’t seem less than one.
“Riki…” you whisper, soft and gentle.
“Please don’t go to Jay,” he pleads, looking up to you again, tears clinging to his lashes. Your heart clenches at the sight. “Please let me be your alpha. Please,” he confesses, gripping at your shirt like a lifeline.
“I only ever know to love you, Y/N,” he trembles like a dead leaf, his breath shaky, “And it kills me to even imagine you with someone that’s not me.”
Your lips part, your hands in his hair stilling.
I only ever know to love you, Y/N.
You don’t move at first. You think you don’t even breathe. You replay his words, re-reading the sentence in your mind as if scared the alphabets might rearrange themselves into something else—something that would call you out of your delusion.
But Riki, staring up at you earnestly, handing his heart over to you in his trembling palms, is not a delusion. He’s real. And he’s here, with you, saying words you only ever heard in your deepest fantasies.
You feel your shoulders sag a fraction, like something heavy just settled into place.
“Riki, come here.” You tap slowly at his arms, willing yourself to hide your shaky voice. “You’ll hurt your knees, baby. Come here.”
“Come back to me.”
Riki obeys without thinking twice. His height towers over you, and when it used to feel like he’s as far to reach as he is physically from you; now it feels safe. It feels firm, grounded; a protection only he can give you.
You cup his cheek, gazing into his eyes with a fondness you reserve only for him. The tears come back, but it’s not from pain anymore. There is a tinge of hurt still, from the words he carelessly threw to protect his pride. But his confession, your revelation, take priority now. It presses heavy on your tongue, begging to be let out, to escape from the misery of your unspoken feelings.
“Riki,” you start, almost breathless. “I love you, too.”
Riki almost stops breathing, but you keep caressing his cheeks to remind him to. To remind him that it’s true.
“I’ve always been. Even before I knew what it meant.”
Riki takes in a sharp breath before he lets himself lean into your touch. Pulling you into his arms, he buries his nose into your hair, inhaling lungfuls of your scent like a stray cat finally finding a home. You melt into his embrace, feeling every hard line of his body pressing into yours.
“I’m so sorry for feeling scared,” Riki whispers, still wet from tears, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship. You’re too precious to me, Y/N. I can’t risk that.”
You hum into his shoulders, taking in the way his scent becomes warmer, the sandalwood now is rid of its burnt edge. “I’m still hurt, but I get it. I was scared too, Ki. It’s the only reason why I asked for Jay.”
Apparently, Jay’s name serves as a trigger now. Riki breaks the hug and looks into your eyes, now dark with a desire waiting to be unleashed. He cups your jaw in a gentle manner, but the grip is firm.
“Will you let me take care of you?”
You nod, and when his face leans closer to yours, you let yourself get pulled in by the force of his affection; of the desire now curling and swirling in his eyes.
“Will you let me be your man?” he whispers, lips just a breath away from each other now. Riki noses your cheek with a tenderness akin to handling a glass. “Hm? Answer me, Y/N.”
Your breath hitches. “Yes, Riki. Please take care of me.”
Riki’s eyes soften as he stares into your eyes before he finally lets his lips engulf yours. The kiss starts slow at first, careful and tender and wet, tethering on the new boundaries made after a line has been crossed, before it gets heated and needy.
Riki kisses like a starved man, like your mouth is a well of water to quench his thirst. His hands now wander; gripping at your waist, squeezing at your hip, feeling your body with his rough, calloused hands like he’s trying to memorise you by touch.
“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, his body pressing into yours. He breaks the kiss, breath now ragged, and stares at you with a new level of depth that makes something inside you flutter. Your eyes are glassy and dazed, and Riki curses at himself for letting himself get carried away.
“I’m so sorry. Is your heat near?”
When you nod, Riki moves slightly, but your hands are faster, clamping around his arms like a pair of cuffs. “Where are you going?” there is a pout in your voice, and Riki near damn coos. “You said you’ll take care of me.”
Riki’s jaw clenches, his hands flexing at his sides, a barely contained desire that he tries so hard to control. “I—I want to, Y/N, trust me. But this—” he gestures at the both of you, trying to create words from air, “this will change everything about us. We can’t stay as just friends after this. And that’s a big thing, Y/N.”
Riki licks his lips, eyes flicking to yours in a brief glance before he looks to the floor again.
“I don’t want you to make hasty decisions or regret anything.”
Your chest swells at that, and you couldn’t help the grin that splits across your face. Rubbing into his arms in soothing circles, you can’t keep the love and affection from bleeding into your voice when you speak.
“I won’t regret anything with you, Riki.” You pause, watching the man before you earnestly. God, he’s so handsome. You smile. “I want to do this with you, Ki. I choose you. And I’ll have you so long you want to have me, too.”
Riki doesn’t move. His eyes search yours, looking for the faintest hint of discomfort and lies. But when all he can see is your eyes reflecting his love, he finally lets the tension off his shoulders.
“Okay,” Riki nods, wetting his lips once more. “Okay. I—thank you for that, Y/N, truly. I was about to kidnap you if you said no.”
You laugh at that, eyes wrinkling in joy, the tension easing up a bit. Riki touches your cheek, thumb brushing your tears slowly before letting go.
“Can you wait in my bedroom? I need to call your mom first. She needs to know that I’m about to eat her daughter alive.”
A rosy heat blooms across your face before you hit his shoulders playfully. Riki throws you a smirk, shrugging with nonchalance.
“What? Aren’t I a good future son-in-law?”
“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes, but the wide grin you have betrays you completely. “Be quick, Ki. Don’t leave me for too long.”
“Oh, I will, baby. I’m a greedy man after all.”
Riki winks, and you groan. To save yourself from further embarrassment, you make a small run for his bedroom, feeling his eyes boring holes into your skull as you leave.
The living room seems to expand in your absence. Riki lets out a low, dark chuckle. He pockets his phone out of his sweatpants and makes a quick dial to your mother.
It’s just a brief call, with him letting your mother know what’s going to go down in less than forty-eight hours, listening to the relief in her voice when she realises it’s going to be him. After giving her his words of promises, Riki finally heads to his room.
The door creaks open and in an instant, a heavy, thick wave of vanilla scent washes over him. Riki staggers, gripping his phone in an attempt to recover from the smell of arousal practically dripping in the air.
His eyes find you on the bed, and the sight nearly takes his breath away.
There, perched on the bed, body slicked with sweat and completely naked, is you. You’re hugging his blanket to your nose, inhaling his pheromones, dizzy from his masculine, earthy sandalwood.
Your eyes meet his, glassy and dazed, drunk on hormones and heat.
“It’s hot, Riki,” there are wet noises coming from you, and only then does he realise that you have been fucking yourself on your fingers, using your own slick as lube. Riki feels his cock throb, eyes tranced on the way your hips move. “Smell so good, alpha, need you to fuck me.”
Your heat is here, and the trigger has been his own pheromones, which smells the strongest in his room. Riki curses under his breath, mentally slapping himself for overlooking the effects his pheromones over omega nearing their heat. He pushes the door close with his foot, not breaking eye contact with you as you moan, fingers moving faster.
Riki’s hold on his phone is knuckle-white, feeling the restraint leaving his body with every inhale of your intoxicating scent.
“Alpha,” you pant, fisting at his blanket closer, and Riki swears he’s leaking precum. “Need you s’bad. Please.”
Riki wills himself to not jump on you, hands clenching and unclenching as he tries to steady his own breathing.
It’s probably the hardest he’s ever tried.
Closing his eyes, he forces control into his system, chanting like a mantra that he’s here to help you with your heat, to make it less painful for you. That now it’s about you and not him, and Riki will pull the trigger himself if he ever touches you in any way that you don’t consent to.
Taking one last breath, Riki opens his eyes again. This time, there is a primal need lurking in his gaze, but it feels grounded and controlled. He circles the bed slowly, letting your noises greet his senses like music of sins. He puts his phone on the bedside and turns to face you, still not saying anything.
You scramble to kneel on the bed and pull him close by his waistband, fingers soaked and shaking. Your big, misty eyes peer at him through your lashes, practically begging him to take you.
“Riki, please.”
His rough palm cups your cheeks, breath getting shallow and short.
“Please what, baby?” he finally speaks, low and sensual. You pout.
“Please fuck me, alpha.”
Riki groans and finally, finally, leans down and captures your mouth in a rough kiss. You sigh, tugging his hair as you deepen the kiss. Your teeth clash against his, his tongue licking into your mouth, pushing back your moans into your throat.
“Such a needy baby,” he rasps, grabbing your hips as he moves you to the center of the bed, manhandling you with ease. You bite your lips at the show of his strength. “Can’t even wait for me, hm? Should I just leave you with your fingers?”
You shake your head frantically, choking out a moan when Riki slides up his clothed knee against your folds. “No, please. Need your fingers. Need your cock, Riki.”
“Yeah?” Riki taunts, his eyes darkening as you hump your cunt on his knees, desperate for friction and release. He leans down, silver chain dangling cold against your hot skin, catching the shell of your ear with his teeth.
“Tell me how much you need it, baby,” he purrs, leaving hot trails down the side of your throat. You tilt your head back, offering your neck like a meal. And what a fucking meal you are to him. “Tell me how badly you need my thick cock in your pussy right now.”
He sucks on the tender skin to leave a mark before moving to litter more of it on your skin. You mewl, gripping his shirt desperately.
“Need you to—ah—need your cock to fill me up,” you whimper, arching your back when Riki descends, closing his mouth around one of your nipples. He sucks on it like he does a lollipop, flicking his tongue at the perky nipple, his other hand kneading your other boob. “Need you to fuck me until I can’t think—ah! Riki!”
His finger finds your clit and flicks the nub, pressing and rolling it with a precision that has you choke on lust. “I’ll fuck you good baby,” he rasps, watching you with his sharp, dark eyes, capturing your expressions into his memory. His sweatpants tighten painfully. “But I need to prepare you first, hm?”
“No,” you sob, hips bucking into his touch. Riki’s eyes never leave yours, his arm still holding himself strong over your body. “I’m ready. Just fuck me, please.”
Riki coos and kisses your tear-stricken face. “I know, baby. You’re fucking soaked down there.” He groans, feeling another slick ooze out of your hole as if proving his point. Riki bites his lip. “But I don’t wanna hurt you—fuck, you’re grinding on my palm, baby.” Riki lets out a dark chuckle, letting you use his palm to get off. “So fucking greedy.”
You whine when he removes his hand, your hole clenching at nothing. Riki pulls your ankle to the edge of the bed, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he slowly kneels for the second time that night, his hot breath fanning on your weeping cunt.
He draws a lungful of your arousal and groans, the scent wrapping around him like a warm blanket.
Caramel and vanilla fill his lungs, and for a moment his whole body stills—like he’s been struck by how perfectly you’re made for him. Riki holds your gaze, refusing to look away when he licks a fat stripe on your folds.
“Oh!” Your hand flies to tug at his hair, a sob escaping your lips. Riki laps at your cunt again, humming at the sweet taste on his tongue, flicking that muscle between your slits before pressing onto your clit. You choke, squishing his head between your thighs.
“So good, alpha, feels so good,” you cry out, grinding on his tongue as he plays with your clit. “‘M close, gonna come, ah, ah—”
The orgasm jerks your entire body, your vision going white for a few seconds. But Riki doesn’t stop. His eyes are hooded as he drinks in your juice, lapping at your folds without wasting a single drop before he slips in his index finger.
Your body arches off the mattress. “Riki!” You scream, the stretch burns but it burns so fucking good. He slides in another digit, finger-fucking you through another orgasm, caressing and pressing the spongy walls with all the fervor of a hungry man. His tongue continues flicking your clit, the numb bundle of nerves sending a tingling sensation across your body.
Tears brim along your lashline, too drunk on lust and heat pheromones and overstimulation. “‘M close, Riki, ah,” you pull his hair, eliciting a groan that vibrates in your pussy. “Riki!”
Your second climax hits you in shockwaves. The man between your legs kitty-licks your pussy, letting you ride out your orgasm before he climbs onto your figure. His mouth and chin are wet from your slick, lips shining with sin and spit.
“You taste divine, my love,” he pops his fingers into his mouth and makes a show of his tongue swirling around his cum-coated digits, sucking on the remnants of your juice. You mewl. “I can eat you out forever.”
You watch him grin, still breathless from your previous orgasm. But the heat crawls back into your nerves and before you know it, you’re wet again, needy again. Riki knows it, of course he does. He settles himself between your legs, peeling off his drenched tank top.
Your mouth waters at his well-defined body. You’ve always known how hot your best friend is, especially after his alpha-presentation. He’s all muscles and sinful lines, sculpted by the Greek gods themselves. Riki knows he’s hot, and he never fails to show you that he knows; if his smirk is anything to go by.
“My baby’s been waiting for my cock, aren’t you?” His thumb grazes your bottom lip with a gentleness that clashes with the hunger in his eyes. You hum, feeling his eyes soften on you.
Riki leans down and gives you a soft, slow kiss. He pecks the tip of your nose before caressing your cheek with his. Inside, your omega purrs in satisfaction at the display of affection.
“Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”
You nod. Riki nudges your nose with his, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Use your mouth, baby.”
“Yes.” You breathe out, and your legs hook around his waist without thinking, pulling him closer. You grind your bare cunt against his clothed length, slow at first, then faster, as if you need to prove something to yourself. The fabric presses into you, and the friction sends a shock through your nerves. Riki groans, a disbelieving chuckle leaving his lips before he straightens up.
His eyes never leave you. “So impatient,” he sighs, his voice low and amused.
He yanks his sweatpants and boxer off in one go, hissing when his cock springs free, rock-hard and rigid. You almost drool at the sight.
He’s big. Fuck, he’s too damn big.
“Cat got your tongue, baby?” Riki grunts, stroking his cock in languid motions, slicked with his precum, watching your face like a predator stalking its prey.
Your eyes stay glued to him, glazing over in a trance. You can’t stop staring, like you’re afraid to blink and lose the image.
“So big,” you murmur, your voice shaking.
Riki can’t help the triumphant smirk on his face, his alpha howling in pride.
“Too big, alpha, fuck.”
“I know,” he rasps, lining his cock against your entrance,“I don’t even know if it will fit.”
Then, with a single thrust, he slides in. You gasp, the sting blooming sharp and hot before melting into something dizzying, your stomach tightening as if it’s being pulled inward around him.
“But you will make it fucking fit.”
Riki pushes in inch by inch, noting every micro-expression of discomfort in your pretty face, your breath stuttering, hands gripping at him as the pressure curls low in your belly.
“Tell me if it hurts, love.”
“It hurts,” you croak, the words breaking apart on your tongue, wrapping your arms around his neck, mouth moving against mouth. “But it hurts so good, Riki.”
Riki kisses you through the pain, whispering comfort and praises into your ears, easing you into it. When he finally bottoms out, you almost sob again, the fullness stretching deep, heavy and overwhelming, heat pooling in your stomach until it feels like you can’t think past it.
“Still good?” Riki asks, jaw clenching at the feeling of your walls hugging his length. You nod, feeling the tension in your muscle unclench.
“Y-You can move now, Riki.”
Something dark glints in his eyes. “I can’t fucking move, baby,” he chuckles lowly, the sound torn and breathless, vibrating straight into you, “your pussy’s sucking me in.”
You moan at his crude words, your walls clenching around his dick. Riki lets out a curse before sliding out and thrusting back in with a snap of his hip. You scream, the sound sharp and unplanned, nails scratching his arms as your stomach clenches tight.
“S’tight, love,” he gives you another sharp thrust, hitting that sweet spot easily, breath mingling with yours. “Pussy so tiny, baby, fuck,” he growls into your ears. You nod, mind turning mushy from heat and pleasure. “Can you feel me deep inside your—fuck—tight cunt,” he pants, each word making your belly flutter helplessly, shoving his cock with a powerful thrust that has you seeing stars, “filling you up with my fat cock?”
“Yes!” you sob, voice cracking, breath hitching between syllables, wetting your face with another round of tears. The air smells of pheromones and sex, slicked bodies tangled in sheets. “More, more, more, please.”
“So fucking good to me,” Riki stares you down, eyes clouded with lust, drinking in the way your breasts jingle every time his hips meet yours. He moans. “You’re so beautiful, my pretty baby. Were you gonna let Jay see you like this?”
Your walls instinctively clench at the image, your stomach dropping hot and heavy, and Riki lets out a dark, wicked laugh at that. His gaze sharpens, his pace getting rougher and sharper as he looks at you with newly-lit fire in his eyes.
“You’re so fucking shameless,” he spits.
You whine from his harsh words, but your body only responds more, slick pooling hotter between your legs. The shame digs into your ribs, but the need overrides it.
Riki’s jaw twitches.
“Were you gonna beg for his cock, huh? You think he can fuck you good like this?”
“No—Riki, no—only you—ah, oh God.”
His thrusts don’t slow. They become relentless, each one harder than the last, his hips snapping in a steady rhythm that leaves you breathless. Your moans bounce off the walls, high and broken, tangled with the wet sound of skin meeting skin, as you shake your head, shame and lust clawing at your throat.
Riki lifts your hips and grabs your ass, the new angle making you roll your eyes in pleasure. You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the sound, but the sensation is too much.
“Yes, yes—there! Fuck, Riki, more, please,” you moan, high-pitched and broken, feeling the familiar rush inside your belly.
His breath comes out ragged, his body leaning forward like he’s trying to bury himself into you. The heat between you tightens, and you can feel the way his length presses deeper with each thrust.
“I’m never letting go, baby,” Riki pants, damp fringes framing his eyes, his thrust growing faster and sloppy. “This pussy is fucking mine.”
“‘M yours,” you slur, mind turning fuzzy from the feeling of his cock splitting you open. “I’m only—ah—yours!”
“That’s right, baby,” Riki growls, pressing into your hips with a bruising grip. His breath is frantic, his voice pitching into a higher tone. “You’re fucking mine, shit—I’m close.”
“Please give me your knot—ah!” You scream, begging for his knot and cum incoherently, drool trailing down your chin. A stuttered moan leaves your chest when Riki thumbs at your clit, bringing you closer to the edge. His bulge is growing inside you, and you shudder in anticipation for his knot.
“Take my fucking knot,” he grunts, and you nod, mind going hazy from being fucked dumb.
“Knot—give me your knot—alpha—I’m—close! Oh God, Riki!” His name tears off your throat in a shrill scream, drowning out Riki’s low, guttural growl as he comes with you. His cock inflates inside your belly, pumping into you full and stretched, riding out the waves before he collapses on top of you, careful not to let his weight crash over you.
“Hey,” Riki whispers after a pause, brushing your hair from your forehead, his heart clenching at the sight of your tears. “Baby, is it too much? You good?”
You let out a low hum, closing your eyes as Riki peppers your face with kisses. Your body feels heavy, pleasantly spent, limbs loose like you might melt straight into the mattress if he lets go.
“M’good,” you murmur, voice thick and sleepy. “Just… a lot.”
Riki exhales, something like relief softening his features. He shifts carefully, cautious of the knot still swelling inside your belly, adjusting the sheets around you both, one hand resting warm and steady on your waist like an anchor. “Yeah,” he whispers, brushing his thumb under your eye. “I figured.”
He stays like that—no rush, no urgency—just tracing slow, absent patterns against your skin, grounding you back into yourself. Every now and then, he presses a kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, like he’s checking that you’re still here with him.
“You did so good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So brave.”
Your chest tightens at that, but this time it’s not overwhelming. It’s gentle. Safe. You shift closer, instinctively tucking yourself against him, and Riki immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you in without hesitation.
“I love you,” Riki whispers into your hair. The thrill and adrenaline finally die down, leaving behind small tingles of love and affection that makes your chest feel too small. You tighten your hold.
“I love you too, Riki,” you sigh, feeling another wave of heat coursing through your veins. Shit. You almost forgot that you’re in heat. Riki only laughs when he feels your hole pushing out more slick.
“My baby’s so horny, yeah?”
“It’s the heat!” You hide your face in his chest, cheeks burning, then peek one eye open at him. Riki’s starry eyes hold yours, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be but in your arms. You shy away. “Can we do another round? Please?”
He laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that warms up your chest. Planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, Riki meets your pleading eyes with a boxy grin.
“Of course we can, my love,” he murmurs, “anything for you.”
A comfortable silence falls over you like a weighted blanket. Riki rubs his nose against your scent gland, basking you in his warm sandalwood and clean musk, feeling you grow relaxed in his arms as you wait for the knot to deflate before you speak again.
“And can you actually bring me to that steak place after my heat ends?”
Riki snorts quietly. “Yeah,” he says, tightening his hold on you. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”
high sex drive with dino… he feels like one who would have high sex drive…
high sex drive!dino headcanons
high sex drive!dino who keeps being made fun of by his friends and roommates for having to change his boxers multiple times a day because he precums like crazy!!
high sex drive!dino who has to keep fisting his cock each morning and night, mouth open in a silent “o”, so he won’t be randomly hard during the day around you (like that one time he was unbelievably hard on an amusement park date)
high sex drive!dino who can go round after round. you challenged him one day, believing that your sex drive was higher than his—that your stamina and drive can last longer. you really regretted that decision after he made you cum for the fourth time, the plat plat plat sound of his hips meeting yours had turned into a squelch from dino’s cum leaking from your little hole. “Not so cocky now, huh? just be quiet and take this cock.”
high sex drive!dino who’s biggest kink is you sucking him off. the thought of you, on your knees in front of his leaking cock, was what made him so hard during the day. so, naturally, he used your mouth every second of everyday when you two were together. just minutes before his photoshoot, he had you in his dressing room, fist full of your hair while you gagged around his length. he has to film a tiktok? he has convinced you that the only way he can get a perfect take is by you sucking him dry beforehand. his abs would tense, his face tilting upward with a groan as he pumped his cum down your throat for the third time that day.
high sex drive!dino who gets whiny when you are away for too long or you’re stuck in traffic or whatever reason—because why can’t he just fuck you when he’s hard? expect a facetime call when you’re out with your friends; your screen lighting up with him lazily stroking his cock, naked on the bed. “I miss you and your pussy. come home.”
a/n: the maknae king!! i had a lot of requests for dino so i am only answering to this one but if u requested, i hope u like <3
summary you and jack have always been a hands-on, can’t-keep-your-hands-off-each-other kind of couple—until you decide to commit to a month-long “detox.” no sex, no touching, no shortcuts. jack feels like the least sought after man in the land. (ao3)
(inspired by sabrina carpenter’s my man on willpower (2025)!)
tags/warnings MDNI (18+) explicit sexual content, age gap (mid-20s / 50s), established relationship, living together, unprotected p in v, oral (f/m, m/f) handjobs (mutual), mentions of masturbation, praise & teasing, domestic, hospital/medical stuff / orthopaedics (r3), wellness / “spiritual” themes, r. can do splits, santos being santos (mentions of santos/garcia breakup), robby lowkey ur third lol, healthy, sane relationship, more romcom than angst (much less sad than the actual song) (written by a law student, not a doctor—medical accuracy idkher)
wc 16.5k words
“I’m sorry,” Jack says slowly, like he’s trying very hard to be reasonable, “I’m still… a little lost here—what exactly are you doing?”
