isa

WHEN YOUR MOM showed you the ring on her finger the size of an actual rock, you were happy. 

she’d finally met someone. a good man, who always smiled at you, asked how your classes were going, and reminded you to eat on time with a faint frown. one who surprisingly didn’t look at you like you were some extra baggage, unlike her past flings, who considered you the annoying fee they paid to be with your hot young mother. “a total milf,” they would comment. sure, they were all passionate and steamy—but then they fizzled out just as quickly.

so, when she packed your entire life up into neat cardboard boxes at the speed of light—not that it would take so long, given the humble shoebox apartment you lived in—you were so happy for her. you’d never seen her smile so much and go so long without complaining about the broken AC. it was like nothing could faze her.

so, why is it that now that you’re all settled into your new house, with its marble floor and spiraling staircase and a walk-in bedroom closet the size of your old living room, you just feel so…

…unhappy?

all the spaciousness and grandeur of it all wasn’t lost on you. but it just felt unfamiliar, and that’s what made it all the more scary. it’s not like you missed your old life. you just felt like you didn’t fit into your new one. 

take, for example, the prep school your stepfather had enrolled you in. full of prissy teenagers with ruffled skirts and fresh blowouts and faces that looked as if they were carved by angels—not really, just the work of their family’s plastic surgeon. 

but none of it hid their rotten interiors. 

you felt their vulture eyes on you every time you passed by, whispering in hushed tones about how your mom had apparently swindled her new husband. how they couldn’t fathom the likes of you breathing the same air as them. 

it all probably would’ve completely broken you—if it weren’t for your stepbrothers. honestly, they were absolute lifesavers.

heeseung and jake always accompanied you to every one of your classes, heeseung’s hand on your lower back was a warm, steady presence that held your edges together as you tried to tune out the noise of all the stares and snickers. and jake would take your hand in his, murmuring, “don’t worry about them, just focus on this,” rubbing the insides of your wrist to ground you. 

what you didn’t notice was the very next second after you’d walked into class, they would turn around and shoot the most venomous glare at those girls, a silent threat that didn’t go unnoticed as they quieted down instantly.

it was all very surprising. the way people at school seemed to be almost worship them. 

of course, you noticed how the crowd parted whenever they appeared in the hallway. how the table you three sat was somehow always left empty, as if specially reserved, even in a cafeteria where people would fight just for a seat. 

once, a freshman tripped over his unlaced seakers, spilling a can of orange pop soda near you guys. heeseung had just looked at him blankly. it’s not like he was even aggressive or anything. you’d actually never seen him lose his temper. he was such a calm person. but the guy blabbered hundreds of apologies and scurried to wipe it up as if he was being chased.

you didn’t see what all the fuss was about. they were so painstakingly ordinary. you often wondered what people would say if they saw the way they acted at home. just two rowdy high school boys making a mess in the kitchen when they were supposed to be doing chores, yelling over each other so loudly when playing video games that your stepdad had to cut off the WiFi so he could holler at them and get them to finally stop. 

but you really didn’t know what you would do without them—and your best friend, sunghoon.

SUNGHOON HAD a skittish temperament. he was six feet tall, but he always slouched. he didn’t speak unless spoken to. so, when he approached you to pair up in chemistry lab, it was safe to say you were intrigued. 

he had quickly explained, a slight tremor to his voice and black locks falling into his face, that it was because he had overheard from the advisor that you were joining the science olympiad, so he trusted that you “won’t mess everything up like these idiots.” 

after that, it was basically history. with you, and your shared nonexistent popularity, you guessed he just felt comfortable to be himself. he could relate to being on the lowest rung of the hierarchy. 

in the past, he’d struggle to choke up a full sentence and function as a member of civil society. but funnily enough, these days, it seemed like you couldn’t get him stop talking. he would ramble on and on about the unique properties of alkalines or another one of his current hyperfixations. in response, you would bump his shoulder and roll your eyes jokingly, telling him, “we get itt,” and he would flush a deep red, going mute and absentmindedly rubbing that same spot on his shoulder the rest of the day. had you actually hurt him or something? you were getting concerned.

but today, he looked even more skittish than usual. in a way that had nothing to do with this temperament. you didn’t think it was possible, but here he was, completely avoiding eye contact with you, murmuring a quick, “hey,” as he brushed past you and sat all the way in the back of class. 

weird.

you wanted to ask him what was wrong, but then the teacher had started the lecture, so you had to sit down. 

after class, he practically ran out the door. you caught up to him, grabbing his wrist. “sunghoon, wait!”

he stilled, shrugging out of your grasp as if your touch had burned him. it made bile rise in your throat. 

why was he being so weird? like, did you smell or something? 

he turned to you, looking down at the floor, and that’s when you noticed the sickly green color of his skin. you catalogued each observation as if it could help you piece together what he wasn’t telling you. his gaunt dark circles, sunken cheekbones, mussed uniform, and split lip. sunghoon was one of the most meticulous people you knew. he even ironed his bed sheets, something he’d told you in confidence. so the fact he looked so unkempt only confirmed to you that he wasn’t well.

“are you ok? you look sick. is something wrong?”

“it’s nothing,” he mumbled under his breath, all too quick that you knew to press further. 

“don’t lie to me, hoonie. what is it? why are you avoiding me?”

he sighed so deeply that it sounded like he was carrying something heavier than he let on, and finally looked up at you. and the look in his wide, glassy eyes made your blood run cold. he looked fucking scared. yes, he was scared of a lot of things. the dark. the yellow teletubby. his mother’s voicemails. but not you. never you.

“i don’t think we should really be friends anymore.” 

your stomach dropped. each word cut into your heart like daggers. 

“w-what? why are you saying this? did i do something wrong?”

“no, i just don’t think it’s a good idea. i’ve realized that we’re too different. you’re not on my level.” 

what the fuck.

the tears brimmed hot and ready to fall. your chest caved in and your voice felt all too weak when you whispered, “you don’t mean that.” 

“no, i do. you’re a nobody. i don’t want to be associated with you.” 

and that’s what did it, the tears streaming down your face. you wanted to scream. you wanted to demand an explanation, because this was just ridiculous. you wanted to shake him until the sick monster wearing sunghoon’s face with sunghoon’s voice disappeared and you got your sunghoon back. 

but the words died in your throat. 

you’d never expected this. from sunghoon, of all people? sure, people hated you and your guts. sure, most of them never acknowledged your presence and when they did, it was only to giggle at you behind your back, but sunghoon? he was your best friend.

your only friend. 

he turned away before he could see you crumple to the ground.

WHEN YOU ARRIVED at home, you didn’t say a word to anyone. usually, you would at least smile and ask martha, the housekeeper, how her grandchildren were doing. 

but today, you didn’t have it in you to care. in fact, you could barely feel your limbs as you sprawled on your bed like a starfish. the tears had stopped long ago because you’d bled your body dry. your throat was achy, and your clothes felt sticky, and you really wanted to take a shower, but you couldn’t even move. 

a small knock on your door resounded. 

you hiccuped, mumbling, “come in.” 

heeseung and jake stood in the corridor, eyes wide at your state of complete disarray. god, you probably looked like such a mess right now. you didn’t want them to see you like this. you didn’t want to make them think you were always some weak helpless thing they had to protect all the time. a burden. you quickly wiped your face, getting up already, when jake stopped you, a hand on your shoulder, propping up the pillows behind you and tucking the blanket over you. 

“you should take it easy. we could hear you crying for hours, it felt like it was never gonna stop. your body needs the rest.”

heeseung nodded along, handing you a bottle of water and gently tipping it up so you could take small sips as he asked, “do you want to talk about it? it’s okay if you don’t want to.” 

“no, i think i’ll feel better telling you guys. i feel like i’m going crazy and i don’t know if i’m being dramatic.”

you took a deep breath. “so, you know sunghoon?”

“the kid that’s always following you around like a lost puppy?” jake snickered. heeseung bumped  him with this elbow, “sorry, sorry,” he chuckled. “what about him?”

“he told me today that he doesn’t want to be friends anymore. he cut off our friendship. like, we almost, broke up? i don’t know what to even call it. can you even break up as friends?” you rambled, the words spilling out of you, because you needed the sound of your voice to drone out your thoughts, the way the moment replayed in your head like a broken CD. “i don’t even know what i did wrong. and when i asked him, he said, i’m not on h-his l-level. can you believe it? since when did that kind of stuff even matter to him? he just seems like a completely different person.”

jake cut in, “because he is. he’s just showing his true colors.”

heeseung added on, “jake’s right, y/nnie. you don’t need anyone who doesn’t appreciate you in their life. your feelings are valid. he was being an asshole, but he doesn’t deserve your tears. this is just who he is, and today you finally found out.”

“w-what do you mean?” sunghoon was harsh today, but he wasn’t a bad person. he spent his free time volunteering at the bunny shelter, for god’s sake. 

jake’s voice was sweet, but it didn’t do anything to land the blow of his words, “haven’t you heard? sunghoon’s been talking a big game about you. during P.E. in the locker room, he was bragging about how he became friends with you and how you guys are so close, all so that he could finally hit it.” 

“what.”

heeseung explained, “he only became your friend, because he thought you would eventually sleep with him. and i guess, well, since you haven’t, he dropped you,” he shrugged.

“no, i know what that means, i’m just in shock.” 

heeseung rubbed slow circles on your back, “i know it’s a lot to take in. we overheard from some of the guys earlier. we were going to tell you, but then all this went down. i’m sorry, y/n.”

you nodded along, his touch a slight respite to your heavy heart. it made sense. sunghoon was only being nice to you for this digustingly selfish reason and now he’d come clean because he didn’t feel the need to keep up the act any longer. after all, who in the world could truly switch up that fast?

“thank you, guys,” your voice was broken and raspy, but you still hoped they heard the gratefulness in it. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.” 

THE NEXT FEW DAYS passed by in a blur. eat (barely). coffee (way too much). study. repeat. (note: the lack of the word sleep). you’d spent every waking moment camping out in the library, under the guise of preparing for exams, but really, it was to keep yourself so buried in your work that you didn’t feel anything else—just numb—not even the hurt or heartbreak of anything tied to a particularly pale and lanky ex-friend of yours.  

now, finished with all your exams, you were planning to spend the rest of the night cooped up in your room, like always, re-reading some stupid romance novel for the hundredth time until your eyes got bleary and sleep took over, because otherwise, it was too hard to fall asleep these days. 

but then, jake barged into your room and announced to nobody in particular, “this is so not it.”

“who cares. just leave me alone, jake,” you muttered, rolling your eyes and turning over in bed so your back was facing him. 

he turned you back, taking the book from your hands quicker than you could say no. “hey, i care. hell, you’ve been completely isolated from society the last 2 fucking weeks. you need to get out of this goddamn room. i swear it’s making you depressed.”

“okay, fine, whatever,” you relented, too tired to argue, as he dragged you out of bed and into the gaming room. yes, they had a whole separate room just for their antics (funded by daddy dearest, of course).

the walls were a dark gray, and there were thick blackout curtains prepared to make it the most comfortable viewing experience. red LED lights washed the room in a soft glow and two leather gaming chairs sat in front of the flatscreen smart TV. trinkets and figurines, from limited edition legos to toy story, were displayed on the wall shelves. 

“hey y/n,” heeseung nodded over at you with a small smile, still practically glued to the screen.

“there’s no space for me to sit, see? i’ll just go back,” you swiftly turned, already trying to escape—but jake caught your wrist in time, “no biggie. you can share with one of us.”

“yeah, come on, you can sit with me,” heeseung patted at the space next to him on the chair, although it looked nowhere near big enough for anyone, really. 

regardless, you swallowed any hesitation you had because of how nice they were being to you. so, you cleared your throat and plopped down, desperately trying to squeeze in, huffing when it became clear it was impossible. literally only a toddler could fit here. “it’s not enough space,” you mumbled, already getting up—but heeseung pulled you back down.

on his lap, this time. 

your cheeks went hot as you squirmed around, still trying to get up, but he held the controller in one hand and placed the other on your thigh, stilling you in an attempt to calm your nerves. instinctively, you looked down and something about the sight of his tan, large, callused hand against your soft thighs, the firmness of his grip, how easily he’d commanded your focus, it all made your stomach flip for reasons you couldn’t exactly name.

heeseung broke you out of your thoughts. “just stop moving around and enjoy the game, y/n. come on, you’ve been holed up in your room for god knows how long. so, just take your mind off things and have a good time, yeah?”

you turned around to look at him, his soft gaze and huge brown eyes that held only care and concern for you. you think if heeseung looked at anyone like that and asked anything, they could do nothing else but agree. so you found yourself nodding along, you were truly grateful, but inside, you just felt incredibly guilty. you couldn’t stop replaying sunghoon’s harsh words and somehow they’d absorbed into you. a new insecurity that you’d internalized fully. that you were somebody that was difficult to be around. that it was hard for people to like you. that you weren’t on their level. 

your eyes flit to the floor. “i know, hee, but i feel bad, i’m disturbing you guys and making you literally carry me right now,” you mumbled, only voicing half of what was swimming inside your head.

he tucked a misplaced strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering at your jaw, tilting your downcast head up again. “hey, look at me. it’s okay, i really don’t mind. you’re fun to be around and we want you here. with us.” he looked at jake for a moment, who nodded in solidarity and agreement. “not inside of that crazy head of yours. and if i really minded, y/n, i would tell you, i promise.”

you’re fun to be around.

we want you here.

with just two sentences, heeseung had singlehandedly addressed the gnarly things you’d try to run away from these past few weeks. how was he so good at this? were you really that transparent? still, every single one of those words acted like a balm to the wounds that were yet to heal. it didn’t completely fix everything, of course. a small part of you, a faint voice ringing in your ears, refused to believe that he really meant it. that you deserved such kind words. but you droned it out. instead, you allowed yourself to soak in the warmth of his words. immediately, your mood was brighter, a small smile twitching at your mouth.

with that, you felt less embarrassed or like you were overstepping. so you finally relaxed into heeseung, practically using him like a pillow, as he brought his arms back around you, holding the controller. everyone went back to focusing on the game. it was quite entertaining actually, especially when jake would yell at the screen like a madman every time heeseung beat him. it had been a while since you’d had this much fun. things were going well.

yeah, for a grand total of five minutes.

because right then, you felt an unmistakable hardness against your lower back. at first, it didn’t even register, because you refused to acknowledge it. maybe if you pretended it didn’t exist, it wouldn’t. totally solid logic, y/n. you told yourself it was just a natural reaction. heeseung was a young man, so of course, he had these fundamental biological reactions. he couldn’t help it. it was completely normal and nothing to fuss about. you felt guilty for even putting him in this position in the first place, he was being so nice and accommodating, just to get you out of your head, so you didn’t want to make him feel all weird about it and humiliate him.  

but then, you felt it nudge against your core, down there, catching at the spongy entrance of your pussy covered only by a flimsy pair of panties and the silk nightdress that you were wearing. 

you practically flew out of your seat.

“what is it? is something wrong?” heeseung peered up at you with wide eyes, a small frown tugging at his mouth. 

jake removed his headset and looked at you both curiously, his brows furrowed in confusion.

whatever excuse you were going to say to get back to your room evaporated instantly in the back of your throat. they were being so sweet and trying to include you so you didn’t feel so alone. you didn’t want to ruin everything or seem difficult or rude. you didn’t want to prove sunghoon right. that no one would want to be friends with you. spend time with you. 

so, you decided you should just suck it up. 

you stuttered, “n-nothing’s wrong. just my foot fell asleep, so i got up to stretch. that’s all,” you let out a nervous chuckle, dropping into an unceremonious lunge right there, sweat beading down your forehead. “see? all gone!”

heeseung looked mildly confused, glancing at jake for a beat, but just sighed and nodded. you sat back down, hoping and praying that thing would go away. 

but it didn’t. 

so then you took it upon yourself to create some distance between you two, because maybe if you weren’t stuck to his back as much it would help make it go away. it was the least you could do. you scooted a bit forward, but then heeseung lunged forward too, shouting at something on the screen, firing the joystick forward forcefully to attack his opponent as he was completely enraptured in the game. 

the friction of the roll of his hips against yours sent a tingle down your spine, and heat pooled in between your thighs. you squirmed again, trying to reposition yourself better, but every rub and drag and grind of him beneath you became only more and more pronounced until you felt the dampness starting to coat your panties. nononoNO. this cannot be happening.

and then, heeseung lowered his arms around the controller, bringing it down so it was resting on your lap. the feeling of the solid weight of his hands right there, where you were craving something you couldn’t even tell the shape of, just knowing this was not nearly enough to quench that ache, it was all too much. you let out a small, broken whimper before you could stop it. 

that’s it. you launched yourself out of the seat and mumbled a quick, “sorry, i have to go,” running out the door and hoping he or jake didn’t hear it.

fuck, that was so embarrasssing.

YOU THOUGHT you could just block out that whole incident from your memory. where was the eternal sunshine clinic when you needed it? it was all going according to plan, kind of…

now, you were in the kitchen, baking red velvet cupcakes to relax and take your mind off things. you’d already finished with the base cake part, and now you were making the buttercream frosting. hey, maybe, you could share some with heeseung and it would make things less weird, because—well, you’d been kind of avoiding him. 

but then, you felt a warm solid presence hovering behind you. heeseung. your body thrummed, adrenaline rushing as you shivered, from fear or from something else, you didn’t know. had your mental state deteriorated so much that you were having fucking hallucinations, now? oh, lord.

suddenly, hands gripped your sides. “BOO!” a voice boomed over your shoulder.

a shrill, blood-curdling scream ripped from your lungs. you hadn’t considering that there could actually be someone there, since you were so convinced you were imagining things. you felt a low, gravelly chuckle grazing your ear, a warm breath fanning across your neck that made you shiver again. 

“please, you’re so easy to scare,” jake chuckled. 

before you could whack him with the whisk, he promptly swiped it from your hand, and shot you that lazy dimpled grin you’d come to recognize as a sign that he’s up to absolutely no good. “so, can i get a taste?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes you didn’t trust one bit.

“with what, dumbass, you stole my utensil,” you grumbled. he’d completely pissed you off with his little prank. otherwise, you might’ve been more agreeable to give him some. in fact, you’d already been planning on sharing anyway.

“well, you still have your hands,” he pointed down at them. 

“wow, great observation. no shit, sherlock,” you rolled your eyes.

“please, pretty please, just a little bite. or else, i’m telling your mom that you’re hogging all the food and bullying me.”

“oh okay, because you’re literally starving or something.” 

“well, i am now,” he singsonged. 

“ugh, fine,” you muttered, dipping your finger in gingerly to pick up some of the white frosting, ready to place it in his hand, but right then, he abruptly took your wrist and pulled you closer until your chest collided with his. 

your heart dropped straight into the ground. you couldn’t breathe.

he was so close you could see the small golden flecks in his eyes as he held your gaze intensely. your face started getting hot. suddenly, he closed his lips around your index finger, enveloping it in the heat of his mouth, still holding eye contact with you. your mind went completely blank like a whiteboard. his lashes fluttered once, and all you could do was watch like it was happening in slow-motion, the way he hollowed his mouth, looking up at you with a hooded sultry gaze. all you could do was feel the sensation of his tongue lapping and sucking and swirling around your finger, getting every last bit of frosting. and all you could hear were the wet smacks of his tongue and the faint buzz of the kitchen fan, and the increasingly louder thump, thump, thump of your own heartbeat.

“mmm,” he moaned around it, a vibration that resounded low and sent a tremor through your body. he let your finger go with a loud pop, plump lips glistening with the remaining wetness, “tastes real good.”

you couldn’t even respond properly. your brain was still catching up to what just happened. you were definitely annoyed. furious at him for first pranking you, then this, whatever this was. but you were also really, really fucking turned on. good thing jake didn’t leave you struggling for too long, saying, “now, your turn.”

he scooped up a bit of frosting onto his index finger,  holding it up to your mouth expectantly, tapping your lips with his thumb, “open up,” and you complied on autopilot, brain long since gone into overdrive.

you cautiously licked just the tip, but then he thrust his finger in deeper, and added another finger, causing you to gag. “c’mon, you gotta clean all of it off to really get the taste,” he cooed. 

you slackened your jaw, letting your lips cover your teeth so as not to graze his fingers and began sucking of all the creamy frosting until the sugary sweetness of it melted and mixed with the warm, slightly salty flavor of his skin. and all that was left was the aftertaste of him on your tongue. 

slowly, he dragged his finger out, mechanically washing his hands in the kitchen sink as you gawked at him the whole time. 

and then he left without another word. 

so, what the actual fuck.

YOU DIDN’T REALLY do this type of thing often. touching yourself. even thinking it out loud, even if it was just in your head, made you feel weird and self-conscious. probably, because of your lack of experience in the sector, being a virgin and all that. not like you were embarassed about it. you just never felt ready yet. honestly, maybe, it was the effect of the purity culture surrounding you. or maybe, it was because even though your mother had never had a shortage of sexual encounters and one night stands (ones that you had to unfortunately block out with noise-cancelling headphones on the other side of the wall), she’d never really sat you down and had the talk. you’re thankful, though, it would have been way too awkward. but still.

sometimes, you wish you knew more about this kind of stuff.

like now, because you had no idea what you were supposed to be doing with your fingers shoved down there. 

you started by swirling your finger across your clit, poking and prodding and hoping it would get you over the edge. occasionally, you would dip your finger actually inside, spreading the wetness up and all over, but it all felt too mechanical. the knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter, but you just couldn’t… 

come. 

you huffed, retreating your hand, frustrated. maybe, thinking of something specific would help. of someone. 

your mind drifted to a hazy image of tan veiny hands, brown locks, and eyes that looked like melted pools of butter. the vivid memory of his heart-shaped lips around your fingers. how it would feel to kiss him, how you knew he would be good at it, his skilled tongue tangling with yours as his hands roamed your waist and hip, and dipped lower. lower. lower. how he would curl his fingers into the wetness pooling inside your thighs, sucking and licking and fucking you with his tongue until your toes curled. 

oh my god, you were so close.

so so close.

in your reverie, another pair of hands caressed your waist, landing on your ass until you felt him, strong and solid pressing into you. every roll of his hips against yours sent you further into the jake’s mouth, the high bridge of his nose bumping your clit in the most perfect way. meanwhile, heeseung squeezed and smacked your ass, “god, you love this don’t you. love being such a good little slut for us,” he groaned, grinding his cock against you in slow, torturous circles.

“she tastes so sweet,” jake moaned, licking a long stripe down your clit until you trembled and whined. 

jake started thrusting his fingers in and out at a rapid pace, rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time and kissing and tonguing your pussy. simultaneously, heeseung roughly moved you back against him, rolling his hips frantically to chase the impending high. the dual sensation of heeseung’s cock rubbing back against you and jake’s mouth and fingers—it was all too much. and you felt your muscles lock up as pleasure washed over you and left you shaking. 

your head felt hazy. your clothes were all sticky. and it wasn’t until you were inside the shower, letting the steady hot drizzle of the water burn into your skin, that the thought fully materialized.  

you’d orgasmed thinking about heeseung and jake. 

your fucking stepbrothers. 

you’d never felt worse.

THE GUILT WAS eating at you slowly but surely. a secret that tasted like bile in your throat. here they were, being so nice and caring. sure, jake would mess around with you. but it was only because he was cracking a joke just to make you smile, it’s not like he knew how crazy you were and how your body would react to it. and heeseung? he would sit and listen to you for hours as you vented out all your frustrations—and all you could think about was this. disgusting. 

you felt like a horny crazy sex demon had possessed you.

so, you skirted around them whenever you could, eyes flitting to the ground, always mumbling a quick, “sorry, gotta go.” 

but, now, there was no way around it. your parents had left on a business trip, and they’d left the house in the care of you three.

leaving you in the middle of it all, quite literally. because, right now, heeseung sat on your left and jake on your right, caging you in with everything you’d been trying not to confront, as some old rom-com played on the tv. you weren’t paying attention at all. you were only here, because they’d cornered you and insisted you never hang out with them anymore (this was true), and your parents weren’t even there to act as a buffer, so you really had no escape route.

plus, when heeseung had asked why you’d been so busy recently (the flimsy excuse you’d come up with on the spot), just seeing him so dejected and hurt made you feel even more guilty. you didn’t want to keep making them think that they did something wrong to push you away, when the whole problem was you and your dirty mind! 

the three of you were wrapped in a thick off-white cashmere couch blanket that your mother had picked out for the decor. as the movie droned on, heeseung’s hand came to rest on your thigh like an afterthought, a phantom touch that reminded you of one too many nights ago. and jake was practically glued to your side, muttering something about how cold it was, shoulders bumping against yours every other second. 

heeseung traced slow patterns on your thigh, still facing the TV, and you wrote it off as some absentminded fidgeting thing. you didn’t mind, really. it wasn’t anything inappropriate, of course.

but you swore you could feel his hand slowly inching up until it brushed the hem your cotton pajama shorts. but honestly, you were probably just imagining that. your horny sex-crazed brain was playing tricks on you.  

and that’s when you felt jake’s breath grazing the tip of your ear, his lips brushing against your neck, as he whispered, low and gravelly, “hey, can you hand me the remote?”

you froze, a whimper slipping from you before you could stop it.

oh my god, you fucking whimpered instead of handing him the remote like a normal person.

and it didn’t go unnoticed, because heeseung whipped his head away from the TV, eyes solely latched onto you, “hm? what was that?” 

“n-nothing,” you mumbled, voice still breathy and high-pitched.

“didn’t sound like nothing. y/n, is something wrong?” jake’s honey-sweet voice dripped with concern. 

“well, uhm. there is one thing.”

“go on, what is it? you know you can tell us anything, right?” heeseung smiled warmly, a half-moon-shaped crinkle appearing next to his eyes that made you think he looked like an absolute teddy bear or something. NO, STOP Y/N. stop romanticizing him. HE’S YOUR STEPBROTHER. 

still, his calm demeanor set your nerves somewhat at ease, so you just thought you’d get it all out and worry later.

“i can’t stop thinking about IT.”

“like the clown?” jake snickered. “come on, it’s not even that scary.”

“no,” you groaned with frustration, “like ITT. you know?” you gestured with your hands in some wavy motion that only left them more confounded than before. 

“what the hell is that supposed to be?” heeseung let out a small chuckle, genuinely lost.

“like s-e-x. ugh, i don’t know what’s wrong with me, and i-i can’t stop, and it’s really gross, and oh my goodness, there’s something totally wrong with me, right? i think i need to see someone, this is so bad, ugh, i hate myself, sorry i’m being so weird,” the words tumbled out before you could stop and think. all of what’s been plaguing your mind now out in the open. tears brimmed in your eyes, threatening to spill.

jake wrapped his hand around yours, “hey, no, look at me. you know we care about you, right?” 

you nodded, unable to speak. everything felt like it was closing on you, caught in your throat.

heeseung added on, “and you know we’d do anything for you, righ—”

jake cut him off, “so let us help you out.”

“what do you mean?” you mumbled, vision starting to go blurry with unshed tears. you blinked it away.

“you know, with that. trust me, you just need to experience it, so you don’t keep thinking about it. it’ll feel good, and then you never have to worry about it again.”

“o-okay, j-just get rid of it. please.” you didn’t care how wrong this was. you would do anything to stop feeling this way. it was the only way to fix this once and for all, so you could stop fantasizing about your goddamn stepbrothers.

“just let us take care of you, okay? heeseung rubbed slow, comforting circles on your knee. “you trust us, right?”

you nodded, beyond thankful and ready to get this over with. 

heeseung brought his hand up to cup your face, your lashes fluttering shut as he tilted your head up and kissed you, swallowing your gasp. his pillowy lips melted against yours, it was soft, slow, and he took his time with small pecks that made you lose your balance. he coaxed your mouth further open with his tongue, hands growing braver as he wrapped them around your waist, pressing you to him as he exhaled into you with a small moan. he pulled back, and it took some time for your eyes to adjust to the light and the delicate, sweet bliss clouding your head to dissipate. 

then, jake turned you to him without wasting a second, pressing a wet kiss just underneath your jaw that made you moan and tilt your head further to give him more access. he sucked at the same spot, pads of his fingertips pressing into your collarbones with a grip that felt like he needed to feel you, needed to be impossibly closer to you to anchor himself. it cut off your circulation slightly, but something about that loss only made you feel every inch of his lips against your skin more intensely. you gasped, his teeth grazing your skin slightly as he soothed over it with his tongue, the pain blurred by the instant pleasure. jake trailed kisses on your collarbone, your upper chest, dragging the straps of your tank down to kiss your shoulder, until finally, he latched his lips onto yours. 

unlike heeseung, he instantly crushed his lips to yours, biting into your bottom lip and tearing a small gasp out of you that was soon muffled. his tongue tangled with yours, a clear show of dominance. you pulled back for air.

your chest heaved as your eyes flitted from heeseung to jake, unsure of what to do next. 

heeseung sensed your hesitation. “just sit back and relax, ok?” he laid you flat horizontally against the couch. his hands came up to your tank. “can i take this off?” 

“yeah,” you rasped, until he tugged it over your head, and there you were left in your bra and tiny pajama shorts. 

“you’re so beautiful, y/n,” heeseung said, caressing your waist, your stomach, admiring the small marks adorning you that had started to bloom along your collarbone and shoulders that were jake’s handiwork. he pressed a small kiss to the underside of your throat that had you arching up into his touch, while palming your breasts over the lacy white fabric.

at the same time, jake pulled your shorts down, revealing the wet spot already dampening your panties. “you’re so wet already,” he murmured, “cute.” his thumb barely brushed over your clit, circling it with a light, teasing touch. he pinched the nub unexpectedly, causing you to whimper and yelp, sending a heady rush of pain and pleasure through your core. 

“oh? you liked that?” he teased, “didn’t take you for a painslut,” he hummed, amused. he didn’t even give you a second of respite before he suddenly slapped your pussy. you mewled, and jake observed the fabric grow so soaked your pussy was basically see-through now. “fuck,” he muttered under his breath, “you’re so goddamn wet.” he wasn’t complaining. he loved it. actually it made it all the easier for him to tease you, scrunching the panty together into a thin sticky strap, gliding it across your clit. side to side. unraveling it and smoothing it out back again to finger you through the fabric. you moaned, the friction between the fabric and your sensitive folds making you furrow your brows, eyes closing shut.

heeseung made quick work of unclasping your bra, his hot tongue on your nipples a contrast to the cool air that had you moaning, “h-heee.”

“that feel good, angel?” heeseung continued his ministrations, taking your nipple fully into his mouth now, sucking it as he tugged and pinched your other nipple in between his thumb and forefinger. he switched and switched again, until you thought you could come just from this—and the way jake was still working you from below.

suddenly, he pulled back, leaving you dazed and confused as you opened your eyes.

“can’t have you come just yet, pretty,” he explained, pulling his gray sweatpants down to reveal his flushed cock, hard and leaking with precum. 

you’d never really had any, but you’d be surprised if he didn’t win for most picturesque or something. he was long, thick, and slightly arched to the side, and as you were practically drooling, you failed to notice it might be a bit of a problem to have that fit inside you. 

“won’t fit,” you mumbled your observation absentmindedly.

“oh, what’s that? don’t worry, princess, i’ll make it fit,” he smirked.

you bit your lip in anticipation, as heeseung positioned himself at your entrance, knees holding your thighs apart as jake moved away to give him space. 

and then, even though your face was already probably the color of a tomato, you needed to come clean with this. it just wouldn’t be right otherwise. so, you just shut your eyes and said it really really fast. “i’mavirginbytheway.”

heeseung laughed. your eyes flew wide open in surprise. 

what? why did he laugh? 

jake and him glanced at each other for a second, something moving across their faces, but it was gone before you could comprehend it. 

“don’t worry, we already had an idea,” he explained, clearing your doubts. “i’ll go slow,” he promised, pulling your panties to the side. he inched in with a groan, your walls fluttering around him. you gasped, feeling his mushroomy tip nudge against your gummy walls. the sticky wetness coating your folds made it easy for him to slip in about—well, only a quarter of the way.

you were getting worried, and your muscles tensed up, which heeseung noticed. “relax for me, pretty,” he whispered, his thumb massaging your clit to help ease you up. he sunk all the way in with a groan that sounded almost painful. you let out a small gasp, feeling utterly stuffed to the brim. 

he gripped your hips for balance, his large hands digging into your waist as he slowly lowered himself out, and in again, true to his promise. he drove into you impossibly deeper every time, bullying your cervix. he brought his hand to rest on your stomach, feeling the way the skin bulged. “open your eyes, baby, want you to see how deep i am,” he murmured. you looked down, gasping at the clearly visible evidence of him moving under your skin. it was an almost poetic testament to the way your body desperately held onto him, and just as desperate, how heeseung had buried himself into you without a lick of space. you felt every single vein and ridge of him sliding against your sticky walls, only making you moan louder. 