You don’t turn around from the stove. You know that tone. Measured and suspicious. The same one he uses when a story from a patient doesn’t quite add up, or when he’s looking for you to notice what he has noticed in your words.
“I’m doing a detox,” you say, plating the pasta with unnecessary precision. “So—you know, yoga, no alcohol, no drugs, no screens, no shopping, no sex, no soda—”
“—right there,” he cuts in.
You pause, glancing over your shoulder. “…No soda?”
He doesn’t even blink. “No. The no sex.”
You turn back to the counter, like this is completely normal. “What, you can’t handle a month without sex?”
Jack doesn’t bite—doesn’t rise to it like someone your age would. He just watches you, lips pursed, arms folded, weight settled into one hip, expression flattening into something more deliberate.
“Not when it’s without you,” he says, simple.
You huff a small laugh, trying to shake off the way it lands somewhere inconvenient in your chest. “That’s flattering. That will get you very far.”
You slide his plate toward him. He doesn’t take it yet.
“It’s not like I won’t miss it,” you add, softer now. “Same as alcohol. Same as everything else.”
“Yeah,” he says, pushing off the counter finally, crossing the kitchen in a few easy steps. “Difference is alcohol’s not making you come in under ten minutes, and four times in an hour.”
You shoot him a look—sharp, immediate.
He shrugs, already reaching past you into the fridge like he didn’t just say that. “It’s a valid comparison.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You love it,” he shrugged, knowing, grabbing the cheese. “Point is - you know, it’s a big difference.”
You try not to smile. You fail, a little.
“I just—” you sigh, taking the cheese from him, grating it over your pasta. “I want to do something that requires actual discipline. Reset a bit. Clear my head.”
“Hon,” he says, quieter now, leaning his shoulder against the counter beside you, close enough that his arm brushes yours, “you work ortho and you’re an R3. You’re up for thirty hours at a time, you operate on broken bones for fun, you look amazing, you’re healthy—what part of you needs more discipline?”
You glance at him. He’s looking at you properly now. Not teasing.
You soften a fraction. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
You hesitate. Just a second too long.
“…It’s just a month,” you settle on. “Four weeks. Thirty days. We’ll live.”
He studies you. You can feel it—clinical, almost. Like he’s trying to diagnose something you’re not saying out loud.
Then—
“And this is just penetration?” he asks.
You freeze.
Your silence is loud.
Jack exhales, slow, disbelieving, dragging a hand down over his mouth. “Goddamn.”
You busy yourself with the plates again. “It’s part of the program.”
“Program,” he repeats flatly. “Who the hell put you up to this?”
“Santos. and McKay. We all agreed to do it together.”
That earns you a look.
“…Santos,” he says, like he’s deeply reconsidering several life choices. “Of course this has Santos written all over it - getting you into a nun-cult thing.”
You laugh despite yourself, handing him his bowl. “It’s not a cult. It’s a detox.”
“It’s a sexless cult,” he mutters, taking the bowl.
You nudge his hip with yours. “You’ve survived longer droughts.”
“Yeah,” he shoots back immediately. “In the army.”
You grin. “Oh, here we go.”
“You’re really gonna do this to me?” he says, following you toward the couch. “Make the disabled veteran relive his worst years?”
“Your worst years were not lack of sex, be serious.”
“Debatable.”
You snort, dropping onto the couch, tucking your legs under you. He sits beside you, close—closer than necessary, knee knocking into yours, like he’s testing the boundaries of this already.
You hand him a fork.
“It’ll be good for us,” you say, softer now. “Builds character.”
He looks at you sidelong. “I have enough character.”
“You could always use more.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
His hand comes up—absent, habitual—resting warm at your knee, thumb brushing once, slow. Not even thinking about it. Your breath catches before you can stop it.
His mouth twitches, just slightly. Not quite a smile.
“…Fine. I’ll do whatever I can to support you in this… detox, thing,” he says.
You smile, even though his calloused hand is rubbing softly against your skin, warm, rough and inched maybe a little further onto your thigh. “I appreciate that.”
He leans back into the couch, finally picking up his fork, but his hand doesn’t move from your leg.
A pause.
Then—
“We can still watch Housewives?” he asks, like this is the real negotiation.
You let out a breath, tension cracking just enough to smile. “Housewives stays.”
“Right,” he nods. “Good. Thought you were gonna take everything from me.”
You roll your eyes, nudging him with your shoulder. “So you think you can handle this?”
“‘Course I can handle this.”
★★★
“I can’t handle this,” Jack says.
Robby doesn’t even look up as he checks his watch, pulling up his sleeves as they step outside, already smiling like he’s been waiting for this. “It’s just a month, man. Cool it.”
“It’s not just a month,” Jack shoots back, arms folded, pacing a tight line along the bay, outside the ED. “It’s a month without her. There’s a difference.”
Robby snorts. “Oh, I’m sure there is.”
“I’m serious,” Jack says, sharper now. “You don’t get it—you don’t—” he gestures vaguely, frustrated. “When you have her, she’s— she’s everything. It’s not just sex, it’s…. well, it is, but it's also more, it's... deeper? No, it's... you know, I mean—”
“—you were about to say something amazingly poetic and then ruined it,” Robby cuts in, amused.
“Yeah, well,” Jack mutters. “We have sex four to five times a week. Minimum three. And now?” He throws his hands up. “Nothing. She won’t even let me spoon her.”
Robby pauses.
Then looks up slowly.
“…Spooning.”
“Don’t,” Jack warns.
Robby’s grin breaks wide. “Jack Abbot. Spooning. Are you the big or little one? Or does it switch?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“That’s… wow,” Robby shakes his head, impressed. “It’s a cute image.”
Jack drags a hand over his face, already irritated. “Not even—nothing. It’s like I’m in a goddamn monastery.”
“Voluntarily celibate,” Robby nods. “Very spiritual of you.”
“I did not volunteer,” Jack snaps.
“You stayed,” Robby counters.
Jack glares at him, then looking out into the evening. “Where the hell are they? They said two minutes.”
“Relax,” Robby says, still enjoying this far too much. “Also— five times a week? Christ, having that kind of libido at your age?” He clicks his tongue, an exhale. “Impressive. You should get that checked out.”
“Forget that,” Jack mutters. “She’ll kill me if I’m talking about this.”
“Oh, so there’s still fear. Good. That’s healthy.”
Jack exhales sharply, jaw tight, eyes flicking back out toward the ambulance bay.
“How long’s it been since you two…?” Robby asks, vaguely gesturing, curious as to how his friend is already so wound up.
Jack hesitates.
“…Two days.”
There’s a beat.
Robby stares at him. “…Two days,” he repeats.
Jack doesn’t answer.
Robby lets out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “You’re kidding me.”
“I wish I was.”
“You’re like this after two days?”
Jack shrugs, already keyed up. “Look, I mean, that is including any kind of touch and sexual actions, alright—”
“That’s pathetic,” Robby says, still grinning.
“I know,” Jack snaps, pacing again now, faster. “I know, it’s—this is ridiculous. She won’t even kiss me, barely hugs me. She’s… walking around like nothing’s changed—”
“Yeah,” Robby hums. “Almost like she’s not the one with the problem. Just let her ride this out. You expect her to put on a nun costume?”
Jack shoots him a look. “You're not helping.”
“I’m not trying to,” Robby says easily.
Jack exhales, running a hand through his silver waves, agitation sitting just under the surface now. He glances out again, scanning for lights, for movement.
“Where the hell are they?” he mutters. “They said two minutes.”
Robby straightens a fraction, checking his watch again. “Traffic, maybe—”
“Ambulance crashed!”
The shout cuts through the bay, and their conversation is finished quickly as they race out with nurses to help.
★★★
Jack Abbot was a strong man, in many respects.
He’d seen enough—done enough—to have a working relationship with pain, with loss, with the kind of things that hollow people out if they let it. He wasn’t perfect, but he was… steady. More emotionally literate than most men he knew—Robby included, which wasn’t exactly a high bar, but still.
He knew how to sit in discomfort. Knew how to carry it. Knew how to endure.
But this. This thing you were doing…
The thing about you was, he’d never really had to hold back before.
From the moment you’d settled into his life—properly, fully, toothbrush next to his, your things in his drawers, your presence in every corner of his apartment—he’d made a decision: you get all of him. Whatever he has, whatever he can give, whenever you want, it’s yours.
That includes the easy things. The soft things.
And yeah—sex too.
It wasn’t the foundation of your relationship. Not even close. Two years together, six months living side by side, working different departments, different hours—you loved each other in ways that had nothing to do with sex.
But – Christ. It didn’t hurt that the sex was very good.
And you—young, bright, all sharp edges and softness in the right places—you’d woken something up in him he hadn’t realised had gone quiet. Made him feel… not younger, exactly, but awake.
Kept him on his toes. Made him care, in small stupid ways—like going to the gym on his off days so he could keep up with you, so he didn’t feel like he was lagging behind when you dragged him out into the world.
You were tactile in a way that blurred the line between affection and need. Always finding him. You always managed to make him feel like the centre of any and all desires.
Hands on his arm when you passed. Fingers hooking into his belt loops when you walked past him in the kitchen. Leaning into him mid-conversation like gravity pulled you there. Curling into his side on the couch, half on top of him, legs tangled, absentmindedly tracing patterns over his chest like you didn’t even realise you were doing it.
You’d climb into his lap without asking. Kiss him just because you could. Start something in the middle of nowhere—half a joke, half not—just to see the way he’d react.
It didn’t go unnoticed. Robby had picked up on it within the first few weeks.
Some shitty bar down the road with shittier beer, end of shift, nothing special—and all Jack could do was watch you.
“The hell did you find her?” Robby asked, leaning against the bar, eyes flicking between Jack and where you were across the room, laughing too loud at something Ellis had said, drink loose in your hand.
Jack followed his line of sight without meaning to. It softened him, visibly.
“She found me,” he said, like that explained anything. Took a sip of his beer. “Cafeteria. First week at PTMC.”
Robby hummed, unconvinced. “Right. Of course she did.”
Jack shrugged, trying for casual. “She’s… enthusiastic.”
Robby glanced back at you, just in time to see the way your attention shifted mid-conversation—like something had tugged on you. Your eyes landed on Jack immediately.
Locked. And then—there it was. That smile. Not polite, not social. Specific.
“Yeah,” Robby muttered. “That’s one word for it.”
You were already moving.
Didn’t even finish whatever you were saying, just peeled off like the rest of the room had lost its relevance. Straight line to Jack, weaving through people without hesitation.
You slipped into his space like you belonged there, like you always had.
“Hi,” you said, bright, a little breathless. “Missed you.”
Jack blinked. “You’ve been gone fifteen minutes.”
“Felt longer,” you shrugged, already reaching for him—fingers brushing over his bicep, then squeezing, slow and appreciative, like you were reminding yourself he was real. “I love this shirt.”
Robby snorted into his drink. He knew that shirt. Cheap, slightly too tight on purpose. Jack had once tried to pretend it wasn’t a strategy. Apparently, it was working.
You didn’t move away. If anything, you leaned closer—hips brushing his, hand still on his arm, thumb dragging once like you couldn’t quite help it.
Robby watched the exact second Jack stopped pretending this wasn’t affecting him.
“You busy?” you asked, softer now.
You tilted your head, smiling like you already knew the answer.
Then you leaned in.
Close enough that Robby couldn’t hear, but not subtle about it either—your mouth brushing Jack’s ear, your hand tightening slightly on his arm as you murmured something low.
Whatever it was, Jack went still.Immediate. A shift. Shoulders tightening, breath catching, eyes dropping to you like he needed a second to recalibrate.
Robby raised a brow. You pulled back like nothing had happened, smile sweet, completely unbothered. Jack set his beer down.
“We’re heading out,” he said.
Robby stared at him. “You just got here.”
“Yeah,” Jack replied, already reaching for his jacket. “We’re done.”
Jack had called it the honeymoon phase. It wasn’t. It just… evolved.
You stayed exactly as enthusiastic as he’d first described—just more efficient about it. More integrated into the rhythm of your lives. Somehow worse, if you asked Robby.
And when you were stressed—which was often, given Ortho, given your hours, given you—it got worse. Or better, depending on who you asked.
You’d come home wired, exhausted, brain still running at full speed—and instead of shutting down, you’d go straight to him. Like he was the off-switch. Like being close to him, touching him, feeling him, was how you came back to yourself.
You didn’t overthink it. You didn’t ration it.
And now nothing. He’s not sure if he recognises you.
It’s not just the sex. That’s the worst of it, sure. The obvious absence. But it’s everything else that’s starting to wear on him. You’re thorough with it. Annoyingly disciplined.
★★★
Day Six.
He gets home just after eight in the morning, dead on his feet, the kind of tired that sits behind his eyes and dulls everything out.
The apartment’s not quiet. That’s the first thing.
The second— You.
On the floor in the lounge, in the middle of a yoga mat, moving through a pose like this is something you’ve always done. You quit yoga a year ago. Said it was boring. Said you couldn’t sit still long enough.
And yet here you are. And Santos is with you. Which is… its own problem. There’s a lot to unpack there.
Why does Santos know where you live?
Why is Santos doing yoga?
Why are you wearing that—some tight, soft, barely-there athleisure set that looks like it was designed specifically to make his life harder?
“Hi, baby!” you call, bright, easy, like nothing’s changed, as you both move into cobra.
“Gross,” Santos mutters under her breath.
“Hey, hon,” Jack says, voice rough with fatigue as he steps in, toeing off his shoes.
The coffee table’s been shoved aside, the TV playing some overly calm instructor guiding you through it like this is a wellness retreat instead of his living room.
He walks over anyway—automatic, like always. Bends down, aiming for your mouth—
—and you shift just slightly.
It’s subtle. Anyone else wouldn’t clock it. But he does.
His kiss lands on your cheek instead.
You don’t even break the pose.
“No kisses during yoga, interrupts my zen,” you remind him lightly.
A beat.
“Right,” he says, quieter. “Forgot about that.”
There’s the faintest pause—just enough to feel it.
“Feels like it’s all the time lately,” he adds under his breath. Then, correcting himself, “But—yeah. I get it.”
You hum, already moving out of cobra like nothing’s happened.
He straightens, slower now, glancing at Santos.
She rolls her eyes.
“Next pose,” she says flatly.
You shift without hesitation.
“You should shower, then have some breakfast,” you tell him gently, already moving into child’s pose. “I made oats. They’re in the fridge.”
“Oats?” he repeats. “Since when do you eat oats?”
“It’s good for your gut, heart health, digestion, blood sugar,” Santos answers, not looking up. “Cleansing in some cultures.”
Jack blinks at her. “…Right. I’ve been a doctor for twenty years. Think I’ve got gut health covered, Trinity.”
“I don’t think your army rations count as a gut health plan,” she shoots back.
You let out a small laugh into the mat.
“I thought you said oats were for Victorian children and farmers who hate themselves,” Jack adds to you.
“They are,” you mumble. “But these have honey and cinnamon.”
Santos chimes. “And spite.”
Jack just stares at the two of you for a second.
Looking at you—folded into the pose, calm, deliberate. Not reaching for him. Not pulling him down. Like he’s background noise.
“Okay,” he says finally, a little clipped. “You two… have fun.” He drags a hand over his face. “I’m gonna sleep for about five hours.”
He turns, already heading for the bedroom, shoulders a little tighter than when he walked in.
You glance up, watching him go.
There’s a beat of silence.
Santos shifts beside you into a side plank, already shaking slightly. “Jesus Christ.”
You follow, steady.
“He seems… stable,” she says.
“He’s a bit grumpy,” you reply. “We haven’t touched in nearly a week.”
Santos’s head snaps toward you. “So?”
“We’re touchy people.”
“Right,” she nods once. “I hate happy couples.”
You huff a quiet laugh.
“This was your idea, by the way,” you remind her.
“Yeah, and it’s a good one,” she says immediately. “I needed to not text Garcia at 2AM and ruin my life again.”
“You could just… not text her.”
Santos looks at you like you’ve said something deeply stupid. “Oh, yeah. Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”
You smile slightly.
“She blocked me last night,” Santos adds, flat.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. ‘For her peace.’” She makes air quotes with one hand, nearly losing balance. “Which is crazy, because I’m incredibly peaceful.”
“Well, this detox thing is a great idea. You’ll cleanse yourself of her.”
“Evil lesbians are not for the weak.”
“Hon, where are those scented candles?” Jack calls from the hallway, voice carrying through the apartment.
“I threw them out,” you call back. “They release benzene. Cleansing, remember?”
There’s a pause.
“…Of course you did,” he mutters, just loud enough.
Santos snorts as you both move into the next stretch, threading your arm under your body.
“Bit much, isn’t it?” she says.
You exhale into the mat. “I am going to be so aggressively cleansed by the end of this, you’d consider me the Virgin Mary.”
★★★
Day Nine.
Virgin Mary, my ass.
That’s all Jack can think as he leans in the doorway for a second too long, watching you at the counter. Pink, ridiculous, barely-there panties.
The ones from Valentine’s. His t-shirt hanging off you like it belongs there, cut just high enough that every small shift of your hips flashes skin he knows too well. Music hums low from the radio—something easy, something you’re half-swaying to as you chop vegetables like this is just… normal.
He’s been up maybe five minutes. Has to leave in thirty. And he’s already half-hard. He pushes off the doorway anyway. Walks up behind you like muscle memory.
His arms come around you slow, familiar—settling over your waist, pulling you back into him. He feels the way you soften immediately, that slight melt into his chest like your body still knows him, even if you’re being… whatever this is.
You startle just a little, then relax.
“Hey,” you murmur, turning your head slightly as he drops his chin to your shoulder. “You’re up.”
“Mhm,” he hums, already pressing his mouth to your neck.
He doesn’t even pretend restraint. Just goes for it—slow, lazy kisses wherever he can reach, nosing along your skin, breathing you in like he’s been deprived, because he has.Which—he has.
“What’re you making?” he asks against you, voice rougher than he means it to be.
“Food prep,” you say, though it comes out softer than that. A little breath slipping through when he finds that spot under your ear.
“Shit—Jack,” you add, quieter now, the knife slowing in your hand. “You can’t.”
He smiles against your skin. Not nice about it.
“I can’t,” he repeats, low. “Or you can’t?”
His hands move without asking—sliding under the hem of his shirt on you, palms warm against your stomach first. Familiar. Testing.
You inhale sharply. He doesn’t stop. Just keeps going—slow, deliberate—up over your ribs, feeling the curve of you, the heat of your skin, until his hands settle over your chest. Not rough. Not greedy. Like he belongs there. Because he does. Or he did.
Your hand stills completely on the counter.
“Jack,” you say again, but it’s weaker this time. Less conviction, more breath.
He presses another kiss just below your ear, voice dropping.
“Been real good about this,” he murmurs. “Haven’t I?”
You don’t answer.
Because he has. You're not making it easy, after Santos suggested to have more fun with it. So, sure, you go for panties and shirt, maybe even the barely there nightgowns you bought a while back, feeling as he is completely still besides you in bed.
His touch shifts just slightly—not pushing, not crossing a line, but close enough to remind you exactly how easily he could.
Your head tips back a fraction before you catch yourself.
“No,” you say, firmer now, even as your body lags behind. “Nope. No, can’t. I’m staying cleansed. My book says even too much contact can make you unfocused.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s dragging himself back by force.
“Unfocused.. alright,” he mutters. “Whatever you want.”
But his hands don’t move right away. You finally set the knife down, turning in his arms so you’re facing him. Big mistake.
Because now you’re looking at him properly—sleep-rough, hair a mess, jaw shadowed, eyes still heavy but fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the room. And you know that look. You’ve felt what follows it.
“You should get a hobby,” you tell him quietly.
“Yeah?” he says, not looking away.
“Maybe pottery,” you shrug. “Something that isn’t being a SWAT medic and—” you hesitate just slightly, “—fucking me or whatever.”
His hands slide down your sides, slower this time. Reluctant.
“But I really like my hobbies,” he says, voice low, rough around the edges. “Especially fucking you, or whatever.”
The way he looks at you when he says it—like he’s imagining you in the most vulgar of situations—makes heat climb straight up your neck. You hate that it works.
He doesn’t move.
“Jack.”
“Just one kiss?” He asks.
You open your mouth to say yes, but you bite your lip and think for a second. You lean in pressing a deliberate kiss to his cheek, hand up to his neck, feeling how he melts under your touch.
You fingers briefly fidget with the grey curls at the nape of his neck, as his fingers dig slightly into your hips. You pull back.
“I’ll try pottery,” he mutters.
You smile—small, controlled. Infuriating. Then he lets you go. Barely.
You watch him walk off toward the bedroom, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake it off, his own shirt fitted against him, rising, tight against his biceps, and the second he’s out of sight—
You exhale. Your grip tightens on the counter, head tipping forward for a second. This is... harder than you thought it’d be.
It’s him. The way he moves around you like it’s instinct. The way your body still answers before your brain catches up. The way one kiss feels like a warning.
If you touch him properly—if you let yourself lean into it even a little—you know exactly how it goes. There’s no halfway with him. There never has been. You've struggled to hold back with him.
You both work too hard, sleep too little. You orbit each other—shared meals, late-night TV, quiet mornings when they exist. He’s steady, solid, always there. And sex has always been part of that too.
You press your lips together, shaking your head slightly as you keep chopping, trying to focus. You should’ve fought harder on the point about no sex, but Santos seemed so pitiful, you don’t have the heart to tell her you broke or to lie.
Cleanse. Reset. Prove you’ve got discipline. Prove you’re not just running on impulse and instinct and whatever feels good in the moment. Focused...ness. All that.
It’s just you’ve never seen him like this. Not like this kind of worked up. Not this restless, this… needy. Your thighs press together instinctively, heat lingering, annoying and insistent.
“God,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing the knife again like that’ll ground you. “Pathetic.”
★★★
Day Twelve.
“I cannot tell if you’re being serious right now,” Robby says, standing beside Jack in the elevator as they head down from the roof.
Jack doesn’t even look at him. “It’s psychological warfare.”
Robby scoffs. “Oh my god.”
“I’m serious,” Jack insists, dragging a hand over his face. “I can’t think straight. It’s like… cognitive impairment. I should get tested.”
“You need to get a grip,” Robby replies.
“You don’t get it,” Jack mutters. “You haven’t had a relationship like this in—what, a decade? More? This isn’t casual. This is… routine. Structure. Stability.” He gestures vaguely. “We live together. We’ve got a system.”
“A system,” Robby repeats, flat.
“Yes,” Jack says, defensive. “And she’s dismantled it. Completely. No warning. Just—gone. Overnight. You know her, she's all over me usually. And I’m a touchy guy, man, I feel like a sunflower without sun. She is my sun.”
Robby exhales through his nose. “It’s been two weeks.”
“Twelve days,” Jack corrects. “That’s long enough to destabilise a man.”
The elevator dings. Doors open. A couple of nurses step in.
Jack lowers his voice, but not his intensity.
“She won’t even cuddle with me,” he mutters. “Do you understand that? Cuddling. Baseline intimacy. Gone. She almost slept on the couch the other night because she thought she might—”
He cuts himself off as one of the nurses glances over.
Jack exhales sharply, jaw ticking. “It’s like… all that energy I spent with her, is just… Like I’m all—”
“Do not say pent up,” Robby murmurs.
“I’m pent up, man,” Jack says anyway, under his breath. “I don’t—”
“Jesus Christ.”
“And she keeps wearing—”
“—and that’s our stop,” Robby cuts in quickly as the doors open.
They step out into the corridor, quieter now. Both hit the sanitiser on instinct.
Jack rubs his hands together, restless. “She’s doing it on purpose.”
“No, she isn’t.”
“She is,” Jack insists. “She knows exactly what I like. The shirts, the—lack of shirts. The shorts. The yoga. The fucking… tiny nightgowns. Sheer, too. Door open when she showers. It’s targeted.”
“Or,” Robby says, dry, “she’s a twenty-something woman existing in her own home.”
Jack ignores that. “And then—nothing. Won’t touch me. Won’t let me touch her. She kissed me on the cheek three days ago, and I was gonna… ruin my pants like an idiot. I feel like a teenager.”
Robby snorts. “You sound like one. She showers with the door open?”
“I’ve done tours,” Jack goes on, either ignoring or not hearing Robby’s query, quieter now, almost incredulous at himself. “I’ve been shot at. I’ve dealt with death at its worst. And somehow this is what’s got me pacing like a lunatic at three in the morning.”
Robby stops walking.
Grabs his shoulder.
“You hear yourself, right?”
“…Yeah,” Jack mutters. “Hearin' it.”
“Good,” Robby says. “Because it’s insane. And I’m tired of it, brother.”
Jack exhales, trying to reset—then his gaze shifts past Robby’s shoulder.
Locks. You.
At Central Four, mid-discussion with McKay and Mel, one hand braced lightly against a patient’s lower leg as you check the alignment on a fresh below-knee cast—thumbs pressing along the tibial crest, eyes flicking between the limb and the patient’s foot for perfusion. Focused. Calm. Explaining as you go, that steady, assured cadence you’ve grown into over the past couple years.
You look good. You always do, but—today is… worse. Yeah, he’s definitely pent up. Jack’s jaw tightens. Robby follows his line of sight, spots you, then looks back at him.
“You really look like a kicked puppy right now, bud.”
“Don’t.”
“I mean it,” Robby says. “It’s palpable.”
Jack exhales sharply. “I’ll be right back.”
“You aren’t going there.”
“I’m just gonna ask my girlfriend about her day.”
“No, you’re gonna say something deeply unprofessional to your girlfriend in the middle of a ward round,” Robby corrects. “While Shark is somewhere nearby, sensing weakness.”
“Right, ‘course, you’ve interrupted my plan to give her head in the middle of the ED,” Jack says, sarcastically, then a brief beat of thought. “God, If she asked me to I probably w-”
“-We need boundaries, man,” Robby says. “I don’t… You have fun with that.”
“Relax. It’s fine, we’re both clocking off now. Once she wraps up, we’re outta here.”
Jack glances back at you again. You laugh softly at something McKay says, adjusting the cast edge with careful fingers, smoothing it down. Your hand lingers just a second as you explain something to the patient—voice warm, easy, reassuring.
Mel nudges your shoulder, subtle, and tips her chin toward Jack.
You look up. Catch him. Smile. It’s small, but it lands.
Jack stiffens like he’s just been called to attention, gives you a tight nod—controlled, restrained—then abruptly turns and heads toward the station with Robby.
Robby snorts under his breath. “That was painful to watch.”
“I told you. Psychological warfare.”
McKay smirks a bit as she watches Jack retreat.
“What’s that about?” McKay murmurs, rolling her stool a little closer to the patient bed.
“Our detox program?” you say lightly, refocusing as you check distal circulation again. “Not a fan.” You glance to the patient. “Any numbness or tingling, ma’am?”
“No, love. Feels fine,” she says, half-distracted by her phone.
“Good,” you nod. “Let me know if that changes.”
McKay hums, folding her arms loosely. “Ah. The celibacy portion not going down well?”
You let out a quiet breath. “Not particularly. And I’m not being super easy on him about it either.”
“Yeah,” she says, dry. “Can’t imagine why.”
You suppress a smile, smoothing the cast. “Everything else is good, though. I’m committed now.”
“Mm,” McKay says. “Santos bullied us into it.”
“Santos encouraged it.”
“Santos got dumped and decided everyone else should suffer,” McKay corrects.
“That’s not—” you start, then pause. “…entirely inaccurate.”
Mel watches all of this with mild fascination, then looks back at the cast. “Um—can I try wrapping the next layer?”
You brighten a little. “Yeah, of course. Come here.”
You shift off the stool, making space. “Alright—support here,” you guide, hands hovering near hers. “Keep your tension even, don’t gap it.”
Mel nods seriously, concentrating.
McKay glances between you and the half-set cast, then back at you. “Are you feeling detoxed?”
You huff a quiet breath. “A little. More flexible, improved sleep, and a deeply irritated boyfriend.”
“Holistic wellness,” McKay deadpans.
You smile despite yourself. “And you?” you ask.
“Nope,” she sighs. “But Harrison’s loving the yoga mat, so at least someone’s thriving. And I wasn’t getting laid anyway, so—no real sacrifice on that front. But the no screens thing is doing wonders. I can feel my brain gaining another wrinkle.”
You snort softly, nudging Mel’s hand. “Smoother there—yeah, that’s it. Keep the overlap consistent.”
Mel adjusts, careful, precise, tongue just slightly between her teeth in concentration. McKay watches her for a second, then leans in a fraction closer to you, voice dropping just enough—
“He looks like he’s about five minutes from a breakdown.”
You don’t look over. “He’ll be fine.”
“Mm,” she hums. “He keeps looking at you between charts.”
“He always does that when I’m down here,” you say, a little softer.
“Yeah,” McKay replies. “Not like this.”
You ignore that, focusing instead on Mel’s technique. “Good—now just secure it there. Don’t pull too tight.”
Mel nods, finishing the wrap neatly. “Like that?”
“Perfect,” you say, genuinely pleased. “Nice work, Doctor King.”
Mel beams, small but proud. Behind you, you can feel it again—Jack’s attention, flicking back over, catching, lingering even when he forces it away.
You keep your eyes on the patient. But you’re aware of him. Constantly. And across the room, Jack shifts his weight, jaw tight, trying—and failing—not to look again.
Later, he finds you around the ED. You’re mid-conversation with Santos, focused, explaining something on the chart.
Jack walks up beside you, close enough that your arms brush. You don’t react. Don’t even break your sentence.
“…so we stabilise first, then reassess once imaging’s back—”
He waits. Nothing. Not even a glance. Santos clocks it immediately. Raises her brows.
“…Hi, Dr Abbot,” she says, dry.
You finally look up. “Oh—hey.”
He stares at you.
“…Hey, just... checking in,” he says, somewhat shy now.
You smile, polite. "All good here." Then turn straight back to Santos. “Anyway—like I was saying—”
He stands there for a second. Then another.
Robby, from across the station, watches the whole thing with poorly concealed amusement.
“…You gonna be okay?” he calls out.
Jack doesn’t look at him. “No,” he says flatly, before walking off.
★★★
Day Eighteen.
You’re supposed to be detoxing. Self-restraint. Discipline. Clarity.
Apparently, that also includes driving your boyfriend quietly insane in your living room.
“You need to be doing that right now?” Jack asks as he finally drops onto the couch, exhaustion dragging at him. Scrubs half-off, shirt discarded somewhere along the way before he drags a fresh one over his head, lazy, spent.
You don’t even look at him. “I can stop if you want,” you say, adjusting your stance—hands walking a little wider on the mat, hips tipping higher as you settle deeper into downward dog, covering a good half of the TV screen.
He watches the shift. The stretch. The way your shorts ride up just enough to be completely fucking useless.
He exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face. “No, no—carry on. This is great. Very relaxing.”
You hum like you believe him. You don’t.
He leans back, head tipping against the couch as he reaches down, taking off his prosthetic with practiced ease, setting it aside. His body finally settles—but his eyes don’t.
They stay on you.
Track every adjustment.
You shift again—one leg lifting, extending behind you before you draw it through, slow, controlled, foot landing between your hands. Your back arches slightly as you ease into it. Jack’s jaw tightens.
“Park’s been on my ass lately,” you say, like this is normal conversation.
“Glad someone has,” Jack murmurs.
You shoot him a look.
“I’m sorry, baby, I’m just… distracted, I don’t know” He says, somewhat earnestly, dryly. “What is it about Shark?”
“He’s not as bad as you guys make him seem, he’s just got tunnel vision," You try, slowly repositioning. “But he can be such a dick sometimes. No concept of tact. I missed one chart the other day, and he ripped me a new one in front of the med students.”
And then you slide down. Slow. Controlled.
One leg extending forward, the other back, lowering into a full split like it’s nothing—hips sinking, spine straight, hands resting lightly on your thighs.
Jack actually goes still. That’s new.
“…Right,” he says, quieter now.
You keep talking. Like you haven’t just changed the entire atmosphere in the room.
“And I was gonna snap,” you continue, calm, measured, “but I did that breathing thing from the book. Actually worked. I didn’t react. I just… sat in it and breathed, five to two.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice a little rougher. “Looks like it’s working great.”
You shift out of it fluidly, folding in, then rolling onto your back—knees lifting, falling open as you stretch through your hips, one hand braced lightly on your stomach as you breathe through it.
Jack leans forward slightly before he catches himself, hand dragging over his jean clad thigh, like he’s trying to reset.
He’s trying to be good. You can see it.
Trying to sit still. Trying not to react. Trying not to reach for you.
You keep going anyway.
“So then Isla comes into the break room—did you know she’s getting divorced?” you say, drawing one knee closer, holding it there, breath catching just slightly at the stretch.
“Do you need help with that?” he asks, too quick.
“Nope,” you say immediately.
You don’t look at him.
Because you know exactly what that would do. You know exactly what this looks like from where he’s sitting. You know exactly what he’s thinking about, because you’re thinking about it too—the way he’s had you like this before, hands on you, holding you in place, your body not your own for a while.
You switch legs, pushing through it again, slower this time.
“Do you think he cheated?” you ask.
“Who?” His voice is tighter now.
“Isla’s husband.”
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Maybe.”
You let your leg drop, exhaling as you roll up, sitting back on your knees. Arms stretch overhead, spine lengthening, chest lifting.
Jack looks away this time.
Briefly.
Then back.
Like he can’t help it.
“I taught her the breathing thing,” you go on. “She calmed down immediately. I could totally pivot into this, you know. Wellness, mindfulness—”
“Yeah,” he cuts in, too fast. “You should absolutely do that.”
You glance at him now.
“Yeah, I’ll give up years of med school and fixing bones to teach whiny people how to lock in,” You joke.
“Whatever you want to do, baby,” He nods, eyes looking down at you on the floor, mind literally anywhere else.
“You look like a kicked dog right now. Was the yoga too much?”
“I’m fine,” he insists. “Robby said the same thing. Maybe I just have a pitiful face.”
You don’t disagree with that.
You look at him. Really look.
He’s not relaxed. Not even close. Shoulders tight despite the way he’s sitting, fingers flexing once against his knee like he needs something to do with them. His gaze flicks over you, then away, then back again like it’s a losing battle.
You stand, cross the room, and settle beside him, curling your feet under you so you’re facing him properly.
He immediately turns his head slightly away, like that helps.
“Thank you for putting up with this,” you murmur, softer now, even though it’s just the two of you. Then, almost casually—“Have you touched yourself at all?”
His inhale is sharp enough to answer before he does.
“No,” he says. Then, like he’s committing to honesty instead of dignity: “Figured we’re in this together. Minus… everything else. I can’t not do a line of cocaine before I go into work.”
That earns a small smile from you.
“Responsible of you,” you say.
“Have you?” He asks.
“Nope.”
“Are you struggling at all? Because it’s… you know, you… you really seem very comfortable with all this. This cleansing thing.”
You inhale sharply. “I’m doing great.” You lie.
“I feel like you’re forgetting how good our sex is,” He says.
You raise your brows, give it thought. “Or… I’m free from such… baseless temptations.”
“Baseless temptations had me eating you out for three hours, three times a week. Which in our line of work is a lot. And, at my age, a cardio workout.” He reminds.
Your tongue darts to your lips, eyes flicking away from him like it helps you regain control. It doesn’t.
“I should go,” you say, too casually. “Errands.”
Jack nods once, like he’s trying to behave. “Two more weeks.”
“Two more weeks,” you repeat.
You lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
It’s small. Controlled. Safe.
Except it isn’t, because it’s the first real contact in ten days and your body reacts like it’s been starved of oxygen. Like you didn’t realise how much you were holding your breath until you finally touched him again.
He turns his head slightly before you fully pull away.
Just enough. Just enough to trap you in that in-between space—faces inches apart, his breath warm against your mouth, his eyes locked on yours like he’s waiting to see if you’ll fold, head tilted, just a bit, curious.
You shouldn’t.
You press your mouth to his. It’s chaste, sweet, PG. Lasts maybe three seconds, and it’s not long enough for him as you pull away, as if you’ve rewarded him, but he can’t help but be greedy when it comes to you.
“You can do better than that, baby,” he says quietly.
“Mm,” you reply, steadying yourself. “I can’t.”
A pause.
“Promise I won’t do anything,” he adds.
You look at him for a second too long.
Then you nod.
His hand comes up immediately, settling at the back of your head—gentle, anchoring, familiar in a way your body reacts to before your brain does, mouth agape. His thumb brushes your cheek once, slowly, briefly moves to your jaw and chin, over your bottom lip, your mouth opening, almost instinctually, but he moves it back to your cheek, not entertaining it further.
You kiss him again properly.
It starts off controlled—your mouth on his, testing, like you’re still trying to keep it within the rules you made for yourself. The moment he kisses back, the rules seem very silly. No hesitation, no easing in—just straight into it, like your bodies already know exactly what they’re doing, falling into step all over again.
Your hand lifts like you’re going to hold him off, going to stop it but it just hangs there uselessly, mid-air.
His mouth is on yours harder now, deeper, tongue sliding in like he’s done waiting for permission. Slow, but not gentle. Familiar in a way that makes your stomach drop—like your body reacts before your brain even catches up.
A small sound slips out of you without meaning to.
His hand at the back of your head tightens, fingers in your hair, not yanking but holding you exactly where he wants you. His other hand shifts at his crotch, you barely glance down at the corner of your eye, seeing as his palm moves over his hardening length beneath his jeans.
He exhales into your mouth, rough. “Damnit.”
You kiss him back harder, mouth opening more, his tongue dragging against yours again, slower this time but deeper, like he’s checking how far you’ll go if he just keeps pushing like this.
You make another sound—low, breathy—and he feels it immediately. You can tell by the way his hand tightens at the back of your neck, thumb pressing in like he’s grounding himself there, like he needs something solid to hold onto before he loses the plot completely.
“Mm—no more,” you manage, pulling back slightly, dazed. “No more. Errands. Oxygen. Meditation. Focus. Detox. Okay? Okay.”
“Okay,” he hums back, like he agrees, but he doesn’t move his eyes off you.
You’re both breathing heavier than you should be for a kiss that’s supposedly not doing anything.
He drags his tongue over his lips, slow, watching you properly now. Then his hand drops from your neck and he leans back a fraction—except he’s not actually done. He’s just shifting, exhaling through his nose like he’s trying to reset and failing.
You glance down.
He’s already adjusting himself, palming himself through his jeans, at the feeling and sight of you, far from subtle at all. His eyes flick between your face and your reaction like he’s half curious, half done pretending this isn’t affecting him.
You just stare for a second, hair slightly messier now from his grip, lips swollen, clearly trying to act normal and not really succeeding. Your eyes linger as you watch him become harder under the denim.
“Baseless temptation?” he echoes, dry, almost mocking, interested by your seeming entertainment.
“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, swallowing, standing up like that fixes anything. “I’m going. Errands.”
“Mm,” he says, already unbuckling his belt properly now, like he’s given up on dignity for the moment. “That.”
You clear your throat, turning away too quickly. “Yeah. That.”
“Great detox, honey,” he calls after you, voice low, almost satisfied, like he’s both impressed and completely fucked by it.
You don’t look back when you walk out.
★★★
Day Twenty Two.
You were even stricter after your brief lapse on Day 18.
Santos had spiralled a bit after Garcia tried to re-enter her life—one text, then another, then a “just checking in” that meant absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. And Santos, for all her bite, was still soft where it counted. So she doubled down.
We resist.
You weren’t going to be the weak link in that. Not when she was white-knuckling her way through it.
So you didn’t argue. Didn’t say that your situation was devolving.
So. Yoga, reading, no screens—none of it was enough anymore. Not because you were failing, but because you’d started treating this like something to actually get through properly.
So you added structure.
Cooking, mostly. Proper cooking, technically normal, but now with a kind of performative discipline to it. Whole-food, vegetarian-heavy meals that smell intense enough to make Jack pause in the doorway like he’s trying to decide if he’s being punished or supported.
You explained something about how Santos had plenty of recipe choices, these were the best. He dreaded knowing the worst.
You’ve always cooked. So has he. It’s part of your relationship—easy, domestic, something you both fall back on without thinking.
But wow, the past three or four days have been a steady rotation of “cleansing” meals that are aggressively healthy in a way that feels almost personal and cruel.
You’ve also tightened everything else.
Early nights. Early mornings. You’re not avoiding him exactly—you’re just very efficient with your time now. No lingering in shared spaces. No sitting too close on the couch “by accident.” No hand brushing his back when you pass him in the hallway, even though that one clearly takes effort.
The hardest part was that you kept missing out on Housewives.
“Hon, you sure?” Jack had tried one night, hovering in the doorway. “It’s the mid-season finale.”
Pitch black room. Eye mask on.
“Tell me about it tomorrow,” you’d said.
He’d watched it alone. Hated it.
Even the small stuff has become intentional.
You’ve started drinking herbal tea that tastes like wet grass just to prove a point to yourself.
He’s started making coffee louder than necessary just to annoy you.
And still—you function.
You were both high-energy people—incapable of just sitting still without developing a new hobby or mild personality trait.
The apartment was proof: books half-read, yoga mats permanently out, easels you didn’t touch, Jack picking up SWAT shifts “for fun” like that’s a normal recreational activity.
And, historically, you’d had a very reliable outlet for all that excess energy. Now that’s been… aggressively decommissioned. So it lingers. In your body, in his shoulders, in the space between you—tight, charged, and just annoying enough to make everything feel a little harder than it needs to be.
The call comes down fast and ugly—trauma bay already prepped, voices sharp, movement tighter than usual.
Open tib-fib. High-energy. Motorcycle versus ute, no helmet.
You’re already pulling gloves on as you move, snapping them tight against your wrists, pace quick to match the rhythm of the room. Doctor Park is a step ahead of you—of course he is—already at the bedside, already assessing, already ten steps into the problem.
Robby and Jack linger to the side, Whitaker working the patient while they observe, supervise. Robby’s still here past his shift—because of course he is.
“Walk me through it,” Park says without looking at you.
“Mid-shaft tibial and fibular fracture, likely comminuted,” you reply immediately, eyes scanning. “Significant displacement. Possible vascular compromise—foot looks pale, delayed cap refill.”
“Good,” Park says shortly. “Check dorsalis pedis. Posterior tibial.”
You nod, moving in.
The leg is… bad. Angulated wrong, skin stretched too tight over something that shouldn’t be pressing there. Blood everywhere, soaked through layers Whitaker is trying—earnestly—to keep under control.
You don’t flinch. You tilt your head slightly, studying it like a problem you already want to solve, something in you clicking into place.
“Dorsalis pedis faint,” you say, fingers pressing in. “Posterior tibial—hard to appreciate.”
“Mm,” Park hums. “We reduce now.”
Behind Whitaker, Jack stands with his hands clasped behind his back, posture loose but attention razor sharp. Tracking everything—monitor, patient, Park.
You.
He hasn’t seen you all day. You left before he got home—left him in a cold bed, a note about oats, and absolutely nothing else. And now, every time he does see you, it feels deliberate. Like you’re making it harder.
Three weeks of this… discipline.
And now you’re here, calm, focused, humming under your breath like you haven’t been systematically ruining his life, like his muscles aren’t taut without getting to feel you under him or on him.
Jack’s jaw tightens.
“Traction,” Park says.
You nod, hands steady as you take hold above and below the fracture. “On you.”
“Now.”
You pull—firm, controlled. There’s a shift. A sickening, mechanical realignment as bone slides back into place.
Whitaker visibly winces.
“Better,” you murmur, almost satisfied.
Jack exhales through his nose. “Hold it,” he says, stepping in just slightly. “Pulse?”