“that’s right, baby, your pussy’s sucking me in so fucking deep. so greedy. it’s like it wants to keep me inside forever,” he groaned. with the way you clenched around him, heeseung became utterly pussy drunk, cursing under his breath, “f-fuck, so tight.” 

you were so lost in the feeling of him you didn’t particularly notice how jake was watching everything with his jaw dropped open, eyes glassed over. a small gasp escaped his mouth. he was fisting himself, pants pooled at his ankles. every time heeseung drove back out, you could do nothing but try and arch your back and push back against him to feel him again, which had jake imagining how you would feel around him. would you be just as needy? “god, so fucking needy,” he moaned, moving his palm faster and faster.

he could feel the edge looming over, just out of reach. he couldn’t take it anymore. he moved next to heeseung, stilling him with a hand on his shoulder. “bro, you’re going so slow, come on, i can’t wait any longer. it’s my turn,” he huffed.  

heeseung reluctantly pulled out, and it left you whining, instantly craving something to fill the ache again. 

“don’t worry, baby, i got you,” jake cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek gingerly in complete contrast to the smirk on his face. suddenly, he thrusted in, burying himself all the way to the hilt easily with the wet mixture of your wetness and heeseung’s precum. 

he set a brutal pace, plowing into you. your eyes rolled back. jake was girthier than heeseung, not as long, but the way he stretched you out had you seeing stars. and he wasn’t far off. he was completely absorbed in the feel of you pulsing and clenching around him. “fuck, she’s so tight, bro. best fucking pussy ever.” 

his hands squished your cheeks together, making your face form a pout, drool trailing down the side as tears began to pool in your eyes from the pure ecstasy of it all. “so. fucking. cute,” he punctuated each word with a sharp thrust. “i knew one cock wasn’t enough for a slut like you.” he drove into you so hard the entire couch shook from the force of it. “come on. say it.”

“say that you're ours. our slut. our fucktoy. ” he dropped his hand from your face, only to bring it around your throat.

“y-yes,” you rasped, too fucked out and needy to even say otherwise.

he clicked his tongue, “nono. say it right. say you love being our slut.”

you blurted it out, “yes, i’m yours. i love it. i love being your slut.” you babbled as all you could feel was the hazy keening pleasure about to overtake you. you couldn’t hold back any longer. 

jake groaned, satisfied, harshly rolling his hips into you again, making you moan, squelching around him loudly. 

“p-please,” you begged, though your mind was too scrambled to even realize what.

“please, what?” jake teased. “wanna come, is that it?” his hand pinched your nipple making you whimper and flail around and bite your lip harshly so hard you thought you tasted blood, “yes, fuck, please, i need it so bad, jakey,” you whined desperately. 

“don’t worry, angel,” heeseung chimed in. “i know exactly what you need.” 

and with that, heeseung pushed in right next to jake, taking you both by shock. jake faltered, but only for a minute, then the next, the two of them alternated strokes. jake pulling out as heeseung pushed in, scissoring you open until the two of them pushed in together.

you mewled. the tight fit of them sliding against each other in unison was insane. you felt beyond full and stretched, the two of them together managing to hit every spot deep within you until all you could do was moan wantonly. 

“please, can i come?” you whined, feeling the wave starting to build in your core that you couldn’t control any longer.

“go on, be a good girl and come for us,” heeseung whispered, him and jake both hit a frantic relentless rhythm that had you splitting with the fullness of it all. jake was girthier and heeseung was slightly longer and the dual sensation of them both was maddening, every single crevice within you feeling stuffed. the pressure built in no time and your body locked up around them, gushing them both in your wetness.

the vibration of you shaking and fluttering around them caused heeseung to stutter and spill inside you, with jake following right after. they pulled out, your overstimulated pussy twitching still. the cool air hit your gaping hole, clenching around nothing. 

jake pulled your folds apart gently with his thumbs, causing their white, mixed cum to drip from you, glistening pearls that he thought made for one of the most beautiful sights in the world: you, laid out like a painting, all used up, leaking with their cum, skin flushed and glistening with that afterglow. “so beautiful,” he remarked. 

heeseung pulled his pants back up, going to fetch something and coming back with a warm washcloth to carefully clean you up. you jerked when the fabric hit your sensitive skin, but jake’s warm hand caressing your sides helped steady you. “sorry if i was a little rough, got carried away,” he admitted, biting his lip. you nodded, voice still too gone to answer properly.

“there, all cleaned up,” heeseung said, coming up to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “you did so good for us, princess.” 

“that’s right. so proud of you, baby,” jake tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, gently patting down your hair that had become all mussed.  

in that moment, in their arms, you felt completely, wholly safe. your eyes began to flutter shut, your body exhausted and sleep overtaking you. all the earlier tension and stress and underlying pain you’d felt since sunghoon had evaporated. a part of you knew that everything would be different between you three from now on, that this was all wrong in the weirdest ways, but you weren’t bothered. in your gut, it felt right. you knew you could trust them to take care of you, always, just like now. 

and with that thought, you drifted off. 

JAKE: IMG_3158.MOV JAKE: here’s a little smth smth for ya HEESEUNG: kept your mouth shut and stayed away from her like a good boy haha JAKE: aww poor hooniee. are the bruises better? did we go too hard? SUNGHOON: wtf.

the first game was simple: “red light, green light.” you’d played it as a kid, but here, the stakes weren’t bruised knees and scraped palms. here, the doll didn’t chant instructions for fun. its voice echoed over the yard in a flat, mechanical rhythm, and every time it said “red light,” players who moved even a fraction of a second too late were gunned down where they stood.

the sound of the first gunshot made your stomach flip. the second made your knees buckle. by the third, your heartbeat was so loud you couldn’t hear anything else.

you wanted to cry. you wanted to turn and run, but you knew what would happen if you did.

so, you forced yourself forward on shaky legs, moving in short, stiff sprints every time the doll called “green light.” you could feel the weight of its gaze even when you weren’t moving.

sweat clung to your temples. your limbs ached from locking in place. every step felt like it could be your last.

you were halfway across the field when it happened. you miscalculated the timing, legs too slow and your reaction too sluggish. you stumbled, your foot catching on uneven ground, and you pitched forward as the doll called “red light.” you weren’t supposed to fall. now you were not going to survive this.

you landed hard, your palms scraping against the cracked asphalt. you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the gunfire. your breath caught in your throat as you waited.

but nothing happened.

the silence stretched on, broken only by the distant shuffling of other players. you lifted your head slowly, your heart still hammering in your chest, and looked around. you could feel the doll’s sensor locked on you. you could feel the way the air thickened around you, like the system was holding its breath.

the gun never fired.

you scrambled back onto your feet, legs shaking violently, and forced yourself forward again.

the rest of the game passed in a blur. your ears rang, your vision swam and when the final countdown ended, and the doors slid shut behind the last surviving players, you barely registered that you’d made it. you just stood there, gasping, your hands trembling at your sides.

the others whispered about system glitches. about how sometimes the doll missed a player by accident. about how maybe you were just lucky.

you wanted to believe it too, but you knew it deep down that you hadn’t been fast enough. you hadn’t outsmarted anything. you should’ve died. the doll’s sensor had locked onto you. you saw it.

someone or something had spared you.

you noticed him that night in the dorms, one of the masked enforcers standing near the exit. his uniform was the same as the others, but something about the way he watched you felt wrong. his head tilted slightly when you caught his eye, his posture shitfinh when you moved past him, gaze lingering too long.

it wasn’t just that he was watching. it was the way he was watching. like he was studying you. like he was waiting for something. like he already knew you.

the next day, you overheard two players whispering in the corner, their heads bowed low. they were talking about the guards. about how some of them had special clearances. about how one in particular was known to move differently, to linger in the control rooms when no one else was allowed. a guard connected to the vips. someone with access. someone dangerous.

you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. until it did.

you should’ve died again.

when you broke one of the rules in the second game—a mistake so obvious that a guard should have dragged you away immediately—no one moved. the others stared at you, waiting for the punishment, but none of the guards reacted. none of the guns fired. you stood there, frozen in place, breathing too fast, waiting for the consequences that never came.

it didn’t make sense.

the same masked enforcer—the one who lingered too long—was stationed near the control panels this time. his hand rested near the emergency override key. his head tilted toward you, almost like he was waiting.

almost like he wanted you to see him.

the next game, you slipped during the tug of war, your grip loosening, your body tilting dangerously backward—but somehow, the rope didn’t pull you down. the other team lost their footing at the last second, their weight shifting inexplicably in your favour.

you barely held on and your team barely survived. when you stumbled off the platform, the same masked enforcer stood near the exit, watching you.

you didn’t know his name. you couldn’t see his face. but you knew. it was him. it had to be.

you began to realise you weren’t surviving because you were clever or strong. you were surviving because someone wanted you alive. someone was bending the system around you. someone who didn’t follow the same rules as everyone else.

you caught him again after the fourth game. it was subtle. a moment where his hand brushed the control panel too casually, where the timer extended just long enough to save you, where a guard hesitated when they should’ve pulled the trigger. you saw the way his head turned toward you, as if he could feel your eyes on him, as if he wanted you to notice him.

the rumours grew bigger, spreading around like hot tea. it was about guards with ties to the vips. about ones who didn’t have to follow protocol, who could break the rules if they wanted to.

you had dismissed them before. but now you weren’t so sure.

you didn’t know why he had chosen you. you didn’t know what he wanted. but you could feel it pressing in on you now—the weight of his attention. instead of feeling lucky, you felt more trapped

whatever this was, it wasn’t over. you weren’t safe. you were being kept alive for a reason.

a reason that didn’t feel like mercy.

you noticed little things after that. little cracks. the way his hand would twitch near his weapon when other players got too close to you. the way his breathing would hitch when you stumbled, like the idea of losing you—even by accident—rattled him in a way he couldn’t quite hide. you caught him staring too long, standing too close, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides when someone else spoke to you.

there was something desperate about it which felt very off.

it built and built until you couldn’t take it anymore. you needed answers. you needed to see him. not the mask. not the uniform. the real him.

you waited until the halls thinned out and the guards dispersed, slipping away from the dorms under the buzz of half-working lights.

your bare feet slapped softly against the cool floor as you moved through the empty corridors, your heart pounding hard in your chest with every step. you didn’t know what you were walking toward, but you knew you wouldn’t stop until you found him.

you slipped past the security gates you weren’t supposed to cross, toward the back rooms—the ones you’d heard about in snatches of conversations, where the control feeds were hidden from the players. only select staff with connections to the vips were allowed here apparently.

you caught him in a maintenance room, just beyond the restricted zone. the door was cracked open, just enough for you to see his back, the pink uniform still clinging to him like a second skin.

you stayed frozen in the doorway, your breath catching in your throat as you watched him slowly lift the helmet from his head.

his hair was dark, matted slightly from sweat, sticking to the nape of his neck. he set the mask aside and flexed his shoulders, rolling the tension out of his muscles like he didn’t know you were there.

but he did.

he turned toward you, calm, steady, and met your wide-eyed stare with a small, knowing smile.

you didn’t recognise him. you had never seen his face before. he was just a boy—a stranger.

but it didn’t feel like you were meeting him for the first time. his eyes held something familiar, something that made your skin prickle and your lungs seize. it was the same weight you’d felt pressing on you during every game. it was the same suffocating attention you’d carried since the first round.

“you found me,” he said, his voice soft like it was meant for you alone.

he didn’t sound surprised or worried. it was like he’d known you would come.

your throat went dry, body locking in place. you wanted to run, but you couldn’t make your legs move.

“you’ve been…” you forced the words out, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “it was you.”

his smile deepened, a slow curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“you’re safe because of me,” he said simply, as if it was obvious. “i’ve been protecting you since the beginning. i didn’t want you to die.”

your stomach twisted painfully. you didn’t know him. you didn’t understand him. but the pieces had already snapped together in your head, each impossible survival, each glitch in the system, each unspoken warning—he’d been behind all of it.

“why?” your voice cracked, barely audible. “why me?”

he stepped closer, slow, unhurried, like he was giving you time to run, knowing you wouldn’t.

“because you’re mine,” he said, his tone so calm, so sure, it left no room for doubt. “i couldn’t let them take you.”

you could feel the panic building in your throat, but you stayed rooted in place as he closed the distance between you.

his hand lifted to touch your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone. his touch was warm, careful, almost reverent.

“you only made it this far because i wanted you to.”

his words settled over you like a trap snapping shut, but there was no malice in his eyes. only certainty.

you didn’t know what scared you more—the way his touch felt almost gentle, or the way your body leaned into it despite the roaring alarm in your head.

his touch was slow, careful, but not gentle. it felt like the kind of patience that could snap at any second. like the stillness before something dangerous finally broke loose.

his fingers dragged along your waist, slow and deliberate, tracing circles over the thin fabric of your uniform like he was burning your shape into memory. his gloves pressed firmly into your skin, just tight enough to remind you that you wouldn’t be walking away from this.

your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away.

maybe you should have. maybe you could have. but your body didn’t move. you told yourself it was fear. but the truth settled heavier than that. the truth tasted like surrender.

“you don’t even realise what you do to me,” jungwon murmured, his voice low, frayed at the edges. “how long i’ve been watching you.”

“you were… watching me?” your voice came out small and shaken, heart hammering against your ribs.

his hands slid up your sides, pausing just beneath your ribs, holding you there like you were something fragile. his grip tightened, a silent warning, his thumbs pressing in hard enough to sting.

“you didn’t think you were surviving this on your own, did you?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “you didn’t really believe that, right?”

“i…” your throat closed up. “at first i thought i was lucky.”

he let out a dark laugh, his breath hot against your skin. “you weren’t lucky. you were mine.”

his grip moved lower, guiding you backward until your thighs bumped against the edge of the console table. when he lifted you onto the cold metal surface, his palms didn’t leave your body, his hands sliding down to your hips, caging you in place like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“look at you,” he breathed, his voice slipping, his composure fraying. “so perfect. so soft for me now.”

“please,” you whispered, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. “i don’t… i don’t understand what you want from me.”

his thumb dipped under the waistband of your pants, teasing the skin there, but he didn’t pull them down yet. he just stared at you, his eyes drinking in every tiny tremble, every shaky breath, every small way your body leaned into him despite yourself.

his other hand came up to cup your face, tilting your chin until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“i’ve seen every part of you,” jungwon whispered, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “you didn’t know i was watching, but i was. always.”

his voice cracked a little on the last word.

“i watched you when you slept. when you cried. when you begged to be saved.” his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. “and you always will be. you’ll always be safe with me.”

you whimpered, your lips closing around his thumb without thinking, your breath trembling as you looked up at him.

“you’ll let me take care of you now, won’t you?” his voice softened, but it wasn’t a question.

“yes,” you whispered around his thumb, shame heating your cheeks.

his breath hitched, like that tiny, broken word shattered whatever fragile restraint he had left.

“that’s my good girl,” he whispered, withdrawing his thumb just long enough to grip your jaw, his touch rougher now, his desperation bleeding through.

“you’re always so sweet for me.”

his other hand finally moved, dragging your pants down slow and deliberately, savouring the reveal like he’d waited too long for this moment to rush it. when his fingers slipped between your thighs, he groaned low in his throat at the first brush of your slick against his glove.

“fuck,” he breathed, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your jaw, his voice breaking. “you want this. you’ve always wanted this.”

“i… i don’t know,” you gasped, your hips jerking into his touch.

“yes, you do,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “your body knows. you’re already so wet for me.”

his fingers moved slowly at first, spreading your arousal, circling your clit in soft, measured strokes that made your stomach knot and your legs tense. he worked you open with dangerous patience, dragging two fingers through your folds, pushing them inside you until you gasped.

“say it,” he breathed, curling his fingers inside you just right. “say you want me.”

“i…” your voice trembled, your fingers fisting in his uniform. “i want you.”

his breath faltered. “again.”

“i want you,” you whispered, shame and pleasure sinking deep into your bones.

his thumb pressed firm, steady circles over your clit while his fingers curled inside you, coaxing desperate, shaky sounds from your throat. your hips rocked into his touch without thinking, the pleasure drowning out your guilt, your fear, your logic.

“that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave it stinging. “just feel me. don’t think. just let me have you.”

“it’s too much,” you whimpered, your walls tightening around his fingers.

“you can take it,” he growled, his breath heavy against your skin.

his breathing frayed as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, his control slipping with every heartbeat. when you tightened around his fingers, trembling, he didn’t stop. he didn’t give you space to pull away.

“mine,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “you’ve always been mine.”

when you came, your body clenching around his fingers, your cry breaking the silence, jungwon’s eyes snapped wide, his pupils blown out like something inside him shattered.

“you’re beautiful like this,” he whispered, dragging his slick coated fingers across your lips. “taste.”

your lips parted before you could think, your tongue flicking over his fingers as he watched you with a trembling, starved gaze.

his composure cracked.

he tugged your shirt over your head with shaking hands, his mouth already moving across your skin, licking, sucking, biting along the soft curves of your chest, his desperation sharp and barely contained.

“the rest of you think i’m just an enforcer,” he whispered against your ribs. “but i have access the other guards will never have. i can override the system. i can pull you from the games whenever i want.”

his mouth worked hot, wet kisses over your stomach, his hands clutching your waist like he could anchor himself to you.

“you’ve heard the rumours, haven’t you?” he breathed, his hips grinding into your thigh. “about the ones who can bend the rules. the ones the vips can’t control.”

“what are you?” you choked out, your heart slamming against your ribs.

he kissed lower, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just above your hips.

“i’m the one who kept you alive,” he whispered. “i’m the one who’s going to keep you forever.”

his voice dropped, “i can break you. i can keep you. and no one can stop me.”

he pressed his cock against your entrance, dragging the tip through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. the slow tease made you writhe, your hands gripping his shoulders, your thighs pressing against his hips like you couldn’t decide whether to pull him in or push him away.

“please,” you breathed, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “please, jungwon…”

“please what?” he coaxed, his voice thick with amusement. “please stop? or please fuck you?”

you sobbed, your hips tilting forward despite yourself. “please fuck me.”

his eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your waist like he wanted to snap you in half.

“that’s my girl,” he growled, dragging you down onto his cock in one slow, brutal thrust that stretched you to the edge of pain. you cried out, clinging to him as his hips began to move in relentless, claiming thrusts.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he groaned, driving into you harder. “so tight around me. you were made for me.”

“you’re too deep,” you gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“you can take it,” he snarled, his teeth grazing your ear. “you’ll take all of me.”

he fucked you harder, each snap of his hips brutal, desperate, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

“you’re mine,” he gasped, his voice unravelling. “i’ve waited so long for this. i’ll keep you. i’ll never let you go.”

“you’re not supposed to—” you whimpered, your legs shaking.

“you belong to me,” he growled, dragging your legs higher around his waist, slamming into you so deep you sobbed. “you belong here.”

his rhythm never faltered, every thrust deep and claiming, every kiss desperate and filthy. his cock split you open, the obscene, wet sounds of your bodies echoing through the room.

“you’re so messy for me,” he groaned, watching your slick coat his cock. “so wet, so fucking perfect.”

“jungwon, i can’t—” you sobbed, your body teetering on the edge.

“yes, you can,” he growled, his hips snapping harder. “cum for me. now.”

when your second orgasm hit, your body clenching around him, your release washing over you in sharp, overwhelming waves, jungwon groaned into your skin, his rhythm stuttering as he spilled inside you, his cum hot and heavy, dripping out as he rocked into you through the aftershocks.

his arms stayed locked around you, his lips pressing frantic, desperate kisses to your jaw, your throat, your shoulder like he could carve his place into you.

his voice trembled against your skin, a soft, dangerous promise.

“you’re mine. forever. i’ll keep you safe. i’ll keep you forever.”

and the worst part about all of this was the part that made your stomach twist—you believed him.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

VAMPIRE

VELITE by @hooncifer sunghoon x reader

FACILITY OO7 by @theothernads OT7

SWEETEST SIN by @drkbl00d jake x reader

CRIME

KEEPSAKE by @unlocktxt niki x reader

LEVEL 4 by @gyuuberryy niki x reader

AROUND WE GO by @unlocktxt jungwon x reader

HORROR GAME MAID by @aalsbefr OT7

STALKER / OBSSESION

TRAPPED by @lassiie heeseung x reader

GOOD BOY by @nisc0 jake x reader

PRETTY LITTLE LIARS @en-lov OT7

NO EXIT JUST HIM by @elikajinnie heeseung x reader

LIKE YOU by @stvrrlau sunghoon x reader

CORRUPTION / RELIGION

He discovered your texts with that secret boyfriend of yours. How badly he treated you, and how you let him, just to feel owned, loved. He knew when you snuck in those late-night FaceTimes, shirt half-off, hand between your thighs, playing the loyal girlfriend for him and his pathetic dick.

And Heeseung? He was obsessed with that version of you—the one he didn’t even dare to fantasize about, yet you handed to him on a silver plate.

Your self-care sessions got him hard under his desk. Got him jerking off to the way your fingers curled around your own throat in the dim hue of your bedroom, playing at power, pretending you didn’t crave being broken open.

You were too good at pretending. Sitting across from him, blouse crisp, smiling like a poetry award was the climax of your week.

What a goddamn lie.

But at least he’d seen you now. Most of you. And he understood better. Understood your issues. But something in him snapped.

Because this wasn’t just about obsession anymore.

It wasn’t about lust.

Or even protection.

It was about you.

And how you made him feel real again.

How you gave him a purpose.

You didn’t flinch when he glared. Didn’t avoid him at dinner. You just smiled, slid him your extra fries, and asked about the AI competition like it mattered. You looked at him like he was a person.

Not a project. Not a problem.

Not a hacker. Not a delinquent.

Not some mistake his father regretted.

And that… made you dangerous.

Because now you were a necessity. Something—someone—he cared about.

He did want to protect you.

But he also wanted to own you.

To erase the line between your bedroom and his. Between your thoughts and his access. Between your gasps at night and his name.

You weren’t supposed to get close.

You weren’t supposed to care.

And he wasn’t supposed to fall for you.

Fall for you?

...

But now what ?

You were the virus in his system.

The girl who said “good job” when he didn’t ask for praise. Who laughed when no one else did. Who touched his shoulder once—just once—and left him with a twitch in his fingers he couldn’t debug.

But you were a line of code he couldn’t rewrite. A live feed he couldn’t turn off.

And maybe, if he watched long enough, if he memorized every breath, every sigh, every single unguarded look, you wouldn’t disappear like the others.

Maybe, if he learned your pattern…he could break you open before you broke him.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d want him to. Even if it meant losing something. Even if it meant pulling you into the dark with him… and never letting you go.

Now you were sitting across from him. You spare him a glance while structuring your salad like a freak, with those doe eyes and he’s hard. Hard at a family dinner while they talked business.

Suddenly his breath catches your feet touching under the table. Like questioning, you good ?

Yeah it’s me, Heeseung. That sweet voice of yours haunting his head. 

His foot slides slower in between your legs mindlessly and when you almost jolt, he realizes. 

“gotta go sleep.” he blurred, rushing off the table. “Tomorrow is exam day.”

Fuck, he wants more. More of your secrets.More of you, the real you.

So he turned on your webcam, night after night, and your phone’s, and tab. like you were his favorite streamer, his favorite radio mc, the best sound to sleep. Like you wanted him to fantasise, think of it every night… 

You were stretched across your bed, laughing into your phone, wearing nothing but a tank and panties, circling your finger on your belly mindless. The way girls do when they forget they’re being watched.

You laid out your clothes for the next day like some little honor-roll princess—giggling when your friend called you a chaebol, and you shrug her off. 

But the way you lingered on the lace you never wear… the silk you only sleep on alone… the sheer pieces he has never seen— holding them up to your chest, slow movements like the reflection was his to tell you what to wear. It was fucking foreplay. You were a fucking siren, with your fucking hair finally down, and those dumb big scare glasses off. 

And him ?

Heeseung…

He was already crashing on the rocks. He was a black-hat addict no-full-blown cyber-pervert. rock hard, mindlessly stroking his bulge at the sheer form of you in unmatched underwears.

So innocent. So mine.

Some days later, you knocked on his door while your parents were off circling the globe, allergic to stillness and obligations. Your hair was tied up but messier than usual, cheeks sun-kissed, eyes almost red—like you’d cried.

God, if someone made you cry… I’d kill them.

You held two glasses of soda, dripping with condensation. No way you could deny you’d been pacing by his door for the last hour.

“What are you up to, genius? I’m bored,” you said, voice half-curious, half-something else.

Heeseung—fool, addict, liar—let you in. Let you get too close. Showed you things he shouldn’t because you asked with that look that made him feel like a god, not a glitch. But also made him wonder who had made you sad enough to want to change your mind.

Still, you smiled at his screens like they were art. Touched his keyboard like it was sacred. No step-sister had ever looked at him like that before—hell, no one actually had. Fuck, he needed to focus. Focus on you, not you.

“You really made all this?”

He nodded, trying not to smirk, trying not to shake. His fingers danced across the keys like a seduction.

“Wanna see something fun?”

A window blinked open. He typed some commands, and grainy footage appeared: the neighbor’s yard. Middle-aged man with hedge clippers, snipping bonsai like manicuring his soul.

He tapped more keys. Suddenly, sprinklers roared to life. The neighbor shrieked, dropped the shears, and bolted.

You burst out laughing, collapsing into him, palm against his chest. That sound—reckless, sweet—made something snap inside him. It wasn’t just pride. It was possession. You weren’t weirded out. You liked it. Liked him. Not the fake polite way. The way that made him want to caress your cheek and kiss those red eyes.

But he was a coward—or your strongest soldier, as he liked to call himself. One who wanted you close, for good, not some fling you’d regret like the others he barely tolerated. No, he wanted you for life—and he was in the perfect position, as long as your parents behaved.

Then your eyes met. Dangerous idea sparking. You dared him with your gaze, then dashed out of his room.

“Try it on my bedroom camera!” you shouted, disappearing down the hall, hoodie flapping like a flag.

Fuck. If only you knew he was already connected.

Moments later — Cam03: Her Bedroom Feed lit up.

You stood in front of the lens—he used to fuck himself to thoughts of you—starry-eyed as he purposefully reactivated the red dot, signaling it was on. Made a mental note to re-enable it later.

You waved. Smiled like sin. Mouthing: “See me?”

He choked. Because yes—he saw you. Always had. But now? Now you saw him.

Like you always knew.

You reached for your top, lifted the hem just enough to flash bare skin, then darted out of frame, laughing like it was a game.

His chest burned. Panic and arousal mixed in his bloodstream like a drug. Heeseung’s brain broke.

But he didn’t shut it down. He couldn’t. Instead, he gave in. His trembling fingers dimmed your room’s lights, shifting godspeed to soft pink. He knew it was your favorite. Knew too much.

Then he started your playlist—the one with soft beats, gentle melody, moonstruck, your favorite.

You paused in the doorway. Turned just enough for the camera to catch you again. Smiled with pure fascination, like a kid. You should’ve been afraid. But you weren’t.

You looked at the cam again, really looked, like he was the sweetest boy, and you didn’t care much what he was capable of—because it was him.

You walked back to his door, dripping sunlight and mischief.

“That was so cool,” you said, high-fiving him like your heart wasn’t thundering. Like you hadn’t just exposed the darkest part of him and come back wanting more. “Can you, like… track people? Their phones or whatever?”

Heeseung blinked. “I-if their GPS is on. Or if they ping the network.”

You tilted your head. Bit your lip. “…Wanna play hide and seek?”

He scoffed in disbelief, but there was a glint behind his eyes—half challenge, half thrill. Like he’d just been dared to play a game he already knew the rules to.

He grabbed his laptop. The mansion was too big. Too full of shadows, quiet corners. A maze of marble, high ceilings, inherited guilt.

Heeseung sat somewhere, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

You texted him: “find me.” One signal. One flare. Then silence.

He tracked you through your phone GPS—chose not to use the hallway cams, even though he easily could have. Something intimate, invasive, about watching your little red dot move on his map. Every time he walked to you was an ode to the game only you two could play.

Library.

“Checkmate. You’re here.”

“Wow! So you really can!”

West Wing.

“If you're facing a mirror, it’s too easy… not even fun.”

“Fuck…”

Wine Cellar.

“If you’re trying to get drunk, pick the 2007 Bordeaux.”

You laughed.

The pool.

He stuck to the GPS. The red dot blinking. Stalling. Then disappearing.

You texted: “find me now.”

His screen dimmed like the whole house was holding its breath.

Heeseung’s pulse quickened. GPS cut out. No new pings. He tried again. Twice. Three times. Nothing. Every nerve in his body was a wire of curiosity. The air heavy with chlorine and humidity as he stepped toward the pool deck, leaving his computer by the bar.

Then he found it. Your phone, face down on the stone near the pool.

But you, you where—

“Got you!” You leapt.

Laughter, bare legs, hoodie off. Heeseung didn’t have time to react before you crashed into him—both of you tumbling into the water with a splash that shattered the silence.

You surfaced first, grinning like a devil. “You can’t find me if I don’t want you to, huh?” you teased, flicking water at him.

Heeseung stared at you, laughing mid-cough. Clothes heavy. Hair plastered to his forehead. The water clung to your skin in a way that made his hands twitch under the surface. You floated closer then. Then reached out and hooked your fingers in his bangs, stroking them like you always did. Then tugging gently.

“How about I cut your hair?” you whispered, too close to him not to have his eyes linger on your lips. “We’re starting university soon. Can’t show up like some code-goblin, right?”

He snorted. But you two didn’t move. Just watched each other's souls for too long. Heart hammering. Skin burning. You were in his pool. In his arms now. In his system.

“Are you okay?”

He asked, with the most considering eyes a family member ever gave you. But you just nodded to his biggest displeasure.

Something was wrong, yeah.

Actually, everything was wrong. And surely something was wrong with you. You felt trapped. In your studies, in your relationship, in these always-new families, in your boring unstable life. You wanted more. More attention, more love, more recognition, more freeness, just more…

You weren't special like Heeseung. You couldn’t clap your fingers and get that video back from your so-called boyfriend—he threatened to leak if you ever thought of leaving him again. Couldn’t clap your fingers and make a scholarship appear on your forms for one of the most prestigious university, and couldn’t clap your fingers to make you go to your best choice without the biggest loan you can think about.

But it was better to tell him everything was okay. Because if you didn't fake it… you’d be dead by now.

And maybe it’s the weather, or his concerned look, or his trembling hands on your ribs—not too low, not too high. But it felt good being with Heeseung, even better seeing the way he looked at you—

You really had a problem...

“Can you… like… if I ever asked you…”

“What?” He came closer, almost locking you in his hands, to force you to speal the tea. “Tell me…”

“If someday I needed you, would you… like… help me if I have something very complicated to solve... like… you know... Math.” You laughed it off like you weren't about to ask him to get that sextape back.

He nodded so obediently it hurt. The sub text was clear enough for him. And fuck, you had him in the palm of your hand without doing anything more than just letting him watch. Deny his ever-growing desire. Playing this game you caught him in.

Yeah… maybe you really were what your mom made out of you… sadly.

After that, Heeseung was like a man on a mission. He hacked every piece of info he could find on that deep shit. Until he found it… your complicated math exercise…

A tap of you and him. Filmed like you weren’t aware of it. Heeseung couldn’t find the courage to watch it…

Until he did.

And it was everything he ever fantasized doing with you.

I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him.

That guy needed to be out of your life.

Now.

He could frame him for anything he wanted. Crash his Tesla. His mind was spiraling as he bit on his nail, replaying that video again and again and again. Zooming on you.

I’ll protect you.

First, you needed an escape. Easy—that guy already cheated on you with so many girls, it was easy for you to catch him. So he wrote a fantasy he hoped you’d fall for. He drafted messages from your bf’s phone. A fake date. Something sweet, just enough like your boyfriend to pass.

“Meet me tonight baby girl. Just us. Let’s talk. 9PM. My room.”

“Baby girl…” you hated that name, but still couldn’t refuse him. And now Heeseung understood.

You saw it, and for a second, you believed. He watched you re-read it, then start getting ready—lip gloss, that fluttery dress, even that nervous little smile like it still meant something.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend was across campus, buried in someone else. Moaning her name. Careless, as always.

Heeseung watched it all, your hope fading when you opened that door, his betrayal, his choke. Your silence. Her grasp. One earbud in, one eye on every camera feed you both could offer.

You left the place in a rush, your phone starting to buzz as Heeseung watched every message your now-ex boyfriend sent you. You found yourself drifting in a club near by. You needed air, music, and drinks, a lot of them.

The music wasn’t even that good, your drink, not that strong. You didn’t plan to dance. And you didn’t plan for some no-brain guy with smooth hands to hit on you.

And you almost let him have his way near the bathrooms. Just to forget the sound of your phone. Forget that you had to go back to that guy until he decided he’d had enough or leaked the tape.

Almost.

Until Heeseung’s hand was on your wrist, showing up out of nowhere to pull you away.

“Heeseung?”

He got you out of the club, his hand digging into your wrist. The car ride was dead silent. Heeseung looked pissed. You were hollow, but not dumb. And you let him snap.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer.

“... Don’t you have a bf?”