Whitaker checks, brow furrowed. “Stronger. Still thready, but—better.”
“Good. Splint.”
You glance up—just briefly—and catch Jack already looking at you.
Not subtle. Not tonight. Something heavier in it. Sharper. Like he’s been holding onto something all shift and hasn’t decided where to put it.
You hold his gaze for half a second.
“Doctor,” you say, light.
He tilts his head a fraction. “Nice work,” he says, dry. Then, without missing a beat—“You leave that… green-orange situation in the fridge?”
You blink. “Are you—seriously?”
“I got four hours of sleep,” he shrugs. “I’m allowed one grievance.”
You briefly glance to Park who doesn’t seem to care or mind your minor chatter with Jack, looking at the monitors with a hardened gaze.
“It’s vegetable soup,” you say, adjusting your grip. “It’s good for you. Anti-inflammatory.”
Whitaker glances between you, confused. “Soup? Do you two live together?”
Jack ignores him completely. “Tastes like punishment.”
“Funny,” you say. “You seemed very into punishment a few weeks ago.”
Robby lets out a short, sharp laugh from the other side of the bed. “Oh, I’m awake now.”
“Not helpful,” Jack mutters, not even looking at him.
“You started it,” you shoot back, breath steady despite the strain in your arms. “Also, Robby likes my soup. Don’t you, Robinavitch?”
Robby raises both hands. “I’m not being... triangulated into whatever this is.”
“You’re making bone broth for my best friend now?” Jack goes on, like he didn’t hear that. “That’s where we’re at?”
“It’s not bone broth,” you correct. “And maybe I’d cook for you if you weren’t so moody—”
You cut yourself off, refocusing as the splint is brought in.
“Keep traction steady,” Jack says, tone snapping cleanly back to clinical—but there’s an edge under it now. “You’re drifting distal.”
You correct it immediately. “Better?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Don’t let it shorten.”
Park finally glances back down, unimpressed. “If you’re both done flirting—”
“This is not flirting,” Jack and you say at the same time.
A beat.
Whitaker frowns. “…What is happening?”
Robby snorts. “I’ll tell you about it later. Celibacy ritual.”
“Robby,” Jack says, warning.
“What?” Robby shrugs. “I’m just saying. There’s context.”
“You told Robby?” you shoot at Jack.
He opens his mouth—
“I heard from Santos,” Robby cuts in, enjoying this far too much. “And McKay. Whole department knows you’ve gone monk mode.”
You scoff. “It’s not monk mode, it’s a detox.”
“Yeah,” Robby nods. “Abbot’s detoxing from joy, from what I can tell.”
Jack exhales sharply. “Can we focus?”
“You are the one who brought up soup. Besides, this guy’s gonna be fine. If he wasn’t, Shark here would’ve bit one of your heads off,” Robby shoots back.
Whitaker looks even more lost, Park stands off the side, giving Robby a brief glare before nodding back to you to continue.
“Angle your wrist,” you tell him, cutting through it. “You’re losing medial pressure.”
“Oh—right—sorry—”
“It’s fine. Just don’t let him bleed out.”
“Right. Yeah. Prefer that.”
Jack hovers just behind your shoulder now—close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the shift of his weight when you adjust yours.
He leans in slightly, voice low, for you.
“Breakfast tomorrow,” he murmurs. “Is it gonna be more… anti-inflammatory punishment?”
You don’t look at him. “Depends.”
“On?”
“How much you told Robby.”
He exhales a quiet, disbelieving breath, your words just for each other as the others get to work. “Just the basics. Nothing bad, just the weird bunny mask roleplay you’re into,” he jokes. “And I am not moody.”
“Debatable.”
“Reactionary to my dire circumstances some might say,” he mutters.
“You’re ridiculous.” You remark.
There’s the smallest pause. Then, softer, a bit quick, to make sure you know he means nothing bad by it—
“You look lovely, by the way. And I’d eat oxygen if you made it for me, promise. I love all your cleansing meals.”
You don’t respond to that. Not here, a small smile twitching at the corner of your lips.
“Secure it,” Park says, already moving on mentally. “Get him upstairs.”
You guide Whitaker through the final positioning, hands precise, controlled.
Jack steps back, watching you finish the job.
Still looking at you like that.
By the time you strip your gloves off, the room already shifting on, Robby’s watching you. Not subtle about it, an amused hint behind his tired eyes.
“When do you clock off?” you ask, tossing the gloves.
“An hour ago,” he says. “I stay for the live show now. Better than anything on TV.”
You huff. “How is he doing?”
Robby considers that, eyes narrowing like he’s actually weighing it up.
“Clinically?” he says. “Great. On top of it, always is. It’s annoying.”
“And not clinically?” you prompt.
He tilts his head. “Mm… a little rougher than usual,” he admits. “But he’s dramatic. You know ‘im.”
You grin. “Yeah, I do. It’s cute.”
“That’s certainly a word for it,” he mutters, jerking his chin subtly across the room. “Because he looks like he’s about to file a formal complaint with God.”
You follow the glance—Jack, shoulders tight, jaw set, mid-conversation with Park like he’s holding himself together out of sheer professionalism.
You look back, unfazed. “It’s temporary.”
Robby studies you for a beat, then huffs a laugh. “You’re enjoying this.”
You don’t even try to hide it. “A little bit. It’s fifty-fifty. It’s fun seeing him worked up, it’s annoying because we do have great sex. And I know that isn’t TMI for you because he tells me worse about your sex life.” You pause, then add, “Didn’t realise Hastings was so freaky.”
“Jesus,” Robby exhales, scratching at his beard. “You’ve been around him too long.”
“Occupational hazard,” you shrug.
He shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at it now despite himself.
There’s a small pause, then—more casually—
“Soup was good, by the way.”
You blink. “The vegetable one?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
“He called it punishment.”
“He’s wrong,” Robby shrugs. “I had two bowls.”
You brighten, just a fraction. “See? Someone has taste.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” he says. “It’s still soup.”
You laugh under your breath.
He glances around, then back to you. “I think Shark’s already ditched you,” he adds, nodding toward the empty space where Park had been.
You swear quietly. “Fuck. Whatever. Nice seeing you.”
“You too,” he says, stepping aside.
You pass Jack on your way out, offering him a light, professional smile like nothing’s off at all.
“See you at home in a few hours.”
He watches you go, something unreadable flickering across his face.
“Love you,” he calls after you anyway, voice a little rough, arms folded as the room empties out.
“Love you too,” you say as you hurry out, not turning back.
You’re gone. Whitaker stands there for a second, still blood-specked, brain clearly lagging behind everything that just happened.
“I’m… still a bit confused about—” he gestures vaguely between where you were and where Jack is now, “—that.”
Jack shoots him a look. Then Robby. Then just shakes his head, already walking.
“Hey, what have you told her about me and Noelle?” Robby asks, following after, quiet, a bit antsy now.
Jack shakes his head immediately. “Nothing much, just the leash stuff you’re into. Anyway, I think you’re sleep deprived, man. Time to clock off, daywalkers.”
★★★
Day Twenty Nine.
“So, how’re we doing?” you ask, already halfway into the break room fridge like it’s part of your job description.
McKay and Santos are at the table with lunch. McKay looks as composed as ever—tired, but functional. Santos, on the other hand, looks like someone who has emotionally moved on from her entire relationship with Garcia but hasn’t informed her nervous system yet.
“Great,” Santos says immediately. Then, after a beat: “I stopped yoga.”
You glance over. “Why?”
“Pulled my calf,” she replies. “Turns out inner peace is physically unsafe.”
“Unfortunate,” you say, finding Jack’s labelled container and closing the fridge.
McKay watches you sit down. “That his lunch?”
“Yeah.”
“Doesn’t he need that later?” she asks.
“He’ll order takeout,” you say easily. “I’m doing him a favour. He keeps eating the stuff I make, even though I know he hates it, I think he thinks suffering is his virtue.”
Santos snorts. “He and Garcia would get along in a really unbearable way.”
You glance at her. “You miss her.”
She points at you with her fork. “Don’t.”
“You brought her up first.”
“That’s because you brought up food and suffering in the same sentence,” she shoots back. “It’s a trigger.”
McKay, calmly: “You both need to stop talking.”
You ignore her. You exhale, rubbing at your temple. You feel… weird. Wired. Like your body’s trying to replace one habit with ten others. You’ve thought about buying something three separate times this morning. Shoes, candles, a ridiculous blender you don’t need. You haven’t, obviously. Discipline. Wellness. Enlightenment.
“Where’s Robby?” you ask. “I can split this with him.”
“Talking to Gloria,” Santos says. “Looks like he’s in a mood. Snapped at Whitaker.”
“Great,” you mutter. “Two moody old attendings. Love that for you guys. I think Park might actually be more regulated than either of them.”
McKay doesn’t push it, just turns her attention back to you, calmer. “You’ve been very… consistent with this whole detox thing. Very controlled. Composed.”
Santos squints at you. “Almost spiritual, honestly. It’s impressive.”
You blink. “It’s just discipline.”
McKay hums. “Most people don’t call not having sex for a few weeks ‘discipline.’ They call it ‘being busy.’ Or just not having a high libido.”
You sigh, too quickly. “I’m just… glad it’s nearly over. I think Jack’s actually counting down the days.”
McKay tilts her head slightly at that but doesn’t bite yet, a slight purse in her lips. She makes eye contact with Santos. Santos bites back a smile. McKay begins to shake her head, as if reading her mind..
Santos, however, immediately does.
“So,” she says, leaning forward, “what’s he like?”
McKay shoots her a warning look over her fork.
“What?” Santos says, unbothered. “I’m curious. You thought of it too.”
“Like… personality-wise?” you try.
Santos waves a hand. “No. Don’t be boring.”
McKay mutters, “Oh God.”
Santos continues anyway, delighted now. “Like sex-wise. Come on. There has to be a reason he’s walking around like a man personally victimised by fucking… yoga and vegetables.”
You nearly choke. “Santos—”
“What?” she says. “I’m just saying. There’s clearly a secret here. He’s what, fifty-something? Night shift ED attending? You know how fucked you have to be to be the attending on night shift? Robby level fucked up. And you’re—” she gestures vaguely at you, “you. So either he’s got some hidden advantage or you’ve all been lying to yourselves.”
McKay, dry as ever: “Please stop talking.”
Santos ignores her. “Am I wrong?”
You stare at her.
“That’s not an answer,” she says.
McKay finally looks at you properly now, faintly amused despite herself. “You do not have to answer that.”
“I’m not going to answer that,” you say immediately.
Santos leans back, offended. “Okay, so it’s missionary.”
You blink. “And that's my cue to leave.”
“Doggy?” she tries. “Am I warm? Am I cold?”
You stand up. “I’m very happy for you and your recovery from Garcia, truly.”
McKay actually smiles now. “This is why I eat alone.”
Then, casually—
“Do you guys have threesomes with Robby?” Santos adds. “Got a vibe there.”
You don’t even hesitate. “Constantly. He’s actually the glue holding the relationship together. Into weird shit.”
McKay exhales through her nose.
Santos tilts her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“That sounds like a you problem. We host swinger parties, come by next Thursday if you want.”
Santos rolls her eyes, somewhat disappointed by your sarcasm. At that exact moment, Dana walks in. She stops, looks between all of you, then sighs.
“Oh no,” she says, immediately clocking the energy. “We having a party? What are youse talkin’ about in here?”
“Nothing,” McKay says instantly.
Santos says at the same time, “Abbot’s sex life. Featuring Robby, too.”
Dana physically recoils. “Oh Jesus Christ, why?”
You look at her like salvation. “Help.”
Dana points at Santos without hesitation. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not bein’ dragged into whatever this is.”
Then she looks at you, and her whole face softens a little. She gives you a nod, as if to ask if you’re well. You give a nod back, a small smile.
Dana claps once, decisive. “Alright. Trauma two. You two. Now. Move it.”
Santos groans. “You’re ruining my research.”
Dana points again. “Move. It. Out.”
★★★
Day Thirty Two.
Your schedules have always been a mess.
Some weeks you overlap perfectly—same shifts, same hours, brushing past each other in hallways, stealing five minutes in empty consult rooms, syncing like it’s easy. Other weeks, like this one, you exist on completely different timelines.
Park needs you flexible. Jack is the schedule. So you miss each other.
You leave just as he’s getting in. He leaves while you’re dead asleep. Nights bleed into days, days into nights, and suddenly it’s been forty-eight hours of doubles and you’ve communicated more through texts and post-it notes than actual words.
Eat something.
You too.
Left food in the fridge.
Miss you.
Jack finally makes it back into the apartment, adrenaline high shaking in his veins, excited to finally see you, feel you.
He shuts the door behind him, exhales—and then pauses.
“How are you cooking after working that long, baby?” he calls out, already loosening up as he moves toward the kitchen. “Challenge is over, I am going to give you the best damn head of your life and then cuddle like—”
“I’d cuddle with you,” Robby says from the stove, “but I’m busy right now. Preferably not the head part, though.”
Jack thinks for a moment, a slow nod.
“…You are not my girlfriend.”
Robby glances over his shoulder, unimpressed. “I like to think of us as work husbands, but yeah. Good observation.”
Jack just stares at him for a second, processing.
Then—“Why are you in my apartment?”
Robby sighs, turning back to the pot like this is his burden to bear. “This is not turning out well.”
He gestures vaguely at the spaghetti bolognese like it’s personally offended him.
“I followed her recipe,” he adds.
Jack moves further in, slower now, dropping his bag, still trying to catch up, somewhat antsy as he taps the counter repeatedly. “Where is she? She texted me she was home.”
“Shops,” Robby says. “Said she needed a few things. Asked me to start this because she didn’t wanna get changed and dirty her clothes, a surprise, or something.”
A beat.
“I think I’ve screwed this up,” he admits.
Jack sinks onto the stool at the island, scrubbing a hand over his face. “How do you fuck up spaghetti?”
Robby turns to him, dead serious. “Who puts that much sugar in a sauce?”
Jack doesn’t even hesitate. “She does. It’s good.”
Robby squints. “It feels offensive.”
“It’s not,” Jack mutters. “It’s… you know, balanced.”
Robby gestures at the pot again. “It’s dessert.”
Jack leans forward, peering into it like he’s assessing a trauma. “Did you reduce it?”
“…Did I what?”
Jack looks at him slowly. “Oh my God.”
“I stirred the thing, I don't know,” Robby defends.
“Yeah, I’m sure that helped,” Jack says dryly, already pushing himself up despite the protest in his leg. “Move.”
Robby steps aside with zero resistance. “Be my guest, chef.”
Jack takes over, grabbing a spoon, tasting it, making a face—not terrible, but not right.
“You didn’t salt it properly,” he says.
“I salted it.”
“You absolutely did not. I can even smell the absence of salt.”
Robby watches him work for a second, then glances at him sideways. “You look like shit, by the way.”
“Feel like it,” Jack mutters.
“You two haven’t seen each other?”
“Not properly.”
Robby nods once, like that explains everything. Then—casual, but not really—“Once you finally get laid and stop being so damn dramatic, I need help with Noelle. Bring your girl if you want, I told her the two of you’d meet. Tomorrow night?”
Jack doesn’t even look up. “My girl and I will be very busy, if all goes well, so, unlikely.”
“…I hate knowing things about you,” Robby mutters.
Jack huffs, stirring the sauce.
The front door clicks open. Both of them look up.
“Robby, you didn’t salt it—I can smell it,” you call out immediately as you step inside, toeing off your shoes.
“Salting it now, sweetheart,” Jack shoots back, not missing a beat. He flicks Robby a look. Robby scoffs.
You come in fully then, arms loaded with shopping bags—Victoria’s Secret, a couple of clothing stores, something small and overpriced in tissue paper. You were pretty keen to break that no shop rule, apparently.
“When’d you get back?” you ask.
“Five minutes ago,” Jack says, already moving toward you. “You walk? I would’ve picked you up.”
“I was trying to surprise you,” you say, smiling. “Robby wasn’t supposed to be part of it.”
“Shocking,” Robby mutters.
You barely register him—because Jack’s right there, closer now, and you really do not care about some cleansing shit anymore. You grab his shirt and pull him in, kissing him quick—warm, familiar, a little rushed like you’re making up for lost time in a single second.
You pull back just as fast.
“You look like shit,” you tell him, joking and dry.
“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “You look… really good.”
His hand slides up, brushing through your hair, lingering there a second longer than necessary.
You clear your throat, stepping away first. “Okay, how bad did he fuck the sauce?”
“I did not fuck the sauce that bad,” Robby says.
You move to the stove, peering in, grabbing a spoon. Taste. Pause.
“…It’s not that bad,” you admit. “Maybe a bit more sugar, not enough salt.”
Robby throws his hands up. “Of course it does. Why not throw chocolate in there while we’re at it?”
“Don’t tempt me,” you say lightly.
Robby exhales, grabbing his jacket. “Alright. I’m off. Dana’s gonna love that I delayed my shift because I was domestic here.”
“Tell her I said hi,” you call.
“I’m not telling her anything,” he mutters, heading out.
He pauses at the door, glances back at the two of you—at the way you’ve both unconsciously drifted closer again without noticing.
“Don’t give him a heart attack. At that age you never know,” he adds.
“Out!” Jack says.
Robby leaves.
The door shuts.
And just like that—
It’s quiet. No monitors. No pages. No interruptions. Just you and him. You don’t move at first, still standing by the stove, spoon in hand. He’s leaning against the island, watching you. Really watching you.
“Day Thirty Two, by the way,” he says.
“Really? Didn’t notice,” You shrug.
He nods, coming up besides you, watching as you stir the sauce.
“This is gonna take ages. He didn’t reduce anything. Useless,” You murmur, mostly sarcastic, as you look at it.
“Oh, you know Robby,” Jack sighs. “Can’t do anything right.”
You put the lid on top, lowering it to a simmer. You hum to yourself, feeling Jack’s eyes on you.
“C’mere,” he says.
You step in between his legs, your gaze dragging over him as his hands catch your waist, pulling you in. His grip is heavy, grounding, sliding over your hips like he’s relearning the shape of you after weeks of not touching.
“This alright?” he asks, quieter now—though his hand dips, squeezing your ass through the thin fabric of your dress.
You nod.
“Speak,” he adds, low.
“Yes.”
That does something to him. You see it—jaw tightening, breath shifting, his eyes darkening as they move over you slowly, deliberately. Chest. Lips. Eyes again.
“What am I gonna do with you?” he murmurs.
His hand comes up, sliding to the back of your neck, fingers spreading there, warm and steady. He tilts your face up, thumb brushing along your jaw, holding you in place like he’s taking his time deciding something.
You can’t quite read him. It’s too much at once.
His thumb drifts lower, pausing at your bottom lip. You hesitate—barely—but he notices.
“Go on,” he murmurs, giving a small nod.
You do. Tongue slow, tentative at first, wrapping your mouth around the digit, then steadier, your focus slipping as his breathing changes—subtle, but not enough to hide it. His shoulders pull back slightly, tension running through him like he’s holding himself in check.
He exhales, eyes still locked on you.
“Yeah,” he mutters under his breath.
“Want another?” he asks after a second, voice rougher now.
“Mhm.”
He moves his index and middle, thumb dropped to your chin, your saliva coating your jaw slightly as you suck the digits. He watches you for a beat longer, like he’s considering pushing it further—then drags his hand away instead, jaw tightening again.
“Bedroom,” he says, quieter, but it lands just as firm.
His other hand slides down your side, lifting the hem of your dress just enough to make his gaze dip—brief, restrained—before he turns you, your back to his chest, guiding you away.
“I’m running on an adrenaline high from work, I’m gonna fuck you, then we’re gonna cuddle and sleep for twelve hours,” he adds, voice low behind you. “That sound good to you?”
You turn your head, looking at him behind you. “Love you too,” You give him a quick kiss to his lips, feeling him smile from that.
You head down the hall, already pulling the dress up and over your head, not looking back—but you can feel his eyes on you until you disappear.
Behind you, the stove clicks off.
A second later, you hear him move—quick now, like whatever control he had left is running out.
“You know, I was talking to Santos about our whole… challenge,” you start, slipping your dress off and draping it over the chair. You catch your reflection in the mirror, thumb swiping under your eye to fix the faint smudge of mascara. “Turns out she lasted all of ten days before she slept with Garcia.”
He huffs a quiet breath against your shoulder, voice rough where it meets your skin. “So all that torture for nothing?”
“Torture’s dramatic,” you murmur, but there’s a smile tugging at it.
“You did it on purpose,” he counters, hand sliding up to cup your tit, squeezing through the fabric of your bra like he’s testing a theory he already knows the answer to. “Walkin’ around in those… stupid shorts, the yoga, that little nightgown—won’t even kiss me, won’t even touch me.” His thumb drags slow, deliberate. “You know what that does to a man? That kind of taunting?”
You let your head tip back against his shoulder, soft, unbothered on the surface even as your breath shifts. “I think I’ve got an idea.”
“Yeah?” His mouth finds the space under your ear, kisses turning slower, heavier—less rushed now, more deliberate. He sucks at your neck, groaning low when you push back into him, feeling the way he’s already half-hard under your touch.
You turn suddenly, hands braced on his shoulders, guiding him back until his knees hit the mattress. “I lied,” you admit, pressing him down to sit. “About not touching myself.”
His brows lift, something amused and dark flickering there as his hands move instinctively—reaching behind you, unclipping your bra with practiced ease. “You? Lie?” he mutters, watching as you pull it off and toss it aside. “What happened to Miss Wellness Mary Magdalene?”
You barely get a breath out before his hands are back on you, over your tits, fingers pinching at your nipples, rougher now, less patient—palming, shaping, like he’s reacquainting himself. His mouth follows, pressing to your tits, tongue warm, stubble dragging just enough to make you jolt.
“It’s bullshit,” you breathe, the words breaking as he closes his mouth around your nipples, the sensation sharp and grounding all at once. “I was miserable the whole time.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm. The vegetable soup was shit. I miss my phone. Yoga is boring. I like tequila,” you say, feeling his chuckle vibrate against your skin as he kisses over your sternum.
“What else?”
“I like sex,” you tell him, whimpering as his teeth drag over your nipple briefly, the sharp tug making your core clench. His other hand travels over your stomach to the pink panties, fidgeting with the sides of the material over your hip.
You climb onto him, knees spreading wide beside his thighs, your body hovering just above his. “I really like it when you touch me. I like touching you. I like when—” He cups your clothed pussy, his palm pressing firmly against the damp fabric.
“You like that?” he wonders, voice low and almost casual, watching as you moan at the contact, your arousal soaking through the panties instantly. “Speak, sweetheart.”
“You know I like that,” you gasp, grinding down against his hand instinctively.
He nods. “Damn right I do,” His fingers slip beneath the edge of your panties, tracing the slick folds of your pussy with deliberate slowness, teasing the entrance before pushing one thick digit inside you.
The intrusion is warm and welcome, stretching you just enough to make you clench around him. He curls it slowly, stroking that sensitive spot deep within your walls, the pad of his finger rubbing in firm, unhurried circles that make your thighs tremble and your breath hitch.
You rock against his hand, chasing the building pressure. He adds a second finger without warning, scissoring them gently to open you up, then pumping them in and out with deliberate thrusts—shallow at first, then deeper, his knuckles brushing your clit on every inward slide.
His thumb finds your clit, circling it with rough, insistent pressure, alternating between tight loops and light flicks that draw out breathy cries from your lips. The wet sounds of his fingers fucking you fill the room mingling with your moans as he watches your face intently, eyes dark with hunger, drinking in every twitch and gasp.
“How about this? You like it when I fuck you with my fingers?” he asks, his voice a gravelly rumble, free hand gripping your hip to steady your grinding.
“Mhm,” you whine, riding his hand harder now, your pussy fluttering around the invading digits as they twist and probe, hitting that spot again and again.
He slides in a third finger, gently stretching you out, the fullness making you gasp as he kisses at your neck, lips hot and sucking lightly on the skin. You moan into his mouth when he claims your lips in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as his fingers maintain their rhythm—curling, thrusting, spreading you wider with each pass.
He varies the pace, slowing to a torturous drag that lets you feel every ridge and vein on his fingers, then speeding up to plunge deep and fast, his palm slapping wetly against your mound.
“That’s right, atta girl, doin’ so well, aren’t you?” he murmurs against your throat, nipping at the pulse point while his thumb resumes those relentless circles on your clit, pressing harder now, building the ache into something electric.
He watches as you ride his fingers, your juices dripping down his wrist, the obscene squelch growing louder with every movement.
“What’d you think of when you touched yourself, honey? You thinka me?”
You nod frantically, words caught up in your moans, your walls clenching tighter around him. “Uh-huh,” you whine as he curls his fingers deeper into you, hooking them to stroke that bundle of nerves with precision, his other hand sliding up to pinch and roll your nipple, adding sparks of sensation everywhere.
He keeps you teetering, easing off just when you get close—pulling his fingers almost all the way out before slamming them back in, thumb pausing its circles to let the tension simmer. Then he ramps it up again, fingers pistoning faster, thumb vibrating against your swollen clit. Sweat beads on your skin, your breaths coming in short, desperate pants as the coil in your belly winds impossibly tight.
“C’mon, baby, let go f’me,” he murmurs, kissing at your neck with open-mouthed presses, his teeth grazing your earlobe.
He feels as you tense and tighten around his fingers, hips bucking erratically, thighs quivering you come undone, jaw agape as your body stills over him, warm and melting.
“You come when you touch yourself?” he asks, quieter now.
His hand leaves you, trailing over your hips as he guides you back onto the bed. You go easily, breath unsteady, the anticipation settling into something heavier as you lie there, bare and waiting.
You shake your head.
“You?” you ask, your hand drifting instinctively over yourself, fingers trailing over your core, testing the sensitivity, your eyes flicking back to him.
He gives a short shake of his head, rolling his neck once like he’s trying to keep himself together.
“Still got enough in you?” you murmur, a little teasing. “Or did that shift kill you?”
He huffs a breath—half laugh, half something tighter. “I’d find the energy,” he says, stepping out of his scrubs, not taking his eyes off you. “Don’t worry about that.”
You watch him move, slower now but deliberate, like he’s pacing himself instead of rushing it.
“You wanna take that off?” you start, glancing down to his prosthetic.
He follows your gaze, then looks back at you. “In a minute,” he says, already leaning over you again. “Wanna make sure I remember what you taste like first.”
He slides a pillow beneath your head, then gently eases your knees apart. You give a small nod. When his tongue traces slowly across your center, your body responds instantly—back arching, breath catching. His palm presses firmly against your stomach, keeping you anchored.
“Stay still f’me, can you, baby?” He murmurs against you, barely enough for you to hear.
You gasp his name between ragged breaths, managing to nod yes, your fingers threading through his salt-and-pepper curls. His mouth moves against you with deliberate patience—soft yet demanding—and your lungs empty completely, replaced by something molten and urgent.
“Atta girl, you feel good yeah, baby?” He hums.
You nod fast. Your thighs tremble against his shoulders as he tastes you with unhurried determination, as though time has ceased to exist beyond this bed, beyond this moment. When his tongue finds that perfect rhythm, that perfect spot, coherent thought dissolves into desperate pleas that barely form words.
He groans against your center, vibrating against you as you claw at his nape, nails digging into his sun-kissed, freckled skin with desperate urgency. “God, fuck, I missed this,” you say,
His tongue, slick and insistent, flicks against your clit, drawing out your orgasm with relentless precision. You feel the heat of your release coating his tongue, his lips, and he devours it hungrily, as if it's the sweetest nectar he's ever tasted.
“Please, please, fuck,” You mumble, brain foggy as his tongue sweeps over you with a kind of desperation of a starving man.
His fingers digging into your hips, holding you in place as he feasts on you. You can feel his hot breath against your sensitive flesh, his tongue delving into every crevice, every fold as you come undone, moans loud to the point where you throw your hand over your mouth, biting down into your palm.
You let out a shaky breath, head back as he kisses your inner thighs, gentle, stubble coated in your orgasm before he climbs back over you, kissing you, deep, as you taste yourself on his tongue.
“Once I wake up—after fucking you—obviously,” He murmurs against you, sloppy tongues colliding. “I’ll do that for three hours, until you can’t walk, alright?”
You moan at the thought, nodding. You believe him because he’s done it on many occasions. You think he just likes doing it to get you to go to sleep sometimes or knock you out and he can take care of you or something. That and he just entirely gets off on you.
“Fuck willpower,” He says against you as he briefly tests your folds with fingers over your sensitive clit, watching your mouth open in a small whine, lashes fluttering, another hand pulling your body even closer, as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Fuck being cleansed, alright?”
“Mm,” You say, watching as he swallows, you’re watching maybe the toll of his shift start to come back physically and you move your hands to his cheek, away from where’d he place them above your head.
You don’t say anything, just still him briefly, eyes wide, a nod, a check in. He nods, mouth twitching in a smile.
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down with a practiced ease born from years of undressing after long shifts. His cock hard and eager, his breath hitching as you wrap your hand around his length, your touch sending electric shocks through him.
You spit into your palm, the wet sound echoing in the quiet room, and he groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through him. Your hand moves over his cock, slick and smooth, your fingers tracing the veins, your thumb rubbing over the sensitive head. He curses under his breath, a string of words that would make a sailor blush, his hips jerking forward, seeking more of your touch.
“Shit… fucking hell– You keep doing that this is gonna a lot quicker than I mentally planned for.” He tells you.
“What’d you mentally plan for?” You chuckle, a low, sultry sound that sends shivers down his spine, your hand never pausing in its slow, torturous rhythm.
“Well, six hours of foreplay,” he moves his cock over your pussy, gliding it over your folds, amused by your gasp of a moan. “Six hours of shower sex, kitchen, couch, each. Obviously six… emotionally… intelligent, beautiful conversation about life and marriage. Ever thought about wanting a third?”
“I don’t know, have you?” You murmur, watching as he taunts you as he moves his cock over your pussy, the head slipping through your folds, coating itself in your wetness. You gasp, your back arching, your hips lifting to meet him. He groans, his eyes fluttering closed, savoring the feel of you.
“Christ,” He murmurs, absentmindedly, then, with a slow, steady push, he slides into you, his cock filling you completely. You moan, your nails digging into his back, your body arching into his. “Maybe. I don’t know. We can talk about this later.”
He’s still for a moment, body hot and warm above you as his hand grips onto your hips. You let out a shaky breath and smile. “You alright there, old man?”
“Heavenly,” he says quite earnestly, leaning to kiss you down at your neck. “Missed this. God, it’s like you’re made for me. So goddamn perfect.”
You clench slightly at his words, hearing as he groans at that, vibrating against your skin. A moment passes before you start getting desperate for action.
“Please move, baby,” You ask, looking up at him with eagerness.
“‘Course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” He kisses your lips softly, before moving.
Pulling out slowly before sliding back in, his pace steady and sure. With each thrust, he swallows your moans with his kisses, his hands tangling in your hair, his body pressing you into the mattress. You can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, and it's perfect.
His tongue dances with yours, exploring your mouth, tasting you. His hand tangles in your hair, his grip firm but not painful, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. You moan into his mouth, your body arching into his, your nails digging into his back.
He pulls back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. "You feel so good," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "So fucking good."
You can only nod, your words lost in the pleasure that's coursing through your veins. He starts to move faster, his hips snapping forward, his cock sliding in and out of you with increasing urgency. You can feel the pleasure building, the tension coiling in your belly, your pussy clenching around him.
His hand travels from your hair to your face, cupping your cheek, keeping your eyes on him. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, your body arching into his touch. He groans, his cock twitching inside you at the sight of you losing yourself in his touch.
He gently moves two fingers down your chest and stomach, landing at your core, above where he fucks you. He circles your clit, his touch firm and steady, drawing tight circles that make your hips buck off the bed. You let out a low moan, your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps.
He can see your arousal coating his cock, your slick gathering around the base, and it spurs him on. He leans down, his lips finding your ear. "You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "You like feeling me stretch you, filling you up?"
“Yes, yes, mhm,” you try, nails moving from his back to his biceps, hard and taught beneath your touch.
He starts to move faster, his hips slamming into you, his cock sliding in and out of you with increasing urgency. You can feel the pleasure building, the tension coiling in your belly, your pussy clenching around him.
His weight edges off just enough, bracing more through his arms and left side, breath going a touch uneven where it presses against your shoulder. Not stopping—he’d push through it if you let him—but compensating. You feel it.
Your hands slide up his back, slower now, anchoring “Take it off, baby,” you murmur softly, glancing down toward the prosthetic. “You’ve had it on too long.”
He eases to a stop, controlled, careful not to jostle you as he shifts his weight fully off. You guide him back with you, hands steady at his sides, both of you moving without needing to overthink it—this part practiced, familiar.
He settles against the pillows with a small exhale, rolling his shoulder once as if resetting himself. You stay close, one hand resting at his hip, the other brushing briefly up his chest—grounding, not rushing him.
He reaches down, undoing the prosthetic with efficient movements, years of muscle memory. There’s no awkwardness to it, no self-consciousness—just a small release in his face as it comes free. You take it from him without comment, setting it at the foot of the bed like you always do.
“Better?” you ask, thumb tracing idly along his side.
He nods once, eyes flicking back to you, something softer under the edge of want. “Yeah. C’mere.”
You shift back over him, settling in close again, your knees bracketing his hips, easy and familiar. You lean down to kiss him, long and sweet, less immodest as your other ones, maybe. Just maybe, as his hands immediately find your ass, helping your back arch into him, cock still hard as you slide over it, folds wet and sensitive.
“God, you’re–” He groans as you bite at his bottom lip, pulling it back, as you kiss down his chest. “Gonna be the death of me.”
You lean down, your tongue flicking out to taste his skin, tracing a path down his chest, over his stomach, until you reach the V that leads to his cock. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his, and you can see the anticipation in them.
You take your time, your tongue sliding over his shaft, from base to tip, feeling him pulse under your touch.
“Great way to go,” he murmurs as he watches you.
You take him into your mouth, feeling him slide over your tongue, your lips stretching to accommodate him. He groans, his hand finding your hair, not pulling, just gripping, as you take him deeper, your mouth warm and wet. You can feel him, hard and throbbing, and you know he's close, with how his arms tighten and tense, fingers tighter on your scalp.
You pull back, your tongue flicking over the head of his cock, tasting the precum that beads at the tip. You sit back, straightening your spine, and look at him. His eyes are on you, hungry and intense.
You spit on his cock, watching as the saliva slides down his shaft, making it glisten in the soft light. You rise up, your knees bracketing his hips, and lower yourself onto him, feeling him slide into you, inch by inch.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimper as you settle on top, nails over his chest.
He groans, his hands finding your hips, holding you in place as he thrusts up into you. You can feel him, deep and hard, filling you completely. You start to move, your body rolling and grinding against him, your hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm.
His hands roam over your body, one staying on your hip, guiding your movements, the other trailing up your stomach, over your breasts, squeezing them, his thumb brushing over your nipple. You gasp, your head falling back.
His thumb circling your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He starts to talk you through it, his voice slow and steady, a counterpoint to the fast, hard rhythm of your bodies. "You're so fucking beautiful, riding me like this. God- so tight and wet for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?"
His words send a shiver through you, your body tensing, your breath hitching in your throat.
“Yeah? Yeah, that’s right, that’s right," he mutters. “C’mon, baby, right there f’me, you’re doing so good.”
“Please,” you moan, hips grinding down against him.
“You need help, honey? Just ask,” He sits up, his chest pressing against yours, his breath hot on your neck. He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You whine, your body arching into his touch, your hips moving in time with his fingers.
“C’mon, words for me,” he says, breathing heavily against you as he finds himself closer to the edge at how you clench down on him, tight and warm.
“Wanna cum,” you pant, your body tense, your breath coming in short gasps.
“Again? So greedy,” he mocks. “Go ‘head, you can do it”
His words push you over the edge. You move, your body rolling and grinding against him, your hips moving in a fast, frantic rhythm. You can feel it, the pleasure snapping, your body convulsing, your nails digging into his back, your mouth open in a silent scream.
"Good girl," he groans, his body tensing, his cock pulsing inside you. He follows you, his release hot and hard, filling you completely.
You collapse onto his chest, your body spent, your heart pounding in your ears. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his body still trembling with the aftermath. You can feel his heart beating in time with yours, and you know, in this moment, everything is right.
You stay there a little longer than you mean to, half sprawled over him, your cheek pressed to his chest, skin still warm, damp, real. His arm is draped around you—loose now, heavy with exhaustion—but his fingers keep moving anyway, absentminded, tracing slow patterns over your back like he can’t quite stop touching you yet.
Like he doesn’t want to.
You draw lazy shapes over his shoulder, connecting freckles you already know by heart, like it’s something you’ve done a hundred times—because you have.
“I love baseless temptations,” you murmur.
Jack lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low in his chest, vibrating under your cheek. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough but easy. “Me too.”
There’s something softer in it now. Not the edge from before. Just… him.
You shift slightly, listening to his breathing settle, feeling the way his body gives into the mattress—finally. Like he’s been holding himself upright all day and only now gets to stop.
“Fourteen hours,” you mumble, almost to yourself, remembering your insane schedules. “And you still managed to—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” he cuts in, dry.
You grin against his skin. “I was gonna say ‘impress me.’”
“Sure you were.”
“I was,” you insist, lifting your head to look at him properly. “Honestly, I thought you’d pass out.”
He cracks one eye open at that. “Have a little faith.”
“I do,” you say, brushing your thumb over his jaw, softer now. “I also have eyes. You look like you got hit by a truck.”
“Feel like it,” he mutters.
“Mm.” You lean down, press a brief kiss to his chest—nothing urgent, just there. “Still did good.”
He exhales a quiet laugh at that, head tipping back. “Christ. It’s alright, I’ll probably crash in twenty minutes. Took tomorrow off, at least.
You watch him for a second—really watch him. The lines of tension finally easing out of his face, the way his shoulders have dropped, the way he looks… settled. Not asleep, not yet. Just here. With you.
It hits you again, softer this time, how much of him is usually in motion—pulled in a hundred directions, needed everywhere at once—and how rare it is to have him like this. Still. Letting himself be here, with you, without reaching for the next thing.
You smooth your hand over his chest, slower now, grounding.
“You gonna keep up the meditation thing?” he asks, voice rough with the edge of sleep.
You huff quietly. “Probably not.” A beat. “Unless you’re suddenly interested.”
“Mm. I think I’ll stick to therapy,” he murmurs. Then, after a second, a little more awake—“You still think I need other hobbies?”
You glance at him, mouth curving. “No. I’m actually very supportive of your current hobby.” You lean in, kiss him soft. “Big fan. Please continue exclusively.”
He laughs into it, low and tired, something easy settling back into him.
“I’ll be right back,” you add, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “Gonna clean up, check the spaghetti. You’ll eat something, then we’ll watch Housewives in bed. Deal?”
“I can help, I’ll—”
“—Stay,” you cut in gently, pressing him back into the pillows. “I’ve spent a stupid amount of money while I was out this morning, this is more for me than it is for you, trust.” You tell, already slipping out from under the sheets.
You move around the room in one of his old shirts, easy, familiar—tidying, grabbing what you need, the quiet domestic rhythm of it settling everything back into place. It’s almost meditative, in a way that none of the actual meditation ever was. This is the version that works for you: him in the bed, you in the room, the soft comedown of it all.
When you come back, he hasn’t moved much. One arm over his eyes, breathing slower now, like he’s finally letting himself drop. You sit beside him, brush your hand over his chest again, then pass him a bowl.
“Eat, quick, before it gets cold,” you say.
He obeys, because of course he does, getting through a few bites before setting it aside with a quiet exhale.
You keep going, perched cross-legged beside him, the normalcy of it comforting after a month of physically pushing him away to be cleansed, when ironically, you feel more cleansed than ever to be near him.
There’s a pause.
“So,” you begin. “What was that thing you said? Earlier? About a third?”
He chuckles. “I was just kidding, hon,” he says, a little rough, like he’s not fully back yet. He presses a lazy kiss to your head. “Why?”
You tilt your chin up slightly, watching him. “I don’t know.” Your head ring vaguely with Santos’ words from the other day. He reads pretty quickly where your train of thought is going.
“Hypothetically. If you had to pick someone.” You ask.
He looks at you properly now, narrowing his eyes just a fraction like he’s trying to read the angle. Like there’s definitely a wrong answer here and he’d quite like to avoid it.
You just hold his gaze, completely neutral.
A beat passes. Something unspoken flickers between you—quick, familiar.
Who would you pick?
Who do you think I’d pick?
Are we about to say the same name?
“…Robby,” you both say at the same time.
There’s a pause. Then Jack lets out a quiet, disbelieving huff of laughter, shaking his head against the pillow. “Jesus Christ.”
You grin a little, unable to help it. “I mean—objectively—”
“He’d be… fucking insufferable about it,” Jack cuts in immediately. “You know he would.”
You refrain from commenting, leaving your spaghetti aside, as you open your computer. Jack groans, dragging a hand over his face. “He’d give me notes or something.”
You’ve got Housewives on your computer. It’s obviously the New York one, still early days - Season 4.
“So what happened in the mid-season finale again?” You ask as you settle against him.
“I barely remember, honestly,” He sighs. “Ramona’s being difficult, someone brought the wrong wine, it’s a mess. Cindy is great, though.”
His arm tightens around you again, a quiet, grounding squeeze.
The episode keeps playing. His commentary gets more frequent—dry, half-interested, pretending he’s above it while very clearly tracking every single detail.
You let it happen, tucked into him, warm, fed, a little tired in the best way.
Cleansed, in a way none of the yoga or herbal tea ever managed. Just this—him, you, the low hum of something ridiculous on screen, and the easy, familiar weight of being exactly where you’re meant to be.
a/n: i love this song! I got this though from when i watched a robby x abbot tiktok edit to my man on willpower, and if im desperate for inspo i go to my tiktok edits and see if i can spur some ideas, and i was like, oh maybe abbot like not fucking you or something because of some self care thing and i was like, god he’d never do that. he’s fucking whenever, life is short, he would want to treat his partner as much as he can mentally and physically handle i think. And then i was like. Wait, lets switch the beat…. anyway i had to restrain myself from writing more orlike writing everyday and unpacking different interactions. i wrote a scene where'd try to seduce you with his "slutty pyjamas" (his army uniform) and you gaf or something but i felt too much 2nd hand embarrasment. im so tired i have triivia to go to now i have no idea if this is good i just want it done so i caan study and work on the lawyer series!
NSFW ARTIST ! GOJO ♥︎ SATORU is an artist in New York, and he's smitten with his new muse.
It's love at first sight, like straight out of a story he's written. But just how far will this love go?
Maybe, to Paris. And then, maybe, to the wedding arch. Or maybe, it'll just stay in the sketchbooks.
ㅤ ♥︎ MDNI/ADULT CONTENT────love at first sight, lots of fluff, plot twist ending :: eventual smut :: slight slowburn :: friends to lovers
ㅤ ♥︎ Be on my permanent taglist to get updates.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ▶︎ COLOUR ME—ALEX AMOR
ㅤ Main story
ㅤ Chapter one (wc 4.7k) :: Chapter two :: Chapter three
↳ reader feels as if she is running out of time, and asks jack to be a sperm donor so she can fulfill her lifelong dream of being a mother. surprisingly, he agrees.
He conquered the world. Now, he wants to conquer you.
Emperor Eren Jaeger rules the globe as an undisputed tyrant, his power absolute, his boredom a force as destructive as his armies. During a routine conquest of another insignificant village, his bored gaze lands on you in the smoke and terror.
He sees your defiant spirit, a spark of unbroken fire in a world that has learned to grovel.
Intrigued, he makes you a devastating offer: your life in his palace in exchange for sparing your home and your family. You are forced to accept, becoming the seventh addition to his harem, a "guest" in his golden cage.
But you soon learn that the other concubines are a nest of vipers, and the palace's gilded halls hide a new kind of warfare. Eren doesn't just want your body; he wants to dismantle your will. He's not interested in a simple capture—he wants to play a game. And in this terrifying, psychological battle, the line between your burning hatred and a new, horrifying fascination begins to blur. (Eren x Reader)
best friends who share everything… including their side chick.