Still silent. Tears welled up before you could blink them back, and Heeseung was at a loss for words. Yeah, it was that easy to shush him—crocodile cries easy.

“Stop crying…” he muttered, but he looked panicked now. Like your tears were acid on his skin. “Tell me what’s going on?”

Like he didn’t know.

But you had to play it well. Make him do it tonight, and no other night.

“He cheated…”

“Then leave him…”

“I can’t…” Hee looked at you with fake wonder. “He filmed me once… and…”

He nodded, enough to tell you you didn’t need to keep going.

When you got home, Heeseung took your hand before you stormed into your room, and he watched you—really watched—and got in a hug. Caressing your hair, getting closer to your ear, “I'll help you.”

You almost feared he could feel your smile. You detached your head with the saddest questioning expression.

“I’ll protect you,” he said, the heaviest stare he ever gave you.

You just nodded like you weren’t expecting much. When you actually wanted exactly what he gave you.

Back in your room, you kept re-seeing Heeseung’s expression. Almost mad, almost dangerous.

And you. You wanted more. You wanted everything—not just protection, but revenge. Revenge for the time you lost on that guy, for your virginity you couldn’t bring back, for the stress… for everything.

So you opened your laptop. Placed your phone next to it like it’s part of the performance. You know he’s watching.

You know.

Heeseung, on his part, got in his room ready to execute the next part of his plan when the ping of your camera alerts him. But tonight is not the night. After seeing you like that, he doesn't want to do that.

So he started to undress. Until—

“Heeseung?”

His head snapped to his monitor. WTF.

“You’re here, no? I mean, you’re watching.”

He almost fell on the ground, unable to walk straight to his computer.

What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What?

The webcam light doesn’t flicker on right away when you open it.

You look at your reflection. This webcam is better than the last time you used it. Wide-angle. Pretty high-def. You can see almost your entire room. Bed. Closet. Console. The mirror angled just right to show the bathroom.

God. You made it so easy for him.

You let your fingers lazily drift to your dress straps. In a slow reveal. You watch yourself in the camera—legs tucked just right to keep mystery intact. Eyes locked on the return. You open your—

“You like it when I do that?” You looked almost innocent doing it. What the fuck were you doing, Heeseung’s mind screamed. “You want more?”

Heeseung was stunned. Too many questions. Too many desires.

He didn’t even respond, his hand mindlessly disconnecting your camera’s red dot and reconnecting again like Morse.

“Then ruin him for me. Make him as ashamed as I was.”

You were pulling his obsession like strings. A puppet master in silk cloth. The light on the webcam flickered once again.

You smiled, slowly nodding. “Good night, Heeseung.” Shut it all down.

By morning, half the campus was infected with a juicy little virus: dozens of very compromising photos of your now-ex, including a special feature of him being pegged by none other than his mom’s best friend.

Iconic.

The breakup text? Already sent. Blocked him before your brain even had a chance to process.

You didn’t see him all day. No dinner, no open door when you brought snacks. Nothing.

Maybe you really fucked up. Poor Heeseung, thinking you were innocent, only to find out you were just like everyone else—grey, messy, complicated.

But just before bed, your phone lit up. A note. Your password written clear on the screen.

You sat frozen, eyes flickering between the note that started typing on its own, and the webcam pointed right at you.

“I’ll always protect you.”

Then, an mp4 file popped up. Your lips curved into a shy smile.

You almost said something, but instead, you tapped beneath his words:

“Thank you, Heeseung. I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t there.”

The cursor blinked, paused—like he was thinking hard about what to say next.

“I protect what’s mine.”

Your eyes drifted to the webcam. “Am I?”

“Aren’t you?”

Your gaze dropped shyly, biting your lip to keep the smile from slipping out. Fuck, it was hot—this obsessive, protective boy who’d kill for you.

“I am…” you breathed, fingers playing with the thin straps of your dress.

“Maybe?”

Slowly, you peeled it off. No bra. No panties. Just you. Bare, glowing in the soft light of your screen.

On Heeseung’s side: He was a panting mess by just a look. Trembling. Rock hard. Watching was always intense, but this?

His brain shorted out. Every movement you made poured fuel on the fire in his chest, the way you loosened your hair, slid off your glasses, shy but teasing.

Your voice slipped through his headphones like a spell.

“Tell me what you want,” you breathed. “I’ll do it. As a thank you.”

He was nearly feral, watching you perched like a dream made just for him. But now you wanted him to take the lead. For once, you wanted control handed over.

And for a long, heavy moment, silence.

Then, a new line in your notes:

“Anything?”

You nodded, lips parting.

Another line.

“Touch yourself.”

“For me.”

You rose, heading for your bed.

Then:

“No. Here.”

You sat back down. Fully exposed. The chair never felt colder. The electricity on your skin was undeniable—the weight of someone watching, devouring every move.

You shivered. Something folded inside, vulnerable but not scared.

Then your screen flickered.

A video opened.

Porn.

But not just any porn. A girl like you—same frame, soft lighting. She was in a gaming chair, legs parted, cat headphones, a pink toy buzzing between her thighs. Moaning like she’d been waiting for eyes to watch.

You blinked. The message was loud and clear.

Your breath caught—not shocked, but challenged.

Back to the webcam—doe eyes, tempted. Your fingers traced lower, hips shifting, copying her exact position. Mimicry never felt so twisted.

You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers moved.

Heeseung watched like it was a live confession. Pupils dilated, chest heaving, gripping himself tight, trying not to explode too soon.

A message appeared:

“Slower.”

You obeyed, breath shaking, already slick with every stroke.

Another message:

“Fuck, you’re shaking.”

You were. Legs twitching, spine arching against the chair.

You never thought you’d go this far, but he was puppeteering you with his commands.

Then:

“I’ve never seen you like this. Fuck. I want to cum in you, pour every drop inside that godess cunt. In that chair. Just like that.”

You moaned, eyes fluttering shut, but you forced them open, locking onto the lens like it was him.

Another message:

“I want you ruined. For anyone else. Say it. Mine.”

You moaned, fingers freezing.

“I’m yours?” you whispered.

“Say it again,” he typed.

"I’m yours, Heeseung?"

The pressure built—right at the edge—

Then:

“Stop.”

“Don’t cum.”

Your breath hitched. You froze mid-stroke, legs trembling.

Another line:

“I said stop. If anyone makes you cum tonight—it’s me.”

Your fingers hovered, shaking. The ache burned deep in your thighs, stomach taut.

But you stopped.

Because his word mattered more than your desire now.

Your screen blinked.

“Get your toy.”

You swallowed, nodded, reached into your drawer.

The vibrator was familiar—sleek, pink, faintly scented from your date-night oil. You rubbed it, coating it with your wetness, then slid it slowly inside, breath heavy.

Then the toy buzzed. Flickered. Came alive.

You gasped—he was controlling it.

Before you could say a word, it pulsed hard. Your body jerked, chair creaking beneath you. Your grip tightened on the arms as pleasure rolled through you like a whip.

“That’s it,” he typed. “Don’t touch it. Just take it.”

You moaned—too much, too fast—your body trembling, legs spreading without control. The sounds you made were filthy, desperate.

Heeseung’s fingers typed again.

“Grip the chair.”

You obeyed.

The toy buzzed harder, relentless and cruel.

“Look at the camera.”

Tears pricked, but you held his gaze—through that little glowing lens. Your thighs trembled, breath catching—

He knew.

He memorized every sound, every gasp, every twitch.

Your climax hit like an explosion, so fierce your back arched from the chair. Toes curled, lips parted in a silent cry.

If only you could hear it—the gasp, the groan, the shuddering moan from his room. Rooms apart, perfectly synced.

You collapsed back against the seat, chest heaving.

The toy powered down. The room fell silent but electric. Only the Notes app stayed open. One final line appears:

“I know your body better than anyone ever will.”

You smile, eyes rolling, calming yourself. You’re still catching your breath when your phone buzzes.

Unknown Caller.

You smirk. Answer it without hesitation.

Hee,” you whisper, lazy satisfaction dripping from your tone.

You hear him, shaky, panting, like the edge nearly broke him. “Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck… You’re so pretty. So fucking pretty. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His voice is hoarse, frayed with restraint. You picture him—still burning from his climax, hand resting low, skin flushed.

“You drive me insane. Every breath you take, every moan...” He watches you lift your thighs, tucking yourself shyly behind them like a girl playing innocent. “It’s mine. You’re mine. Don’t you get it? I want you so bad I—fuck—I can’t even—”

You cut in softly.

“Heeseung,” you murmur, voice smooth like silk sliding over a blade. “I never said I was yours...”

Silence.

You lean in, sugar-sweet, doe eyes locked on the lens, like you don’t quite know what you’re doing.

“You think this makes me yours?”

He breathes hard. You swear you hear the tension in his throat—how he swallows that growl.

“Then what?” he whispers. “What do I have to do?”

You hum, hiding your face in your thighs, thoughtful. “I’ll know.”

Heeseung almost chokes. “You’re playing with me.”

You tilt your head.

“Of course I am, Hee. Isn’t that what you like? What we always did? Playing games.” Your voice softens, teasing, the tone that always breaks him. “You’re obsessed, Hee. But to own me?” you shake your head slowly. “You’ll have to do more than just watch me cum on camera.”

A pause. You let it hang, let it burn. Then, low and teasing:

“If you really want me,” you whisper. “Stop being a coward. Show me.”

His breath catches. You almost feel the stillness on his end.

Click.

You hang up.

Still smiling, you toss your phone aside.

“Good night, Heeseung,” you murmur to the camera before shutting everything down.

🕧

Heeseung hadn’t heard your voice in three days.

Not on the phone, not through the headphones, not even that little intake of breath when you tiptoe around your room late at night.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours of silence.

No webcam flickers. No Notes app replies. No little “good night, Hee” teasing him through pixels.

Nothing.

He tapped at your IP like a lunatic. Pinging dead signals. Checked your cloud for new files. Scraped your cache for cam logs, anything—anything—that might prove you were still playing.

But you weren’t. You’d shut him out completely. Blocked him, in every way that mattered, except the one that destroyed him the most: in person, you were still perfect.

Because in real life, you were still her.

Still the step-sister who sat next to him at dinner, nudging his arm, sipping from his glass like it meant nothing. Still in those stupid soft modest dresses that smelled like your vanilla lotion and innocence. Still saying his name in that sweet voice that didn’t match the girl who once whispered “I’m yours” for a night, while fingering herself in his favorite dress.

Still shy smilling in front of the parents, like he wasn’t slowly going fucking insane of you ghosting him in the cruelest way possible.

Heeseung clenched his jaw until it hurt. His fists, tighter. You were torturing him. Training him with your silence. Denying him touch, sound, ownership—making him feel like just another loser watching from a screen.

And worst of all? You liked it.

He could see it in the way you smiled at him when no one was looking. Like the devil behind a halo. Like the dom who knew her puppy would crawl the moment she said good boy.

You knew what you were doing. And you knew he was starving.

He watched you meet someone new through your messages—tracked him from his first DM. The second the guy sent a heart emoji, Heeseung had full access to his cloud, laptop, phone, and location history.

So when you showed up at that guy’s place in that same dress as that night, Heeseung went feral. watching you through the guy’s hacked MacBook camera. Front-row seat. 1080p. Wide angle. Clear sound. Perfect view.

You didn’t even try to hide untapping your phone camera, angling it for him. But he was already there.

He watched the way you swayed when you walked into the room. That skirt was short—barely legal. Hair done like you were on a mission to ruin him. Lip gloss like you were asking to be kissed. Or owned.

Heeseung’s fists dug into his thigh. You let the guy kiss you. Hands on your hips. Heeseung scoffed in fury. The guy went down on you and Heeseung leaned forward—eyes glued to your face smiling at him. Not for the man.

Only for him.

You mouthed his name, Heeseung, made that sound again—that sweet gasp that cracked every nerve in his body—and his hands were already down his pants before he even realized it. Stroking slowly. Angry.

Then the guy started fucking you. It was… pathetic.

You looked bored. Pretty. But not wrecked. Not how Heeseung would have done you—needed you. Not how you looked when he edged you, whispering commands through your notes.

He texted :

He’s not even close to making you cum.Why are you with him?Stop. 

Now. 

Please.

You didn’t stop. You got louder. Not for performance, because knowing hee was watching, unleashed you.

Heeseung’s hand stuttered. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard it bled. You were performing. For him, not the other guy. You had to be. And yet you didn’t stop when he begged you.

Heeseung didn’t drink. Didn’t smoke. Didn’t call a friend.

He texted one of the girls who’d been orbiting him since he entered university—some pretty, pouty girl with no idea what she was walking into.

She came fast. Obedient. Heeseung fucked her like punishment.

Shoved her onto his lap, dragged her skirt over her hips without a single word. Didn’t ask if she was ready. Didn’t even pretend to care. Just spread her thighs, lined himself up, and buried in—rough, silent, merciless.

She moaned his name, kissing his neck. Heeseung kept his eyes on the screen. Because on the monitor behind her?

You were still live. Fucking someone else. His airpods were in. And he was moaning your name under his breath.

The girl was clueless to much overwhelmed by his deep, rough trust. Riding him like she thought she was doing a good job for him to be so feral. 

Heeseung touched her the way he would have to you, controlling. forcing her in position trying to reach her deepest part, as he watched your hips roll on screen. Your nails dig into someone else’s back.

“Grippe my back. leave marks.” he ordered her.

He hiss, mouthing along with your sounds like a prayer.

“Fuck—Louder. Just like that... Just like that—fuck.”

The girl on his lap whimpered, “does it feel good, Hee?”

Heeseung stared at your body—your lips, your tits, your sweat-shined thighs.

“You’re so perfect,” he muttered. “Fuck—you…”

His climax came hard, violent. He choked your name on the exhale and came inside the girl like she didn’t matter—because she didn’t.

When the girl left, he stared at the screen for an hour. Watched you dress. Watched you check your phone. Smiling.

Not once did you reply to his messages.

You were killing him. Starving him. Making him beg. He slammed the laptop shut, chest heaving, hatred and love boiling into the same sick ache.

You were right. He was a coward. But not for much longer.

You found it on your bed. No card. No note. No sender. Just a black box, wrapped in a ribbon you never heard arrive. Inside: lingerie. Lace. Sheer. Decadent. Your exact size. Your exact taste. Lightly soaked in a scent you could recognize in your sleep—his cologne.

Your fingers trembled when you held it up to the light. No message. But then again, he never needed words.

Heeseung didn’t ask. He tried to command.

So, you didn’t text. Didn’t thank him. You just wore it.

That night, when the webcam light blinked to life, you were already sitting pretty in front of your laptop. Sheer fabric draped over your body like a sin begging to be confessed.

You leaned into the camera, eyes soft, voice sweeter.

“Goodnight, Genius. Hope uni’s not eating you alive.”

And then—

You logged off. Just like that.

Left him starving. You knew he’d pretend it didn’t affect him. He tried, bless him.

He texted the next day, like it was nothing. Invited you to his university party. Like this wasn’t war. Like he wasn’t already losing.

Of course, you went. Dressed in red. Not the lingerie—something sharper. Something that made his friends stare a little too long.

Heeseung barely spoke to you that night. Slipped back into his old self—like he hadn’t spent the week watching you like a man possessed. But he was in his element, charming his nerdy circle, and you were happy just watching him thrive.

Then, it changed.

He didn’t introduce you as his stepsister. That alone cracked the air between you. His hand found your back, fingers tracing lazy nothings while he laughed with his friends, eyes on you like you were art.

You liked seeing him smile. Liked knowing you made it easier.

And then—he excused you both. His friends wished you luck with admissions. So polite. So clueless.

He walked you up a narrow hallway, like it was nothing. A quiet corridor, half-lit.

Then he locked you in a hug.

And kissed your neck.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, hands already exploring.

“You too,” you murmured, smiling. “New haircut? You kept it long in the back. Looks good.”

“You said I should, so...”

You smiled harder, went in for a kiss—your first. His lips were maddening. Soft, sure, and hungrier than you expected. He kissed like he’d waited for years. Like he’d decided waiting was over.

"Untie your dress," he whispered against your mouth, voice low.

You raised a brow, smirking. “Thought you liked watching from afar.”

His jaw flexed. “Not tonight.”

You let the ribbon fall, letting the dress slip open. Underneath—his gift. His breath caught.

“You like it?” you teased.

He didn’t answer. He spun you, pressed you into the wall, and his hand was already between your thighs—finding you soaked.

His mouth brushed your ear, voice cracking with restraint.

“Fuck. You’re so wet for me. I’ve waited so long.”

“Say it,” he growled.

“What?”

His thrust was sharp—two fingers deep.

“Say you want me to ruin you. Say you like it.”

You whimpered, arching into his hand. “I like it when you ruin me.”

“Say it right.”

You licked your lips. “I want to be yours, Heeseung. Ruin me.”

His exhale was jagged—like something inside him broke.

Then came silence. Just heat. Breathing. Fingers moving in and out of you as he grinded against your body, shameless and reckless in a hallway anyone could walk into.

And just before you came—he pulled away.

“No,” he said simply. “Let’s go.”

“Home?”

“No. My room.”

His dorm was massive, dark except for the red glow of a snoozed monitor. His roommate was nowhere. Probably never real to begin with. You practically jumped on him. Messy kisses. Wandering hands. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, your back—and then—

Your hand brushed his desk. The monitors flared to life. And there you were—your webcam feed, glowing on the screen.

Recording. Your name as the file.

“You always make me watch,” he whispered, stripping you down to the lingerie. “Now watch yourself.”

He pulled you onto the bed, body still facing the screen.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, spreading your legs for the camera. “I’ve owned you since the first time you stepped into this house.”

On screen—your reflection trembled. Moaned. Melted in real-time.

He eased fingers inside you again while holding you in his lap, pinching a nipple until you gasped, breath tangled.

“I know what you fantasize about when you’re bored,” he whispered.

He started humping you, slow and heavy.

“I know what kind of porn you scroll past—then go back to.”

Thrust.

“I know which songs you loop when you touch yourself. I synced your playlist.”

You choked on a gasp.

“I know you changed your passwords, just to make me mad.”

His hand curled lightly around your throat.

“But I like it. I like when you pretend.”

He never slowed—just kept pushing you higher, mean and relentless.

And when you moaned his name?

He broke.

“I’m going to give you every twisted thing you’ve ever typed,” he growled. “Every fantasy you deleted. Every filthy draft you couldn’t finish. I’m going to make them real.”

Your climax slammed into you, shuddering through your bones—but he didn’t stop.

“I’ll tie you up in the library when no one’s looking,” he said, voice wicked. “Bend you over your best friend’s bed and leave a bruise only I’ll recognize.”

He laughed.

“I’ll make you cry my name with someone else inside you—just to remind you no one will ever ruin you like I do.”

You turned and kissed him, wild and unhinged.

He kissed back like a claim. Like he was branding your soul.

Then he grabbed you and threw you onto the bed. Reached for a condom.

You stopped him.

“It’s safe today, Hee. Do me raw.”

His pupils darkened. Something dangerous sparked.

He freed himself and dragged his cock against your wetness, teasing your entrance. You moaned each time the head kissed you. His smile was smug. Addicted.

“Heeseung. Please.”

He nodded—and slid in all at once.

You gasped, overwhelmed, stretched so good it hurt in the most perfect way.

He rocked into you deep and slow, biting your neck, lips pressed against skin he couldn’t stop worshipping.

Then he pulled you upright—still inside you.

“You like this position, huh?”

You nodded, dizzy, undone. He studied you like he’d been preparing for a test. He always aced those.

Then—his thrusts changed. Not faster. Just deeper. Harder.

“Hee—”

“Like that, yeah?”

You nodded again, mouth open, breathless at every delicious, punishing thrust.

He looked so fucking good like this—hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted, eyes glazed with need. You went for another kiss and he gripped your neck, slid to your hair, pulling until your back arched.

“Like that?”

“Yeah—yeah—fuck—don’t stop—”

He sucked your tits, relentless now, chasing both your highs. You clenched down so hard his groans turned ragged. He bit your nipple, then folded you in half, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

And then—he lost it.

He didn’t slow.

Not even as your body bucked under him, shaking.

He buried himself deeper, fingers biting into your hips, sweat dripping from his jaw as he fucked you like he wanted to unmake you.

The monitors kept rolling. Your name flashing on screen, over your own moans.

You reached for him—some desperate grasp for balance—but he pinned your wrists above your head, fucked you harder. One of your legs slipped off his shoulder, and he yanked it back up with a grunt.

“Keep it there,” he snarled, breath ragged. “Don’t move unless I say.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You were already too far gone.

You felt yourself stretch around him again, again, again, your walls pulsing and fluttering with every brutal thrust. It was filthy, unrelenting, and it wasn’t enough.

Heeseung's voice was in your ear, low and wrecked.

“This how you like it, hm?” he panted. “Getting used like this, getting ruined on camera for me?”

You sobbed a yes high and gasping, and he growled. His hips snapped forward again, this time shoving you higher on the bed.

“Fucking take it.”

He leaned in, biting your lip, grinding deeper. The rhythm turned meaner. Each thrust slamming into you with brutal precision.

“You like knowing I’ll replay this?” he whispered. “Jerk off to it when you’re not around?”

You moaned helplessly. “Want you to... I want you obsessed.”

"I am," he said. "You made me this."

His rhythm stuttered, he was close. You could feel him twitch inside, groaning against your mouth.

Then—

He came.

Hard. Buried deep.

His whole body went taut over yours, shuddering as he emptied himself, hips rolling slower, deeper. You felt the heat inside you, the stickiness, the way his cock throbbed even after the high.

And still, he didn't pull out. He kissed your collarbone, your throat, lazily now. Worn out. Quiet. The screen behind him kept glowing.

Your body was wrecked, your heart pounding against his chest. He pulled you close, like he wasn’t finished. Like he never would be.

🕔

The next morning, the sun barely broke past his blackout curtains. You were still half-naked in his sheets when you heard his fingers tapping at his laptop. A fresh hoodie hung off his shoulder, hair a messy halo.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

You groaned into the pillow. “Already working?”

He smirked. “Coding clears my head. Better than coffee.”

You rolled over. He looked too good like this. Soft around the edges. Eyes warm.

“I wish you could come here,” he said. “To my university.”

You blinked, suddenly alert. He smiled, but it didn’t reach all the way. “You did apply, right?”

“…Yeah.”

He nodded like he already knew. “But you didn’t tell me…pfff.”

Your stomach turned, just a little, as you smirked. “I didn’t want you to be happy for something so unsure.”

“I know.”

Silence. He got back typing. 

“You really think I wouldn’t find out?” he said. “You think I’d just… let you leave somewhere else?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What did you do?”

He smiled. Shrugged. “Nothing you’ll ever be able to prove.”

Your heartbeat slowed. Thick. Smiling unsure.

“Heeseung...”

He stood, walking over. Calm. Barefoot. Still smelling like last night and wanting more.

“I didn’t touch your application,” he said softly. “But I might’ve nudged the scholarship committee. You’re exceptional, after all.”

You froze. “Why?”

“Because you belong here, in that prestigious place and nowhere else.”

His fingers grazed your chin. Tender. Possessive.

“...With me.”

You swallowed. He tilted your face up to his, eyes half-lidded.

“You would've turned it down if you knew,” he murmured, getting his lips closer, smooching slowly. “You’re too proud for that kind of help. Too proud to admit you want to be kept.”

Your voice caught in your throat. “That’s not why I applied.”

“I know why you applied, just like me.”

His thumb ghosted over your lower lip.

“That’s why I made sure you’d stay. to be free.”

A flicker of something dangerous passed between you. Or maybe it had always been there. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“You think you’re playing me right now, huh,” he whispered, “but—what if I like being used, if it means I get to keep you?”

Your breath hitched. And he smiled. Like he’d already won. Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe you’d just let him believe he had.

MASTERLIST

Author’s Note: Babies~ here it is!! 💗 The second part of my enha stepbro AU (first one was HUNTED). I really hope this one pleased you… did it??? 🥺 I worked so hard on this piece to match the exact vibe I had in mind. Like—why was I waking up at 3 AM with wild ideas for scene effects that were borderline impossible to execute?! 😭🌀 This one definitely has a different flavor! While HUNTED leaned into soft, needy sub!Jakey energy (bless him), I wanted TRAPPED to explore the more intoxicating side of obsession—but not so far that we start hating our sweet little Heeseung~ Just a touch of crazy, y’know? I really hope the mood translated well, because after rereading it 500 times, I fully lost that "first read magic" feeling I’m not super proud of this draft yet—kinda wish I had more time to proofread and polish it up. I’ll probably update it later (perfectionist problems 😭). Next up is Part 3, which is supposed to be Sunghoon’s! Let me know if you want anything special in it—I’m all ears... and pervy brain. Just know it’s gonna involve dacryphilia, so bring tissues… for various reasons

XO

© 2025 Lassiie. All rights reserved. No reproduction, distribution, or translation permitted without prior written consent. Protected under international copyright law.

His oral fixation is insane. He stares at your mouth when you talk, watches your lips wrap around straws or spoons, and has to excuse himself to the bathroom to palm his leaking dick because he’s imagining those lips stretched around his cock. He daydreams about burying his face in your cunt for hours, licking and sucking your folds until you’re shaking.

Size kink hits him hard. Even though he’s shy about it, he’s obsessed with how much bigger he is than you. He fantasizes about how tiny your cunt would look stretched around his fat cock, how your belly would bulge when he’s balls-deep. He measures his dick against his hand while thinking about how deep he could reach inside you.

Jake’s so pervy he starts leaving little “gifts.” A random pair of your panties will go missing for a week, only to reappear clean and neatly folded. You never suspect a thing. Meanwhile he’s been sleeping with them wrapped around his cock every night, humping them until he makes a mess.

Eventually the tension snaps. Mayb you catch him—red-handed with your dirty panties pressed to his face, cock out and leaking, eyes wide with panic and desperate lust. He’s so subby he immediately drops to his knees, begging you not to hate him, telling you he’s been obsessed with your cunt for years.

Once you give him even the slightest green light, shy Jake turns into the filthiest, most eager pervert you’ve ever seen.

He’s obsessed with making you squirt. He’ll spend hours between your thighs, tongue fucking your hole, sucking on your clit like it’s his lifeline. When you finally gush all over his face he moans like a whore, drinking it down and grinding his aching cock against the mattress. He cums untouched the first few times—just from the taste and smell of your squirting cunt soaking him.

Premature ejaculation is his constant struggle and he kinda hates it but you looove it. The second he pushes inside your tight, wet heat he’s whining and shaking, cock twitching as he spills too soon. “S-sorry… your pussy’s too perfect… fuck, I can’t hold it…” He gets hard again almost immediately though, desperate to keep going.

He begs you to use a cock ring on him tho. Loves when you slide it on tight, making his cock throb and turn purple while you ride him. It keeps him from cumming too fast so you can use his dick as a toy, bouncing on it until your juices are dripping down his balls. When you finally let him cum he explodes so hard he nearly passes out, thick ropes painting your insides.

Masturbation is still constant. Even after you start fucking, he can’t stop. He’ll send you videos of him furiously pumping his cock in your bathroom while you’re in the other room, whispering filthy things like “your smell is driving me insane… gonna cum in your dirty panties again.”

He’s still shy in public—blushing when you whisper dirty things in his ear—but the second you’re alone he’s on his knees begging to bury his face in your mounds, desperate to taste you. He calls your pussy his “pretty little cunt” even when he’s balls-deep and whimpering, telling you how obsessed he is, how he’d do anything for you.

His piss kink is intense and filthy: Jake s obsessed with peeing inside you. He gets all shy and red-faced when he finally confesses it, mumbling about how he fantasizes about keeping his cock buried deep in your cunt after he cums and just letting go, flooding your warm, used hole with his hot piss. The thought of marking you from the inside, filling your belly with his cum and piss mixed together, makes him leak like a faucet.

Once you let him do it, he becomes addicted. He’ll fuck you senseless, pump you full of his load, then stay balls-deep while whimpering and shaking. “Please… can I… I need to pee… fuck, let me fill you up more…” You feel the warm rush as he releases inside you, his cock twitching while he floods your sloppy pussy with stream after stream.

Is the first thing your friend says when you tell her you have a new job and you’re starting on monday. She leans closer, eyes a little too wide in your opinion and shakes her head like she’s just heard the dumbest thing ever. Which, granted is a sane reaction giving the bomb you just dropped on her, but if she knew the story behind it, she’d be even more shocked.

It all started a couple days ago in the subway. A bit Squid Game themed if you’re being honest, hence the weird feeling you’re still nursing. You were on the phone with your cousin, waiting for the next wagon to arrive and talking about the awful rent prices. Having just been fired from a corporate job for—and I quote—“not being smiley enough and using way too much sarcasm” (in your defense you only use it when someone’s being actively rude to you), you were left with unpaid debts and way too many bills. So you spent the entire commute shit talking the HR with your cousin, occasionally getting nasty looks from old people passing by.

At some point, the wagon started emptying and when your stop came, you were left alone in the station with a man in a suit. You didn’t pay him any mind, busy spewing nonsense about how the HR ‘had ugly eyebrows and a micropenis anyway’, but when you headed for the exit, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You remember turning around and having to look up because of how tall the man was. He was carrying a leather briefcase like he was headed to work and when his hand dropped to his side again you clocked the expensive-looking watch on his wrist.

“Excuse me?” he said, all serious.

You looked at him up and down, tilting your head to the side so he could see the very obvious phone pressed to your ear—your way of saying ‘read the room’. But he didn’t in fact ‘read the room’, instead his hand dove in his suit pocket and he dug out a square-shaped piece of paper. It was some sort of business card, a yellow piece of paper with the words ‘Hotline 1OO9’ in the middle and a name on top. Park Jongseong. He held his hand out and adjusted his tie with the other one.

“Let me call you back hold on.” you told your cousin, scoffing before you hung up and put the phone in your back pocket. “Yes?”

The man gave a curt nod and spoke, “I don’t want to come across as weird or sound like a creep, but I’ve been listening to your voice on the subway and I was really interested by the rasp—”

“I’m tired, I wanna go home, so if this is a scam i’m really not in the mood and you can fuck off.” you cut him, sighing aggravated.

“It’s not. I run a freelance company, we work over the phone with clients and I really found your voice interesting, with all due respect. So I decided to just come talk to you, see if you were interested in the whole thing. I’m not really big on scouting people in the street because this is delicate but we’re a…sex hotline company. But you just sounded too good for me to walk away, I hope that’s not disrespectful.” the man explained, lips coming in a tight line.

You rolled your eyes, slightly offended that he thought this was a good idea and you grabbed your phone again, ready to leave, “I’m not interested, thank you.”

He must’ve felt the prejudice in your eyes when you heard the sex work part so he drew his hand back, giving you a little more space, “Its not a cam-girl company or anything. Our staff is mainly men and they only interact with clients on the phone. But i’ll leave you alone, have a good day.”

You nodded, lips drawn in a tight line and you reciprocated the farewell, turning around to head for the exit. But before you could walk up the stairs, the man spoke again.

“It pays well. You know, rent is getting awfully high these days… and my company takes this into consideration. How does 5O,OOO a year sound?”

The bastard.

Needless to say you took the business card, feigning indifference, and the second you got back home you turned on your computer.

You were jobless and on a very thin line money wise, so naturally you had to look into a it a little bit, or else you’d risk ending up in the streets because no company voluntarily seeks out a girl with a diploma so weak. A generic business diploma from a low-ranked private school wasn’t going to cut it, you knew it—so desperate times called for a little reddit deep dive.

The several Google searches didn’t give much detail, just a cryptic website with a phone number and a list of employee names with no picture whatsoever. But when you saw the date of creation of the company, you deduced that it was a very new one and so the website was new aswell.

It was weird really, that guy—you assumed his name was Park Jongseong— was fairly young, why would he go out of his way to create a sex phone line company in 2026? It was pretty much a dead practice, no one sought it out anymore and preferred watching porn or cam girls. What was the point of competing with only fans and trying to revive a dead business?

You typed the company name on reddit anyway, trying to see if this had any sort of Squid Game resemblance, if you were getting yourself into a dangerous survival game or something. But nothing much came up, just a 2 weeks old comment saying,

‘I’m surprised they still do these sex hotline things, I was interested and booked an appointment out of curiosity and as a 63 year old man, it brought so many 80s memories! The downside is that there’s only one woman worker there. But for the homosexual folks, the guys sound very hot ;)’

Well. At least it wasn’t a man-only company—in the optics of you reaching out to them. But only one woman worker sounded a little bit sketchy, not something you’d generally go for. You entered the redditor’s account and found he had fortunately posted something else about the hotline.

The calls are a bit expensive, i’ll give you that. But it’s really worth it, even if you’re not calling to jack off. My favorite one is Jake, you can tell he’s naturally submissive and not just acting. Refreshing to see submissive men in that industry!

You sighed when you found yourself in a dead-end. There was nothing else about that company, and for all you know this could be a staff member self promoting under a spam account, but for some reason it felt like you could give it a try. Not out of selflessness—the moral compass was dead—more out of desperation. It only accentuated the dilemma when you closed the tabs and found yourself starring at the dismissal notice your old employer had kindly left in your inbox.