𓊆박성훈 & 심재윤& 박종성 x fem reader𓊇 baby, is it me or are you doing something to me? when you smile, it’s shining, but for some reason, you’re lying inside. dangerously, you’re beautiful. you slowly came to me, my dilemma like a habit. ─ baby don't like it, nct127 ⫶ 𐔌masterlist꒱
𓆩♡𓆪 wow hi :< it's been a minute since i wrote + something so long + smut?! + foursome?!?!?! ... i'm super sorry in advance if this is so shit because yk i don't reread my smut and this is genuinely just 10k of filth hahsheahs and i miss u guys so much kisses kisses kisses :x
word count 10k
content advisory heavy infidelity/cheating, lowkey polyamory? possessiveness, side chick, jay is a football player, jake is a nerd, toxic relationship, moral ambiguity, hoes before bros or whatever, no one's a good person here, mentioned of underage drinking (1), kinda sunghoon biased i'm so sorry, non proofread!
smut advisory foursome (fmmm), very nasty mayne, different sex scenes, squirt, fingering, cum stuffing, oral, fellatio, pussy licking/sucking, lots of making out jesus, dirty talk, profanity, locker room fucking, creampie, cumshot, tit play, jake's in love with your tits and sunghoon can't stop kissing you, flirting, jay's gentler than the others, jake is lowkey a softdom/sub, sunghoon's a hard-dom and mean, use of slut, whore, cumdump etc. doggy style, side-fucking, missionary, creampie after creampie, car sex, hotel sex... might miss out some but pls.
growing up as a trio—jake, sunghoon, and jay always, and always made sure that no secrets are kept from one another. from highschool, and attending the same college, they stuck together like glue—rooming in the same dorm block, sharing the same late–night runs, copying each other’s work despite not taking the same major but shared classes.
they called themselves 02z (and sunghoon always thought that it was corny) and no matter what happened, the rule was simple: no secrets. everything got laid out on the table—the good, the bad, the ugly, and the embarrassing.
and they’d proven it time and time again.
like the time jake got stupidly drunk at a house party at the age of seventeen, and jay had to haul his half–conscious ass back through the window of his bedroom while sunghoon knocked on the front door and entertained jake’s father from finding out.
or the time jay accidentally broke the school’s window and to prevent him from getting suspended and kicked out of the football team, jake stepped forward and took the blame—”i threw it too hard to impress a girl, sorry.” he flashed that innocent puppy smile and accepted the week’s detention without complaint. jay never forgot it and paid him back by covering his shifts for two whole weeks.
but the real payment was the tighter bond between them.
“ride or die,” sunghoon had said once. and in a world where friendships were shallow and people stabbed each other in the back, the three of them were unbreakable. like a stream of water, it cannot be cut—
but even the strongest stream can be diverted when the faucet is turned.
——
funny enough—the first time jay saw you was during one of his football friendly matches.
it was a casual friday afternoon game, nothing serious, just the medic faculty versus the business for bragging rights and free drinks afterward. jay was on the field in his number 99 jersey, sweat already soaking the back of his neck under the orange sun.
his girlfriend, minji, was sitting in the small bleachers with a couple of her friends, waving at him every time he glanced her way. he’d blown her a kiss before the whistle, the perfect boyfriend move that made his teammates tease him later.
and you weren’t even supposed to be there for him.
you were merely just a friend with one of the strikers in his team—and had come along because he (martin) had begged you to at least pretend to cheer so he doesn’t look like a loser. you sat on the grass near the sidelines, knees pulled up in those pretty shorts and prettier top.
you weren’t attention seeking or loud, but jay found his eyes travelling to you more often than he’d like to. light, genuine laughter that cut through the noise of the field and scored him square in the chest. he almost lost the ball.
and if it wasn’t after the match that everyone gathered near the benches to talk about what happened and martin pulled you in to join the conversation. you, being youself—ever so friendly and talkative you, even prettier up close and funnier than most girls he know—chatted with the rest of the boys like you’d known them for months.
jay stood there, still catching his breath, tower slung over his shoulder, watching you. the conversation flowed naturally and he found himself grinning wider than he should, eyes lingering on the way your lips curved when you smiled.
“you played so well. even if your team totally got lucky on that last goal,” you commented, casually sitting next to jay on the bench. jay laughed, humming. “yeah? that never happened by the way—so it was probably your luck.”
you raised an eyebrow, amused, turning your body slightly toward him. “you think so?”
the way you said it made something in his chest tighten in the best way possible. most girls would either just giggle or try too hard, but you looked like you were genuinely enjoying the back–and–forth.
he leaned back on the bench, resting his elbows behind him. his jersey clung to his chest, damp with sweat, but neither of you care. for once, he was grateful his girlfriend wasn’t around.
“maybe,” he replied, that smirk tugging at his lips. “or maybe you’re bad luck for the other team. every time you cheered us, their defense fell apart. i saw it.”
you let out the laugh that got him almost distracted on the field earlier—and shook your head. “you’re so smooth, jay. do you use that line on every girl who watches your game?”
uh, oh.
his smirk faltered for half a second. he let out a quick, awkward laugh and rubbed the back of his neck to play it cool. “of course not,” he said, chuckling a little too loudly. “that would be way too cheesy. i swear i’m not that kind of guy.”
you tilted your head, studying him with glint in your eyes. then, casually, almost too casually, you dropped it—
“i thought so! you kept blowing kisses to a girl earlier. i saw it.”
jay went quiet.
the easy smile on his face froze. his fingers tightened slightly around his water bottle as the words landed. he swore—he swore—he didn’t mean to come off as flirty or anything, but it just… came out naturally.
like it was just you.
for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. he hadn’t even realised you’d noticed that.
“yeah, well…” he started, voice trailing off. he looked away for a second, heartbeat drumming fast, searching for the right words that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete asshole.
before he could finish, you broke into a soft giggle and waved your hand lightly in front of him. “i’m just joking, hehe,” you said, mischievous. “relax. you don’t have to look so guilty.”
jay let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the tension in his shoulder easing as he laughed along. you were teasing him, but the way you said it so playfully made his tummy flip.
he finally met your eyes, watching the way your lips curved when you smiled like that. relax. you don’t have to look so guilty. then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to you.
“put your number in,” he said, smoother and calmer now. “next time we play, you could be our lucky charm again.”
you’re not stupid. if anything, martin would’ve invited you to the next matches anyway. but you took the phone anyway—fingers brushed against his. you saved yourself as yn, followed with a little soccer ball emoji and handed it back.
“don’t blow me kisses though,” you teased lightly as you stood up, brushing invisible dust from your shorts.
jay watched your back as you walked away, phone warm in his hand, your contact staring back at him. it’s harmless—it’s just a number and you’re just a girl who was easy and fun to talk to.
but the further you got from him, the more it’s clear to jay that he was going to text you tonight.
and the first turn of the faucet happened—quietly, and completely without anyone knowing, not even jay himself.
——
“oh my gosh, my player,” you moaned sensually, tipping your head back as jay lifted you up around his waist with ease.
his strong hands gripped the back of your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin as he pressed you against the cool metal locker. the contrast between the cold surface on your back and the heat of his body made you shiver.
jay’s mouth was on yours instantly—hungry, deep, messy, and horny. he kissed you like he’d been starving from it since the first whistle was blown, tongue sliding against yours while low groans rumbled deep from his chest.
“fuck baby, you feel so good like this,” he rasped between kisses, grinding his hard cock against your bare pussy. the thin fabric of his shorts was the only thing separating you, and you could feel every inch of him throbbing, already leaking like a little boy for you.
“my little reward.”
you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his damp hair as you rocked your hips against him, chasing the friction. “hngh—you did so well… how are you so good at everything?” another sensual moan slipped from your lips when he shifted and rubbed the head of his cock against your swollen clit.
“am i?” his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and biting lightly, leaving faint marks he knew he shouldn’t but couldn’t stop himself from making. one hand stayed under your thigh, holding you up effortlessly, while the other squeezed your tit, thumb flicking over your perky nipple until you whimpered.
“look at you,” he murmured against your skin, voice hoarse with list. “so fucking wet and ready for me after i won. you like being my secret celebration, baby?”
you nodded eagerly, pussy twitching and clenching around nothing but the idea of jay’s thick cock inside. sensing that—he pulled his shorts down just enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, tip glistening with a bead of precum.
“i want you—fuck me, please,” you cry out, leaning to kiss him.
without another word, jay lined himself up and pushed inside you in one slow, deep thrust—stretching you open, filling you completely. a broken moan tore from your throat as he bottomed out, walls clenching tight around him. the guy buried his face in your neck, groaning loudly at how perfectly you took him.
“shit… so tight,” he breathed, staying still to let you adjust—but not for long before he started moving, sensual, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his cock against every sensitive spot. “oh god, yesyesyes, just like that,”
the locker rattled with every thrust. your legs tightened around his waist, heels dragging into his lower back as he fucked you against the cool metal, mouth never leaving your skin. he kissed, licked, and sucked at your neck and collarbone while his pace gradually picked up, turning deeper and harder.
“mine tonight,” he whispered roughly, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles on your wet, sensitive clit. you moaned louder, bud ticklish and feeling like you were going to squirt—which you did, just seconds after.
jay’s so good and gentle with how he’s treating you it’s making your chest flutter. “yours, jay, yours,” you gasped as the head of his cock knocked against your cervix—jerking your body upwards with each pound.
“my pretty little trophy… taking my cock so well after the game.”
your moans grew louder, more desperate, echoing softly in the empty, locked, locker room as he drove into you again and again and again—sensual, hot, sinful, and so fucking good.
jay’s breathing turned ragged, forehead pressed to yours as he chased both your highs, the wet slap of your skin and your shared gasps filling the air. the player ended up cumming—shooting ropes and ropes of warm jizz on your pretty little face, landing some on your head.
seeing how well you’re cleaning his cock—jay realised he was far from done with you.
——
for sim jaeyun, everything had its place, neatly stacked in order of importance.
first came his family—always. then his friends (sunghoon and jay at top, then the rest of the people he knows). layla, his border collie, squeezed into that top tier too. studies came strongly after that because he believed it’s 100% his future—
and finally, only then—way down the list—came fun.
and fun included his girlfriend, chloe. she was sweet, understanding, and never complained when he told her he had to study late or hang out with the boys. jake liked that about her—she knew her place in his priorities, and she respected it.
he never meant to rearrange that list.
“sorry we can’t do this at my apartment,” jake said, rubbing the back of his neck. “my girlfriend’s been staying over a lot lately and… yeah. i didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
you and jake shared multiple classes since the start of the semester, sitting in the same lecture halls but he’d never really talked to you. not until the professor paired you two together for a major project that counted half of the final grade.
now here you were—tucked away in a quiet, secluded corner of the library on the third floor. jake sat across from you, laptop open, highlighter between his teeth as he scribbled notes. you leaned back in your chair, legs crossed, a small knowing smile playing on your lips.
unlike the easy friendliness you’d shown jay, something about jake brought out a slightly different side of you—a bit more teasing, more… dominant? like you enjoyed watching the good boy squirm a little.
“that’s okay, jakey,” you replied, tilting your head, eyes locked onto his. “anywhere is fine at least we get it done, right?”
jake blinked, caught off guard by the nickname but didn’t comment on it. his cheeks warmed slightly, but he laughed it off. “yeah… exactly. studies first, you know? gotta keep priorities straight.”
you hummed, leaning forward on your elbow, chin resting on your hand as you watched him. jake had to do everything just from glancing at your cleavage sticking out from your shirt. the way your gaze lingered made the air between you feel a little heavier, more intimate—and jake figured this was why most girls wouldn’t want their boyfriends around a girl.
a pretty one at that too.
“that’s good. keeping everything in order like that, hehe.”
the words slipped out casually but jake’s ears turned pink anyway. he shifted in his seat, suddenly hyper–aware of how secluded this corner was—no one could really see the two of you back here.
he tried to steer the conversation back to the project, pointing at the screen as you scooted closer beside him. “so… for this second, i was thinking we could—”
“oh—you typed quantitative wrong here—”
you leaned in and pointed at the typo on his laptop screen. in the process, your chest brushed against his arm, soft and warm through your thin top that jake swore he felt the sponge of your bra.
jake froze.
his breath hitched, eyes widening for a split second as he felt the brief press of your chest against his bicep. a rush of heat shot straight through him and you felt the way he tensed up.
“oh—shit, sorry,” you said quickly, pulling back a little, though your voice didn’t sound even an ounce of guilt if he was being honest. “didn’t mean to interrupt you like that.”
his mouth went dry. he could still feel the ghost of the touch on his arm, and his brain was suddenly struggling to form normal sentences. “n—no, it’s okay,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks now matching the pink of his ears.
“don’t worry about it.”
you bit your lip to hide a small smile, watching the way composed jake was suddenly flustered. the good boy who kept his priorities straight was starting to crack a little. instead of moving back, you stayed right where you were—shoulders almost touching his, close enough that your perfume filled his nostrils.
you pointed at the screen again, this time more carefully, your nails tapping on the lcd. your voice dropped softer, with a hint of light dominant slipping through.
“see? right here. fix it, jakey.”
jake swallowed hard, nodding quickly as his fingers moved to the keyboard. but it was hard to focus on the project anymore—not when every time you shifted even slightly, he became hyper–aware of how close you were, and how dangerous his mind was playing at.
that damn cleavage and top.
maybe it was because jake met you during one of his ‘studying’ sessions, but you were quick to climb up his carefully built hierarchy. just like jay, you were easy to talk to, quick with your thoughts, and somehow jake liked… being told what to do. shamelessly.
“you’re so good at this,” you hummed softly, scooting your chair just a tiny bit closer until your knee brushed his under the table. “what’s something you’re not good at?”
you meant the project—but you also knew men like jake would divert the meaning elsewhere. something jake’s not good at is probably standing on his morals and keeping his priorities straight.
not when he’s easily swayed like this.
——
just two months after that, jake’s stacked priorities crumbled.
parked in a quiet, dimly lit corner of the campus parking lot at 11:49 p.m., the backseat of his car fogged up. he had a chemistry exam the next day—yet here he was.
“jakey…” you whispered against his mouth, voice low and teasing as you cupped his cheeks, fingers tapping against his skin. “you’re thinking too much again.” you continued, straddling his lap and brushing your lips against his.
“it’s late…” he breathed, even as his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you down harder against the obvious bulge in his jeans. “test t’morrow… chloe… fuck, this is so wrong.”
you pouted playfully, rolling your hips and grinding against him in the meantime. “but you’ll ace the test tomorrow anyway, why bother?” you hummed, pressing your lips against him. jake groaned, head falling back against the seat. you purposely ignored the latter problem.
his morals screamed at him, but his body betrayed him completely.
clothes were pushed aside rather than fully removed—your skirt flipped up, panties pulled to the side, his jeans shoved down just enough. he had you on all fours, exactly how he liked it best: doggy style.
as all up for him to watch as it jiggles—yeah, fuck yeah. jake’s hands gripped your hips tightly as he pushed into you from behind in one, full, deep thrust—instantly burying himself deep with a broken moan.
“shit—you feel so good, yn,” he gasped, forehead pressing between your shoulder blades for a second. the angle was beyond perfect—the cramped car, and your tight, wet, cunt while being so deep he could feel every clench around him.
“uh huh? what else?”
he started moving, savouring the way your back arched for him, the way you pushed back to meet every thrust, the way your ass jiggled when his pelvis slapped ‘em. “so tight, your pussy’s so tight, yn,” he rasped, picking up his pace. jake’s hips snapped harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the space of the car. “i love it—love your pussy,”
jake’s cock was probably the longest you’ve had, reaching so deep your fingers, toys, and other boys had never been able to. “oh god, jakey, you’re so good,” you moaned aloud, palms flat against the fogged window.
“you’re ruining me,” jake groaned, one hand sliding up to push you down lower, chest pressed against the seat while your ass stayed up for him. “can’t stop thinkin’ about this—about you.”
his balls slapped against your wet pussy, dragging you velvet walls with each time he pulled out. you moaned sensually, gripping the edge of the seat as he fucked you faster, coming close. “then don’t stop, just do me all the time.”
that pushed him over the edge.
the boy’s grip tightened. he pulled you back onto his cock, deep with every thrust. the car rocked with his movements. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted, sweat dripping down his temple, morals completely shattered as he took you exactly how he loved—deep, rough, playful.
“want your cum, gosh—fuck, cum all over me,” you gasped, saliva leaking out from the edge of your mouth. your pussy squelched with every thrust, juices splattering on the leather seat. what a shame to the girlfriend, really.
he leaned over you, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other braced beside your head, pounding into you harder as he began chasing his end. “shouldn’t… i really shouldn’t…” he groaned, voice strained and broken.
“c’mon, be a good boy—give it to me, cumcumcum,”
the praise pushed him over—with a final moan, jake pulled out of your dripping pussy. he flipped you onto your back in one motion, trapping you between his knees. his hand pumped his slick, wet cock furiously, eyes dark and wild as he hovered above you.
you looked up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes—lips parted, chest heaving, already arching your back and pushing your tits together for him. his abs tensed, jaw clenched tight.
“shit—i’m cumming—!”
thick liquidity, warm ropes of cum shot across your chest in messy spurts, painting your tits and collarbones white. some landed right on your nipple, dripping slowly down the curve which only caused jake to cum some more.
fuck, that’s so fucking hot—he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat as he kept stroking himself through it, milking every last drop until his cock twitched empty and his whole body shuddered.
you licked around your lips, smearing jake’s cum all over your pretty tits. it looked like you were lactating his cum.
“fuck… am i good enough, yn?” he murmured, chest heaving. “look at what you do to me.”
——
saturday night and sunghoon’s at a popular off–campus club with a group of his classmates. while he’s not much of a party guy, he came because one of them kept dragging him anyway, and he knew he couldn’t keep rejecting their advances for so long.
he’s sitting in the booth area, nursing drunks, bored, and detached while everyone else is loud and drunk. sunghoon doesn’t dance. doesn’t flirt. just watch.
that’s when he saw you.
you’re on the dance floor with your girlfriends, just being effortlessly sexy and attractive—the way your body swayed, hair sticking on your neck from the heat, the same curve of your smile that jay was starstrucked with.
and that damn black dress that hugged your curves just right.
sunghoon’s eyes locked on you instantly, he didn't smile when your eyes met his as well across the floor—just watching. instead of looking away shyly, you held his gaze for a few seconds, then your eyes travelled from the top of his head down to his shoes, and gave him a slow smile before turning back to your friends.
that was all it took for him.
sunghoon stood up, leaving his classmates’ drinks and stuffs on the table, and walked straight onto the crowd. he didn’t say anything at first—just slid in behind you, one hand slightly resting on your waist as he spun you around to meet him.
“hey,” he murmured, tall frame towering over you. “what’s that about?”
you tilted your head slightly, a playful, faux innocence smile playing on your lips. “what’s what about?”
his eyebrows furrowed just a fraction, but the corner of his mouth twitched—the tiniest hint of amusement and a thought of, wow, the audacity. his hand stayed on your waist, thumb pressing lightly into the fabric of your dress, holding you in place.
“that look you gave me,” he said, shrugging. “are you daring me?”
you let out a soft laugh that almost sounded like a scoff, eyes sparkling and laced with a kind of bratness that he never knew he was into. you didn’t pull away but instead stepped a little closer, letting your chest brush against his as you looked up at him through your lashes.
“and if i am?” you replied, sweetly. “what are you gonna do about it?”
morality had always been quite a blur to sunghoon.
he never lost sleep over it but rules, right and wrong, loyalty—they were just concepts that applied to other people. as long as it didn’t affect his image or his life or his close circle greatly, he didn’t care enough to draw hard lines.
and tonight, those blurry lines had just walked out of the club with him.
sunghoon didn’t say much as he guided you toward his black sedan by holding your hand in his. you glanced up at him, still wearing that same little smile. “you always drag girls out of clubs without asking their name?”
he unlocked the car with a soft beep and opened the front door for you. his eyes met yours—completely unbothered. “sunghoon,” he said simply. “and i don’t bring girls out anywhere.”
you let out a hum, but still slid into the front seat without hesitation. he followed right after, closing the door behind him. the inside of his car smelled strongly of his cologne, and as he started the engine, he didn’t bother with small talks. didn’t ask where you lived, nor did he offer to take you home.
sunghoon pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the city centre with his one hand occasionally brushing your thigh. you watched the streetlights flicker across his jawline and the way his expression said nothing eventhough the tension between you two in the car reeked with want.
“so… where are we going?”
“a hotel. closer than my place.”
——
the door had barely clicked shut before sunghoon had you pressed against the wall, mouth crashing into yours in a deep. hungry kiss. there was nothing gentle about it—his lips moved against yours with need, tongue sliding in immediately to taste you as one hand gripped your jaw, and the other pressed on your hip.
and you—you kissed him back just as greedily, fingers digging into his shoulders, tugging at his shirt like you wanted it off yesterday. “ngh—hngh,” you moaned into his mouth, tongue intertwining and sucking on one another.
sunghoon broke the kiss only long enough to pull your dress up and over your head at once, letting it drop to the floor. his hands were on you instantly—squeezing your tits, sliding down to grip your ass, yanking you flush against him so you could feel how hard he was through his pants.
“fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice low. he bit your bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue before kissing you again, deeper this time.
you moaned into his mouth, hands working frantically to unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. the moment his bare chest pressed against yours, sunghoon groaned and lifted you up. your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried you across the room, lips still on yours.
he dropped you onto the bed, the mattress dipping. before you could even catch your breath, sunghoon was crawling over you, shoving his pants and boxers fully down to free his thick, heavy cock.
and jesus—unlike jay or jake’s, sunghoon was packing.
“you’re so hot,” sunghoon licked his lips, hooked his fingers into your panties, ripped them down your legs, and spread your thighs wide open with his knees. he looked down at you for one brief second, then lined himself up.
“are you gonna fuck me? without even knowing my name?”
sunghoon paused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a cocky smirk. finally, he didn’t look cold. he pushed just the tip inside you, teasing, before answering.
“i know you, yn,”
your eyes almost widened, a mix of surprise and arousal flashing across your features.
“how?”
he leaned down closer, one hand gripping your thigh as he slowly sank another inch deeper, stretching your tight cunt open. “i overhead your friends,” he murmured, hissing through his teeth as your pussy engulfed him.
you let out a soft moan, back arching as the familiar burn of being stretched came back to you. “fuck… you’re really something, hoonie.”
sunghoon bottomed out with a groan, burying himself to the hilt inside you. for a second, he stayed still—letting you feel and adjust every inch of him, his grip on your thighs tightened. you arched your back, eyes half–lidded as you looked up at him, that spark still burning bright behind your eyes.