You tilted your head and looked into the mirror across the room. You smiled at your reflection, wide, teeth and all, and cringed at the unnatural sight. When you tried again, you made it less dramatic and tried grinning with your eyes too.

Fuck them for saying you weren’t smiley enough. You could smile alright.

Your friend now looks back at you, leaning with her elbows on her thighs. “So you just took the job? Do you have a fucking survival instinct y/n?”

You shake your head, “I’d rather work a sketchy job than loose my independence and have to crash at my parents’ place.”

She raises both eyebrows, incredulous, “Well hello? I’m right here, I have a spare bedroom youu know you can always count on me, girl.”

“Did you hear the part about independence baby? You know i’m grateful though, right?” you say, playing with a hair band on your wrist. “It’s not the topic, like I know you’d take me in but I’d rather not loose my apartment at all, you know?”

She makes a small approving sound and leans back on the couch, “Yeah, nevermind. I just never pegged you for the type to work at a sex line, it’s really out of character. You’re always talking about pervy old creeps and stuff…”

You raise a finger, tilting your head like in the cartoons when they have a smart thing to say, “Well, guess what? They have a very specific way of working. You’re not allowed to fake it, if you’re uncomfortable and not into the call you can always say no. The caller will be reimbursed and that’s it. And also apparently the guys who work there are always listening and making sure their colleagues are not weirded out and stuff. All about consent and boundaries.”

Your friends snorts, “Damn, it’s a little crew of woke sex workers.”

You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at her, “I don’t know it just gives me good vibes you know? After all there’s some very lonely people who want to talk you know? And if they wanna have a wank then be it, as long as they don’t ask me to like.. bark for them or something.”

“And what if they do? What happens then, huh?” she muses, tilting your chin towards you. “You’re not gonna just cancel every phone call, cause let me tell you something, there’s a lot of guys who like submissive women.”

“Well, I don’t know, I have boundaries you know? Submissive is…fine, I guess. As long as they don’t call me their slut I’ll be fine.” you shrug, snapping the band on your wrist.

She giggles, bouncing on her seat like a manic, “I definitely wanna see that. I can’t even imagine it, that shit’s gonna be so funny. You’re like the most dominant girl I know.”

Well, turns out capitalism is the one dominating you. You’re not really on top of the sex food chain anymore because the cost-of living-crisis is fucking you in the ass. A sandwich costs 12 dollars at the subway station near your new job, so you decide to go to work with an empty stomach because there’s no way you’re going to spend your last couple bucks on a chicken sandwich. You’ll eat at lunch anyway.

The company is fairly close to your apartment, only a couple subway stops away in a wealthy neighborhood. It’s surprising how nice the little building looks—although of course they only rent out one floor it seems like they get enough clients to be in this part of town.

You straighten your clothes and buzz at the door, your paperwork in hand. A couple seconds later, the door beeps open by itself and you’re step into a small corridor that leads to an elevator. The buttons all have a name for each company, and it turns out Hotline 1OO9 is on the 3rd floor, under a Japanese food brand. You press the button and fix your hair in the mirror, putting a small clip on the smallest hairs at the front of your face.

The second the elevator doors open you’re in a dimly lit hallway with the ugliest yellow walls ever. You look around, waiting for someone to receive you, but you quickly find a sign on the door that says, “Please do knock on the door, we don’t have a receptionist yet.”

You do just that, and a few seconds later you hear rapid footsteps and a man’s voice saying something inaudible. When the door opens, it’s a tall lanky guy that comes out, he’s wearing a suit but apparently slacks weren’t an option because he’s replaced them by oversized pajama pants with small cartoon imprints on them. He sees your eyes track down to his legs and cringes.

“Oh fuck—sorry. Hello, you’re y/n right? I’m sorry, we were doing photos for the website and I didn’t want to put slacks on, we didn’t get the aircon yet so it’s so hot inside.” he looks down at himself, embarassed. “Come in come in, i’ll call the boss.”

The first thing you think is that it’s so different from a corporate job, you’ve never seen an employee talk so casually inside the company building, much less show up to work in pajama pants. Secondly, when you take a quick glance across the room you notice the lack of desks, there’s only a couch and beanbags, an open kitchen and a big door with a sign that says, “don’t interrupt sexy time”.

“So, I heard you didn’t even need to do a job interview or anything? Boss just found you in the street and decided to hire you.” the guy makes small talk as he heads towards said door.

Come on, what would Park Jongseong even have to ask you in a job interview. If you’ve ever had phone sex? If you’ve ever made a guy cum?

You nod, “Yeah basically.”

The young man opens the door, he silently pads inside and you’re left alone in what seems to be the break-room/reception. There’s a coupe moving boxes—you suppose they haven’t had time to unpack everything yet—and a big pile of paperwork on the coffee table near the sofa. You instantly get closer, trying to see if they’re court filings or something of the sort. You can never be too sure. But it turns out it’s just forms and electricity bills.

When you hear footsteps you instantly straighten up and hold your own documents closer to your chest. This time the tall guy is accompanied by none other than the boss.

Jongseong is wearing a suit (with the slacks) and the same watch he had the other day—which if you look closer looks like a Roblox. He looks at you with a pleased smile and holds out his hand to shake yours.

“It’s nice to see you y/n,” he briefly squeezes your hand, “This is Nishimura Riki, he’s our main guy, everyone requests him. I’ll introduce you to everyone and then we’ll do a quick meeting in my office, how’s that sound?”

You walk past Riki, following him in the room. The walls are fully black inside, theres a couple of pods aligned like little telephone booths with pink neon lights all over them, it looks like a strip club with just a little hint of office elements such as a printer and a bulletin board. That’s it, the rest is neon lights and apparently…5 guys and a girl standing in the middle of the room.

They seem oddly out of place, is the first thing that comes to your mind. All of them are in suits and the girl in a professional looking dress, one of them—a tall guy who looks a bit like deer—holds a camera in his hands.

“Oh god..” Jongseong sighs as he sees one of the guys dusting off crumbs from his suit, mouth full of chips. “Everyone this is y/n. I count on you to treat her with respect and to show her around the office, explain the basics and help her out if needed.”

The guys nod, all 5 of their eyes raking over your whole face and body, and the girl smiles until her teeth show. You feel a little bit exposed so you let out an awkward laugh. “Hi, nice to meet you.” you bow politely.

It’s a mishmash of simultaneous answers, a couple ‘hey’s and smiles, then Jongseong walks to them and taps each of their shoulders as he introduces them, “This one’s Lee Heeseung” he’s tapping on the guy with a camera, “this one’s Yang Jungwon, this is Sim Jake, this is Park Sunghoon and this is Kim Sunoo.”

They’re all pretty in their own ways, Heeseung has big eyes that look like they have some kind of special effect lighting in them, Jungwon’s face is very expressive, Sunghoon looks a bit more reserved but still gives a shy smile, and Jake just grins all the time like he’s genuinely just a happy guy. But the prettiest one is definitely Sunoo—they’re all insanely attractive but he catches your eye immediately with his doll-like face.

“And this is our only—well second female staff now, her name’s Haejin.” Jongseong points to the girl. She looks gorgeous, she has these big black eyes and when she looks at you, you can already tell she’s going to be a sweetheart.

See if you would’ve been working in an office with only hot people at your last job, you would’ve made an effort to smile more.

2 hours in, you learn that despite its lack of internet presence Hotline 1OO9 is a fairly successful new company. As soon as the staff is done with their website photoshoot, they instantly get back to work in their little phone cabins, diligently picking up calls. It’s a surprise that there are so many customers really—in your mind this was a very underground thing that only Patrick, 63 year old on Reddit knew about. But no, it seems like the customer are just very secretive with what they choose to do in their free time and don’t go out of their way to recommend it on social media.

There’s a friendly atmosphere in the office, like they’ve known each other for a long time, they joke around and it doesn’t really feel like the typical workspace. Refreshing.

In Park Jongseong’s personal room you go over paperwork, the whole hiring process ordeal and a couple of rules that sound totally innate to you. The boss sits in a leather chair across his desk and hands you some forms to sign.

“Okay, these are confidentiality clauses and a couple other things I need you to go over. This one regards your paychecks and this other one I also need you to sign.”

You grab his pen and start going over the documents, knee bouncing over the table. Jongseong observes you quietly, chin propped on his hand like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re uncomfortable or not.

“Are you okay y/n?” he goes.

“Yeah I’m fine, just a little nervous about messing this up is all.” you admit, putting the pen down and sliding the documents over to him.

“Mmh, I know, a lot of my employees felt the same way the first time. So here’s what I had in mind, how about I assign you to a phone call with a female customer? She’s very respectful and nice, a long time client. Only if that’s okay with you though, if women aren’t your preference or anything that’s fine.” Jongseong offers, a thoughtful look on his sculpted face.

Ah, if only he knew.

“That would be very good actually. I think I might not feel that much pressure with a girl.” you nod.

“Perfect, then it’s settled. But if you have any doubts or need any guidance you can always talk to the rest of the employees, they’re really nice you’ll see. They can even give you a few lessons.”

A while after going through basic stuff, including whats required in calls, prompts etcetera, you’re walking inside the neon room along with Nishimura Riki who kindly guides you to a phone cabin. His blonde hair sits messy on his head and the top buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned due to the lack of aircon.

“Call me if you need anything okay?” he winks before shutting the glass door and walking away.

You pick up the phone that’s dangling from the wall, it’s a hot pink case that looks like the ones in those 80s sitcoms. There’s a little leather chair at the corner of the pod, you take a seat and look at the wall. You tell yourself that this is fine, that it’s for the money and that there’s no shame in such a work but really your main concern is embarrassing yourself on the call and not knowing how to entertain these people. You’ve been in a couple relationships and phone sex was a recurrent topic but talking dirty to strangers is a whole other topic.

When the phone in your hands rings, you almost jump, startled.

On the other side of the glass door, you spot Sim Jake watching you from his own pod. When he sees you jump, a small glint of amusement flashes in his eyes before he quickly looks away.

You pick up the call, relaxing in your seat to give the impression you know what you’re doing and you smile, hoping it’ll make your voice sound warm. “Hey, welcome to Hotline 1OO9, this is y/n, how are you doing today?”

The voice on the other end is low, the kind you’d get flustered by in real life. “Hi y/n, I’m good how are you?”

“I’m doing great thank you. This is actually my first time so I hope this will be enjoyable for you.” you say, fiddling with the fabric of your skirt.

“Don’t worry, you have a really pretty voice so this is already going well. Plus I’m not that demanding, I’d like to know your limits and boundaries if that’s okay?” she asks.

“Thank you, you sound very pretty too. For the limits i’m practically open to anything, feel free to talk about any topic.” you tell her.

She chuckles on the other end, “Okay, if you say so. But let me know if i’m saying something that makes you feel uncomfortable okay?”

She sounds really kind, so you hum, “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know, but i’m pretty sure I won’t need to. So, tell me a little more about what you’re hoping from today?”

“Honestly just a nice little chat, I’m…well I live in a very small town and I’d be a pariah if I ever came out of the closet so you know…I can’t really date girls there. The first time I called Hotline 1OO9 it was mainly to have phone sex, i’m no liar. But I talked to Haejin a couple times and it felt so comforting. I felt much less lonely, so I don’t really mind if this stays sfw you know?” the girl chuckles.

“I get it, I’m sure we can figure out the vibes throughout the call. Just know i’m open to both, whatever you need sweetheart.” you smile, genuinely this time.

When you look outside the pod, you find Heeseung and Jake watching you curiously. They’re leaning on the wall of their own pod and as soon as you spot them they quickly look away.

“Thank you, that’s nice to hear. Have I already told you how pretty your voice sounds?” she responds.

You look back at the wall, “I’m sure you did a couple seconds ago, but I liked it. You know when you can tell someone is pretty by the sound of their voice? That’s exactly how I feel about you.”

The girl chuckles, “Is it weird that sweet girls turn me on so much? I must be so deprived.”

“Well if that’s what you like I can be even sweeter. I bet I can even come up with sweet things to say if you tell me what you’re wearing right now” you tease, confidence coming easier than expected.

Turns out you’re a natural…?

“I’m wearing a tank top and my underwear,” she says, and you hear the phone move a bit.

“Mmh, soft little tank top? Is it tight?” you ask.

“It is, what are you wearing y/n?” she pushes back, tauntingly.

“I’m wearing a tank top too, and summer shorts.”

You’re not. You’re actually wearing office attire but she doesn’t have to know.

“Cute. Before anything, do you like being called a good girl y/n? Is that something you’re comfortable with?” you hear her take a soft panting breath, is she already turned on? Did you do good?

You’re tempted to ask her if you’re doing good, for the first time of your life you’re seeking approval. You contemplate the question for a quick second. You’ve never been called that and you’ve already unconsciously made up your mind about it, for some reason. It’s not something you’d ever ask your partner to call you, but it would be a stretch to say it makes you uncomfortable.

“You can call me anything you want pretty.” you respond, one leg crossing over the other.

“Mmh, atta girl.” she smiles on the other end. “I just want your voice and your attention. Can you do that?”

Well damn it if she doesn’t sound hot. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Soft voice for me, please. You’re not in charge right now. You’re just here to listen and answer when I ask.” you feel her get more and more comfortable but your habits get the best of you. You’re not used to being what she’s asking for.

“Alright, soft voice. I’m sorry,” you apologize, shifting in your seat.

“That’s better. Tell me how it feels, hearing me talk like that?” she rasps.

“Strange. I keep wanting to flip it and ask what you’re doing. It’s harder than I thought to just… stay quiet and follow.” you admit. You can tell she noticed the stiffness in your voice.

“That’s okay. You’re allowed to find it hard. You’re still doing it. You’re being a good girl just by trying.”

“…Thank you. I’m not used to hearing that.” you swear you feel something in the pit of your stomach when she utters those tempting words, and your thighs squeeze together for a brief second.

“You don’t have to know how to answer it perfectly. Just take it, okay? I’m gonna touch myself while I talk to you, but you stay still. Hands where they are. No touching.” she orders.

When she hears you hum, she presses, “Words baby. I need words.”

You almost gasp, clutching the phone tightly, “Yes, hands staying put. I’m sorry I don’t really know how to—”

“Shh, it’s fine. You’re doing good.” the words send sparks down your spine until they reach your core. “You’re fine. Tell me you’re my good girl.”

You take a deep breath. Outside, Heeseung and Jake are still pretending they’re not quietly observing, but you can tell they’re seeing your state. It should be embarrassing because they’re complete strangers and you’re the most vulnerable you’ve ever been sexually, but it isn’t. You like them watching, probably speculating in their heads, wondering if you’re aroused or extremely uncomfortable.

Truth is, both are mingling together in your head.

“I’m your… good girl?” you reply.

It comes out with a little interrogation at the end, and you instantly feel as stupid as ever. First day on the job and you’ve probabl already lost a client.

You didn’t expect to come out of your very first call with soaked panties and a dizzy head.

It’s funny how a confident woman can turn the sassiest girl into an embarrassed mess. But you can only admit you liked it, liked the attention and the care. Even more when she reassured you and praised you. That made you feel things you’d never felt before—as silly as it sounds—you’ve never expected to feel this way about a complete stranger.

Your panties are uncomfortably clinging to your pussy as you exit the pod, closing the door behind you. How much of a horn dog are you to be turned on by your job?

Heeseung and Jake instantly get off the wall and clear their throat, “Hey, how did it go?” Jake says with a small smile.

“It went good,” you reply before reframing, “Actually it went kind of bad. I hope I didn’t make us loose a client on my first day.”

Heeseung lifts an eyebrow, “How bad?”

You let out a self deprecating scoff, “I didn’t really know what I was doing, like at all. I expected her to let me lead but it was the opposite.”

Jake observes you, eyes trailing down to your bare legs involuntarily. He catches the tension there and quickly averts his gaze.

“Oh don’t worry, you just have to learn. Jungwon was like that at first but he got better and now he’s comfortable with a lot of different things.” Heeseung reassures you, lightly touching your forearm.

“What about Jungwon?” you hear a voice say behind you.

Turning around, you fall face to face with Yang Jungwon himself, holding a cup of coffee and a cookie wrapped in tissue.

“I was telling y/n about how it took you a while to learn the whole sub thing.” his colleague explains, leaning back against the wall lie he was earlier.

“Oh yeah, it was so weird at first. Random men telling me to be a good boy and take it, eugh. But I learned to enjoy some sides of it and not take it too seriously.” Jungwon explains.

It sounds a little bit off, like he shouldn’t just endure it because it’s part of the job, but you don’t say anything. Instead you’re surprised when he holds out the cookie in his hand before you.

“Here, I got this for you.” he smiles.

You take the sweet in your hand, “Oh thank you! You’re too sweet,”

It’s a caramel and black chocolate cookie, one of your favorites, and it tastes like heaven when you eat a piece of it. Jake mumbles something like, “what about me? I wanted a cookie too,” but you’re the only one who seems to hear.

“Don’t worry about it, how did your first call go?” Jungwon asks, siping on his coffee.

“Awkward. For her definitely. I was a mess, i feel like I wasted her money.” you admit with a self deprecating chuckle.

“I’m sure it’s fine, she can complain to customer service but trust me she won’t.” Jake affirms. “If you ever need pointers, stuff like that, you can let us know.”

Jungwon nods vehemently, “Totally, I’d be happy to help you out. I remember when I was a newbie Riki helped me out a lot and it went smoother afterwards.”

“Love you too man,” a deep voice cuts in.

It’s Nishimura Riki entering the room. He’s changed into casual clothes and ditched the cartoon pants, his hairs a little messy and he looks unfairly good.

“What’s up y/n? How was it?” he asks, almost like an old friend.

“Well, let’s just say I need some help.” you finish your cookie, wiping your mouth with the little tissue.

Riki clicks his tongue, “Anytime,” he looks at you up and down shamelessly, not even bothering to be subtle, and he smirks. “We can talk over lunch. Haejin and Sunoo are gonna eat out but we’ll all be here in the break room.”

A couple hours later and another two more calls in your record, you slip out of your booth. It went somehow smoother. The first guy was just a lonely guy who ended up crying instead of jerking off—which almost triggered your tears because of how sensitive you are—and the second guy was submissive at best, vanilla at worst.

The neon room is empty and everyone seems to have gone to the break room to grab lunch. You open the door and see that they’re already there.

Riki and Jungwon are sitting on a red leather sofa, Jake’s thrown on a beanbag along with Heeseung who’s on the floor eating chips, Sunghoon’s on a metallic chair with a rubik’s cube in his hand, laughing at something Riki’s saying.

“Oh y/n, come sit, come sit.” Jungwon lifts his head up and smiles. “We were just talking about Riki’s next client and how you could maybe listen to their call to get the hang of it.”

You take a sit on the only spot available which is next to him on the couch. Jungwon makes some space for you and hands you a paper towel and chopsticks when he sees you open your bag and take out a tupperware with last night’s meal.

“That would be awkward wouldn’t it? And what if the person doesn’t want that?” you cringe.

Riki responds, “Nah, she won’t mind. She’s a regular and she’s kind of into the whole humiliation and being heard thing. I’ll let her know beforehand though.”

You hum, considering it, but before you can say anything Sunghoon buts in, “What’s the problem though, when you do it what do you find hard?”

You dig into your meal, relaxing on the back of the couch like you’ve known these people for a long time. “Everything. Like to submit in general, I’ve never been… I hope i’m not oversharing but anyway, I’ve never been told what to do and I’m not sure how to respond or what to do, you know?”

Sunghoon nods comprehensively, “If you freeze or don’t know what to say, it’s completely okay to admit it, you know? You could say ‘I’m not sure what to do right now’, some people even like that, the honesty.”

“Yeah, and keep your responses short, just focus on listening and following one small instruction at a time. That’s already submitting.” Heeseung adds, eating his salad.

You feel insanely integrated already, almost like in preschool when you talk to people and instantly become friends with no need for introductions. Except well, you’re ‘bonding’ over bdsm right now, as insane as that sounds.

“Sounds easy but my brain becomes mush when I’m in the moment.” you shrug.

“How did the other two calls go?” Jake asks, now lying on the beanbag.

“First guy ended up crying. Wife left him and he’s lonely. The second guy was okay, he let me take the lead.” you explain.

“Oh so that’s why, I thought I was hallucinating when I saw your eyes get teary.” Heeseung chuckles. “I was walking by, almost knocked cause I thought you were gonna cry because of him.”

“No, I almost crying with him. Kinda caught me off-guard” you smile, recalling his sad voice. “But then I thought ‘what if his wife left him because he was an awful dude’ and got my shit together.”

Riki gives an amused smirk, “Perks of anonymity. I always wonder who’s on the other end—like imagine I’m dirty talking to someone who’s on an FBI watchlist?”

Everyone laughs as they finish their food and when all meals are practically empty, Park Jongseong emerges from his office.

“Already laughing together? That’s good.” he smiles, heading towards the open kitchenette and opening the fridge. “How’d it go y/n?”

You tell him about your first experience and the rest of the morning while Jongseong sits on the chair Sunghoon gives him. He listens and gives the same advice the others provided, before suggesting—just like they did—that you listen to one of their calls.

You learn after a bit of talking that he prefers to be called Jay, that Jongseong’s his official name but it sounds too serious. Everyone shares their age, and it turns out you’re right in the middle, Heeseung being older than you. You all chat cheerfully until Jay’s phone rings loudly in his office and it breaks the moment, calling the end of lunch break.

“Alright, sit down and make yourself comfortable.” Riki says as he opens the door of his phone cabin.

You do just that, sinking down on the little armchair on the conrner of the pod while he takes the other one. Riki extends his legs before him, man spreading on the chair as he grabs the phone in hand.

You think he’s going to say something but his eyes wander outside the pod and his eyebrows cock. “Nosy fuckers.” he mutters.

You follow his gaze and find Heeseung and Jake peeking inside, their hands on the glass like two kids. Do they have some sort of curiosity problem?

Riki gets up and reaches for something on the ceiling of the pod, his shirt lifting and revealing a hint of skin and what looks like a tattoo on his hipbone. This is the type of man you’d gush over outside of work, tall, lean and tattooed. But you have to focus on the task at hand.

He unhooks something and a thick curtain suddenly covers the glass door and plunges the room into darkness. “Shit, didn’t think this through.” he mutters, reaching blindly for the wall.

You stand up to help him find the the light but only end up bumping into him in the process. You feel your forehead hit Riki’s chest and when he finds the light switch you’re entirely too close. You swear you see him smirk as he sits back down on his armchair, spreading his legs like he owns the place.

It should infuriate you—you hate men who do that—but he looks good doing it, and as opposed to the men on the subway he’s doing it on his own armchair and not bothering anyone. Or yeah, maybe he’s just hot and that excuses it.

When the phone rings, Riki looks at you for a second, trying to read your face before he hits the button. “You okay?”

You nod, “Yeah yeah, go ahead.”

“Good girl,” Riki rasps.

You immediately freeze eyes narrowing in confusion, but the tone of his voice sends shivers running down your arms for some reason. He starts chuckling, clutching the phone on his lap, “Relax, it was just to set the mood.”

When you roll your eyes, avertin your gaze, he says a quick ‘Alright, just listen.” before he picks up the call.

“Afternoon,” Riki greets, a smug little look on his face like he just knows hes gonna do some damage.

You don’t hear the conversation at first, so you wonder what the point of it even is, it’s not like you need lessons in being dominant…

“There you are, how are you tonight?” he asks, one draped over his lap in a way that makes him look even manlier—if that’s even possible.

You see him nod before he replies to whatever she said, “Good. Before we start, I have someone here with me, she’d love to hear what a good girl sounds like when she’s being led. And I know you’re a good girl so you’re the perfect example she could get, am I right baby? I’m gonna put you on speaker so she can listen, you comfortable with that?”

There’s a pause during which she says something and he listens attentively, but his eyes are set on you. It’s like he’s silently making sure you’re giving him your full attention. The lesson’s gonna go really well if he keeps looking at you like that.

“Mmh, I thought you might. Say it clearly for her.” Riki smirks, a playful glint in his dark eyes. He clicks on the speakerphone button and puts it between the both of you.

“I’m okay with her listening, sir. I like being heard.”

She sounds young, in her late 20s and is already slightly out of breath. Very much like a specific someone… just not exactly for the same reason. You’re struggling to breathe because the room is a bit narrow and you’re bordering claustrophobia right now. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself instead of admitting you’re intimidated and also never thought your first day would go like that.

“Good girl. She’s sitting quietly right now, just observing. You’re going to stay honest and clear for both of us. Understood?” Riki continues.

And you feel his words in your stomach, cutting thought the barrier of embarrassment and principles because apparently you’ve left those out the door this morning.

“Yes sir.” the woman answers obediently, and you wish you could say you’re taking mental notes but really you’re focused on the 6ft something man whose gaze is bored into you. You know he’s trying to ‘set the mood’ or whatever, but it sure feels personal.

“Tell me where you are and what you’re wearing.” he questions.

“I’m in my bedroom… on my knees beside the bed, like you usually want. I’m only wearing my panties. Nothing else. My hands are in my lap like you said last time.” she replies, breath hitching like she’s getting turned on by her own submission.

“That’s good, hands stay in your lap ‘kay? You’re not touching yourself until I say so. You’re just gonna kneel there and answer me while she listens to every word. Clear?”

Yeah it feels personal. You cross your legs, feeling way too exposed and your hands fiddle with your skirt nervously.

“Yes sir, clear.”

“Then start by telling her what you are when you’re on the phone with me, baby.” Riki toys with the cord of the phone, looking at you all the while like he’s seeking your full focus.

“I’m a desperate slut who needs to be told what to do, sir.” her voice comes out smaller, you take notes on the tone and the specific words.

Riki clicks his tongue, “Louder. She’s right here. She needs to hear it properly.” The woman repeats it louder and he hums in approval, “Better. You’re doing good. You gonna keep being good for me okay, now spread your legs nice and wide. Keep your hands in your lap— don’t touch.“

There’s a small rustle of movement on the other end before she says in a small voice, “They’re spread sir.”

“That’s a good girl, does it feel nice being heard like that?”

You’re captivated by this stranger under the weirdest circumstances of your life. The way he talks sends warmth pooling in your lower stomach and you feel like an intruder.

The woman hums, “It feels… humiliating. But in the way that makes me wetter.“

Alright, too much information, you think, looking up at the ceiling to try and escape his gaze. The longer you listen the more you ge the hang of it, she doesn’t try to perform, she just does as she’s told, it’s not that complicated. Your thighs press together on the seat, and you’re pretty damn sure Nishimura Riki has noticed it but at least he has office etiquette and doesn’t say anything about it.

Not that anything about this screams ‘office’…

You stand up, legs a little wobbly. No kink shaming but this isn’t really your thing, and you don’t want to start hearing her flick the bean, as much as you’re curious about how Riki would sound talking her through it—

“Going?” the young man’s eyes follow your figure.

“Yup, think I got what I needed,” you whisper, low enough that the customer doesn’t hear.

The next few days are better. You slowly get the hang of it until you’re on a call with a man on your third day, and things go a lot smoother. It starts coming naturally, the pace, the words, everything starts being a little easier once you imagine it’s Nishimura Riki on the phone—

Major slip-up. What you meant is that Riki’s such a good mentor that it feels reassuring to imagine him because he’s not a stranger anymore.

Or at least that’s what you’ve established after eating together for a whole week straight on lunch breaks, sharing details of your lives with the other colleagues and joking around. They’re all extremely friendly and you quickly learn that they’ve all had some sort of financial problems which led to them being desperate for a job.

They’re not even surprised when you share that you were suspicious of Jay when approached you in the subway like the recruiter in Squid Games. They say he likes to do funky stuff like that for the love of the game and joke that he probably had a crush and didn’t know how to shoot his shot so went with the business approach.

You find that hard to believe since Jay hasn’t really talked to you all that much these past few days, but it’s not like it’s important anyway.

You begin noticing that Haejin is the sweetest person alive, she’s genuinely kind and means well—a nice upgrade from your old colleagues who didn’t hesitate to talk shit about you in front of the male staff just to get their attentions—she’s soft spoken and gives amazing advice on how to make the dirty talk flow. Granted that’s not something you thought you’d ever talk about with a woman you’ve only known for a couple days but she’s got a way of making you feel at ease, so much so that you end up telling her over the course of lunch, that you haven’t sex in a few months.

“How do you even live?” Haejin groans like she’s been hurt.

You snort, knife digging in your reheated steak, “I’m doing just fine. Kind of tense with all that sex talk all day long, but it’s fine.”

Haejin nods avidly, “I know right? I was just like you when I first started working here. But then I just became the horniest bitch ever. There’s no other way to put it.”

You chuckle at the curse word coming out of her sweet sweet mouth, “Its like i’m having foreplay all day but no real sex.”

“Oh I totally get it. Even the guys weren’t like that when I first met them. We all came here around the same time and I remember Jake for example, he was so calm and sweet. Now he’s gone mad, one time he even got a boner in the neon room. But don’t repeat it though, or he’ll be embarrassed.” Haejin whispers secretively.

Jake is sitting across the room on one of the beanbags, his phone in hand. He’s wearing jeans a t-shirt that really brings out the color of his eyes and—

Yeah, to be honest it’s just a white t shirt, nothing to do with his eyes. What it brings out though, is the outlines of his broad chest.

“I feel like that’s just natural, it’s basically sex all day long, how can you not react?” you reply, one hand covering your mouth like a true gossiper.

“Er, yeah. You’re probably right. He’s not even the only one, it’s like working with a bunch of sexually frustrated guys. Thank God they’re respectful though.” she affirms.

You look around the room, only Jake and Sunoo are here, Sunoo on the red leather couch doing god knows what on his phone. The rest of them are in the neon room probably working and Jay is out of town for a meeting.

“What you got this afternoon?” Haejin asks you, her fork raised in the air.

“A call with the guy who cried the other day and then a new client. The rest I don’t know yet, I’m waiting for the boss to send in my schedule.” you tell her.

“I’ll get you some tissues jeez, that one’s gonna be tough. Sometimes all these guys need is a therapist I swear.” Haejin rolls her eyes amused.

Before you can even answer, the phone rings on the front desk—or more like the kitchen aisle that Jay has transformed into a reception desk for the lack of one. Haejin grunts but you stand up before she can, “Don’t worry I got it.”

You pick up the call, it’s a delivery guy telling you there’s a package for Hotline 1OO9. “Yep, i’ll be here in a second, let me just get someone.” you reply when he tells you that they’re heavy boxes.

You put the phone down and look at Haejin who’s currently finishing her poke bowl, Jake and Sunoo are also munching on a sandwich so you decide to go call someone else and let them eat in peace.

A couple seconds later you’re softly opening the door to the neon room and peeking inside. It’s practically silent but you can see Riki, Sunghoon and Heeseung are in their respective sound proof booths on a call. In the corner of the room on a little chair he’s probably moved, Jungwon’s sitting with his phone, chin resting on his fist.

“Jungwon.” you whisper shout, hoping he’ll hear.

His head snaps up instantly and his once bored face turns into a smile. “What’s up?”

You point behind you and he understands, standing up to come join you he closes the door behind him. “There’s a delivery guy with some heavy boxes, can you come help me?”

Jungwon nods, following suit as you head out the office. In the elevator there’s a long silence before the doors open to the main entry and you fall face to face with 6 big boxes—screw that, huge boxes. They’re stacked haphazardly in the middle of the main entryway, practically blocking the doors. For a second, you just stand there, staring at them.

“What the heck is this? Did the boss even say anything about some packages?” Jungwon blinks several times, arms already tired just with the sight. He greets the delivery guy and signs the receipts.

“Not to me anyway.” you say when he leaves, crouching in front of one of the boxes and looking for a tag. When you find a tiny tag with an eggplant drawing you instantly understand. “That’s a box of penises.”

Jungwon snorts, surprised. “What?” he crouches next to you, his arms brushing yours and he takes a look at the side of the box. “Yeah that’s definitely a penis box.”

You chuckle, bumping his elbow and standing up to grab the boxes but he doesn’t, “Wait, let me see what’s inside before.” he says.

Before you can even tell him not to, Jungwon rips open one corner of the box and peeks inside—no literally shoves his eyes in the little gap.

“Yeah, it’s dicks.” he states once he comes up.

“How many of them?” you puff out your cheeks, fighting an incredulous laugh and Jungwon shrugs.

“Probably more than a hundred, judging by the number of boxes. Why are they sending hundreds of dildos here?”

You go towards the other box, ripping the corner but more gracefully than Jungwon did. Inside this one there’s a ton of wrapped up pocket pussies, other male sextoys and business cards. “This one has different ones. Who is this even for?”

“Probably for the clients, like freebies or something…?” Jungwon shrugs, bending to lift one of the boxes. The muscles in his arms flex as he hauls the heavy weight, his jaw clenching. The second you bend down to grab one of your own he tuts, “Let me do it, they’re heavy. I don’t want your back to hurt.”