“fuck me good, hoonie,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip as you began palming and playing with your tits, tweaking the perky buds. “make it worth me leaving my friends for you.”
“shh—shut up and let me do the work.”
that night, sunghoon fucked you for hours—the bed creaked loudly beneath as he fucked you deep and fast, hips snapping against yours with every thrust. his hands held your thighs spread wide, keeping you open as he pounded. the wet sounds of your bodies echoing in the hotel room.
“fuck—your cunt feels s’good,” sunghoon moaned, tipping his head against the headrest, jaw clenched tight. you hovered right over his hard, slick cock. sunghoon’s eyes never left yours as you sank down onto him, taking every inch until your ass met his lap.
a broken moan left your lips at the deeper angle. sunghoon groaned too, his fingers digging harder. “look at you,” he murmured, eyes roaming over your face, your bouncing, marked, tits, lips parted in pleasure with your tongue sticking out.
fuck. this is why sunghoon loved cowgirl. watching every lewd, pretty expression, every flutter of your eyelashes, your mouth opened to moan his name—because of this cock.
you started moving, rolling your hips in sensual circles, then bouncing on his cock with more force. his hands guided you, but he let you do most of the work, just like he liked it. his gaze stayed locked on your face the entire time.
“you’re so big, hoonie, oh jesus fuck,” you moaned eagerly, biting your lip. with each time you bounced on it, the head of his cock kissed your cervix sweetly and it felt so fucking good. he pulled you down closer by the nape of your neck, and kissed you deeply while you rode him.
“that’s it… just like that, baby,” he rasped against your mouth, kissing the corner of your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw. “ride my cock like a good girl—let me see how pretty you look when you cum on me again.”
his free hand moved between your bodies to circle and pinch your perky buds. the combination made your rhythm falter, thighs shaking as you bounced faster, chasing the high.
sunghoon kept watching you—obsessed. he kissed you again and again, swallowing your moans, occasionally bucking his hips to meet your movements and driving himself even deeper.
“cummin’ soon, babe?” he murmured against your lips, now moving his hand to rub that sensitive, wet, clit. “cum on me—then i’ll fill you up.”
you could only moan his name as the pleasure built higher and higher, your hips moving desperately.
sunghoon, who never thought he’d ever cheat on sooha, let alone creampie another girl he just met raw—watched your face with almost possessive gaze. he had always been careful, even with someone who has little to no morals.
and you—who had literally never let anyone cum inside you before—were seconds away from letting him be the first.
your thighs shook as the orgasm crashed over you. “fuck—!” you cried out, clenching hard around him, hips stuttering as you came and squirted all over his cock. the feeling of your pussy pulsing and gushing around him pushed sunghoon over the edge.
thick, hot spurts of semen flooded inside you, filling you up the very first time. he kept thrusting through it, pushing his cum deeper.
one night stand—this won’t ruin anything for sunghoon.
right?
——
“so,” jay started, leaning back against the railing with that smirk of his, “valentine’s next week. you guys already got plans locked in?”
jake nodded, smiling. “don’t even say it. i booked the restaurant last month because i know she’ll kill me if i forget. we’ll probs just have dinner together.” he shook his head, sipping his canned beer. “gotta keep the girlfriend happy, right?”
sunghoon took a slow sip of his as well, shrugging and unbothered as ever. “i’ll probably just take sooha out on a breakfast and shopping. i got plans that night.”
jay raised an eyebrow, turning to him with curiousity. “oh? what are you doing that night?”
he didn’t even flinch, just stared down at the small puddle of water around the can opening where his mouth kissed it. “bringing yeji out,” he said, absentmindedly swirling the alcohol in the can. “she’s been begging me to take her out. figured valentine’s night is as good as any.”
jake let out a laugh, completely buying it. “damn, she’s gonna milk you dry.” he commented, then glanced at jay from where he’s sitting. “what about you? something big again?”
“nah, think minji wants something intimate this time.” he hummed, looking out at the yard—people were chatting, dancing, and drunk to their heads. “maybe i’ll cook and we’ll spend the day at mine. who knows.”
“what a romance.”
the three of them continued talking easily—hopping from one topic to another—arguing whose girlfriend was more demanding, whose more whipped, and reminiscing about things they’ll never get back.
none of them even knew that they each shared the same secret—and little did they know, she was walking around the party downstairs right under their noses.
down in the crowded kitchen, you leaned against the counter, red cup in hand, while heeseung stood in front of you—close enough that his arm rested on the counter beside your waist.
“oh, i don’t have a boyfriend,” you replied, taking a small sip from your cup while holding his gaze. heeseung grinned, leaning in a little closer and lowering his voice so only you could hear him over the loud music.
“good. because i’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now. you’re always so hard to catch alone.” his fingers lightly tapped the counter next to your hip. “what do you say? let me take you somewhere nice this valentines?”
you bit your lip, pretending to think about it—
but before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“yn?”
sunghoon.
he was frowning. the usual expression on his face didn’t change much except for the tightness of his jaw, and the way his gaze flicked to heeseung’s hand near your hip.
heeseung turned his head, still smiling. “oh, hey man—”
sunghoon didn’t let him finish.
without a word, he reached out, wrapped his fingers around your waist and firmly pulled you away from the counter and away from heeseung. “come with me,” he said quietly, already leaving the kitchen.
you barely had time to shoot heeseung an apologetic smile before sunghoon guided you through the crowd, up the stairs, and into one of the empty guest rooms on the second floor. he closed the door—but didn’t lock it—the party noise instantly muffled.
“the fuck was that?” he asked, frowning and confused. “heeseung? really? you let him get that close to you?”
sunghoon took a step closer, towering over, eyes narrowed.
“i thought we had an understanding,” he continued, laced with unfair possessiveness. “you didn’t even tell me you’d be here—then i caught you with some dude flirting?”
before you could form a reply, his hand came up to grip your cheeks, forcing you to meet his gaze. “you couldn’t wait till i take you out on valentines?”
you looked up at him, a scoff escaped you—and a small smile tugged at your lips. “so you can have fun with sooha… but i can’t do the same with heeseung?”
his jaw tightened; and for a second, he just stared at you, thumb brushing over your lower lips. he let out a low, breathy scoff, almost a laugh—but there was no humour in it. “you’re really testing me,” he murmured, clicking his tongue.
“sooha’s my girlfriend. she gets breakfast and shopping because that’s what keeps everything quiet. you…” he paused, free hand slid down to your waist where he squeezed the flesh. “you get me at night. isn’t that better? i’m about to fuck you all night and you’re gettin’ jealous over some fucking breakfast?”
he tilted your head slightly, fingers digging into your flesh.
“don’t compare yourself to her. and don’t let another guy put his hands near you again.”
he crashed his lips against yours in a hungry, possessive kiss, gripping your jaw tighter as he devoured your mouth. the kiss was messy and intense—tongues sliding, teeth grazing, low groans between you.
you kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers threading into his hair and tugging hard, making him groan into your mouth.
“fuuuccckkk,” he grunted between the kiss—turning and walking you backwards until your legs hut the edge of the bed. without breaking the kiss, sunghoon pushed you down onto the mattress and climbed on top of you, body pressing into the sheets.
his hands roamed greedily—one sliding under your dress to grip your thigh, the other pinning your wrists above your head. “oh my, hngh,” you moaned softly, arching up into him as he ground his hips down against you. sunghoon bit your bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue.
“always pissin’ me off—”
his phone suddenly started ringing on the nightstand.
sunghoon ignored it initially, lips moving down to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark as the ringing continued. “jesus—shut the fuck up…” he murmured, merely glancing at his phone. he assumed it was just one of his friends, or just anyone but—
“sunghoon, you in here—?”
jake’s voice died in his throat. jay stood right beside him, phone in his hand—both of them froze in the doorway, eyes wide as they took in the scene.
you lying on the bed, dress hiked up, lips swollen from kissing. sunghoon on top of you, one hand under your dress, his lips glistened from saliva, hair messy from your fingers.
for a long, suffocating second, nobody moved.
sunghoon’s head snapped up, eyes widening in genuine shock, his expression completely shattered—he was caught. fucking caught. by his own bestfriends. they weren’t supposed to fucking know that he’s not loyal to sooha. the same two guys he swore loyalty to since teenangers.
the colour drained from his face.
jake and jay stared, wide–eyed, stunned.
“...yn?” jake breathed out first, voice barely above a whisper, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. jay’s mouth opened, then closed—replaced by pure disbelief. instead of addressing the elephant in the room—which was sunghoon fucking cheating—your name came out first.
the realisation hit them both at the same time—how the fuck did all of them came to know you? if jay knew you because of his affair, and jake knew you too—and sunghoon too—then were they all having an affair with you?
they’d been secretly fucking the same girl for months—?!
you, still pinned under sunghoon, felt your stomach drop.
“oh my fucking gosh…” you whispered, eyes wide, a nervous laugh bubbling out of you before you could stop it. you propped yourself up on your elbows, hand flew up to cover your mouth, but it was useless.
the shock, the absurdity, the fact that you had been playing all three of them without any of them knowing… it was all crashing down at once.
sunghoon finally pulled his hand out from under your dress and sat up slightly. he looked between his two bestfriends, voice strained. “look—this isn’t what it looks like.”
jake let out a broken, disbelieving laugh. “you’re on top of her, dude.”
jay’s grip tightened—he stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time.
“you.. and sunghoon?” his voice cracked. “how long has this been going on?”
the room was thick and silent for half a second.
then it clicked.
sunghoon’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked at jay—then slowly turned his head toward jake. the realisation hit him. “wait…” he muttered. “how the fuck do you know her?”
jake’s face went pale—he blinked rapidly and swallowed the lump in his throat. “yeah… how do you know yn?”
jay’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. his gaze flicked between you and sunghoon, confusion turning into dawning horror. sunghoon sat up straighter, but not off you. all three boys were now staring directly at you.
“how do you know jay?”
“and how the hell do you know jake?”
“you and sunghoon—?”
now the focus shifted entirely on you.
you were still lying on the bed, dress rumpled, lips swollen, heart hammering in your chest. three pairs of eyes—shocked, jealous, and confused—were locked on you.
“i—”
you tried to sit up, tugging your dress down with shaky hands. “i—i didn’t know? ah, i swear… it just… happened? i mean—”
you were clearly flustered, words tumbling out in a nervous rush. “i never thought—i didn’t know you guys knew each other—?”
before you could finish, jake reached behind him and closed the door with a soft click, locking the four of you inside. both of them walked closer to the bed, their expressions shifting from confusion to something more of—betrayal and disbelief.
jay ran a hand through his hair, letting out a short laugh. “wow… you’ve been fucking all of us?” his voice was low, eyes wide. “our own friend group?”
why didn’t they blame each other—? you thought, swallowing the lump in your throat. you guys were the asshole cheaters in the first place! so they could cheat on their girlfriends, but god forbids a girl have fun with multiple guys?
“have you been playing us the whole time? jake asked. “letting jay fuck you, me, now sunghoon pinning you down like that?”
just as you were about to open your mouth, sunghoon squished your cheeks together and slammed his lips against yours roughly—teeth clashing and grazing your lips. you whimpered into the kiss, hands instinctively grabbing his shirt.
when sunghoon finally pulled back, you grasped for air. his thumb dragged across your botton lip. “there’s no point hiding anymore, is there?”
the tension snapped.
jay moved first, climbing onto the bed and grabbing your wrist, pulling you toward him. “c’mere, baby.” jake was right behind him, kneeling on your other side. sunghoon stayed where he was, between your knees, watching as his two bestfriends started touching you.
in seconds, your dress was being yanked up and over your head. hands were everywhere—jake’s mouth on your neck, jay’s hands squeezing your tits, sunghoon’s fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your legs.
you were panting, head spinning from the sudden overload.
“look at her,” jay murmured, voice thick as he pinched your nipple, eliciting a moan. “pretty little side chick… been taking all three of us like a whore.” jake groaned, kissing down your chest. “and we thought we were the only ones… fuck, that’s so hot.”
sunghoon gripped your jaw again, turning your face toward him. “open your mouth.”
the second you did, and he kissed you again—rough and deep—while jay and jake worked together pleasing your tits. jay’s hand wandered along your tummy—down to your bare, wet cunt.
his fingers slid between your folds, groaning when he felt how wet you already were. “shit, so soaked.”
“fuckin’ dripping for us already,” sunghoon said, moving to give jake a space to settle between your spread legs. “turn over,” sunghoon ordered, commanding as he grabbed your hips. “on your hands and knees now, c’mon.”
your body obeyed before your brain could catch up—which shocked jake a little since with him, you were never this obedient. you were flipped onto all fours in the middle of the bed, ass up, back arched, completely exposed.
jake gripped your asscheeks, spreading them wide enough as he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly from your clit, all the way up to your dripping hole. “fuck, taste s’good,” he moaned, his cock beneath his pants twitched. he dove back in, licking and sucking messily while jay knelt in front of you. he tilted your chin up, hard cock already freed from his pants, thick and leaking.
“open that pretty mouth, baby.”
you parted your lips and he instantly pushed the head of his cock past them, sliding deep into your warm mouth with a satisfied groan. “oh, fuuuuck… your mouth always feels s’good…”
sunghoon stayed at your side, one hand already palming and stroking his cock while the other reached underneath to rub circles on your clit as jake french–kissed your pussy. “look at you,” sunghoon murmured. “what a slut… taking all taken men at once. this what you wanted, isn’t it?”
jake hummed against your pussy and you felt the curve of his mouth forming into a smile—the vibration making your thighs quiver. jay thrusted into your mouth, hand tangled in your hair. “been screwing each of us behind the other’s backs…” jay groaned, pushing deeper until you gagged.
“greedy little girl.”
your muffled moan around jay’s cock was the only answer they needed.
jake was the first to pull back from between your legs, shiny with your juices. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swimming with pure need. “i’m going first,” he said, settling behind you. “been dying to fuck you again since the last time.”
sunghoon and jay didn’t argue. they simply shifted positions.
jake moved behind you, gripping your hips tightly and lining up his hard cock with your dripping entrance. without any warning or heads up, he pushed in with one deep thrust—bottoming out in a single stroke.
“oh, fuuuck…” he groaned aloud, head falling back as your tight walls clenched around him. “still so ’ tight… missed this pussy so much.” jake started thrusting—deep strokes that rocked your body forward.
at the same time, sunghoon knelt in front of you. he grabbed your hair gently but firmly, guiding your mouth to his cock. “open up,” he ordered quietly. you obeyed, lips parting as he slid his thick length into your mouth. sunghoon let out a groan, eyes half–lidded as he watched you take him inch by inch.
jay moved to your side, kneeling close enough that his cock was right next to your face. your hand instinctively wrapped around his length, stroking his wet cock while you sucked his best friend’s.
the room filled with wet, porno sounds—jake’s hips slapping against your ass as he fucked you from behind, the slick sounds of your mouth working sunghoon’s dick, and your hand pumping jay’s length. every now and then, jake would slap you ass—gripping, squeezing, and spreading and watched as your asshole twitched.
“aw, pretty baby,” jay grunted, wrapping his bigger hand around yours as he guided you through it out. “taking all three of us so well, mm? perfect girl.”
next to him, sunghoon scoffed. jake panted and runted like a dog—gripping your hips harder as he pounded into you. “oh—hah—you feel so good, oh fuck, i missed this so much—missed you so much.”
sunghoon glanced at jake before his hand tightened in your hair, guiding your head as he picked up his pace fucking your mouth. “that’s it… suck me just like that—how you’d do with all the other guys, babe.”
jay groaned, hips twitching into your fist. “yeah—? do you have other guys you’re fucking aside us, yn?”
you instantly shook your head as much as you could with sunghoon’s cock buried in your mouth, a desperate, muffled, “mm—mm” vibrating around him.
“right,” sunghoon clicked his tongue. the memory of you getting hit on by heeseung playing in the back of his head. if you were able to hide jake and jay from him for months—who knew who else?
every thrust from jake pushed you forward onto sunghoon’s cock, forcing you to take him even deeper down your throat. you were gagging around him, drool slipping from the corners of your mouth but you kept sucking.
jake’s rhythm started to falter. his grip on your hips tightened almost painfully as he fucked you harder from behind. “hah—i’m close, oh god,” he groaned. “wanna fill you up—i can fill you up, right? hngh—you’ll let me?”
he slammed into you a few more times, deep and desperate, burying himself to the hilt. now—jay and sunghoon never knew jake was someone who’s into this but who were they to judge? the contrast between how you were with jake, sunghoon, and jay made them want to laugh.
with jay, you’re treated as the princess of the princess—sweet, gentle, kind words—like you’re the girlfriend. with jake, you got to order and command—and he’s always so fucking into being called a good boy. with sunghoon? with sunghoon—you’re the brat that needed some punishment.
you nodded your head and that was all jake needed.
“hah—cumming—” he rasped. you felt the first hot spurts of his cum flood deep inside you. the puppy boy kept grinding into you, milking every drop as he creampied you, his cock twitching. a low whine escaped your throat, muffled.
when jake finally pulled out, a thick trail of his cum leaked from your cunt.
“next,” jake panted, voice hoarse as he moved aside.
they filled you onto your back.
the player immediately took his place between your legs, but instead of fucking you missionary, he turned you slightly onto your side. he lifted your top leg, hooking it over his hip, and instantly slid his throbbing cock into your cum–filled cunt in one thrust.
“ah—! jay!” you moaned aloud, followed by jay’s groan. the warmth from jake’s cum wasn’t helping the situation at all. it felt so fucking good. “she’s so slippery with your cum, jake… so filthy.”
he started fucking you from the side—deep, rolling thrusts that let him hit every sensitive spot. you’re beyond embarrassed at this point. your creamy pussy that gushes cum with each thrust, how exposed and bare and wet you were for the other two boys to see.
you wondered if this was the consequences of your actions.
jake moved up beside your head, still breathing hard. he groped your tits greeding—how he loved them—squeezing and kneading, pinching your sweaty nipples as he leaned down to kiss and bite along your neck.
‘hngh—yn, i love these so much,” he muffled, sucking and tugging at your boobs. “so soft, you’re so squishy.”
sunghoon shifted to your other side, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. his tongue slid against yours while jay continued fucking you from the side, the wet sounds of his cock plunging into your creampied pussy filling the room.
sunghoon kissed you like he couldn’t bear not doing anything while the other two boys had their fun. he was almost annoyed and pissed that they just had to interrupt him having you all to himself earlier.
“is this what you like?” jake murmured against your neck, his hands never stopping roaming. he groped your breasts, rolled your nipples between his fingers, then slid one hand down to rub your clit in lazy circles while jay thrusted into you. “taking jay’s dick right after i filled you up… you’re so hot, yn.”
“hngh—jay, oh fuck, you’re so big—” you moaned into sunghoon’s mouth in which he instantly shut you up. jay groaned, picking up the pace, hips snapping harder. “fuck. i can feel your cum every time i push in, jake. poor sweetheart, do you like this, baby?”
sunghoon pulled back from the kiss just enough to let you breathe, lips brushing yours. “answer him while he’s fucking you.”
your body trembled between the three guys as you answered: “yes, yes, yesyesyes—! i—i love all three of you, oh my fuck!” you cried out, chasing sunghoon’s lips as you began sucking his bottom lip. you moaned shamelessly into his mouth while jay’s cock dragged against your walls.
“we love you too.”
behind you, jay smirked—and jake couldn’t help from smiling.
“show us how much you love it, please?” jake murmured against your nipple, his fingers never slowing down—pressing and rubbing your clit. “squirt for us—make a mess all over jay’s dick.”
he began rubbing harder—and the pressure coiled fast. too fast.
before you knew it, your thighs started shaking uncontrollably. your back arched sharply as jake’s fingers and jay’s cock worked you together. “oh, i’m gonna—!”
you didn’t even get to finish.
with a loud, broken cry, you squired around jay’s cock. clear fluid gushed out of you, soaking jay’s hips, the sheets, and jake’s hand. your whole body convulsed, pussy clenching and pulsing violently.
“fuck—!” jay groaned, eyes rolling back as your walls squeezed him like a vice. the feeling of you squiring all over him while still full of jake’s cum pushed him over the edge. without any warning, he buried himself deep and came—thick ropes of cum shooting right inside.
he kept grinding into you through his orgasm, pushing every drop deeper as your squirt continued to leak around his cock.
sunghoon watched the while thing, still kissing you through your high, swallowing every broken moan and whimper.
when jay finally stilled, panting against your shoulder, the room was filled with heavy breathing and the obscene sound of cum and squirt dripping onto the sheets. jake leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your nipple while his fingers slowed on your oversensitive clit.
“good girl…” jay murmured, kissing your temple. “such a perfect girl.”
jay pulled out slowly, another mix of squirt and both their cum leaking out of your used cunt like whipped cream, jay smirked, giving your ass a squeeze.
“my turn.”
sunghoon didn’t waste a single second.
he moved between your legs, pushing them wide open as he settled on top of you in full missionary, his frame caged you in, eyes locked onto yours that always made your tummy flip. without warning, he slid two fingers deep into your cum–filled pussy, curcling them instantly.
“hah—hoonie—!” you gasped, back arching off the bed as he started fingering you—fast and deep, wet sounds loud and filthy as he stirred jake and jay’s cum inside you. “feel that, babe? he muttered. “so full already—yet so slutty for more.”
he pumped his fingers harder, scissoring them, pushing the mixed loads deeper while his thumb rub your swollen clit. your legs trembled around him, overstimulation making tears prick.
only when you were whimpering and gasping did sunghoon finally pull his fingers out. he brought them up to your mouth.
“clean ‘em.”
you obediently opened your lips, sucking his fingers clean of the messy mix of cum while he watched. then, he lined up his thick, needy cock—and pushed into you in one deep thrust, slow enough to let you feel every inch and veins of him.
a broken moan tore from your throat.
sunghoon bottomed out, holding your hips. “shit… so warm and wet,” he breathed, and began to move. his thrusts were hard and deliberate, hips snapping forward with every stroke, driving jake and jay’s cum even deeper.
he kept you in missionary the whole time—face to face, eyes locked, his body pressed flush against yours. one hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider. the other slid up to wrap gently around your throat, holding you there.