You roll your eyes—although you secretly find it endearing—and you lift up the box, “I’ll be aight. I’m a big girl.”

Jungwon huffs a laugh, “Oh I know you are.”

And what does that even mean??

You practically melt on the spot—though you never show it—and you head towards the elevator careful not to snap your whole body in two with the hefty weight. It’s the goddamn job they do, it’s making them all hot and filthy and you’re starting to become just like them, sensitive to the smallest details and interpreting everything in a weird way. You need to get a grip.

After hauling the boxes inside the elevator, Jungwon gets in beside you and wipes the little bit of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, and of course, his shirt rides up on his v-line. Because it wouldn’t be funny otherwise.

When he catches you looking involuntarily, he smirks, eyes narrowing as the smirk becomes a full on smile. “You okay? Your back hurt?” he asks when you move and subtly wince.

“I’m good—” but you don’t have time to say anything before he gets behind you and places a hand between your shoulders.

The elevator seems to take 20 years to get to the third floor as Jungwon presses between your muscles, softly massaging the flesh, “See, you’re a liar, there’s tension there.”

You scoff, half amused half…turned on? Whatever the heck is happening to your body these days needs to be blamed on the job. “I’m fine, you worry about your own shoulders.”

You turn around at that—big mistake—and end up facing him. He’s taller so you have to look up and when you do, his eyes are slightly hooded, like he’s faded. Your brain screams, ‘dick dick dick dick dick’, so much so that you end up laughing in his face. You’ve completely lost it.

“What’re you laughing about?” Jungwon gives a curious smile, looking down at you.

Blessed be the elevator, you’re saved from having to come up with an answer when it finally stops on the third floor. Thankfully, Sunghoon and Jake are already waiting in the hallway, ready to help with the boxes.

“Boss just called, he’s ordered some freebies for the regular customers.” Sunghoon informs you, grabbing one of the packages effortlessly.

“Is there candy inside? Or like merch?” Jake asks, his eyes widening at the size of the boxes, cocking his head.

“Jake be for real man.” Jungwon chuckles, grabbing a box too, “What kind of merch could he be sending out to these people?”

“It’s dicks and pussies” you add, helpfully.

Jake’s expression turns into one of exaggerated disgust, “Jay’s just gonna send out sextoys?”

“Oh come on, don’t act like you don’t tell girls and boys to stroke their shit and talk them through it all day long,” Sunghoon laughs, rolling his eyes.

“What happened with sex toys?” Haejin butts in as you all carry the boxes inside, she holds the door open and looks over curiously.

“It’s for the regular customers,” Sunghoon explains, stretching after he drops his box on the floor.

“Hello, I’m a regular customer.” she bows dramatically, “No jokes I hope we get to have one too.”

Jungwon laughs, “Just take one, I’m sure he’s not gonna spend an hour counting sextoys.”

Best believe Haejin does take one, she even invites all of you to do the same but only Sunghoon seems unbothered enough to suit himself. As for you, it’s not like you’re ashamed of using sex toys but holding a dildo in your hands in front of three buff guys isn’t not something you’d really like to experience today.

A couple minutes later, Riki and Heeseung emerge from the neon room and sit next to Sunoo on the couch. The oldest throws his head back until it hits the wall and groans, “I’m so tired.”

“What happened?” Sunoo asks him.

“The girl I just got a call with wanted me to call her my ‘little horny slut’.” he grunts, burrying his face in his hands.

“Why the fuck are you complaining right now?” Sunghoon blurts, incredulous, “I just spent 20 minutes on the phone with a girl who wanted me to call her ‘bad little gold-digger’.”

Riki snorts, one hand covering his mouth, “I usually don’t kink shame but how the fuck is that enjoyable.”

Before anyone can start venturing into this embarrassing topic, one of the phones in the neon room rings loudly, starting everyone.

“Oh shit, fuck. Forgot about the crying guy.” you say cryptically as you hurry towards the room.

You forgot you had work. Perfect.

You hear Haejin chuckle, “What is she talking about?” she asks when you’re out of sight.

You slip inside your pod and quickly grab the phone. In a hurry to pick up you press the button a couple of times and speak into the microphone, “Hello, this is y/n, good afternoon.”

But no one answer, it’s just a mess of static and creaking noises so you push the button again. “Heeello, this is y/n good afternoon.”

Crickets.

You put the phone down and make a beeline for the break room, once you’re there all of their heads snap up to you. “Can someone help with my booth, the phone won’t work I can’t hear the other person and there’s like static and stuff.”

Everyone turns their heads to Jake at the very same time, like he’s the assigned handyman of the office. Well apparently he is, you learn when Sunoo says, “Ask Jake, he’s always the one who fixes the phones. He knows his way around electronics.”

Jake stands up promptly, dusting off his jeans and looking over to where you stand with a sheepish smile, “I’ll help you.”

He follows you into the neon room and inside the pod, crouching in front of the cables. “We always get technical difficulties these days, I don’t know why Jay won’t just change the phones. Were you only hearing static?”

You nod in response, crossing your eyes with furrowed eyebrows, “I picked up and couldn’t hear a thing.”

Jake tweaks some buttons, a very focused look on his face, and once he estimates he’s done he looks up at you from where he crouches. “Try calling him back now, tell me if it’s fine.”

You do just that, sitting at the edge of the armchair you dial his number and wait. Once the ringing stops you finally hear a voice,

“Hello?” you call.

“Oh, finally, I thought you—” the rest is completely inaudible. You look down at Jake and give him a thumbs down. “Do you hear me?” the man tries again.

“I can hardly hear you, my colleague is trying to fix the issue, I’m so sorry.” you apologize, a little self conscious, “can you try and speak again for me?”

There’s a little bit of static before you can finally hear the man again, “—worry, you’re worth the wait. Take your time but—”

You curse under your breath as the line cuts again, and Jake messes with the cables, eyebrows pinched together, “Can you repeat that for me darling?” you tell the other man.

But Jake snaps his head up with a small, ‘huh?’ cheeks flushing like he thinks you were talking to him.

“Not you, dummy.” you whisper, pointing at the phone with a chuckle.

“I said don’t worry you are worth the wait, and to take your time but to not hang up on me.” the other man repeats.

“I won’t hang up on you, my colleague’s working on it as we speak.” you assure him, “How about we start? I don’t wanna waste your time.”

You hear him hum, pleased, “Whatever you like, I’d wait for you anyway.” he says, sounding a little desperate already.

You didn’t catch that side of him the other day because he unfortunately started crying midway through the actual dirty talk, but right now he sounds a little bit needy. He’s a divorced millenial but he seems particularly submissive, so a win is a win.

“You’re cute,” you fake-chuckle seductively, well aware that Jake is a couple of inches away, “What are you doing right now?”

You hear the sound of fabric ruffling and the smallest groan, “I’m in bed right now, I have my—”

The static starts again and you softly tap on Jake’s shoulder, “It’s cutting again, what should I do?” you whisper.

Your colleague holds a cable in his hand and looks up, “Just ask him to repeat and keep going while I figure this out, tell him he’ll get a price reduction or something.”

You nod, “Can you repeat handsome? I’m so sorry I couldn’t hear you.”

“It’s okay mommy, I said i’m in bed and I have my dick in my hand, hope that’s okay.” the man says, big emphasis on the mommy part.

You cringe, rubbing the corner of your eye as you fight to maintain your composure in the awkward situation. There’s a 50 something year old calling you mommy on one side and a very handsome puppy-looking boy on the other.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” you get back into character, leaning back against the armchair.

You see Jake’s shoulders twitch imperceptibly as he continues working but he doesn’t turn around or make a sound. On the end of the line, the man lets out a pathetic little moan, “I’m sorry mommy, i’m sorry. I’ll be better.”

Oh my days, you think to yourself.

But what cancels the second hand embarrassment is Jake’s reaction when you speak next.

“Look at you apologizing, that’s a good boy. Now don’t touch it until I say.” you tell the old guy in a low voice.

You swear you see Jake’s cheeks turn completely red, his hands slightly shaking as he works the electronics. And somehow that’s so much more thrilling than a guy calling you mommy. You think about what Haejin said earlier when she mentioned the state Jake was in ever since he started working here. The idea of toying with him seems so amusing, because as unprofessional as it sounds, what is even professional about this job in the first place?

“Yes mommy, I’ll—” the other man says, the line glitching again. You assume he’s saying what any submissive guy would say, which is ‘I’ll be your good boy’, it sounds coherent so you don’t even bother asking him to repeat.

“Mhh, that’s right. You’re doing so good f’me” you answer, eyes fixed on the back of Jake’s neck, which is completely flushed red. “I bet you want to touch that cock real bad, don’t you?”

You hear your colleague take a sharp intake of air and his fingers almost slip off the cables he’s working on. He’s pulled taunt like an elastic, nervous and fidgety, and you just want to mess with him all day long if that’s how his reactions escalate.

“Yes yes, please,” the man whines on the phone, fabric rustling as he most likely moves on his bed, restless. “Please, I’d do anything.”

“Aw, you’d do anything?” you taunt, voice progressively getting lower, “what if I say you can’t touch yourself today, would you do that?”

Jake’s breath audibly hitches and he drops his head closer to the wall, trying not to loose it. You can tell he’s a weak weak man in this moment, but he’s genuinely trying to make it seem like he’s fine. He messes with the buttons a couple of times before quickly standing up, dusting off his jeans once again. When he raises a thumb in question, he still doesn’t quite meet your gaze. You hum in response, noticing that the static on the phone has finally disappeared.

You mouth a quick ‘thank you’ and smile at him but he doesn’t reply, just blushes madly and scrambles out of the pod. You don’t even hear what the man is saying on the other end, toofocused on Jake’s retreating figure.

He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him, which is why seconds after you hear Sunghoon’s voice saying, “Man, what happened to you? Don’t tell me you—…oh you horny motherfucker…”

A couple weeks go by, during which you do nothing but have fictional sex with strangers over the phone and hang out with your colleagues like you’re still in high school.

Nothing about it is professionally really, just a bunch of touch deprived idiots cracking jokes in between calls because it saves you from going insane over the fact none of you are getting laid.

You tell your friend everything when you’re outside of work, and she listens with a slightly incredulous look. She’s never heard of such an—and, I quote—“perfect job.”

She seems to think working with 7 hot men, a beautiful woman and talking about coitus all day long is the ideal job.

And while you’re grateful for getting paid doing absolutely nothing, it’s also starting to take a toll on your health. You’ve been having incessant wet dreams these past few days, to the point where you come into work pent up and frustrated, and seeing a bunch of fuckable men doesn’t help in the slightest.

The calls go smoothly with occasional little incidents such as a weird client asking for way more than he should be asking—pictures, because yes apparently he’s entitled to pictures because you work for a sex hotline—but other than that it’s all routine by now.

You find yourself spending more and more time with Heeseung, grabbing coffee before work in the morning, talking about life and office gossip. He even introduces you to photography and sneaks a couple picture of you when you’re not looking. One day Haejin even says he looks like he likes you, but you don’t think much of it, everyone’s desperate and pent up in that office after all.

You eat lunch with Sunoo a couple of times, he’s a very sweet guy, a little sassy sometimes but never mean. He lets you in on all the lore, inside jokes and stuff you’ve missed since they all started working together; he tells you about the time Riki’s ex called the hotline so he would give her another chance—after she cheated mind you—and you laugh for hours about a video of Haejin running and bumping into Jay by mistake.

You quickly become friends with them, though sometimes you question if ‘friends’ is an accurate description for your relationship. It’s not crazy really, but at times you’re left wondering if getting turned on by a so called friend really makes it a friendship.

Like that one time when everyone else had work to do, leaving you and Sunghoon alone in the break room—or more specifically, on the sofa.

You recall your thighs touching and neither of you moving away even though Riki and Sunoo had vacated their spots. Sunghoon was tired when he threw his head back against the wall, extending his legs in front of him and lifting his arms up in a stretch; you remember seeing his shirt lift up to reveal a small line of hair that led straight into his pants and your thighs pressed together in a matter of miliseconds.

Averting your gaze you noticed his protruding adam’s apple, the shape of it so beautiful you had to completely look away. But then you felt his eyes burning into the side of your face, you had to look out of curiosity.

Sunghoon was gazing at you with a lopsided smile, his eyes hooded. It almost took the breath out of your lungs—blame it on the deprivation—but you held his gaze, a challenging glint in your orbs.

“You have nice eyes.” he said, the fatigue almost making him sound high.

The corner of your mouth lifted in a small smile of your own, “Why are you saying that?”

“I don’t know, you’re pretty. Is that a weird thing to say?” Sunghoon replied, deliberately lifting his arms higher before dropping them to his lap.

“My eyes and now me in general?” you teased.

“Come on, you know you’re pretty. Everyone’s been saying it.” he chuckled, eyes dropping to your lips for a second.l before going back to your eyes.

“No one’s been saying that.“

“Well yeah, they didn’t say it to your face. But trust me they did. Especially Jake, he’s been all weird lately.” Sunghoon affirmed.

You swore the tension was going to kill you right then and there, the way he was looking at you was making you feel like you were bare in front of his eyes. You didn’t even know him all that well, you’d talked to him a lot over lunch but it was superficial, nothing too intimate. Now he was looking at you for the very first time like he wanted to devour you. How weird.

“Well that’s sweet, thank you.” you smiled, your eyes unable to leave his. And while the knowledge that Park Sunghoon thought you were pretty didn’t really change anything, his gaze said a couple hundred things in only a few minutes.

Lord have mercy for you were close to sinning.

“And he went like ‘tell me who’s pussy this is’, erm bitch not yours??” Haejin takes a deep imitating voice.

She’s perched on the arm of the sofa, making big movements with her arms as she narrates her last call and everyone listens. You’re crammed between Heeseung and Jungwon, Jake falling asleep on the beanbag while Riki sits on the floor in front of the couch.

“The audacity to say that to a sex line operator.” Sunoo comments. He looks almost peaceful if you didnt look closely and noticed his leg bouncing and his jaw slightly clenched.

The thing is, you’ve kind of had suspicions that the two of them—Sunoo and Haejin—were somehow involved together. Maybe it’s the way they often eat alone together, or how they’re extremely touchy with each other, constantly brushing their hands together and sneaking glances when the think no one’s looking. You’re not falling for it though, you can tell the difference between friends and people who have fucked.

The sneaky bastards.

“I know it’s just dirty talk but I wanted to laugh so bad,” Haejin continues.

“You’re so strong cause I would’ve been laughing already.” you snort.

Heeseung bumps your arm playfully, “You would’ve been laughing cause you don’t usually like it, there’s a difference.”

You raise an eyebrow looking over at him, “who says I don’t like it?”

There’s a silence in the room and you almost think you said something out of line, but then again what’s ‘out of line’ in here?

Heeseung huffs a laugh, “I thought you weren’t into that shit?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m against it.” you answer. “I like a good surprise.”

His eyes trail down your face to your lips and his tongue darts out to lick his. He’s being so obvious yet it’s so enthralling you want to melt into the couch.

The moment is cut short when Haejin clears her throat and waves a hand between both your faces, breaking the spell. “Hello? Get a room please.”

Sunghoon groans, “Whole room horny.”

Heeseung smiles, throwing his head back on the back of the couch while the whole room sounds like a bunch of desperate teenagers. It’s almost time to go back to work but everyone’s dreading the prospect.

Riki brings in his 2 cents, “I say we should go to the club and all get laid this weekend.”

“100% agreed,” Jake says, voice muffled by the beanbag he’s currently lying face down on. “I can’t go on like this.”

No one has time to give their opinion because the door to Jay’s office opens and he comes out holding a stack of papers, a pair of serious glasses perched on his nose.

“I don’t know if you guys remember this conversation we had a couple weeks back? Yn you weren’t there yet so I’m just gonna brief you in on this idea.” he starts, “We talked about implementing duo calls to our list, so you guys would be paired up on calls depending on the requests. I received a couple requests for Y/n and Riki and also Sunoo and Haejin this afternoon, how does that sound to you guys?”

You look around and find Riki’s eyes already on you, he seems to be just as surprised as you are. Since the other day, there’s been a slightly tense atmosphere between the two of you, like you’ve walked in on an intimate moment even though it was professional.

You can still hear his voice and it sends shivers down your spine whenever you’re catapulted back to that moment. Now to know the boss wants you to both participate while sitting next to each other in those narrow cabins is somethjng else. Sure, you’ve done it in front of Jake but it was just to mess with him, now you have to be serious and somehow collaborate in your dirty talk, if that makes sense.

“But like, how would that work? What would need to do?” Haejin asks, cocking her head.

Jay holds out a peace of paper, proud. “That’s why I printed these out, I’m gonna need you to go somewhere together in pairs. I gave you each a specific scenario and I want you to rehearse okay? These people are willing to pay a good price for this, so i don’t want it to be rushed.”

“Customer is male, he likes the idea of cuckholding but wants to be involved too. What can you do to make it sound authentic while also interacting with him?” Riki reads.

He’s sitting across from you in his booth, legs spread as he lounges on his armchair. You agreed to rehearse with the curtains drawn for maximum privacy because you both know how curious the rest of the staff can be, but the con is that now the cabin feels so much smaller and Riki’s playing right into it.

He’s got bedroom eyes, always looking at you like he’s trying to say something with them and he plays with the knowledge that he can get you flustered easily.

“First of all, you’re gonna have to come closer to me since we only have one phone. Then we should give him a lil show, talk to each other, imply we’re doing actual things to each other etcetera.” Riki says, folding the sheet in half, “Can you fake moans?”

You almost snort, “For 300 dollars yes I can.”

Three hundred is the price the man is offering to pay to hear you both. You’d almost be flattered…in another world.

“We don’t wanna risk it though, let me hear you.” Riki insists.

You shake your head immediately, “I’m not gonna just moan out of the blue. Trust me I got this, I’m gonna do good.”

Riki’s smirk widens, his gaze darkening, “Oh I know you’re gonna do good y/n.”

You’re tempted to look away, his gaze too heavy on you, but his words are what do it. You’re a whole different person around him and he seems to notice, seems to find it amusing, really. You look down at your shoes, tapping them on the floor distractedly.

“Come here, let’s rehearse before he calls” he cuts through your silence, beckoning you with his finger. It’s with hesitant legs that you stand up, not really knowing where to go, and stand awkwardly next to his armchair. “Just come sit here, we can’t be too far apart or he’ll notice.”

You zero in on his pointer finger tapping his thigh and your eyes widen a little bit. That was never in the job description—though you should’ve expected it with how comfortable everyone is. You bury your embarrassment somewhere your brain can’t find and you lower yourself to sit on Riki’s lap.

“That’s it mama, sit down.” he encourages in a low voice. His hand comes up to your hip, touch light and respectful in order to steady you.

“Mama?” you chuckle nervously, back pressed against his chest, amused by the nickname.

“I’m rehearsing aren’t I?” Riki says against the back of your neck, his breath fanning on your sensitive skin. “Come on, dont be shy, gimme a moan. You have to make him believe it.”

You shake your head, hair brushing his shoulder, “It’s gonna sound awful.”

But Riki doesn’t seem to care. You can feel him getting closer by his breathing against your neck until you’re sure his lips are merely inches away from your skin. “No it’s not, you can do it.”

You huff a laugh but it comes out oddly weak as your head lolls involuntarily. Every part of your body is stimulated by only the feeling of his breath, how pathetic does that sound? You’re so deprived that the thought of his lips being so close brings you to utter weakness.

“I cant just moan like that, what if I sound off?” you say, breathless.

Riki doesn’t reply, instead you feel his lips brush your nape and your eyes flutter shut as you fight to stay focused. He trails a path down to your shoulder, pressing his lips over the fabric of your top until he finds a bare strip of skin. Simultaneously, his hands lightly squeeze your sides, and when you shift on his lap he squeezes harder. Your breath hitches and he seems to hear it because his fingertips travel to your ribs before settling on your stomach. Riki traces circles on the part that’s not covered by your top, his lips playing with neckline of it.

The moment he leaves lazy open mouthed kisses all the way to your jaw from behind, you gasp, clutching the hem of your skirt with shaky fingers.

“There you go. Sound so pretty. Is that all it takes?” Riki teases, teeth nipping at your earlobe. “I knew you could do it, I’m just gonna have to keep you right here all through it.”

You feel his tongue dart out to taste the skin where jaw meets neck and you instinctively brace yourself with hands on his thighs, to which he reacts to with a low hum. You don’t even know what this is, what you’re doing, but it feels too good to stop. It’s like being denied water for months and finally getting to drink. Except Riki’s like Mountain Valley Spring Water.

He squeezes your hips, fingers venturing into the skin of your exposed thighs. “You can do better can’t you?” he rasps against your neck.

You’re left lightheaded and unable to reply so he only makes it worse. Riki squeezes, traces patterns all the way to your inner thighs and stops right there. That’s when you nod, needing his touch like air. You can’t bear to feel him stop.

“Good girl, show me then.” he praises, teeth grazing your skin.

The next thing you know, Riki spreads your legs on his lap and his hands settle on your inner thighs. He’s touching one of your most sensitive spots and you just cant control the moan that comes out of your mouth.

It’s a mix of a pant and a moan, low and soft, and Riki seems to react physically to it. His hands squeeze the fat of your inner thighs and wander higher, right where your skirt bunches up.

“What if I just slip those panties to the side,” he emphasizes by hooking his finger to the hem of your panties, never actually touching you. “and have you sit on my cock all through the call. Would that make you moan alright?”

Your breath goes wild as you throw your head back shamelessly, you’re pretty sure he’s managed to get your panties soaked with only a few PG 16 touches. “You’re crazy,” you whisper shakily.

“Am I? The door’s closed and we’re supposed to put on a show for him anyway.” Riki chuckles lowly. “If you don’t want to it’s alright mama, I won’t push.”

You shake your head and nod simultaneously, completely out of it. You don’t even know what you want except that you need to feel something.

You could cry if you’re left on the edge once again after enduring it for weeks.

“That a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, pretty?” the bastard laughs again, amused by your state of evident arousal. He lifts the hem of your panties and snaps them back into place, his other hand stroking the skin of your hip.

“Yes, yes.” you gasp, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

Riki hums, but he doesn’t rush to take them off, instead he cups your cunt through the fabric and presses his palm against your clit. He presses in pulsing motions, until your legs are closing around his hand and he has you boneless on his lap.

That’s when you feel his bulge pressing against your ass, thick and rock hard, and everytime you shift in pleasure, it twitches through his jeans.

“You’re soaking right through the fabric, pretty.” he whispers against your ear, fingers toying with the wet patch in the front of your panties. “Gonna take these off now, that okay with you?”

You nod instantly, spreading your legs for him to access. The second you do, he tugs your panties to the side, and the air hits your sopping cunt. Your walls clench around nothing, desperate to feel him, and Riki takes his sweet time, grabbing the phone in one hand and unbuckling his pants with the other. “A shame I can’t see your face like this mama, turn around f’me.”

You obey, on shaky legs you turn around and sit on him, facing him. Now you can clearly see his face, his flushed cheeks and messy hair, hooded eyes and the thick bulge in his pants. It looks like it hurts when he palms himself, buckle in hand.

“Go for it.” he rasps, bringing your fingers to his zipper.

While you unzip him, Riki strokes your cheek and tugs gently at the hair in the back of your head. When you’re done he lifts his hips a bit and tugs his jeans down to his knees along with his Calvin Kleins. His cock slaps against his lower stomach when he frees it, tip weeping precum all over his pelvis. It’s already fiercely erect, standing out proudly against his happy trail, pressing upward toward his stomach.

Before you can do anything, the phone rings in his left hand and he sighs shakily. “Come here then, sit on it.” he rasps.

You look at him through your lashes as you wrap a hand at the base of his cock and lift your hips, angling him below your pussy. You feel your thighs shaking as his tip brushes your clit, and you brace yourself on his chest, eyes closing.

The moment you sink down and take the head of his cock in, Riki groans, gripping your hip. “Such a good girl— fuck…look at you.”

He looks down at where your bodies meet, your pussy accommodating his thick length as best as you can, and he shuts his eyes, adjusting to the intense suction. When you take more of him he whispers, “Can I pick up the call now?”

You nod breathlessly and when he’s all snug and entirely inside of you, you moan. Before pressing a button and accepting the call, Riki takes one last look at his cock stretching you open.

“Hello, this is Riki and Y/n for Hotline 1OO9, how’s your day?” he says with a steady voice, except or when you listen closely to his messy breathing.

Riki presses the speaker button and holds the phone between you both. How are you even supposed to come up with words when he’s stretching you like that? You can only clench around him until you feel every ridge and every vein like they’re memorized.

“My day’s good, thank you for picking up.” the guy on the other end says, his voice a little bit shy.

Your head falls forward on Riki’s shoulder and your forehead rests there. At the sight, his cock twitches inside you and he pushes in deeper, trying to reach the deepest part of you. To that, you moan, nails digging into his arms. You want to move so bad, you wanna fuck yourself on his cock and finally reach a long awaited orgasm.

The customer must hear every little sound you make because he asks, “Are you close to each other?”

Riki chuckles, one hand grabbing your ass and kneading it, “Got her on my lap, must be why she sounds so breathless. Don’t you baby?” he kisses your jaw.

You hum, weak all over. But Riki won’t have it, he grabs your chin and puts his thumb on your lower lip, “Use your words. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, “yes, yes.” and he rewards you with a sharp slap to your ass. “Good girl,” he praises.

It’s like the man on the other end of the line fades away, you can’t even hear his voice, just Riki’s and whatever he’s doing to your pliant body. His eyes are endless pits of darkness when he looks at you, pushing his thumb past your lips, and as you suck around it obediently, your walls clench around him and your hips shift.

“Uh-huh, who said you could move?” Riki takes his thumb out of your mouth and grips your hips to stop you.

You grip his arms, your belly moving with each ragged breath you take, and Riki’s cock throbs inside. He takes both your hands and holds them together behind your back, having you there seated on his dick, pride stripped away while a stranger listens.

“Oh look at that, you’re making such a mess.” Riki hums, looking at where you’re linked, his lower abdomen covered in your slick. “She’s so wet, soaking all over me,” he tells the man.

You don’t even hear his reaction, the need to move so intense it buzzes in your ears.

“Oh baby, you wanna move so bad, don’t you?” Riki taunts, giving the smallest thrust. But it’s enough to make you crazy, thighs shaking and body rocking.

When he speaks to the other man, you shiver, “She’s a mess, shaking on my cock. You should see her, so pretty when she just takes it.”

“Fuck… please, I can’t.” you plead, looking a Riki though your lashes, desperate for more movement. He’s so deep inside of you that even the smallest thrust makes you see stars.

“You want this?” his hips buck up, tip of his cock hitting a delicious spot inside of you. Your gummy walls cling to him, pulsing and keeping him right there, and he groans. “So tight, course you want it, you’re practically choking my cock.”

You hear the other man’s happy sounds but you shut his voice out, focusing on Riki.

“More, please.” you beg.

“Should I give her more?” he asks the customer with a smug smirk.

“No, not yet.” the latter decides, panting.

Riki shrugs, looking at you, “You heard him baby, just stay still.”

You’re not even sure you can take it. Every slow pulse of his heartbeat travels right through the shaft and presses against the softest parts of you, each one makes your hips twitch with the need to fuck back. You can feel how hard he is—impossibly hard—yet he holds himself completely still, breath controlled, hands locked on your wrists to stop you from grinding. Because Riki is so still, you can feel everytime he leaks inside of you, his precum warm and sticking to your walls.

“Mmh, that’s good. You’re doing so good.” Riki praises, squeezing your wrists, his cock pulses and his hip twitch just a tiny bit, making him just as disobedient as you were. “Fuck, she feels so tight ‘round me.”

Something starts building in the pit of your stomach, you don’t even know why or how, but it just does. Your thighs quiver and your forehead drops to his shoulder once again, your mouth parted in a silent moan. But Riki doesn’t let you, he cups your face and forces you to look at him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Nuh-huh, eyes on me.” he coos, stroking your flushed cheek while one hand still secures your wrists. “You’re such a mess, that pussy’s squeezing me so tight. Look at you, dripping all over.”

Riki pushes your chin down and makes you look at where you’re connected, he brings his hand there and collects the slick that’s coating his pelvis, fingers shiny. “She’s soaked, I should fuck her now, don’t you think? What if I just…” he bucks his hips, tip hitting your g-spot until you moan in pleasure. “… do this a couple times and leave her there shaking?”

He seems to react to whatever the man says on the phone—which you just don’t hear because apparently you have selective hearing—and he abruptly stops. You whine in frustration, rocking just a bit on his lap to find some sort of friction, but there’s just his heavy cock stretching you out and pulsing inside you.

“Please,” you whimper, “please, I need it.”

Riki squeezes your wrists unmoving and he kisses your collarbone, “You’re gonna have it when he decides baby. I don’t make the rules.”

You clench around him, the whatever that was building in your lower stomach intensifying everytime he opens his filthy mouth, you wanna hit him, make him fuck you senseless until you don’t even remember which day it is, but you can’t do shit. If the client weren’t there you would’ve already rode his cocky ass into tomorrow.

But it gets to a point where it’s just too much, your pussy grips him times and times again, almost in a rhythm, which makes his tip brush against your spot and your eyes roll back. You don’t even have to rock your hips to feel some sort of dizzying friction, and it seems like Riki’s understood it too, the way his cock twitches and his balls draw up. He hisses when you squeeze particularly hard and his eyes squeeze shut in agony.

“She’s gonna come without me even moving, I don’t have any room she’s squeezing so tight,” Riki tells the customer, then he looks at you and speaks, “I bet you’d sound so pretty if I could just fuck you properly, wouldn’t you?”

The next second, you feel his cock throb violently and his lips meet your neck, smugness all gone, “fuck, stop squeezing or I’m gonna cum baby.”

You whimper, a useless string of ‘please, please please’ coming out of your mouth and you clasp your hands together while he still holds them.

“Stay still,” the customer says, panting. “Both of you.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, but you’re so close it hurts. You pant, walls milking Riki’s cock as he fights it himself, sucking a spot in your neck. It’s too much, you try not to, but it just comes unbidden, you clench one last time, the head of his cock against your cervix, and your back arches.

“Fuck, I can’t—” you moan, eyes shut and head thrown back. Riki instantly looks at you, mesmerized, and he thrusts the tiniest bit to chase the friction. “I can’t..”

You come apart, your hips twitching over and over as you fight not to bounce on him. The lack of movement makes your climax feel denser, heavier, like it has nowhere to go except deeper into your body. You shake through it staying still, every pulse of your orgasm squeezing down on the hard length that refuses to move, until you’re left trembling and oversensitive with him still buried inside you, unmoving, as if nothing’s happened.

“That’s it, it’s okay. Fuck… she came so hard, didn’t even do anything,” Riki groans, hips stuttering, but before the customer can say anything he leans to your ear and whispers, “get off, i’m so close pretty.”

You shake your head, and when he releases your wrists you moan in contentment, “can I make him cum?” you ask the man on the phone.

He replies with a breathy voice, “Yes go ahead,”

So you take your cue, you brace yourself on his shoulders and when you start moving your own body screams in pleasure, everything sensitive. Riki throws his head back in a groan and his cock nearly slips out with how wet you are. When only the tip remains inside of you, you drop back down on his lap.

“Oh fuck—” Riki moans, gripping your ass, hips, anything.

He watches you through hooded eyes as you fuck yourself on his cock, his orgasm closer and closer, “I’m gonna come, doll. Just—get off.”

You shake your head once again, pressing little kisses to his shoulder as you bounce on his cock, “I’m clean and I’m on birth control,”

Riki groans, as if relieved he’s not gonna have to pull out and he bucks his hips, meeting your movements. “Fuck…you’re gonna—ah shit, keep going baby.”

You follow his lead, and a couple of bounces later, Riki’s cock is throbbing and the phone, which had been sitting on the arm of the armchair, almost falls. You scramble to grab it and hold it between the two of you, because he didn’t even notice, too fucked out to care. A string of ‘fuck fuck fuck’ comes out of his mouth and his hips stutter, his fingers digging into your flesh.

His stomach tightens under you and a broken sound leaves his throat. It’s a sign Riki’s control is fraying. You feel his cock swell even thicker inside you, the head pressing hard against that spot that makes your thighs shake and his grip on you tightens.

“Fuck—don’t stop,” he manages, voice rough. “Just like that—”

Before you or he knows it, he’s cumming.

Riki’s whole body goes rigid underneath you. A raw, punched-out sound tears out of his throat as his cock starts pulsing hard inside you—sticky surges of heat flooding deep. You can feel every spurt, the way his cock kicks and throbs while he empties into you. Riki’s hands clamp down on your hips hard enough to hurt, holding you flush against him so he can keep pumping cum as deep as possible. His thighs are shaking, his stomach is clenched and you feel he’s still trying to thrust up into you even while he’s coming desperate little movements that force every drop further inside.

Riki looks wrecked. Eyes half-lidded, mouth open, chest heaving, but his hands are still gripping you, unwilling to move even just a bit.