“open your mouth.”
you obeyed instantly, lips paring, tongue slightly out naturally.
sunghoon leaned in first. he gathered spit in his mouth and let it drop slowly onto your tongue, watching with a smirk as it landed right on your tongue. jake moved in simultaneously, hovering above you as he spat directly into your open mouth, a thick string of saliva mixing with sunghoon’s. jay too—tilted your head upward gently before spitting into your mouth as well.
all three of their spit mixed together on your tongue—so fucking humiliating in the best way.
“swallow, baby, c’mon,” jay murmured, kissing your cheek. sunghoon tightened his grip on your throat just a little, you swallowed the thick saliva, throat bobbing under his palm. the taste of all three of them made your pussy clench hard around sunghoon’s cock.
“fuck, she just squeezed me,” sunghoon groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you harder. “such a nasty little cumslut.”
jake chuckled, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth as he palmed your tits. jay’s hand slid down to rub your clit as sunghoon pounded into you deeply—”nasty little girl, look at you,” jay murmured, caressing your hair.
“you love being used like this? who taught you to be so slutty, baby, hm?”
sunghoon’s eyes never left yours—your half–lidded, crossed, rolled to the back glossy eyes. he fucked you relentlessly, wet squelching sounds of his cock stirring the mixed cum inside you filling the room. his hand stayed around your throat as he fucked your cunt like a fleshlight, claming while jake had his fun with your tits, and jay continued teasing your clit from the side.
you were a complete mess—trembling, moaning, drooling… barely got to focus on the moving ceiling above. your tits bounced and jiggled with every thrust—a sight jake could cum alone.
sunghoon’s thrusts grew sharper, deeper, and more desperate. his grip on you throat tightened just a fraction as he groaned against your lips. “fuck… ‘m cummin’—”
he straightened up, canines digging into his bottom lip as he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. the hardest he’s ever ejaculated. thick, hot ropes of cum flooded and washed over deep inside you, mixing with the cum from jake and jay before.
as usual, he kept grinding into you, pushing every drop as deep as possible while his cock twitched inside your overused, overfilled pussy.
at the same time, the two boys kneeled on either side of your head—jerking themselves off furiously above you, breathing heavily. “shit, shit, shit,” jay rasped, thick spurts of cum landing across your tits and collarbones.
“oh, gosh, yn, please,” jake whimpered, following just right after as he painted your face and chest with more warm cum. their softened cocks rested on your chest, with jay’s twitching again as it rubbed your nipple.
you lay there, panting, body covered in their cum—tits glistening like you milked out semen, pussy leaking a creamy mix of all three of them, throat marked from sunghoon’s hands and jake’s bites, lips swollen from jay’s kisses.
the room was silent except for heavy breathing and panting.
sunghoon pulled out—agonisingly slow—watching his thick cum drip and burst out from your stretched hole. fuck—what a sight, he thought. he wasn’t sure if this would be the last time. your pussy twitched and spasmed around nothing, thighs trembling with orgasm as you shivered.
jay leaned to press a chaste kiss on your cheek. jake’s softened cock caressed your other cheek as the owner pumped the mixed cum back inside your puffy pussy with his fingers. sunghoon pressed a soft, loving kiss to your lips.
“you’re our secret girl now.”
you lay between them—as the three sworn, soulmates bestfriends who used to swear they had no secrets finally agreed on one secret:
they would share their perfect little side chick—away from their girlfriends, and away from all the other guys out there.
after whining to chan about how bad you miss sex post-breakup, your sweet boy makes sure his noona never misses it again
WARNINGS: +18 mdni, penetrative sex, pussy eating, fingering, crying (from pleasure), mention of body fluids (cum/saliva), wrist pinning, clit stimulation, safe sex, overstimulation i guess, and pillow talk.
a/n: i love this pretty man so fucking much :( and im back, slowly but I'm back! love yall, missed you so fucking much <3 hope yall have a nice week!! not revised, 67 idk
it starts in the most ordinary way, which is probably why it stays with you longer than it should. nothing about that night was meant to change anything. it was just you and chan, like always, sitting too close on your couch, a couple of empty beer bottles on the table, music playing low enough that it felt more like a background thought than actual sound. he had come over after work, complaining about something small, you barely remembering what, and you had laughed it off, the way you always did with him, easy and expected.
chan had always been that for you. easy.
you were older, more resolved, more used to the weight of things. he was lighter, softer around the edges, still figuring himself out in ways you had already gone through years ago. and eventually, somehow, he had become your person. if anything, it showed in the way he listened more carefully than most people your age, in the way he paid attention to details others brushed off, in the way he stayed when conversations got too heavy for everyone else.
so that night, when the conversation drifted the way it did, it didn’t feel strange at first.
you were already a little tipsy, the warmth of the alcohol sitting comfortably in your chest, loosening your thoughts just enough that you stopped filtering them so carefully. he was sitting beside you, legs stretched out, head tilted back against the couch, listening in that careful way he always did, like everything you said mattered more than it probably should.
“you know what’s the worst part?” you said, staring at your bottle, turning it slowly between your fingers.
“hm?” he hummed, not even looking at you, but you knew he was listening.
“breaking up,” you continued, your voice softer now, more honest than you usually allowed yourself to be. “everyone talks about missing the person, or the routine, or whatever… but no one talks about missing the sex.”
that made him glance at you.
you didn’t look back. you just kept talking, because once you started, it felt easier to let it out than to stop.
when you finally turned your head, he was already watching you, brows slightly drawn together like he was thinking too hard about something.
“what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes a little.
he hesitated.
and that was new.
chan didn’t usually hesitate with you.
he looked down at his hands for a second, then back up “i mean…” he started, voice uncertain. “i could help you with that.”
and for a second, you thought you had heard him wrong.
you blinked. “what?”
he let out a small breath, like he was already regretting saying it, but he didn’t take it back. instead, he looked at you properly this time “i’m just saying,” he continued, slower now, choosing his words more cautiously. “you don’t have to… miss it. if you don’t want to.”
you stared at him, trying to process what he had just said, but your mind kept getting stuck on the same thing. he wasn’t joking. there was no teasing tone, no playful smile, no easy way to brush it off and laugh like you usually would.
he meant it, and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was, how his knee was almost touching yours, how his arm rested along the back of the couch, just behind you, how his eyes hadn’t left your face since he said it.
“chan…”
he swallowed, and you noticed it “i know it sounds weird,” he said quickly, a small, nervous laugh slipping out. “i just— i thought… you know. we trust each other. and it wouldn’t have to be a big deal or anything.”
you let out a slow breath, your heart beating a little faster than it should, because the thing is, he wasn’t wrong. you did trust him, more than most people.
“you’re serious…”
“yeah,” he answered, just as quietly.
you looked at him again, and it hit you in a way it hadn’t before. chan had always been attractive, in that effortless, boyish way you had never let yourself think too much about. it had never mattered, because he was yours in a different way, untouchable in that sense. and it unsettled you, not because it felt wrong, but because it didn’t feel as impossible as it should.
“and then what? we just… go back to normal?”
he hesitated again, but not for long “if that’s what you want,” he said. “yeah.”
you studied him for a moment, searching for something in his expression; doubt, hesitation, anything that would make this easier to dismiss. but all you found was sincerity, because now the choice was yours. you leaned back against the couch, your head resting where his arm was stretched out behind you, and neither of you moved away.
“you’re insane,” you murmured, but there was no bite to it.
he huffed out a quiet laugh. “i’ve been told.”
you closed your eyes for a second, trying to gather your thoughts, but they refused to settle into anything clear. then uou opened your eyes again, turning your head slightly until you were looking at him.
“you really thought this through?” you asked.
he gave a small shrug, “more than i should have, probably.”
and just like that the air between you two shifts thick and heavy like the room itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to say yes or no. but you dont say shit, you just look at him this easy boy who’s always been your safe place, and something in your chest cracks open. because it feels too real too ordinary to be this charged.
the way his eyes drop to your mouth, then lower, like he’s been thinking about this longer than he let on. you swallow hard heart hammering stupid in your ribs and mutter “okay chan fuck it show me what you got” your voice casual but your thighs press together a little, because you’re already wet just from the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters right now.
he doesn’t waste time, doesn’t make it weird or movie perfect, he just leans in slow his hand sliding up your thigh under the hem of your loose shorts. the calluses on his fingers rough in the best way scraping lightly over your skin, making you shiver and think; shit this is chan, your chan, the one who brings you coffee without asking.
and now his breath is hot against your inner thigh as he tugs your shorts and panties down in one go, leaving you bare on the couch cushions the cool air hits your pussy, and you feel yourself clench around nothing, already dripping a little because your body’s been waiting for this even if your brain’s still catching up.
he settles between your legs on his knees like it’s the most natural thing in the world, pushing your thighs wider with those big hands, his thumbs digging in just enough to keep you open and exposed, and you watch him watch you. his eyes dark, but still soft around the edges, like he’s checking if you’re okay and that does something stupid to your inside.
he dips his head and drags his tongue flat and slow up your slit, collecting every bit of your slick in one long lazy lick, the wet heat of it makes your hips twitch, and a low “oh shit” slips out of you, because fuck it’s better than you imagined.
the way his tongue feels smooth and warm pressing against your folds, parting them like he’s savoring the taste of you. he moans right into your pussy, the vibration buzzing straight to your clit, making your breath catch.
he does it again, slower this time, circling the tip of his tongue around your entranc, teasing the sensitive skin there before sucking gently at your folds. the soft wet pull of his mouth creating this obscene little suction sound, that fills the room louder than the music still playing low in the background.
and you can hear how wet you are already, the slick sounds of his tongue lapping at your juices like he’s drinking you down, not rushing, his lips seals around your clit and he sucks harder, the pressure building perfect, and filthy the way your clit throbs under the suction like it’s being pulled into the wet heat of his mouth, makes you feel that familiar burn starting low and sharp. the good kind that makes your toes curl against the couch.
he flicks his tongue fast, then slow, alternating between tight little circles, and broad flat strokes that drag over your swollen nub. leaving you gasping as your hand flies down to fist in his hair tugging hard, because chan knows exactly how to work you, like he’s studied every little reaction you might give, and the strangled moan that rips from your throat is nothing like the ones you’ve made alone.
your mind’s spinning, because this is supposed to be just helping out, but it feels too fucking good. the constant schlick schlick of his mouth slurping up your arousal that’s leaking down your thighs, makes you drip onto the couch, but you don’t even care because he’s humming against you like he loves the taste, and it vibrates through your whole pussy making your walls flutter around nothing.
in a blink, his fingers are there. two of them thick and calloused sliding through your folds easily, he pushes one in first slow and deep curling it just right to rub against that spot inside you, that makes your vision blur. the sound it makes is so fucking wet, a loud squelch as he pumps it in and out lazy at first, letting your juices coat his hand completely before adding the second finger.
he's stretching you open, and the burn is perfect, that slight sting mixing with the pleasure as he scissors them apart then curls, both hooking them deep and dragging back out over and over. the rhythm matching, the way his tongue’s still sucking your clit like he’s trying to pull an orgasm right out of you, his fingers thrusting faster, the wet squelching sounds getting louder and messier every time he buries them to the knuckle.
you’re grinding down on his face without thinking, hips rolling chasing that pressure, because it feels too real, too good, the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, dripping down his wrist, and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull back, even when you tug his hair harder.
“chan fuck right there don’t stop” your voice all broken and desperate.
he gives the kind of head that ruins you for anyone else, the kind that’s messy and real and so fucking intimate you feel it in your chest too, not just between your legs.
he pulls back just enough to breathe, hot against your soaked pussy, his chin shiny with your juices and he looks up at you eyes half-lidded, you can see the bit of tiredness in his breath, but he looks like he is far from stopping now.
“you taste so fucking good…” he murmurs, before diving back in tongue fucking into you now alongside his fingers, the combination making your back arch off the couch a choked moan tearing out of you as the wet sounds turn even filthier the constant slick slide of his tongue and fingers working you open.
he pushes you closer and closer and you’re lost in the way your body’s reacting so honest, the burn in your clit from his relentless suction, the deep ache building low in your belly from his fingers curling just right, every thrust dragging more of your wetness out with those loud obscene squelches that make your face heat up, but ends up turning you on even more.
why?
because it’s him doing this to you, your chan, making you fall apart on your own couch like it’s nothing. and you know deep down, this isn’t going back to normal, not after the way he’s devouring you like he’s been starving for it.
your body locks up tight without warning. the orgasm crashes through you like a goddamn wave you didn’t see coming. your back arches clean off the couch, thighs clamping around chan’s head as that deep burn in your clit explodes into white-hot sparks.
his tongue still suctioned hard around your swollen nub, pulling every last drop of it out of you, and you cum messy and loud, a broken “oh fuck, chan—” ripping from your throat while your pussy clenches and flutters hard around his fingers, gushing warm slick all over his chin and mouth.
he moans right into your cunt, loud and deep, like he’s the one falling apart too. his voice vibrating through your pulsing walls, making the aftershocks hit harder. you feel every lick, every swallow as he eats you through it, greedy and filthy, not pulling away even when your hips jerk and twitch, because he’s drinking you down like he can’t get enough.
the way your mind blanks out completely, just pure heat and mess, and the thought that this is your easy safe chan, now tongue-deep in your pussy moaning like he’s starving for your cum. that alone makes you cum a little harder, he keeps licking you soft and slow through the comedown, his moans turning into these satisfied little hums while your chest heaves and your thighs tremble around his ears.
the second he feels your body start to relax, the tension easing out of your muscles, he’s already moving. no time for you to catch your breath or float down gentle.
he sits up quick, his chin shiny with you, his eyes dark and blown wide, and you watch hazy as he reaches down, unbuckling his belt with one hand, the other still stroking your soaked folds like he can’t stop touching you. the metal clink sounds so ordinary against the wet mess between your legs.
he leans sideways, grabbing his backpack off the floor beside the couch, rummaging fast until he pulls out a condom, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth while his free hand shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock, thick and hard and already leaking at the tip. and you’re still blinking through the fog of your orgasm when he rolls it on quick and messy, not even giving you a second to process before he’s back between your thighs, lining himself up.
your eyes fly open wide the moment you feel the blunt head of his cock push against your dripping entrance, and you arch hard, a needy mewl slipping out as he's right there, pushing in, stretching you open while your pussy’s still fluttering and sensitive from cumming.
the continuity of it hits you so fucking hard, that full heavy slide right after your orgasm making your walls clamp down around him, greedy and wet. you look up at him then, and his perfect abs are clenching tight with every slow thrust, his shirt rucked up just enough to show the way they flex and roll under his skin. his eyes rolling back a little as he bites down hard on the inside of his mouth, trying to keep it together, and you feel it all, the burn, the stretch, the way he fills you so good it makes your toes curl again.
you mewl at him all sly and breathy, “let me feel you, channie.”
he doesn’t even hesitate. he grabs your hand quick, sliding it up under his shirt right over those warm clenching abs, letting your palm drag across the hard ridges of muscle while he leans down over you, his chest pressing close.
his mouth is on yours, swallowing the loud moan that rips out of you the second he bottoms out deep. the kiss is messy and desperate, muffling how fucking loud you get because the stretchand the way his cock throbs inside your still-spasming pussy is too much, balls deep buried inside you, while he's kissing you stupid while your nails dig into his abs and your hips roll up to meet him like you never want this ordinary night to end.
every second surprises you, like he’s reading your body better than you ever could. right when you think you’ve caught your breath from that first deep thrust, chan grabs both your wrists in one big hand and locks them above your head against the couch cushion, pinning you down easy and firm. his other palm slides flat over your lower belly, pressing hard right where his cock is buried inside you, and fuck the pressure skyrockets.
you feel him thicker, deeper, the head of his dick dragging against that spot with every tiny movement, like he’s molding your insides around him on purpose. your eyes squeeze shut and a broken sob slips out, tears already pricking hot at the corners because it’s too much and not enough all at once.
“chan— oh my god,” you choke, voice cracking into nothing but wet mewls.
you can feel it in the way his hips snap harder, grinding that perfect pressure against your belly from the outside while he rails you from the inside, like he wants to erase every lonely night you spent missing this exact feeling. every thrust punches the air out of you, wet slaps echoing loud between your bodies, your slick coating his ballsack and dripping down your ass with every pull back. your pussy flutters and squeezes around him so tight it almost hurts.
he leans down close, lips brushing your ear, and gives you that pretty white smile you’ve seen a thousand times, only now it’s filthy and soft at the same time. “i know, baby,” he murmurs in the prettiest voice, all low and sweet and a little breathless, like he’s savoring the way you fall apart for him. “i know it’s good. gonna make sure you never miss this shit again.”
before you can even try to answer, he pulls out sudden and smooth, flips you over like you weigh nothing, and yanks your hips up so you’re on all fours. your knees sink into the couch, ass up, back arched, and he’s sliding back in before you can whine at the loss.
the new angle hits even deeper, his cock dragging along your walls with every brutal thrust, your pussy taking him so loud it fills the whole room.
you can only mewl, over and over, face buried in the cushion, tears slipping free now “s’good— chan, s’good, please— s’good—”
he laughs soft and fond behind you, that same lovely voice wrapping around the words as he rails you harder, hips snapping in strong rolls “yeah? that’s my girl. just take it, baby. let me fuck all that missing right out of you.” his abs clench tight every time he bottoms out, balls slapping wet against your clit, and you’re crying into the fabric, body shaking, this night just turning into the kind of sex that rewires your brain, and chan’s the one doing it with that stupidly sweet smile and those relentless hips.
you don’t even remember what you were complaining about anymore. all you know is his cock, his hands, his voice telling you he knows, and the way your pussy keeps gushing around him like it never wants him to stop.
it tightens in your belly again without any warning, that familiar coil pulling so fast and so fucking tight you’re actually impressed by how quick another orgasm is already building up, like your body’s been starving for this exact feeling and chan’s the only one who knows how to unlock it.
you don’t even moan anymore. your mouth just drops open in a wide, silent ‘o’, eyes squeezed shut as hot tears slip down your cheeks and you sob without sound, the pleasure so overwhelming it steals every noise right out of your throat. your whole body shakes on all fours, knees sinking deeper into the couch while chan keeps railing you from behind.
his hand sneaks under you then, sliding between your trembling thighs, and he sinks his fat cock completely inside you in one hard thrust, bottoming out so deep the pressure in your belly spikes even higher. his fingers find your swollen clit and start flicking it fast, tight little circles that make your vision spark white. “that’s it, baby, cum on my cock, let me feel you.”
you can’t even answer, just sob silently into the cushion as the orgasm rips through you hard and sudden, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice, squeezing and fluttering so tight it drags him right over the edge with you. he groans deep in his chest, hips stuttering as he cums hard inside the condom, thick pulses you can still feel through the latex while your walls milk him for everything he’s got.
your arms give out completely after that. you can’t even keep yourself on all fours anymore, you just collapse belly-down onto the couch, face buried in the cushion, ass still slightly up because he’s still buried inside you, breathing hard against your back.
chan stays there for a second, chest pressed to your spine, then he lets out a soft little scoff under his breath, quiet enough that he thinks you won’t hear it, like he’s trying so hard not to make you feel embarrassed about how fast and how hard you just fell apart for him.
but you do hear it, and it makes something warm bloom in your chest because it’s so fucking him. he pulls out slow and careful, already reaching for something to clean you up like this was never supposed to be a big deal, even though both of you know it just changed everything in the best goddamn way.
[...]
after the quick bath you two took, with chan’s arm wrapped tight around your waist the whole time because your legs were still wobbling like a damn newborn deer, you both ended up freshly showered and completely naked under the fat, hot, white duvet. the room smelled like your coconut soap mixed with his skin, and the only light came from the stupid little lamp on the side table that you always forget to turn off.
you were curled into his chest, one leg thrown lazily over his thigh, his arm heavy and warm around your back, like he couldn’t stop touching you even now.
you felt boneless and floaty while kssing him, pussy still tingling from everything he did, a lazy throb between your legs that made you shift a little closer. the kiss slows down naturally, like neither of you is in a rush anymore. his mouth moves against yours with a patience that makes your chest ache. you can still taste him, still feel the warmth of him. by the time you both pull back, it’s only enough to breathe, your foreheads brushing, noses barely touching, lips still ghosting each other like neither of you wants to let go fully.
“hey,”
you tilt your head slightly, just enough to look up at him. “hm?”
his fingers pause for a second, then resume, slower this time. “i need you to know something.”
you don’t say anything, but you feel your chest tighten a little, your attention sharpening.
“this… tonight,” he continues, searching for the right words, “it wasn’t just me trying to help you feel better… or distract you or anything like that.”
you study his face.
“i care about you,” he says, more quietly. “a lot more than i probably should.”
you let out a small breath, your cheek still pressed against him, but your eyes don’t leave his.
he gives you that small smile, the one you’ve seen a hundred times, his hand comes up to brush a damp strand of hair away from your face, his thumb lingering just slightly against your cheek.
“i’m not… using you,” he adds, almost like he needs to make it clear. “that’s not what this is for me. you’re not just… this.” he gestures faintly between you, then lets his hand settle back against you.
you swallow, your throat tight in a way you weren’t expecting.
“you’re the person i go to,” he continues, “when my day’s bad. when something good happens. when i don’t feel like being around anyone else. you’ve been that for me for a while.”
you shift slightly, your fingers curling lightly against his side, grounding yourself.
“i like you,” he says, more simply this time. “not just like this. just… you.”
there’s a pause, but it’s not empty. you lift your head a little more, your faces closer now, your breath mixing with his. your nose brushes his, and for a second neither of you moves. “i just didn’t want to go back to pretending,” he adds, almost under his breath.
your chest tightens again, but this time it’s warmer.
“and what are you asking for?” you ask.
he looks at you properly now, his expression open in a way that makes it impossible to look away.
“more than just tonight,” he says. “if you want that too.”
your gaze drops for a second, your thoughts catching up to you, then you look back at him.
“you’re serious,” you say.
“i am.”
you let out a slow breath, your hand shifting slightly against him. “and if i say no?” you ask, not because you mean it, but because you need to hear it.
his expression softens even more. “then nothing changes unless you want it to.”
that answer sits with you. you lean in without overthinking it, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. it’s slower this time. when you pull back, you stay close, your forehead resting against his. “you make this very hard to ignore,” you murmur.
he smiles faintly, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek again. “that’s kind of the problem, yeah.”
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