There should be a study on how greedy a girl can be, because the second you receive a text from Sunoo a couple days later, saying ‘tomorrow night is club night’ you reply without a second thought.

You’re not exactly planning on getting laid again—not that you’ve had your fill with Riki—you’re just looking to go out and party. But, if the opportunity presents itself you won’t decline, that’s for sure. You’re not sure why, but the scenario you fall asleep with doesn’t involve any handsome stranger on the dance floor. It’s involuntary but you can’t help but think about Riki, about Jungwon in the elevator, Jake in the booth, Sunghoon and Heeseung. Even Jay—if you’re being honest—but you wouldn’t actually go there, he’s your boss.

A little imagination doesn’t hurt anyone, it’s fine.

But is it crazy to be this level of greedy and imagine stuff with 5 different men?

Whether you’re thinking about them individually or not is irrelevant, but you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be ashamed to indulge in your filthy thoughts.

Things have been going smooth over at Hotline 1OO9. You like that what happened with Riki hasn’t changed the atmosphere one bit, nothings awkward, you just have a nice little secret thing you two together.

You’ve never really talked about it, for you it was just part of the job, a ‘professional’ act heightened by obvious sexual frustration. You were just two ticking bombs waiting to go off, two consensual adults who took advantage of the circumstances.

It would be a lie to say it hasn’t happened again though.

Just the other day, you were walking past him in the empty break room and his fingers accidentally found your ass. He squeezed and you were a goner. You snuck in his pod and made out for god knows how long, dry humped like horny teens and you ended up on your knees sucking him off while he praised you.

You’ve found a new pleasant sense of reward in not being in control. You love it when Riki pulls your hair, calls you a good girl and slaps his dick on your tongue. It makes your stomach feel all warm and fuzzy when he says in that deep voice of his, “such a pretty girl on her knees for me like that.”

It would be a tremendous lie to say that you haven’t thought at least 20 times about the other day when in the break room, Riki sat next to you on the couch and slipped his hand on your thigh while everyone was talking.

It’s safe to say Sunoo and Jungwon noticed, then said something like, “In plain sight?” which made the others notice as well.

After all you were a group of shameless adults—the job had made you so unbothered about sex—so no one said anything about it. Sunghoon just winked exaggeratedly at Riki and Heeseung grabbed your other thigh in retaliation.

You fall asleep thinking about how it would feel to have them share you, as stupid as it sounds because you know it’s never gonna happen. You’ve read enough reverse harem books to know it sounds extremely pleasurable, you don’t have to choose and get a little taste of everything—a taste of five different worlds if you will.

When you think about it too deeply you feel like a whore so you just shake the thoughts aside and let sleep take you.

Come the next morning, you’re walking inside the office with a cookie jar and your purse. The cookie jar was your mom’s doing, she passed by a couple days ago and dropped them off, saying you should give some out to your colleagues. But because she thinks you still work at your old company—which is huge—she made 5 jars, so your kitchen counter is currently crowded with chocolate chip cookies.

You drop them on the coffee table in the break room and you immediately clock in with Jay. He’s wearing a crisp suit today, as per usual, and his hair is styled to perfection making him look like every woman’s dream.

“Good morning y/n.” he greets with a smile, “We got feedback on the website by the way. It was that guy from the call with Riki, he said you were awesome and recommended it. He even put heart emojis.”

You smile, “Morning sir, awesome news.”

Jay must notice how jolly you are because he asks, “What’s got you all smiley today?”

Pregnancy glow? Today’s lunch packed in your bag? What can you even say instead of the truth? It being that you’re a sexually pleased woman who’s gonna be even more sexually pleased tonight.

“Nothing sir, I’m always like that.” you shrug, smiling wider.

Your old boss’s email comes to your mind and you quickly shut up. Being notably not-smiley is what got you fired, so it’s best you refrain from speaking.

“When we first met you told me to fuck off and thought I was a scammer y/n, I don’t think you’re always like that.” Jay chuckles, going through paperwork like the busy man he is.

“Well yeah, but with all due respect boss, you sounded like a mix of that Squid Games recruiter guy and El professor in La Casa Del Papel.” you clutch your purse, half expecting him to get mad like your old boss would.

Instead he just chuckles, clearly agreeing. “I know, I did sound weird. But I’m glad you took the time to think about my offer and didn’t jump to conclusions. Now look at you, 20 requests a day, successful as ever.”

That you are. Now thanks to your critical thinking you can afford rent and not be worried about unemployment. And if someone has to say anything about your line of work they can go fuck off. You give Jay the brightest smile you can manage, “Thank you for not firing me because I don’t smile often sir.”

Jay laughs, a little confused but amused, “What? That’s not a reason to fire someone.”

And you’re sure if you had more money maybe you would’ve sued that damn company. There was always something a little fishy with that excuse anyways.

The day goes by fairly fast, you don’t even go out of your pod much because of how many calls you’ve been scheduled to today. Some are fine, some are weird but not a big deal because you get paid in the end.

Some guy called just to ask for sex advice, which you found particularly funny because not once did he initiate any type of conversation other than ‘how can I make my current girlfriend feel good?’ you gave him all you knew, tips and tricks and then hung up with an amused smile.

You ate lunch with your colleagues as usual, talked about inviting the boss to your little night out but opted not to because it was weird and probably unethical.

After eating you and Jungwon sat on the sofa and watched videos on his phone, your chin on his shoulder. He scrolled through his timeline and made occasional comments, looking at you from the corner of his eyes at times. When Jake came by, he sat next to Jungwon and adopted the same position you did, watching with the both of you.

But as soon as you heard the boss move in his office you straightened up and pretended to look at the wall, aware of how unprofessional it looked.

Jay came out and stopped right in the threshold, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “What’s with the faces? Break’s over in 20 folks.”

Dominated by the work system, you got up exactly twenty minutes later and got to work. Riki interrupted you a couple times, just “swinging by” as he said, to squeeze that ass he seemed to love, then walked back to his own pod like he’d accomplished his mission.

But the last time he did it—curtains be damned—Heeseung was walking by and saw everything. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, just snorted and said “sharing is caring man.”

You decided not to dwell on it because he was probably joking, but—surprisingly—there were a few instances of you imagining what ‘sharing’ implied.

The rest of the afternoon went by fast, and the next thing you knew you were clocking out, saying your farewells to no one but Park Jongseong who, unfortunately, wasn’t invited.

Your ass looks fabulous in your dress and everyone seems to think so too.

The way Jake looks at it says a lot actually, it’s like he’s seen a ghost, his eyes avert and his cheeks get red immediately like he’s judging himself for the thoughts he’s having.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you look at Jake and wonder how he does the job he does.

If you were to see him in the subway you’d think he works in engineering or teaches astronomy and only has sex once in a blue moon. But apparently the man does get laid, he’s just not cocky with it.

Riki, though, is plenty cocky. Once he gets a good look at your ass he gives it a squeeze, not really caring to be sneaky.

Haejin notices and points at him, “I knew you guys fucked.”

Jungwon and Heeseung snort. You’re waiting in line at the club entrance and you’re all pressed together along the wall, a thick cigarette smoke fog hovering over the crowd. Someone’s smoking cigarettes after cigarettes and it’s making your nose itchy.

“I swear to God if you’re greedy and wanna steal my hookup tonight I’ll make sure you get fired Rik.” Sunghoon points at him accusing.

One of his Riki’s hands goes to your lower back and he answers, “I’m good man, the club is all yours.”

It wouldn’t be Riki if his hand didn’t slip down to your ass for the nth time and squeezed. He then proceeds to lean down to your ear and whisper, “I’m hoping I get to take you home tonight.”

You snort, swatting his hand away playfully, “What if I want a change?”

Riki settles his hand on your hip this time as the line progresses, “Well I can share. How’s that for a change?” he smiles.

“You’re willing to share with a complete stranger?” Jungwon raises an eyebrow, leaning against the wall.

“I don’t know, any of you interested?” he looks around, expecting them to be grossed out.

When everyone raises their hand but Sunoo, you look surprised, and with filthy contempt, your mind files it as a very important information.

The latter looks at Haejin and raises an eyebrow, attempting to be secretive. As soon as he does that she drops her hand to the side and you pretend you didn’t see what happened.

“Well guess that settles it. Fill out forms and email them I guess.” Riki rolls his eyes, prentending to be jealous.

Sometime after, the bouncer finally lets you all in. You walk to the bar in a tight group and order a couple drinks to start the night. You don’t drink all that much so you get a single cocktail and decides it’ll be the last.

You all walk through the crowd, the speakers blaring ‘Kiss me thru the phone’, bodies are all pressed together, slick with sweat and you spot a few people making out savagely already.

Riki and Heeseung stay behind you all the time, like a fridge protecting its snack, and you notice Haejin’s pressed tightly to Sunoo’s chest. It’s not even a surprise when the slick bastard glares at a guy he’s caught looking at her.

Jungwon notices and looks back at you, amused, but neither of your say anything.

Once you’re deep inside the jungle of bodies you all stop. Sunghoon’s already looking around like he’s searching a prey and Jake’s eyeing the ceiling like he wants to go home.

So what better than to mess with him? You grab his arm and start dancing with him, trying to lighten him up a bit with a couple back and forth rocks to the beat of the music. He relaxes after a little bit and starts easing into it, hands coming up naturally to your hips as he smiles.

By the time the third song comes around, everyone’s having fun. Sunoo’s pressed up against Haejin, Sunghoon’s already found a girl to chat up and you’re still with Jake, only this time there’s Riki behind you and Jungwon on the side sipping on his drink. You’re boxed by them, grinding your ass shamelessly on Riki while Jungwon watches with a playful glint in his dark eyes and Jake quite literally endures, cheeks as red as wine. You make sure he’s not uncomfortable by asking him a couple times in his ear, to which he replies by getting even more flustered by your proximity.

But Heeseung’s nursing a drink—not at all unhappy—he’s wearing a dopey grin like he’s having the time of his life even though he’s not doing anything. You turn around to look, and reach for his arm, dragging him closer so he doesn’t feel left out. He holds onto Jungwon and starts dancing, moving his body to the bass boosted music. It would be a lie to say he’s not a bit drunk, his cheeks are flushed and he’s grinning like an idiot—even more than Jake usually is—he holds onto Won for dear life and nearly spills jis drink when someone passes by.

“Heeseung man we just got here like an hour ago.” Riki snickers, amused. “Get your shit together or you’re not gonna get laid tonight.”

He just beams, taking another sip and moving his hips, “Nopeeee, don’t care.”

Riki gets closer to you, pressing his front to your ass, indirectly pushing you closer to Jake and Jungwon in the process. It feels nice to be between all of them, especially the way Jake grips your hips and looks at you like you’ve hung the moon.

But soon after, Heeseung starts feeling dizzy and says he wants to grab some fresh air, and Won volunteers to go with him so he doesn’t stay alone. They slip out of sight and you’re left sandwiched between Jake and Riki’s bodies, the latter hardening almost imperceptibly against your ass.

It’s not even a surprise, you’ve noticed how high his stamina is, it’s like he’s always up for it, always ready to go. Jake’s a little further away, so you can’t exactly feel him, but it wouldn’t be a revelation if you were to find out he’s hard—it seems to be his default reaction, he even gets hard when he sees good food apparently.

When Sunghoon comes back, he looks defeated and points at the girl he was talking to, declaring, “She was trying to get over her ex and find someone to make a sextape with.” he sighs, “tonight’s not my night.”

“There’s plenty fishes in the sea,” Riki comforts him, gripping your lower back.

Sunghoon gets closer, taking the spot Jungwon vacated, “Only one fish I want anyway.” he looks at you when he says that, then back at Riki, “Where did Heeseung and Won go?”

Jake intervenes, “They’re outside to grab some air.”

“Bro, they can’t come back inside if they go out. Are they fucking stupid?” Sunghoon scoffs, looking around and squinting towards the exit.

At the same exact moment your phone buzzes in your purse, vibrating on your sides. You slip your hand inside and grab it, it’s Jungwon.

“Yo, no one’s picking up their phone. The bouncer won’t let us come in again.” you hear him, his voice muffled with the sound of the music.

And yes, that’s the story of how you all end up on the sidewalk, sitting side by side on a line just because the dumbfucks couldn’t ask the bouncer for information before going out. Heeseung’s been apologizing profusely and you tell him it’s not his fault everytime, that it’s all good and you were tired anyway.

News flash you weren’t, you were just getting started. But can’t win em all.

It’s quickly forgotten about when Heeseung suggests you all come to his place for some drinks. Everyone accepts happily, except well….Sunoo and Haejin who look at each other and clear their throats.

But before they can say anything, the party host scrambles towards them.

“Yes you guys can just go home and fuck like rabbits. Trust me we know.” he slurs on unsteady feet.

There’s a silence before everyone snorts including Haejin and Sunoo who instinctively get closer now that the ‘secret’s’ out.

“We all knew, you guys are obvious as fuck.” Sunghoon states, smiling widely.

You part your ways and head to Heeseung’s small apartment conveniently located a couple blocks away from the nightclub. The whole way Riki and Jungwon have to hold him so he doesn’t trip although he says he’s not that drunk. Once you’re in front of his building he struggles to get his keys out and Jake has to dig in his back pocket to find them. “Stop touching my ass man.” Heeseung giggles, swatting his hand away when he gets the keys out.

When he manages to open the door, Heeseung stumbles inside and calls the elevator. You look around at the group of men encircling you and feel like the world’s biggest slut, anyone who would see this would think you’re a total whore and whatever other prejudiced words they can come up with.

But in truth, you don’t really care all that much, you like being slutty at times, it’s fun and doesn’t harm the environment anyway.

When the doors open to the second floor, Jake already prepares the keys to open Heeseung’s door. He waits for him to sign which one is his and quickly works it open.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Heeseung mumbles as he kicks off his shoes in the entryway. The apartment is spotless so you don’t even know what mess he’s talking about.

Probably the mess in your panties—

“Yeah you’re drunk man, go to sleep,” Riki chuckles, pushing him towards the hallway like he knows the house.

“I’m not even tired, gimme some water, I’ll just shower and sober up,” the man groans like a child, holding onto the wall.

You grab the first bottle water of bottle you see on the kitchen counter and uncap it, handing it to him. When you realize he’s not even gonna be able to drink it, you push it to his mouth, one hand cupped under his chin and you tilt the bottle. Heeseung’s heavy eyes are on you while he drinks. “So pretty,” he mumbles when he’s done, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, get line,” Jungwon pushes him playfully.

Riki escorts him to bed, but not before Heeseung makes a point of kissing your cheek and exclusively telling you goodnight. You pat his hair and watch him get carried away to his bedroom with a fond smile.

“Alright let’s see where he keeps his booze,” Sunghoon starts looking through his friend’s drawers, in the kitchen too. When he finally finds his stash of alcohol he holds a bottle of vodka to his chest. “This motherfucker only has cheap stuff.”

“That’ll do,” Riki snatches the bottle from him when he comes back, one hand snaking around your waist and pulling you closer.

Once seated on the couch, you all get comfortable, Sunghoon props his socked feet on the coffee table ontop of Hee’s electricity bills and yawns as he stretches. Jake finds the fluffy armchair in the middle of the living room while you sit between Jungwon and Riki and uncap the vodka bottle, pouring it in little plastic cups they’ve found in the kitchen. You hand them to the four boys, not in the mood to drink yourself. Riki drops a kiss yo your cheek as a thank you, obviously mocking Heeseung earlier.

“It’s a fail for everyone except those bastards Haejin and Sunoo,” Sunghoon sighs into his cup, emptying it in seconds.

His arms flex as he puts it on the coffee table and you find yourself looking at his biceps, or him in general. The way his body is sculpted, the shape of his broad shoulders, everything looks good—it’s something he has in common with the three other boys, they’re all equally handsome everywhere.

“Speak for yourself,” Riki mutters, eyes bored on the side of your face, one hand on your thigh. When you turn to look at him he smirks, emptying his cup in one gulp.

“Yeah just go ahead and fuck right then and there you bastards,” Sunghoon groans, frustrated.

“You’re jealous as fuck Hoon,” the boy holding your thigh teases, shooting him a playful look. “Should‘ve gone with the sextape girl.”

“I’d rather choke, I’lll just live vicariously through you man, it’s okay.” he cringes at the thought, dusting off his perfectly clean t shirt.

There’s a silence before you decide to be extremely unhinged. You turn to look at Sunghoon through your lashes and you joke, “Don’t you want the real thing?”

There’s a long moment. You think you’ve said something dumb when you see Sunghoon’s mouth open and close, but when he presses his palms to his face and groans you melt in your seat. “Don’t say that y/n.” he breathes out, a little desperate in all honesty.

“What’s wrong with what she said?” Riki teases, a smug smile on his face as he squeezes your thigh.

Jake looks at you from the armchair, shifting in his seat, he looks like he’s heard the craziest thing ever, his boba eyes widening by the second. Jungwon’s also gazing thoughtfully at you, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking or not. Although you originally were, their reaction only fuels the inner monologue you’ve been having these days, until you’re not entirely sure you’re fooling around anymore.

“Did you even hear her man??” Sunghoon replies, man spreading on the couch like he owns it. “Y/n you can’t be saying that. It’s not even funny.”

“I wasn’t even joking though,” you shrug, looking at him innocently, although the smirk on your mouth tells a whole different story.

Riki cups your chin and tilts your head towards him, eyes already zeroing in on your lips. His tongue darts out to wet his own, plump lips parting and lower one going between his teeth.

“Don’t even bother, I think he doesn’t want to,” he teases, giving Sunghoon a taunting look before focusing back on you. “I’ll take care of you baby, how’s that sound?”

You swear you hear Jake’s hitch from his spot but before you can turn your head to verify, Riki wraps a hand around your neck and pulls you closer until his lips are merely inches away from yours. The bastard looks you right in the eye and gives you that haunting playful smirk before he dives in. His lips melt into yours and without giving it much thought he parts them, tongue slipping in your mouth in a filthy kiss. Riki’s fingers tighten around your neck, making it a point to make you moan for him, so his friends can only marvel at the sight. You gasp into the kiss, tongue dancing with his, all the while his other hand snakes down to your hips and tugs you closer, almost on his lap.

You couldn’t even hear the rest of the world if you wanted, your ears ringing with how bad you want this. It feels exhilarating to know you’re being watched, three pairs of eyes burning into your skin from all sides of the room. It only seems to pump Riki meaner, his hand squeezing your throat until you’re dizzy and moaning into the kiss, it’s the perfect amount of pressure, not too much just enough to render you a mess.

“Sound so fucking pretty,” Riki rasps as he lets go of your lips and finds a spot on your neck to suck on.

Your eyes open and you find all three men staring right at you, as expected. Jake’s frozen, his mouth slightly ajar and his hands gripping the leather of the armchair. Sunghoon doesn’t have his hands on his face anymore, he’s got them gripping his thighs, jaw clenched. And Jungwon looks wrecked, the paper cup crumpled in his hand as he fights the urge to reach and join.

When Riki sucks a dark spot in your neck, your lips part and the moan you let out makes all three boys tense in their seats. “That’s right baby, let them hear.” you feel Riki’s smirk against your skin.

“You’re not playing fair man,” Jungwon groans, captivated by the sound of your pleasure.

Riki let’s go of your skin with a wet pop, “What do you think baby, am I being fair?”

You smile dizzily, “I did tell Sunghoon he could have the real thing and he didn’t even answer, so I guess you’re being fair.”

The latter instantly protests, “I thought you were joking y/n, I didn’t think you—”

You cut him by getting up on wobbly feet and making it in front of him, before he even knows what’s happening you’re climbing on his lap. “This okay?” you whisper in his ear as you fully settle, legs bracketing his.

When his arms instantly wrap around you, the answer is made clear. Sunghoon nods, looking at you like a divinity, “Could’ve already been doing this a long time ago.” he states, pulling closer until youre snug right against his core.

“You should’ve said something then,” you smile against his jaw then nip at his earlobe until he shivers. You feel the other men’s eyes on your body as you start moving in Sunghoon’s lap, grinding down on the front of his pants. “Should’ve kissed me right on the break room couch that other day.”

Sunghoon lets out a breathy laugh, gripping your hips as he fights for his composure, he’s about to say something but Jungwon beats him to it, “You had a chance and fucked it up, how stupid can you be.”

With his foot, Sunghoon kicks the other man’s leg, trying to focus solely on your beautiful face, “As far as I know you didn’t make a move either.”

“He’s right, you should have too,” you lean towards Jungwon, still on his friend’s lap, and you catch his expecting lips in a kiss.

He tastes like vodka when his tongue slips into your mouth. He’s a messy kisser, all tongue and teeth, biting your lip occasionally. You feel Sunghoon’s cock throb in his pants and moan into Jungwon’s mouth at the feeling.

“Jake man, come closer. Come watch her.” Riki tells him, beckoning with a curled finger.

You hear him get up before he takes the spot you vacated earlier, eyes a physical weight on your body. Sunghoon bucks his hips to remind you of whose lap you’re on, his hands come down to your ass, wanting you so much closer than humanly possible and your reply by rocking your hips on him, indulging in the friction. It feels so good, Jungwon’s tongue caressing yours, Sunghoon’s thick cock practically begging to be taken out and the other boys looking like they don’t wanna miss a single second of it.

When you break the kiss, your lips are connected to his by a string of saliva that breaks when you look at Jake, beckoning him closer. He stands up ever so obediently and walks over to you. From where you sit you have to look up at him, the sight only making the problem in his pants harder, you trace a path up his thighs and cups him through his pants. “Gimme kiss,” you practically purr.

Jake nearly folds like trash origami, his hips buck to meet your hand and when you finally kiss him he melts. You go slower with him, tongue grazing his in a tantalizing way, you give his clothed cock a squeeze and he whimpers in your mouth, needy as ever. When you break the kiss he chases your lips, cheeks a deep red and lips shiny.

“Sit down and watch.” you order, not even doubting he’ll do as he’s told.

When Jake sinks down to the floor, you look at the man whose lap you’re sitting on and grin, wiggling on his aching dick. Sunghoon’s eyes follow your wandering hands as you cup him through his pants and tug at the zipper, when asked he lifts up his hips and lets you take his cock out. His is incredibly thick, smaller than Riki’s but impossibly thick you’re sure your fingers wouldn’t fully touch if wrapped around it. To test that theory you put you grab him and it’s with no surprise that you note your fingers don’t touch around the base.

“Can’t even wrap my hand around it Hoonie,” you say in a small voice, giving him a light stroke that makes his hips jolt. You take his own hand in yours and bring it to his leaking cock. “Show me how you do it.”

To your side, Riki and Jungwon are breathing harder, the latter palming the bulge in his jeans, both their eyes stuck on you like you’re some sort of succubus. But when Sunghoon’s hand wraps around his cock, it’s Jake who nearly whimpers. You look over to him and cup his chin, pulling him closer so he can get a better view. “You wanna see so bad baby?”

Jake nods vehemently and swallows hardly, “You look so pretty like that,”

You lean back and drop a kiss to his lips, licking them while you get back to Sunghoon. He’s steadily pumping himself now, fingers on his balls while he thrusts in the crease between his thumb and pointer finger. “Fuck,” he groans, “put your hand on me.”

You cover his own hand with yours, tightening his grip on his cock and move it up and down, guiding the friction. You collect the precum with your palm and use it as lubricant for your strokes. Sunghoon focuses on the base while you pump the tip, your hands slick and meeting each time you glide. It’s filthy—even more so when you spit on his tip and his cock twitches, his head throwing back in utter agony. You use your saliva and tighten your grip, thumb rubbing his head while the other works with his own. Riki’s unbuckled his jeans by now, palming himself while patiently waiting for his turn.

“F-fuck,” Sunghoon pants, a slave to his pleasure now. “Jungwon come here, use her mouth”

His friend gets up as quickly as possible and travels to the side of the couch where he stands, gaze bored on your hand working. “Cmere baby, open up,” he encourages as his thumb settles on your lower lip, pushing past it.

You lick around his thumb, suckling as your hand goes faster on Sunghoon’s cock. Jungwon hums in admiration as his other hand quickly undoes his jeans and lets them drop to his knees. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth now, okay?” he taunts, boxers tugged down as well.

Jungwon’s cock is long, a thin patch of hair leading from his lower stomach to it, and it stands proudly, leaking so much that’s it’s made a stain on his boxers. When you nod, he doesn’t seem to think it’s enough and shakes his head disapprovingly.

“What did I teach you baby?” Riki intervenes, delivering a light slap to your ass. “You gotta use your words.”

You nod again, a soft ‘yes’ coming out of your parted lips. Sunghoon practically thrusts into his and your hand, making a mess of precum on his stomach. But before you can even wipe it off, Jungwon presses his cock against your lips, rubbing his own precum all over them until they look plump and like you’ve put gloss on. The moment he pushes his dick past your lips, you swear you feel Sunghoon’s heartbeat in his cock. Airs gone rancid by now, all three of them watching Jungwon’s length fit perfectly inside your mouth, his breathing hacking out wet.

“Mmh, fuck… look at you baby, look at those pretty lips,” he groans, cupping your face almost tenderly if it wasn’t for the other hand tangling in your hair and pulling slightly.

Your eyes roll back behind your closed lids and you suck him in, hollowing out your cheeks before letting him go with a pop and resuming with messy licks. You practically makeout with his tip, suckling on it, licking each and every side until his thighs tense, you don’t stop until the room fills with filthy sounds. Your fingers keep working Sunghoon’s dick all the while, tangling with his own in a wet mess under Riki’s approving gaze.

“Look at you…” he hums, sneaking behind you to drop a kiss on your bare shoulder. His tongue traces a path up to your neck and sucks a dark spot, causing you to moan around Jungwon’s tip. “You’re so good at this, look at Sunghoon baby, he’s gone already.”

Your eyes find him below you, his head is thrown back, eyes wild and wanton, hand working through his own pleasure like he’s drunk on it. Jungwon’s hips shift until he’s practically fully sheathed in your mouth, regaining your attention. He tugs at your hair—noticing how eager you get when he does it—and one of his hands goes to your ass so he can lift up the hem of your dress. He smirks at Jake who—if he’s being honest—feels terribly lonely on the floor, and delivers a sharp smack to your bare ass.

Jake watches the flesh move with the echo of Jungwon’s slap and fights to not burry his face in between your sweet thighs. You swallow around the man’s cock, a ring of saliva forming and dripping down your chin, making a proper mess of your collarbone in the process, Riki resumes his his taunting kisses on your neck and one hand comes to squeeze that ass he loves so much.

He hooks a finger in your thong, tugs at it only to watch it snap back in place, “Such a pretty ass, you’re just pretty all over aren’t you?”

Riki’s mouth travels up to your jaw and cheek, and when he gets close enough, he licks around your mouth to clean the mess of saliva you’ve made. Jungwon actually freezes for a second, seeing how close he is to his dick, but the low groan he emits says a lot about how he feels.

“Messy girl,” the youngest teases, licking his own lips while stroking your ass cheek. You’re so lost in pleasure you start rocking your hips against Sunghoon’s thighs, which he notices by the way his breathing gets shallower and his mouth hangs open.

Your mouth leaves Won with a pop and you look back at Jake, miserably sitting on the floor, gazing up at you like admiring a painting. “You can touch me baby, go ahead.” you tell him, lips curling into a cheeky smile.

It doesn’t take more than a millisecond for his hands to be on your ass along with Riki’s. Jake kisses his way up your spine, sending shivers all over you body, he traces every ridge of every bone and makes it a point to let you know you are beautiful and wanted. Your head lolls, fingers loosing cadence on Sunghoon’s cock—but fear not, he wraps his own around yours and guides them up and down the slick length with a low groan.

“Can I taste you, please?” Jake looks up at you with those boba eyes and those thick lashes, “Let me make you feel good.”

You suddenly get up off of Sunghoon’s lap, leaving him breathless, cock twitching and eyebrows furrowed, Jungwon’s stroking himself lazily, watching your every move. When you sink down on the floor and push Jake to a lying position, Riki hums approvingly.

You straddle his lap, your lips find his chest and place sparse tender kisses all the way to his pale neck, you only give him a taste of your mouth before shifting. The man waits with wide eyes that get even wider the second your thighs bracket his face, but when you’re done hovering and sit down, Jake whimpers. You settle your your full weight down onto his mouth, his nose is buried against your clit, his lips sealed around you, and every time he exhales you feel the warm rush of his breath against your soaked cunt.

You’re dripping onto his tongue, you feel it all over, your thong when Jake pulls it aside and it hits your skin. You look up at the others, quite proud of the hold you seem to have on them, and you beckon Riki to come closer. He doesn’t even wait, he knows exactly what’s his to take and so in a swift movement, his pants are discarded on the floor along with his calvin kleins.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes out, one hand twisting your hair in a loose ponytail. His cock throbs at the sight of you on your knees and just as he’s about to press it to your lips, you lift a finger.

It’s a shameless move, and you’re not sure how you’re going to manage but you call Sunghoon over. He rises from the sofa like he’s been waiting for the invitation, cock still flushed and shiny from your earlier attention, the head glistening as he steps closer. Riki’s grip in your hair tightens just enough to tilt your face up, and the second Sunghoon is within reach you open your mouth for him.

He slides in slow, letting you feel every thick inch while Jake’s tongue works greedily beneath you. It’s so tantalizingly good that every part of you is set aflame, the heavy length of Sunghoon stretching your lips while Jake’s mouth seals tighter around your cunt, nose pressed firm against your clit. You moan around the cock in your mouth and the vibration makes Sunghoon’s hips stutter.

“Fuck,” he breathes, one hand coming to rest at the back of your head. “Look at you go…”

Riki watches with pleased eyes, still stroking himself slowly beside you. Jungwon has moved closer too, standing just off to the side, fist wrapped loosely around his cock as he drinks in the sight of you—mouth full, ass still marked faintly from earlier. You love it, you’ve never felt so full—albeit technically totally empty.

Jake’s hands come up to grip your hips, pulling you down harder onto his tongue and he licks into you like he’s starving for it in messy strokes that make your thighs tremble. Every time you rock forward to take Sunghoon deeper, you grind down onto Jake’s face, smearing yourself across his mouth and chin. He loves it though, you can see his hips buck in the air, waiting for some kind of friction.

You pull off Sunghoon’s cock just long enough to catch your breath, a string of saliva still connecting your bottom lip to the head. “Don’t just stand there,” you tell Jungwon, voice rough. “Come here.”

Needless to say he steps in immediately. You wrap your free hand around him, stroking in time with the way you sink your mouth back down onto Sunghoon and Riki’s fingers stay twisted in your hair, guiding the rhythm.

The latter leans in close to your ear, “You’re soaking him, baby. Poor Jake can barely breathe and he’s still trying to get his tongue deeper.” He nips at your earlobe. “You gonna come on his face while you’ve got Sunghoon’s cock down your throat?”

The words send a violent pulse straight between your legs. Jake moans against you like he heard them too, the sound vibrating through your cunt, and your thighs tighten around his head. Sunghoon’s breath is getting ragged above you, every time you hollow your cheeks he curses under his breath like he’s about to combust.

Jungwon’s hand covers yours on his cock, showing you the exact pace he wants, the exact twits of your hand he prefers, while his other hand reaches down to squeeze your breast through the half-open dress. You’re surrounded—mouths and hands on every side—and the only thing you can do is take it.

You roll your hips harder against Jake’s face, chasing the building pressure, and he answers by sucking your clit between his lips and flicking his tongue against it in quick strokes.

The pleasure coils tight and low in your stomach, and you’re not even sure when was the last time you’ve felt so good. You’re so close it almost hurts —thighs shaking, breath coming in sorts of short gasps around the cock in your mouth.

As for Sunghoon, he’s been hard for so long already, twitching against your tongue every time you hollow your cheeks, and you can taste how close he is. His hand tightens at the back of your head, hips starting to push forward in these little aborted thrusts like he can’t help it anymore.

Riki’s still got your hair in his fist, watching everything with that smug smirk. “Look at Sunghoon,” he murmurs against your ear, “he’s been leaking since you first touched him. Poor thing’s about to lose it.”

You moan around the cock in your mouth and the vibration makes Sunghoon’s whole body jolt. You can tell he wants to say something to Riki, prideful as always, but he’s cut short by the force of his pleasure. Jake’s hands squeeze your thighs harder, pulling you down so his nose is crushed against you, tongue fucking into your cunt like he’s trying to get every drop. The pressure on your clit is perfect and so constant that you feel the coil in your stomach snap.

Your thighs shake hard around his head as you come, grinding down onto his mouth with broken little whimpers that vibrate around Sunghoon. They all watch you with hooded eyes, mesmerized while you’re dripping onto Jake’s tongue, pulsing against his lips, and he just keeps licking through it like he doesn’t need air. The pleasure rolls through you in heavy waves, making your fingers tighten around Jungwon and your throat flutter around Sunghoon.

That’s what pushes the latter over.

“Oh fuck, y/n…” he groans, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, “I’m gonna—”

He curses under his breath, hips stuttering, and then the next you know he’s cumming hard down your throat with hot pulses that you have to swallow around because he’s buried so deep. His hand fists in your hair, holding you there while he empties into your mouth, dick throbbing heavily against your tongue. You can feel how much he’s been holding back, the way every spurt seems to drag another wrecked sound out of him.

Jake, him, is still lapping at you through the aftershocks, messy and eager as usual, while Riki strokes himself faster at the sight of Sunghoon’s hips jerking and your throat working. Jungwon’s breathing is ragged beside you, watching his friend’s face like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

When you finally pull off Sunghoon’s cock a string of saliva and cum connects your bottom lip to the head, and he looks completely gone—eyes an endless pit of darkness, mouth hanging open.

Riki laughs quietly, thumb brushing the corner of your messy mouth. “Good girl,”

But nobody had time to say anything or resume any movement because it suddenly comes to your attention that someone is standing at the door.

“Why does everyone always leave me out of things?” says a tired voice.

Heeseung has his fists clenched like a little kid getting out of bed to warn his parents he threw up, he glares at the boys but his eyes soften once he sees you still sitting on his friends face like it’s the most normal thing.

“You were drunk, man.” Riki clarifies, his cock lying untouched on his stomach.

“Couldn’t have you waited until I sobered up? Oh my god, in my own apartment bro.” the man groans, pointing to himself, “I’m sober now, i slept it off.”

“I don’t think it works like that man,” Jake says, muffled from under your cunt. You quickly get off him, wiping the cum from off your mouth. “I’m pretty sure it takes like 8 hours to sober up.”

Heeseung pulls out his phone while everyone sits back down, you put your dress back on your ass and sit on the floor, stroking Jake’s thigh. “Let’s fact check then, motherfucker. Cause I feel pretty sober right now seeing you guys leave me out like that.”

He does a quick google search, eyebrows raised like he’s sure he’s gonna make a point, and once he has the answer he says, “Hah. See?” he holds out his phone presenting a random page about alcohol and consent. “Nobody even asked me if I consented to it, you guys just did your thing without me. How sad is that.”

You snort, amused, and grab his phone to scroll down the article, your eyes quickly scanning the words. “I mean, he doesn’t seem confused, he’s not slurring, or behaving unusually.” you turn to him, “Do you want to join?”

Heeseung nods avidly, hair bouncing with the force of his agreement. But you cock your head, “Are you sure?” you ask him, “Spell my name backwards then count to 20.”

Jungwon chuckles, sitting next to Riki, and he watches with amusement as the former drunk spells your name backwards perfectly and counts to twenty.

Heeseung still looks a little wounded even after doing it without a single stumble, so you decide right then you’re going to make it up to him. You signal him with a tilt of your chin toward the couch and he sits without question, thighs spreading just enough for you to drop to your knees between them.

You lean in slow, nuzzling the soft skin of his inner thigh first, then higher, mouthing over the thick outline trapped in his pants. When you finally free him, the head is already shiny and leaking, it makes you wonder how long he’s truly wanted this. You take your time, tongue flattening against the underside in lazy strokes before you finally sink down, lips stretching around him.

Heeseung’s hand finds the back of your head almost immediately, fingers threading into your hair, not to push, just holding on like he needs the anchor. His breath keeps hitching every time you hollow your cheeks and drag up slow, the way he looks at his friends says a lot about how good this feels for him.

Jake drops onto the couch right next to him, close enough that their shoulders brush and their knees knock. But you’re so focused on the wet slide of your mouth that you almost miss the moment their faces tilt toward each other. It starts as a brush of lips, hesitant and questioning, then deeper, tongues meeting. You don’t even notice how it starts, but the next thing you know, they’re fully going at it, tongue and all.

The second they realie what they’re doing, though, they jerk apart like they’ve been burned, eyes wide, both of them flushing hard.

Jungwon’s already there, one hand on the back of each of their necks, shoving their heads together again with zero hesitation.

“Who the fuck cares if you’re boys,” he says, voice low and amused, “just kiss each other.”

You moan around Heeseung’s cock at the sight, the vibration making him twitch hard against your tongue. Jake’s cock is still untouched in his pants, a heavy line straining the fabric, but Heeseung’s hand is already there, palm rubbing over it through the material while they kiss again, messier this time, like the words unlocked something.

Heeseung doesn’t last. You feel the warning pulse, the way his thighs tense under your palms, and then he’s spilling across your tongue with a broken sound, hips stuttering. You suspect the sensations were only heightened by the feeling of Jake’s tongue and that makes your thighs squeeze together. He cradles your cheek after, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where a little cum has escaped, eyes soft and a little dazed as he watches you swallow.

Nishimura Riki’s been quiet long enough.

“My turn,” he announces, sitting on the floor and offering you a hand. He makes a whole show of it—turning you so everyone can see, peeling the dress up your body inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something expensive, then hooking his fingers in the thin strings of your thong and dragging it down your legs so slowly it almost hurts.

When you’re bare he pulls you into his lap, ass up and facing the others so you’re presented to the room.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, hands spreading you open for them. “So fucking pretty like this.” He spits, the warmth landing right on your cunt, then uses two fingers to smear it around, circling your clit before pushing inside slow. “Already dripping for us again. Taking it so well.”

The others are stroking themselves while they watch—Sunghoon and Jungwon on either side, Jake and Heeseung still half-tangled. It’s no surprise when you notice Heeseung’s hand now fully inside Jake’s open fly, working him slow and unashamed. Riki keeps fingering you, dirty little praises spilling out under his breath, spreading your cheeks until you have to brace on the floor, face down.

A couple minutes after he’s lifting you like a ragdoll, both hands under your arms as he makes you straddle him, he finally lines up but only then does it occur to him how irresponsible this is.

“Condom?” he asks Heeseung, snapping his fingers at him.

The bastard doesn’t even hear, too engrossed in Jake’s kisses, his hand wrapped around his cock tugging lazily. Riki throws a discarded pillow at him, and his head snaps up.

“Condom man.” he repeats.

Quickly, Heeseung finds a stash of condoms in his cabinets and throws one at his friend who diligently tears it open and puts it on. You line yourself with his length and wrapping your arms around his neck you rub your sopping cunt against his tip. “Tssk, stop moving baby, you know how I get when you tease.” Riki warns with a click of his tongue.

When he sinks in in one long thrust, Riki doesnt even give you time to adjust, he grips your hips and guides you into a steady ride.

“Fuck… that’s it, mama. You gonna ride me like you did last time in the phone booth?” he rasps.

Sunghoon’s head snaps up, “You fucked in the pods???”

Riki only chuckles smugly and bucks up hard enough to punch a moan out of you, “and she liked it, didn’t you baby?” he squeezes your cheeks together and plants a kiss on your mouth.

“Mmh, yes.” you whimper mindlessly, just enjoying yourself, eyes closed with abandon.

You feel Sunghoon and Jungwon move closer, so you do what a professional multitasker does, you take one in each hand, stroking them in time with the roll of your hips, then lean to the side to suck Sunghoon deep before switching to Jungwon, alternating until your jaw aches in the best way. Riki just keeps thrusting up, filling you perfectly, hands roaming your waist, your tits, your throat until there’s no part of you left untouched.

Jake and Heeseung are practically seconds away from fucking—the latter has Jake’s cock fully out now, stroking him while they kiss like they’re starving, both of them flushed and clearly a lily embarrassed about how far they’ve gone. You catch Jake’s eye over your shoulder and smile, voice rough from the cock previously in your mouth.

“There’s no judgment here. Go ahead. I know you want it, Jakey.”

It acts as some sort of approval for him because the next second he’s out eating Heeseung’s mouth again. You start riding Riki faster, hips snapping down harder, chasing the thick stretch of him.

But all the while, your eyes stay locked on Heeseung and Jake—watching the way their hands wrap around each other’s cocks, stroking in desperate rhythm while they keep kissing like they can’t stop. Every time their mouths meet you clench around Riki without meaning to.

He notices, ever so attentive.

Riki’s hands come up and grab your cheeks, squeezing them together so your lips pout, forcing you to look at him while he thrusts up to meet every drop of your hips.

“Look at you,” he groans, voice rough. “I can feel your cunt clench around me when they kiss. Dirty girl… does that turn you on?”

You nod desperately, a broken little sound escaping as he keeps fucking up into you. “I knew it. My dirty girl likes to watch, huh?” Riki rasps, fucking you stupid.

Jungwon’s already kneeling next to you, close enough that his breath hits your skin. He leans in and mouths at your neck, sucking soft marks while his hand works his own length in tight strokes—desperate for the release he’s been holding onto all night. His free hand finds your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple before he ducks lower and takes it into his mouth, sucking hard. His moans vibrate around your peaks, and your little sounds of pleasure only seem to pump him meaner, to the point where his teeth graze them now.

Riki’s thrusts turn sharper, angling just right, and the pressure builds too fast. You can’t even think, saliva gulped down in a mewl as he fills you over and over again. You moan his name over and over, gripping his arms, “Please, fuck.. Im so close, please.”

Your begging only entice him more, his hips n snap up until he’s grazing your cervix. Air’s gone thick with the stink of want, everyone caught up in some sort of trance.

Out of the blue, you find yourself coming for the second time that night with a shaky cry, walls fluttering and squeezing around him. The way you sound is enough to tip Jungwon over the edge as he spills hot across your thigh with a muffled groan against your tit, still sucking like he can’t let go.

You feel Riki empty inside the condom, gripping your ass and muttering your name again and again, mouth hanging open. He’s undoubtedly having one of the best orgasms he’s ever had, if he’s not counting the delicious one in the phone booth, that is.

Across the couch Heeseung and Jake follow almost at the same time, making each other come in a mess of wet kisses and shaky hands, both of them panting into each other’s mouths as they paint each other’s stomachs and fists.

Your legs give out, unable to catch up. You slump forward onto Riki’s chest, still so full of him, forehead mashed to his collarbone while he wraps both arms around you and holds you there. It’s almost tender if it wasn’t for the stench of sex and the loud panting of men.

“You did so good,” Riki murmurs into your hair, one hand stroking slow up and down your spine. “So fucking good for us.”

Everyone’s quiet for a minute, just catching their breath and their minds as well. Then there are gentle hands everywhere.

Jungwon wipes the mess off your thigh with careful fingers before pressing soft kisses along the same path. Sunghoon brings a warm cloth and cleans between your legs while Riki is still inside you, murmuring quiet praise the whole time. Heeseung and Jake lean in from either side, kissing your shoulders, your neck, the corners of your mouth, whispering how pretty you looked, how perfect you felt.

They take turns kissing your body like they’re worshipping every inch. It’s safe to say your body is sore, but your body could use more. That’s why even after witnessed them cleaning you up, you lift yourself off of Riki’s lap and walk over to Sunghoon.

“More,” you simply say against his chest.

And heck if he indulges.

rüe’s a/n : okay i’m sorry if it’s messy, took me a while to finish this one so the endings a bit rushed. reblogs and feedback is appreciated! 💗if the plots all over the place it’s cause it’s a smut originally so i didn’t really think about the plot that much. taglist: @waeclr @whymsikl

That includes knowing who to follow on Instagram, who not to approach in the hallway, who to invite in group projects, and who to sit with in lunch. He goes by what makes sense and knows who the hell doesn’t belong in his circle, who rightfully has his phone number, and who can comment on his Instagram posts. 

Except when it comes to substances. He’s not a drug addict but he does enjoy good weed. 

He did listen during chemistry lectures, which basically means he knows a thing or two about pharmaceutics — at least the important parts like which produce larger surges of dopamine and intense euphoria. So while they get drug orientations every start of the school year and the addition of the entrepreneurial mindset of a businessman his father has passed down to him; Riki’s a fucking a jackpot. He simply believed every structure had blind spots, and if someone was smart enough to notice them, then maybe they deserved to profit a little. 

Maybe that made him a hypocrite. He knew that. Sometimes, in the middle of his own judgment, the thought would occur to him that he was not exactly living inside the moral boundaries he pretended to respect.

So with all of these in mind — weed-seller and social scale follower — imagine his surprise seeing a text from you.

You, an A-tier cheer captain with perfect grades and perfect friends and a perfect boyfriend and someone he doubts even has ever touched weed within a 10 feet radius because of how goody-two-shoes and slightly more socially-conformed you are, texted him: 

you: hi you sell right

The kind of surprise a priest might feel if the Virgin Mary asked to borrow a dildo.

Riki stared at his phone for a full thirty seconds. Not because he was shocked by the question itself — he’d gotten worse, far more incriminating messages from people with nothing to lose – but because of who it was from. Your name sat there, attached to a profile picture he never thought would sit on his chat log. Someone who followed the rules so well she barely seemed to touch the ground and practically flew up the school field with the school banner.

This was not how the structure worked. Nope.

He knew you didn’t look at people like him unless it was to borrow a pen or unwillingly get assigned to a lab partner. You definitely weren’t supposed to be asking him this. 

Riki leaned back in his chair and rethought the logistics. He wasn’t paranoid – paranoia implied irrationality. This was risk assessment, you’re high visibility, you’re a liability, you’re a cop in disguise, you’re a prig who’ll ruin his cloak and dagger, you’re holier-than-thou. You’re interesting.

riki: ???? is this a test loll

you: ? its a question

riki: u fr????

you: js tell me if its a no i have money

riki: 3pm behind the science building

you: ok thanks

But more than whatever you are, he knows this was stupid. This was the kind of deviation that got people caught and into the most flouting position he’ll ever be, therefore ruining his very wish to stay within a lawful system. It was, unequivocally, a very bad idea.

And yet he finds himself at the back of the building while he reevaluates the measures of bad-ness in the idea. If math really has been on his side along with his really athletic stature, he can run when you pull out as witness to his little dissenter mood. It halts when he sees you rounding the corner in your cheer uniform — ponytail perfect, knee tape slightly crooked, eyes darting like you weren’t sure you belonged back here — he realizes something his knees will give out before he can even try to walk away.

You stop a few feet away from him, awkward, out of place, glowing like a wrong answer circled in red. You stare at him with your arms crossed, hyperaware when his eyes follow the silhouette of your frame like he’s finding a covert surveillance device underneath your pleated skirt.

Riki talks calmly, like this wasn’t insane at all, like he hasn’t been in his head for the past hours: “So,” he starts, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie. “What do you need?”

The question should’ve been easy. You’d rehearsed it in your head on the walk here, timed it with your steps, told yourself not to sound like an idiot. But standing this near — near enough to notice the faint, clean smell of cologne and something green and earthy — you blank.

You shift your weight, arms tightening across your chest. “Um. Weed.”

Riki blinks once, and immediately he knows what this is. He studies you the way he did with lab results that didn’t line up with the predictions — or maybe it did exactly, and he can’t believe it was that easy.

“…Okay,” he said. “What kind?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes.

“What kind.” he repeats.

You felt heat crawl up your neck. “Just… normal?” you say, immediately hating yourself. “Like. The kind people use?”

A corner of his mouth twitches before he can stop it. Then he licks the inside of his cheek, shaking his head when he realizes that yeah, his guess is right. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” he says. 

You bristle. “So?”

“You don’t even know dosage. Or strain. Or why you want it.” His eyes flick up to yours. “Do you?”

Your confidence wobbles, the polished composure you wore so easily in hallways cracking just a little now. He pulls out a small, neatly labeled bag and holds it between his fingers instead of handing it to you. “This is low THC,” he explains. “Won’t make you freak out. But I need to know what you specifically need so you don’t… panic.”

This was supposed to be transactional, quick, something you could tuck away and forget about. Yet every risky glance you take, he doesn’t look like someone who’d hold anything against you.

Riki sighs, about to put the bag away. “Look, let’s just forget —“

“I just,” you start, then sigh because there’s no cool way to say it. “I don’t know. I had a bad week. I wanted to try something.”

When you finally look up, he’s watching you differently. Not like you’re stupid or embarrassing, though you feel plenty of that on your own. His brows have lifted slightly, the faint amusement in his mouth fading into something quieter as he takes you in properly: your tight grip on your own arms, the way your eyes keep darting away.

And it makes it worse.

You meet his eyes for half a second before looking away with a small huff, embarrassed by the sudden attention. 

He puckers his lips slightly, staring at the thing in his hand like he’s thinking. At first, you think he might be deciding if you’re worth the trouble, but then he nods once. “Okay,” he says. “So you’re not becoming a stoner. You’re just trying a new cuisine.”

You blink at him, then laugh under your breath before you can stop yourself.

His mouth twitches, but hides it. He steps closer, just enough that you can see the smoothness of his skin, like he owns expensive skincare. He’s very tall, in a way that surprises you maybe because you’d just never stood this close before.

Really, you never spent time looking at Riki Nishimura. You’ve known the name, because who can ever look past the opulent sound of it, but to know the man behind it didn’t matter. After texting him, you don’t know what you expected either, maybe someone grubbier and smelled like smoke, someone with dry lips from all the ash. You thought he’d smell like one of those hippie guys who sold sketchy shit while wearing the same beanie for three years. 

But no, he smells like a familiar perfume your father owns in his fragrance wardrobe.

And his clothes are annoyingly nice, like the hoodie is probably more expensive than it looks and the loose pants are intentional, not lazy. 

Also, he’s 6’1.

“This,” he taps the bag lightly, “will help you relax. Body high, mostly. You’ll still be functional. But since it’s your first time, better not fuck around too much.” 

He’s still standing in front of you, close enough for you to notice the way his lashes lower when he looks at the bag in his hand, and you feel deeply, horribly stupid for only realizing now that he looks like that. 

Your gaze lingers, and he catches it. Riki clears his throat, spine straightening a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say too fast.

He only hums. You tighten your arms across your chest. “Just give me the thing.”

He finally hands you the bag, and you eye it once you feel its weight in your palm; leafy and green and brown and not you — but it doesn’t look so bad right now. It looks enticing, even, which you won’t try to admit out loud.

“Twenty,” he says, not planning to converse himself with the sudden discount. 

You dig into your bag, finding for the vintage pink wallet that screams the contrast of cannabis in your palm right now. “You know,” you say, hesitant but honest, “I don’t know. It’s weird how we’ve never talked before.”

That gets him. He chuckles even if there’s nothing funny about what you said, but there is something humorous about the fact he remembers shit you obviously forgot. He’s quick to question the lack of indifference, because he remembers it well that this is definitely not the first time you two talked.

“We were partners in freshman year,” Riki says.

He watches your face blank in real time, and something about it makes his mouth lift again, but not kindly enough to be mean. More like he expected it and still finds it a little funny that you are proving him right.

“English lit,” he adds. “The mythology presentation.”

For a second, he looks at you like someone who’s always known you, and you look at him like you’re seeing him for the first time. He sees it flash in your eyes, that maybe you remember him more than just some guy who sells weed to irresponsible decision-makers.

“Oh,” you say.

Riki nods once, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Oh.”

Until your phone buzzes to drag you back from this little bubble you’re in – your boyfriend’s name lights up the screen and Riki notices it too.

“Oh,” you say again, clearly out of your own head. “I — sorry.”

Something shifts, like the structure rebuilds and reasserts itself back into proper footing. You pull the bills from your wallet and press them into his hand. “Thanks,” you say. “For, um. The stuff.”

He closes his fist around the money, nods once. “Yeah.”

You hesitate like you might say something else, so you just tuck the bag away and step back. “I’ll go,” you say.

You turn the corner first. Riki exhales only when you’re out of sight, and chews on his bottom lip before hitting the side of his fist against the wall without real effort. He turns the other corner, parting from the rendezvous kept between eng lit and discounts.

The thing is, Riki knows you before whatever you are now. Miss Perfect who buys weed from Mister Lowkey Weed Seller — it’s a whole tangle in his brain in which he can’t exactly comprehend, but while he smokes a joint and music blasts through the speakers from the house party he’s dragged into, your picture’s pinned with red strings. 

He’s known you since third grade. You’ve been part of the cheer team before puberty, and since then you’ve accumulated likable girls your age into your circle, then the guys from the football team after. It becomes a whole coupling session when the age came right, which Riki is convinced is just some orgy labeled friendship goals in curated Instagram. He thought you were mean mostly because that’s what someone like you would be — but he does know a thing or two about you, other than the assumption of character. You’ve been in the same group projects against your will, sometimes you’d stand next to each other by the queue lines in the cafeteria, sometimes you’d bump against him in the hallway when you’re chasing time.

Is it weird he kept tabs? Maybe.

He always noticed, obviously, why wouldn’t he? You are not exactly unnoticeable. You’re nicer than your friends, you say sorry when you accidentally bump into someone, you say thanks to the staff, you say good morning to strangers, you’re pretty, you’re talented, you’re smart, you laugh at his jokes, you bought weed from him, you’re pretty, you’re perfect, you’re funny, you’re ridiculously pretty —

Riki takes another puff, too fast and too harsh, earning a rough cough from his throat. Heeseung chuckles, giving him an aggressive pat on the back when he leans his elbows against his knees. “Geez, first time?”

Riki shoves his arm away with a laugh, unsure where this is coming from. Because on top of every other noticeable trait you have, you have a boyfriend. So. Yeah. He knows better than to think about you.

He sinks deeper into someone else’s couch — leather, cracked at the seams — while the bass rattles the walls and bodies blur together in the dim lights. Smoke hangs thick in the air, clinging to his clothes, his hair, his thoughts. He takes another drag, slower this time, lets it sit in his lungs until the noise dulls around the edges.

Across from him, someone’s laughing too loud, then a couple is making out like it’s an Olympic sport. Heeseung steals the joint from his fingers and flicks the ash into an empty cup.

“You look fucked,” Heeseung says.

“I’m not,” Riki replies automatically.

“Mhm.”

Riki pushes himself up from the couch, suddenly restless. He just wants a drink — something cold, something that doesn’t make his head spiral because even the thought of weed pulls him back to this cheerleader. So he goes to the kitchen, instinctively saying half-assed sorry’s to strangers without meaning them. 

Until he bumps into someone.

For half a second, he genuinely wonders if the side effects are finally catching up to him, because his head feels several feet away from his eyes and the kitchen lights look more hazy than they should.

But it’s you, he knows that because your kind voice apologizes; the way you always do, the way your friends don’t. Your shoulder knocks into his chest and you’re already stepping back, eyes wide a fraction of a second when you look up. Riki freezes too, unsure what to do with his hands or his feet or where to look without threading too close to the sternum your lowcut top exposes. Up close, under dim kitchen lights instead of school hallways, you look unreal — hair loose, lips parted like you’ve been laughing. 

“Riki,” you say, breathless, like his name slipped out before your brain could catch it.

His name on your mouth does something stupid to him. 

“Hey,” he says, too softly. He’s just thankful you don’t notice the slight roughness of it.

You smile, small and polite — but there’s something else underneath it now. Recognition that shouldn’t exist, not in the structure where you’re meant to forget that you know; one where he looks up at you from beneath your echelon, now he’s standing close enough that you have to tilt your chin to look up at him.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you say.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I didn’t either.”

You glance past him, toward the other room, toward where your friends probably are — or your boyfriend. Then back at him, polite in a way he’s sure is because you’re you and not because he’s him.

“I don’t usually see you in… parties,” you say. 

He puts both hands in his pant pockets, shoulders loose, eyes on yours like the noise around you doesn’t have enough authority to interrupt.

“You don’t usually look,” he says.

It’s not said rudely, just calm, like he’s stating something obvious enough that both of you should stop pretending around it.

Your fingers tighten around your cup. “That’s not true.”

Riki tilts his head, eyes moving over your face. “Yeah?”

You hate how it sounds coming from him, low and slow and almost amused, like he knows you’re lying before you do. You scoff a quiet laugh, eyes looking away because you can’t keep looking at him. 

“I mean, I know you exist.” You look back up at him when you say it, bottom lip catching between your teeth before you can stop yourself.

His eyes drop for half a second, then he smirks and looks away, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to say something.

When he looks back, his face is calmer. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

The question is casual enough that it almost sounds harmless. You glance elsewhere instinctively, like you’re going to find him close. “Somewhere.”

“Specific.”

“He’s with his friends.”

Riki just nods, doesn’t wanna push, even though he’s pretty sure you don’t actually know where he is. Leaving is the smarter and normal thing to do. The thing a girl with a boyfriend and a reputation and a phone full of unread messages from her friends would do.

Instead, you stay there. And Riki’s got that tabbed already.

You hesitate, fingers worrying at the rim of your cup. “I, um. I haven’t — used it yet.”

Riki blinks. “The stuff?”

You nod, cheeks warming. “I just… don’t really know how.” It’s weird being this honest with someone you barely know, yet your bones don’t buzz with the prompt demand to pause. It must be the slight slosh, it’s the only real thing to excuse why you’re not pulling away.

For a second, he just looks at you. Then his mouth curves, slow and amused. “You bought weed without knowing how to use it?”

Your face warms, but you try not to look embarrassed. “Okay, well.” You lift your cup a little, like that somehow helps your argument. “You can teach me.”

Riki grimaces immediately, playful but clear. “Sounds like a bad idea.”

You blink. “Wow. Rude." You huff, looking away, but you’re smiling a little because he doesn’t sound scared of you. Or impressed by you. Or desperate to keep you there. He just sounds like he already knows better and hates that he has to be the one saying it.

He sighs, looking away for a second. “Fuck, fine.” his jaw clenches. “But not here.”

You try not to smile and fail almost immediately. You take one step back, still looking at him. “I’ll text you. Maybe later?”

Someone calls your name from the other room and you exhale, dragging back through the fracture. The music spikes and someone bumps into you again, closer this time, and Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, hovering over your waist without touching. 

Your eyes flick down, then back up to his. “Nice seeing you,” you say finally, voice softer now. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”

You step around him, brushing past just close enough that he catches your scent — which is bad, because now he’ll have to remember that too. When you disappear back into the crowd, Riki stays rooted in place for a beat too long.

He exhales, rubs a hand over his face, and laughs quietly to himself.

He really, really knows better.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Riki glances back to see you’re sitting on the couch now, legs tucked in, your boyfriend’s arm slung easily around your shoulders. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which makes you smile and ease back into him. Riki turns away to open the fridge and grabs the coldest beer he can find. He lifts it and downs it in one go, throat burning at the coldness and bitter taste.

He shouldn’t do this. He really shouldn’t.

Later, in that strange lull when the party has gotten worse and louder — you text him.

You: bathroom upstairs

The bathroom is cramped and clean but gross in concept: flickering light, foggy mirror, the smell of cheap air freshener. You’re perched on the edge of the sink when he slips inside and locks the door behind him, eyes bright, a little nervous, because being in a bathroom with you feels worse than any sketchy deal he’s made.

“Okay,” you whisper, like you’re conspiring. “So. Teach me.”

He winces, glancing around. “This is… not ideal.”

You just grin. He laughs despite himself and sets the weed down on the closed toilet lid, grimacing when he starts rolling paper against it. Once he’s done, he holds the roll up to your mouth and he tells you to lick it. You follow through, leaning down and sticking your tongue out to lick the side. He clears his throat, trying not to think about the way you looked doing that, trying not to imagine anything else.

He’s careful, not clinical or a lecture when he instructs, just calm and reassuring like he’s trying to keep you comfortable more than correct. When he hands the final roll to you, your fingers shake a little as you take it.

“Like this?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Slow.”

You cough immediately after trying, sharp and sudden, bending forward with a surprised laugh. “Oh my god — why does it — ”

“Hey,” he says, too fast, stepping closer, hand hovering at your back. “You okay?”

You wave him off, still laughing, eyes watering. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

He watches you like you might disappear if he looks away. You’re laughing, which isn’t comforting Riki even in the slightest because the last thing he needs is to not be a conformist and end up in jail for accidentally supporting your homicide.

You try again, better this time. You still cough, laugh, cough again, but way more manageable as time goes by.

“Sorry,” you say, breathless.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “You’re doing fine.”

You keep at it, stubborn in that way of yours, until the coughing eases and something in your shoulders loosens. You lean back against the wall, head tipping gently, eyes half-lidded.

“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s… actually really nice.”

Riki lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a nervous laugh slipping out. He leans back against the wall, hand through his bangs, exposing the skin of his forehead. “Jesus fucking Christ,”

You nod slowly, smiling to yourself. “My brain’s quiet.”

He watches you for a moment: relaxed, unguarded, glowing in this tiny bathroom because you don’t belong here at all, holding a joint Riki himself rolled for you. Really, you never belonged anywhere that tried to put you in a box, and he wasn’t going to make himself an exception to that opening.

He tries thinking about who you really are, beyond what most people would take you as. Though he knows not to fantasize a tale where he saves the damsel from her golden label. He takes you with memory and not assumption: cheer girl, disciplined afternoon drills, academically smart, socially competent, good. But tonight, while you lean against the cracked sink and stand diagonally across him, he sees a side he never thought he’d secretly behold.

Your eyes flick to him. “You’re a good teacher.”

He swallows. “You’re an easy student.”

Riki rolls another one for himself, hands steadier now that you’re settled, and lights it with a quiet flick. The bathroom fills with a softer haze this time, the kind that wraps instead of hits like a downer high school series. He takes a drag, exhales toward the ceiling, letting the room reek with shouldn’ts and endorphine boosters.

You smoke more confidently now, less harsh and rough when you let the smoke run down your throat. Your eyes are a little red, lashes heavier, the sharp edges of you blurred into something warmer and looser, less polished and picture perfect the way your boyfriend would like. Riki thinks — stupidly — that he’s never seen you look better.

You lean your head back against the wall again, staring at the ceiling like it’s just told you a secret. He doesn’t stare, actually. He keeps his eyes narrowed to the broken tile in front of him like he’ll discern the reason it’s cracked (maybe someone opened the door too hard, maybe someone once stood there trying to look normal while his heart acted stupid over a girl, which was especially humiliating when the whole point of being high was to feel less insane). Sometimes he’ll permit himself to glance, but even the very glimpse of your smudged lipstick makes him look away and inhale the fuck outta that weed.

Then, suddenly, with eyes still trained to the dim bathroom light — “I thought you were,” you start, then laugh, a little too loud before clapping a hand over your mouth. “Sorry. I thought you were, like… this weirdo.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Wow. Honesty hour already?”

“No — ” you groan, waving the joint like you’re conducting an orchestra. “I mean it nicely. You always stayed away from everyone. I figured you were judging us.”

“Us?” he repeats, amused, cocking a brow when he glances at you.

“You know. People like me.” You squint at him, trying to focus. You gesture at yourself ineptly, clearly out of the ordinary intellectual capacity you clench tight, not when rickety makes up for your feet.

He quickly looks away, trying not to smile. 

“Loud. Annoying.” you clarify, hand gesturing around.

He tilts his head, considering. “Was I supposed to be friends with people like you?”

You blink, like you’re thinking about what he said and calculating the rationale behind his causes. It was a hit, one that steadies a thought in your brain.

“Is that so bad?”

The question knocks the breath out of him, especially when you look up at him like that, eyes bright and wide. He blinks, and then he laughs, coming out quieter this time, looking away because he can’t keep eye contact with you. “I didn’t think you’d want that.”

“Why not?”

Because there’s a system. Because there’s levels to this shit. Because you have a boyfriend. Because you’re untouchable. Because you’re perfect and he’s whatever this was. Because people like him didn’t get pulled into your orbit unless it was transactional. Like weed exchanges and favors on the toilet. 

For now, he shrugs. “Seemed like you already had your people.” 

You hum, nodding slowly, then smile. You tap the joint, watching some ash fall to the tiles. “They’re loud.”

He smiles back despite himself. “Yeah. They are.”

The bathroom feels like it’s floating away from the music that pumps loud through the pipes, a constant reminder that there’s more than the stinky bathroom you two share as a secret. It’s risky because it’s merely wood that separates the crypticity of Mary Jane from the Average Joe you two function in individually.

You glance at the joint, then at him. “You’re not weird, by the way.”

“Oh?” he says, eyebrow lifting. He even scoffs, because he (un-admittedly) finds you adorable. 

“You’re just… quiet. You keep to yourself, but that doesn’t make you… eccentric.” You grin lopsided, cheeks warm but you ignore that. “You’re nice.”

That one gets him, more than he’d ever admit to anyone. Riki looks over, and for half a second, his gaze slips lower before he forces it back to your face. You’re already looking at him, all soft eyes and honest mouth, like you have no idea what you’re doing to him.

He looks away first, rubbing the side of his jaw like that might help. “You’re high,” he says.

“Maybe,” you confess. “But I mean it.”

He’s been called quiet and nice all his life, but that was never the full truth. He just knew who deserved access to the rest of him, and most people didn’t. It wasn’t personal. He could talk when he wanted to, laugh when something was actually funny, keep a conversation going if he cared enough. He just didn’t feel the need to prove he had thoughts by saying all of them out loud.

Riki takes a drag, exhales slowly, looking over the tiles of the bathroom while he rethinks the decision he’s about to drop. He clears his throat before speaking, “You’re not mean either.”

Your eyes widen a little, gaze recklessly steady at his side profile. “You thought I was?”

“Everyone did,” he says honestly, smiling a little.

You make a face, frowning at him even though he refuses to look at you. “That’s rude.”

He laughs, really laughs this time, head tipping back. When he looks at you again, you’re smiling up at him like you’ve discovered something new and decided to keep it. For a moment, it feels like maybe there was always a version of this where you talked in bathrooms and shared smoke and didn’t belong where people expected you to.

You take another small drag, then suddenly straighten when you decide to take him in. He’s wearing a jacket over his hoodie, simple sweats loose around his hips. Only a few strands of his dark blonde hair graze over his forehead, leading down to the sharp features you only really notice now.

You never thought Riki Nishimura was ugly. Now, you can’t help but think that he’s… kinda hot.

You’re high, you’re just gone. That’s why. It also explains why you nudge closer than you have been before, letting your skirt brush slightly against his pants, thighs grazing slightly against his.

You’re both still smoking — slow now, like the room itself has decided to breathe with you. The bathroom feels even smaller than before, shrinking with every second the music downstairs gets louder but muffled through the wooden door keeping you a secret. Your head feels light, buoyant, like you’re floating a few inches above your body. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s the half-drinks you’d taken before this. Maybe it’s neither.

He stares at the tile beneath his boot like it holds the secrets of the universe, or like it had the equations for him to understand gravity’s intentions and how it led to him feeling your softness against him.

“Is there something on the floor?” you laugh.

He just huffs, shaking his head because that’s all he can do right now. You’re still leaning back and he’s still standing just a little too close. Your knee brushes his again, accidental but not corrected.

He looks down at you then. The red in your eyes, the crooked smile, the way you’re leaning just a little toward him like gravity’s doing something new. You lean closer because you’re completely zooted and smart-Riki who knows better, leans away and only lets his chest tighten. His eyes drop traitorously down to your lips, and he’s not fast enough to look back up. You notice, of course, which makes you both look away and straighten back on your feet instead of the wall. 

Riki clears his throat, smoking the last of his before he rids of it against the sink. “You gotta go?” he asks out of the blue, which makes you frown a little. It wasn’t exactly a statement, but you know when things are implied and telling, so you shove back the nerves and remember that he’s different from you.

You’re not his type of person. He probably likes more chill people who actually know how to roll this shit — not the sheltered ones who’s clueless with THC or terms alike it.

“Yeah. I guess.” you smooth out your clothes even though nothing’s wrong with them.

He realizes what he just did, especially now that you’re not even looking back at him. He tries correcting himself, to backtrack, but the moment you glance back up, he’s silenced. You put your unfinished joint in his hand. “See you.” You say just before unlocking the door, slipping through it, and accidentally slamming it too hard.

Riki reels in from the solitude of the silence, like he’s now just realizing the ruins he broke himself. He sighs in resignation, head falling forward in defeat. “Shit.”

He stares at the thing in his hand, unfinished and yours, half-burnt and still warm.

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He can still feel the ghost of your skirt brushing his leg, the way you didn’t look back because he gave you a reason not to.

But the bathroom still smells like you — sweet perfume tangled with smoke — and the joint is there, remaining as an accusation wrapped in paper. He turns it between his fingers, thumb brushing the spot where your lipstick smudged faintly against the edge.

Riki exhales, then lifts it.

He wraps his lips around it carefully, stupidly aware of the fact that yours were there first. The thought alone makes his chest tighten, heat creeping up his neck and pelvis as he takes a slow drag.

He closes his eyes as he exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, heart thudding too loud for a room this small. For a split second, he imagines you still there — tilted smile, red-rimmed eyes, saying his name like it belongs to you, all while your boyfriend waits in the living room.

He laughs shakily under his breath. It’s so wrong.

After that, you two haven’t really talked for weeks. 

That part isn’t weird. You both have lived the majority of your lives settling with the insouciance despite recognition, and one night in a bathroom, smoke and secrets and red eyes, isn’t enough to reroute that kind of muscle memory. Riki tells himself that over and over, like it’s a theorem he’s already proven.

He hasn’t been worried. He still goes to class, still shows up on time, still hands in assignments with some effort. The only difference — although barely worth mentioning — is that he’s been dipping into his stash more often than usual. A little before bed. A little after. 

Riki exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, telling himself — again — that this doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t have anything to do with the cheer girl he kinda had a moment with in the bathroom.

It’s so fucked, even if you don’t think being his friend is bad, because you’re not meant to be a part of this. He was simply curious that Miss Cheerleader bought weed from him and kinda trusted him way too fast and that wasn’t just some everyday occurrence — that’s the only best psychological explanation why you’re here even when you’re not.

You have a boyfriend. He’s not about to be a homewrecker. Yet it’s not helping.

No talking for weeks, reaching a month even. That says enough. He has to stop.

“Probably about Little Miss Perfect.”

Riki flinches like someone just snapped a rubber band against the back of his neck. He sits up, glaring at Heeseung. “What the fuck,” he blurts. “How do you know that?”

Jake slowly looks up from his laptop, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.

“Oh my god.” Sunghoon’s grin spreads and Heeseung laughs, clapping like he’s won because technically he did, at the mental betting at what keeps Riki Nishimura downing his marijuana greenhouse.

“Ohhh,” Heeseung says, taunting and annoying. “So it is about her.”

Riki blinks. “No.”

“That was the weakest no I’ve ever heard,” Jake says immediately, pointing a finger at Riki. “You’re a guilty man, aren’t you?”

Riki scoffs, scrambling, fingers rubbing against his temple in attempts to cool. “You’re literally insane. Why would it be about her?”

Heeseung shrugs, casual. “I saw you two talking at that party.”

Riki’s stomach drops. “You — what?”

“Relax,” Heeseung says, laughing. “I wasn’t spying. You two just kinda had a freeze frame by the kitchen. Wasn’t so hard to notice.”

Riki opens his mouth, just to close it. Then he runs a hand through his hair with the irritated slant of said illegality stamped in your name. “We were just talking. Nothing happened.” Riki snaps, defensive again, hands up like he’s caught. 

Jake squints at him. “Then why are you acting like that?”

Riki looks away. Usually, it’s enough answer to more teasing and mocking, but maybe not this time. Because now, it raises actual questions that regard his very bearing at this monumental association with you — a damn unicorn of a scene snatched out a comedy fantasy movie.

Heeseung asks carefully, “Are you, like, her boy toy or something?”

Riki whips around with the flush of unpredictability and utter shock. “What? No!”

Heeseung grins again, gentler this time. “Okay, not her boy toy. What now?”

Riki exhales, long and slow, falling back supine against the floor with the decency of a man with boundaries and the understanding of someone brilliant to keep himself away. “Nothing. She has a boyfriend. She lives in a different world.”

It’s realistic. He thinks he’ll drag the shit out of his stash to get his mind off this, because Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means.

You’re where you’re supposed to be.

You laugh at the jokes while dawdling down the hallway with girls you actually consider your friends, your boyfriend’s arm heavy around your shoulders like it belongs there. You learned how to roll your own joints now, practiced with irritated little shrieks until it stopped being embarrassing, until they came out neat and perfect between your fingers. You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone, actually. Independence always looked good and natural on you.

Then Riki walks past with Heeseung and Jay.

Backpacks slung low, shoes dragging lazily against the floor, laughing about something stupid like someone’s terrible quiz score. Riki’s eyes stay forward like always, keeping his business private from everyone. Especially from you.

You don’t acknowledge each other beyond the bare minimum of peripheral awareness of two classmates that happen to be in the same class and two planets in the same orbit. Your boyfriend tightens his arm around you, leaning down to murmur something about lunch plans. You nod, glossed lips wrapped around a lollipop, sugar sweet and cherry-flavored on your tongue. You should be listening, you’re sure you are, until he passes.

Your eyes follow Riki — not openly, just enough to catch the back of his neck, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the same boy who leaned against a bathroom wall while you were high and laughing too much, knees brushing his because the room was small and neither of you moved away.

The lollipop slides down your tongue: all artificial sugar because the substance stays at home in the back of your secret drawer, while some of it just passed you down the hallway.

“I’ll catch up,” you say lightly, lifting your boyfriend’s arm off your shoulders. “I forgot something.”

You slip away before anyone can think too hard about it, weaving through the hallway with your lollipop still between your lips. You keep enough distance to make it look accidental, watching as Heeseung and Jay split off with quick fist bumps and loud voices. Riki keeps walking and pushes open the door to an empty lecture hall before disappearing inside.

You stop outside, remembering that this is probably the part where you’re supposed to turn around. Where the perfect, reasonable version of you remembers her boyfriend, her friends, her place in the hallway. Where the status quo reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into line.

Well, you push the door open.

Riki is near the front row, one hand still on the strap of his bag when he looks up from his seat, legs spread wide, thumbs midway to scroll through his phone. His eyes widen slightly, posture going still like he did not think you’d actually follow him.

For some reason, it thrills you. Because now he’s looking at you.

You pull the lollipop from your mouth, twirling the stick between your fingers as the door clicks shut behind you. “Hey.”

His eyes flick briefly to the door behind you. “You lost?”

This isn’t a bathroom of some random houseparty. There’s no smoke, no music, no excuse, just you, Riki, and an empty lecture hall in the middle of the school day — which means you came here on purpose.

“You should roll a joint for me again,” you say, like it’s so simple. “One of these nights.”

Riki blinks once. Then he huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “What, you haven’t learned since last time?”

You step closer anyway, slow and unhurried, allowed to exist wherever you want. He leans back against his seat, still careful and invisibly (but truly) restless. “I did.” you answer, then you smile small and lazy. “You’re just better at it.”

That gets him (because you’ve been knowing what to say to get him). His eyes lift to you, amused now, something low and unreadable settling there which sets you on fire because you have no idea what he’s thinking, not even a little hint. 

“Flattery,” he says, then scoffs.

You hum and step closer, close enough that his knee is almost in front of your thigh. Riki leans back in his seat, one arm loose over the desk beside him, phone forgotten in his lap. 

“There’s another party this weekend,” you say. “At McKay’s. You and your friends should go.”

He tilts his head. “Should we?”

“I think so.” You shrug. “Good music, large pad, beer games.” 

He chuckles, eyes dropping briefly to the floor before meeting yours again. “And you’ll be there.”

“Probably.”

“And you’ll want me to roll one for you.”

You pull the lollipop from your mouth, tapping it lightly against your lower lip as you think. “If you’re offering.”

“I’m not,” he says, but his mouth twitches.

You lean back against the edge of the desk beside him, copying his ease like you have any right to be comfortable around him. From far away, it would look casual, just two classmates talking before class. Except there’s only you standing between him and the empty rows, him sitting back in his seat, looking up at you with that unreadable expression while you try not to smile too much.

He should probably feel insulted that you only do this when nobody can see — maybe he does, if he still believes in self-respect. It’s just hard to stay offended when you’re looking at him like that.

Riki nods once. “I’ll think about it.”

Satisfied, you push off the table and head for the door. “Cool.”

When the door shuts behind you, he thinks about red eyes and smoke, about how your usual crowd will be there, your boyfriend’s arm around you just before you sneak away to Riki’s. 

You’re trouble, which makes Riki smile. ‘Cause he knows damn well he’s going to that party.

-

McKay’s house is already vibrating when Riki gets there with Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon — bass rattling the windows, someone yelling about cups, someone else yelling back about something incomprehensible. Riki isn’t a frat boy at all, and he doesn’t really go to parties, but the perfume layered on top of alcohol is basically familiar territory.

“This place is a fire hazard,” Jake mutters, stepping over a discarded heel.

Riki scans the room pretending he doesn’t mean to, observing layouts and people, when really he’s actually looking for one specific designer wardrobe of a person.

He doesn’t see you, but he sees your usual crowd scattered around the room, posing with red cups they barely drink from and laughing a little too loud whenever someone points a camera at them. You’re not there, nor is your boyfriend, and that usually speaks for itself already.

Heeseung nudges him, already mischievous with the smile Riki can’t see. “Little Miss Perfect?”

“Fuck off,” Riki replies, flat.

Jake’s halfway to disbelief when he narrows his eyes at Riki. “You’re already staring.”

“She’s not even here,” the former hisses.

“Looking for her, though.” Sunghoon teases, practically grinning widely.

Riki pushes past them. “I’m getting a drink.”

He doesn’t get a drink. He goes through hallways and in between bodies that nudge abruptly into him, half-assed apologies going through one ear and out the other while he properly finds footing again and again. When he gets to the bathroom and finds it locked, he groans and leans back against the wall. For now, he flicks the light on his own joint and smokes away while he waits — for you, for the bathroom, for anything to make him think going here was worth it at all. 

Too many girls brush against him, too many of them apologizing with tilted heads and lashes batting. He has no interest in rewarding the performance, not tonight, not when the party is already crawling under his skin, all bass-heavy music, sticky floors, smoke in the air, perfume clinging to his throat, and people packed so tightly he can’t move without touching someone. It’s too much at once; too loud, too hot, too bright, too dark. Then he sees it, and everything in him goes still.

Your boyfriend has another girl pushed against the bedroom wall. 

Riki sees this through the crack of the door, just slightly opened enough for him to see how he moves his hand underneath her skirt really fucking aggressively. They’re kissing too, and it’s not at all sweet or even arousing; it’s just straight out gross. He chokes, coughing so rough and loud and forward he has to lunge himself off the wall and straight through the crowd because his first instinct is you.

Your boyfriend is cheating on you.

What the fuck is happening? Why’s your boyfriend fucking a girl like someone who knows nothing about clits? Now, Riki isn’t an expert about pleasing women but he’s watched porn enough to know that Exhibit A over there was straight-up persecution. 

He finally spots you near the kitchen, talking to one of your friends with a cup in your hand. He starts toward you, but someone shoves past from behind, and he bumps lightly into your shoulder. You turn, already halfway to apologizing until you see him, your face already changing before you can stop it.

“You came,” you say, eyes flicking around before coming back to him.

He’s kinda out of breath, from the smoke and from hurrying, but he smiles too. “Yeah.”

While you’re still smiling, Riki clears his throat. It’s casual like he’s asking for a lighter, not like he’s abput to derail your night, ‘cause truth be told, he’s not sure he knows how you’ll react to the information. To be honest, he thinks about how it’s only fair — maybe — because he doubts your boyfriend knows you sneak into bathrooms with another guy. And sure, his hand isn’t performing DJ on your pussy, but the shared secrecy of eye contact with loaded tension is much more intimate than whatever the hell that was.

“Uh,” he says, hand rubbing on his jeans. “Can we talk? Like. Somewhere quieter.”

You blink. Then you nod, already stepping closer so he has to lean down to hear you.

“Bathroom or outside?” you ask, half-teasing.

“Outside,” he says easily.

The night is cold enough to make everything feel quieter, like it’s only the two of you standing under someone’s porch light while music leaks through the walls behind you. It’s strange, because you’re not even friends, not really, but the little space between you feels private in a way Riki doesn’t know what to do with. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath since the second he walked into the house, then leans back against the railing and looks at you standing across from him.

He tries finding the words first, but the way you’re looking at him tightens his chest faster than his brain can work out. Is this karma for your cheating boyfriend? Is he the instrument God has given you to slam notes back to the guy you’re practically cheating on too? 

Then Riki clears his throat, casual as hell. “I saw something inside,” he continues, tone still chill but eyes a little sharper now. “Your boyfriend.”

Your smile falters. “What about him?”

“He’s, uh.” Riki taps ash off the joint. “He was fucking a girl. On a wall.”

You stare at him for a while, and he’s half-expecting you to lash out, on him, on the crowd, on your boyfriend, on something. 

Instead, you laugh this small, amused breath that slips out of you before you shrug, like he told you your boyfriend spilled punch on his shirt and not that he had just seen him with another girl.

What the fuck is happening?

It feels a lot like you don’t care and that surprises Riki leading him down a rabbit hole of introspection. He was already expecting you to cry and sob or scream in the party about how much of a dick he is, how you trusted him and gave him everything — all things they do when they find out their boyfriends are cheaters.

No, you just, “Wow.” then huff a laugh. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He blinks once, watching you carefully while you regather your thoughts as a woman who’s been said something paltry rather than an admission of an affair. To be honest, Riki doesn’t understand, so now he just stands there and looks stunned. And confused. Very confused, actually.

Riki squints at you like he’s trying to solve a trick question. “That’s it?” he asks. “That’s your reaction?”

You shrug, lifting your cup to your lips for a sip. “I mean. It’s been happening. “We’re just sorta together for our parents. They’re friends so… but that’s a story for another night.”

Oh. He never thought fake relationships were a thing.

That makes sense. How come Riki didn’t know? Was he so out of touch from school gossips hat he genuinely didn’t know that you’re actually not the perfect couple he thought you two were? Is that why Heeseung and Jake and Sunghoon didn’t react so badly? Has this been a thing? Oh my God, Riki’s ecstatic and he hasn’t even finished a joint yet.

He lets out a quick, unguarded sound. “Jesus.”

You lean back against the railing across from him, far too relaxed for a revelation that should have ruined someone’s eyeliner. Riki watches you for a second, waiting for the anger, the hurt, the sharp inhale before you turn and storm back inside. But you just stand there, cup in hand, looking more inconvenienced than heartbroken.

That’s when it hits him, slow and weirdly humiliating, that you might not care about the relationship at all.

“But,” you say lightly, “thanks for telling me.”

He blinks, then shakes his head a little. “Yeah.” His voice comes out slower than usual. “No worries.”

You glance at the joint between his fingers, your eyes lingering a second too long on the veins along his hand. “You always this heroic when you’re high?”

“No,” he says, deadpan. “It’s just who I am.”

You laugh, and despite everything, his mouth twitches. He looks back toward the door, half-expecting your boyfriend to come out and make the night complicated. When no one does, he relaxes, shoulders easing, but not completely.

Because this is new information.

Someone inside screams the chorus to a song, and the night’s way too cold for the silence that buzzes. Riki offers the joint without looking at you, just holds it out between two fingers like it’s nothing.

You hesitate for half a second. But you take it.

“You have a car?” you suddenly ask while you take a puff.

Riki blinks once, then lets out a quiet laugh, dragging his thumb along the bridge of his nose. Right, so this is his life now. He sells you weed one time, and somehow he’s standing outside a party while your boyfriend (?)  cheats inside and you look mildly bored about it.

It’s stupid. It’s also the most interesting thing that’s happened to him in months.

So he just sighs and slumps back a little. “Yeah. I do.”

“Let’s go,” you say, completely not a question, flicking the finished joint on the pavement and trampling it beneath your heel. “I wanna smoke.”

He lets you trail after him through the side yard like this is already something you do, like he isn’t silently praying no one sees you following him away from the party. Gravel crunches under your shoes, the bass growing duller behind you as you cross the street toward his Supra, parked sleek and dark under the streetlamp. Riki unlocks it without looking back, rounds the hood, and opens the passenger door for you like it’s nothing.

You notice. You just don’t say anything.

Inside, the car actually smells clean and like coffee, for someone you’ve assumed is mad about marijuana and sorts alike (well, again, he’s proven how neat he is just for smelling so fucking good). He slides into the driver’s seat and just sits there for a second before turning the engine on, heater clicking low. 

The silence settles, but it doesn’t feel awkward, which Riki finds suspicious. Maybe it’s because you’re not acting like the version of you he’s used to, all neat edges and perfect timing. Now your heels are on the floor of his car, your hair is loose around your face, and you’re curled into the passenger seat of a Supra you’ve never sat in before like your body decided to trust him before your brain could argue. He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the warmth at the back of his neck, but you only glance at him like you don’t notice. The hem of your skirt rides up consequently, and he tries his hardest not to look.

“Thanks. For caring.”

He shrugs, one hand resting loose on the steering wheel. “Didn’t feel right not to tell you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

The radio flicks on — some pop song bleeding through the speakers. He then pulls out pre-rolled joints from his pockets, which he sheepishly apologizes for hygiene and, well, it’s a bit delated, although you just smile and take one. He lights yours up and you two stay there, settled in his warm seats, dissolving the chill with cannabis down your system like two people who doesn’t give a shit about the system and fucking power dynamics and popularity status.

Again, weird. Hanging out in his car like you’re old buddies who smoke in free time on the usual. 

If he told himself a month ago that he would be smoking weed with the team cheer captain, he would have laughed his ass off about inhaling too much narcotics that totally screwed mental frameworks. Yet now, he’s stealing a few glances at you beside him, getting high off his greens, and he doesn’t feel completely off-center about it. It’s the weed obviously, but he feels steady. It’s charged because you’re not talking but your thoughts are everywhere, and even if you protrude the profile of indifference — he knows you care. Then again, what does he know about you, right? You are the odd in the equation, the alternative hypothesis that proves the difference in variables, and talks about the impact on the situation.

Now, conformist Riki Nishimura, who has spent his whole life respecting the ladder, is starting to wonder what happens if he climbs high enough to stand beside someone like you.

He stares through the windshield the second before he speaks. “You’re not what people think you are.”

You blink, caught off guard as you turn to him. “Is that good or bad?”

He huffs. “Depends who’s thinking it.”

You smile a little, your eyes moving over him before you can pretend they didn’t. Riki isn’t brawny in that loud, gym-mirror way, but he’s taller than he should be, broader than he looks from a distance, and unfairly very put together. His throat moves when he breathes in, and you catch yourself watching it for one embarrassing second too long.

You chew on your bottom lip. “And what do you think?”

Riki shifts in his seat, hand fidgeting against the wheel like he’s weighing how honest he’s allowed to be. “I think you’re quieter than your reputation.” 

You study him now — the calm posture, the way he never overdoes anything, the way his voice stays even like he’s learned not to tip his hand. 

He glances at you, then back ahead. “Makes it easier.”

You look at him for a second too long. “Easier for who?”

“You tell me.”

The car feels smaller and the windows are fogged enough that the streetlamp outside is just a blur of light now, like you’ve been sealed off from everything else. Away from the reality that boxes you two into something that makes sense rather than accepts. 

You laugh once, but it comes out softer than planned. “You always psychoanalyze girls in your car?”

“No.”

“Just me?”

His mouth twitches. “You asked.”

You turn your head toward the window, trying to keep your face normal. “You don’t know me that well.”

“I know.”

Riki finally turns to you, one hand still resting loose on the steering wheel. His eyes are a little low, a little unreadable, but not careless — that might be the problem.

“I’m not saying I do,” he says. “I’m saying people don’t either.”

Your fingers fidget with the joint, rolling it carefully between them even though you’re barely paying attention to it anymore. The tip glows faintly, forgotten for a second, and Riki reaches over without thinking to tap the ash into the tray before it can fall on your skirt.

You look down at his hand, then back at him when he hands it to you.

“Don’t you think that’s weird?” you ask. “Like, what kind of girl is cheer captain and smokes weed? Who gets into a fake relationship because of her parents? Doesn’t that sound kind of fucked?”

He looks at you for a moment.

Then he leans back, eyes returning to the windshield. “I sell weed.”

He says it from the driver’s seat of a spotless car that smells like coffee and cologne. It’s stupidly funny, actually, the whole contrast of him that kinda looks like you.

You laugh before you can stop yourself. “That’s different.”

“How?” he snickers.

You open your mouth, then close it again because you don’t actually have a good answer. “I don’t know,” you admit, laughing a little. “It just is.”

He hums like he expected that. Then he glances at you before back through the windshield. “I don’t think you’re weird,” His eyes flick over your face. “I think you’re bored.”

Obviously, that makes you furrow your brows. Obviously, you let him continue speaking.

“Of your boyfriend. Your friends. Your parents already knowing what you’re going to do.” His mouth twitches faintly. “Probably bored at being good at the same shit every day.”

You should probably deny it. It surprises you that you don’t, even though you’ve sworn hatred towards men that think they can assume your personality because of one little circumstance.

“That’s why you’re here, right?” Riki’s eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face. 

Your throat tightens.

“With me,” he adds.

He doesn’t smile like he won, he just sits there with one hand loose on the wheel, like he already knows the answer and is kind enough not to make you say it.

The air between you feels worse, like the moment before a storm cracks open into his car, and electrocutes you with a spark you’ve never experienced in your life. Which is eccentric considering you’re not the type of girl who’d be in Riki’s car instead of a party dominated by your friends, getting high off shit that would make your parents pass out. 

You scoff and look away, shaking your head like the whole thing is ridiculous. “You talk like you know everything.”

“I just guessed one fucking thing.”

You roll the joint between your fingers again, slower now. “Maybe I just wanted to try something.”

“With me?”

Your eyes cut to him, and you see there’s a slight curve to his mouth, like he heard the shape of your answer before you even made it. 

You huff. “You’re so annoying.”

Neither of you moves. Just suspended there, breathing the same warm air, the song on the radio dissolving into background noise, the world narrowed down to inches and intent and maybe weak will and strong urges. The tension’s palpable, solid enough that you could feel it grow between your thighs.

You’re probably one more joint away from being zooted, and Riki knows this of course, which is why he keeps his eyes narrowed across him and not the woman who’s audibly shifting in her seat. 

He’s high too — faster than usual — and it makes the moment stretch in this you know kind because he’s thinking bad. He keeps his gaze trained somewhere between the fogged windshield and the blur of your reflection in it, like it’s the only thing keeping him at bay.

For the record — you’re both twenty, obviously adults, even if the world still insists on calling you kids. Which is also the very age people let you experience the paradox of being too grown and too immature for anything consistent, so the underestimation you endure as an adult, smart woman, cheerleader, and a kinda-child — wow you’re in deep detestation for that system.

So you take control of things you can handle.

You’re a conformist, no doubt. Except in areas you loathe men’s freedom in yet expect restraint for women. So… in diminutive ways, you indulge. Like weed. Like running council. Like wearing short skirts. Like Riki Nishimura.

You glance at him sideways, voice light, almost bored. Almost. “So,” you say, like you’re asking about his major or what song’s playing on the radio. “I will ask you something kind of personal.”

Riki exhales a quiet laugh. “You’re already in my car smoking my weed. I think the line’s gone.”

You smile, satisfied, then tilt your head back against the seat. 

“Are you a virgin?”

The question hangs there. Unembellished and very dangerous in its simplicity. Also, of course, bold, which makes Riki actually freeze — a half-second pause where even his breathing stutters. Then he scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you just dropped that between the heater hum and the low bass leaking from the house.

He blames the weed, though part of him wishes it isn’t from that.

“You always ask things like that?”

“I’m curious,” you say easily. “And a little high.” you gesture with your thumb and forefinger.

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to you now despite himself. “Why?” he asks. “Does it change your opinion of me?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking. “I don’t know yet. That’s why I asked.”

He huffs a soft laugh. He admits to embarrassment, even if it doesn’t cover his entire skin with flush and heat, he’s never found himself in this position. But honestly, nothing from the past few weeks has ever been something he prepared for — which he has you to blame, of course.

“Yeah.” he licks the corner of his lips, refusing to meet your eyes while he taps the steering wheel. “I am.”

Your eyebrows lift, impressed but not shocked. “Huh.”

Riki looks over. “Huh?” he mocks.

You bite back a smile and turn toward the window, but the reflection gives you away. “I just didn’t expect that.”

He scoffs, looking back at the windshield. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, still smiling a little. “You sell weed. And you drive this car.”

“And?”

“And you look like that.”

For one second, Riki’s fingers still on the steering wheel, and he learns to shut up. He lets out a quiet laugh after, but it sounds different this time, lower and almost embarrassed. “You’re so fucking high,”

That makes him quiet, makes him adjust on his seat. He’s touched a woman before, but no one’s ever sat on his dick, nor has he ever been in anyone. So maybe he’s half a virgin, maybe he’s just a sore loser. He watches you as you move, as you turn in the seat, knees pressing into the leather, facing him fully now. The space changes instantly, the air recalibrating around your movement and maybe even pushing you further toward him.

Riki stiffens — just suddenly very aware, and perhaps a little scared. “Uh,” he says, brows knitting. “What are you doing?”

You tilt your head, resting your hands casually on the seat, perfectly balanced. “Bored, like you said,” you say. “And my boyfriend’s cheating on me. Again.”

He swallows. His gaze drops, then snaps back up to your face, like he’s trying very hard to stay respectful and failing in slow motion because you’re especially gorgeous tonight. “That’s… not a great combo,” he says.

“Not really,” you agree.

You lean in just enough for him to feel it — not touch, not yet. Just close enough that he can smell your gloss, the faint sweetness still clinging to you, and the cannabis that if he warrants himself the scary concept, is his mark on you.

“At least you don’t think I’m boring.”

Riki exhales, a real one this time, like he’s surrendering to the moment instead of fighting it because what can a simple guy like him do, right? His eyes flick to your mouth again — longer now — and when he looks back up, there’s a decision there, from someone who’s tired of conforming.

You close the distance then, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. When he doesn’t, your lips meet in a kiss that’s brief and soft at first. Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, stopping just short of your waist, hovering there like he’s giving you the choice.

When you kiss again, you’re pressing harder, with the very intent to steal the air from his lungs. So that is what happens, you inhale and climb over the console and close your knees around his waist and he’s breathing shakily against your mouth, fighting for the oxygen he’s willingly giving away. 

Your cunt presses against the zipper of his jeans, and when you roll, he pulls away like he’s burnt. 

“W-wait — this isn’t — we can’t do this.” He shakes his head insistently, looking down your joined thighs while he regains composure.

You frown. “Why not?”

He looks back up at you, eyes wide and glossy from the taste of your cherry gloss and his greens in your mouth. He looks like he can’t handle this. You’re high, he’s high, this isn’t a good idea. You’re perfect, he’s not, this isn’t a good idea. You’re pretty and he sells weed, this isn’t a good idea.

“Because you have a boyfriend.” he says weakly.

You smile, fingers brushing into the hair at his nape. “Not really.”

He stares at you before he laughs, quiet and disbelieving, like the whole situation is so stupid he has no choice but to let it be funny for half a second. You’re in his lap, his car is fogged, your party is across the street, and apparently your boyfriend is more of a family arrangement than an actual person you care about. 

“This is so fucked,” he mutters.

Still, he kisses you anyway. His hand finally settles at your waist, firm enough to make your breath catch. His fingers press into your flesh just before he pulls you closer and his hips thrusts up underneath you.

His bulge presses hard against your clothed cunt, and a small whimper slips out his mouth. Your thighs practically clench around him, your core tightening as you rub yourself on him. Beneath the jeans secured around his hips, the start of his v-line peeks, in which you softly graze with your thumb.

“F-fuck,” he whispers, resigned while he lets his head fall back against the headrest.

When you kiss him again this time, it’s slow and languid and licking into his mouth, and your hips start rolling against his while he unconsciously bucks into you. You gasp at the feeling of his growing erection despite the jeans, and you can’t help but feel rushed because it’s been way too long. 

His body’s hot and he doesn’t understand why he can’t even talk properly. “Are you okay?” you ask, kissing his cheek. He just nods.

“This is so wrong,” Riki says softly and raspy.

You just smile and kiss him again, feeling how sloppy he’s starting to become when your tongues meet. You set the pace, careful with how you bite and suck, more of a learning curve with what you like best rather than devouring. Riki realizes this and slows down too, relaxing underneath your thighs while his cock remains bulging against you. Your soft fingers slither at the back of his hair, tugging and caressing, while he finds the courage to sneak his tongue into your mouth.

When you pull to breathe, he’s practically panting. “You can touch me.” you whisper.

His gaze practically flicks up to look up at you, silently asking for clarification. You don’t use words, you instead take his wrists and start dragging his hands from your waist to underneath your shirt. His breath hitches at the feeling of your soft skin against his, watching intently as you guide his hands further beneath your cotton top, until his fingers slightly grazes the soft swell of the underside of your breasts.

“Shit.” Riki mutters, his breath unstable when you let go. He looks for your eyes, asking for instructions, except you just smile and lean in to kiss him again with your hands on his jaw. 

So he takes it upon himself to move by his own. His fingers grazes the soft skin, careful and learning, testing the underside swell by gently squeezing. After that, he gains confidence, hands going further up until they touch your nipples. 

You gasp, pulling away to breathe when he starts gently pinching them, rolling them against the pads of his fingertips. He plays with them for a little while, watching your reactions when you sigh heavy, when your eyes close, when you lean further against his touch. It’s so good, he doesn’t even notice how painfully hard he is when he can feel just how sensitive your nipples are, when he can feel the weight of your breast as he cups them.

After a while, he finally stops, hands gliding down your ribs instead, thumbs still grazing slightly at the curve. Your kissing eases, reduced to pecks and softness. At rest and caress, you giggle and he chuckles, finally reeling in from the moment at how high he feels.

From your taste, your softness, your clothed pussy still pressing against his hard-on.

“You’re good for a virgin.” you say.

At that, Riki huffs and leans his head back against the rest, caressing your waist while he watches your face. You’re very pretty, even when your lipsticks smudged and you’re clearly teasing him, not touching him at all. 

He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he’ll mind for a long time. “I’m trying to make decent decisions.”

You tilt your head. “And kissing me is one?”

His jaw tightens a little, but he smiles. “It’s a very bad decision.”

“Mm.” You lean closer, but you don’t kiss him this time. “You stopped.”

“Because I don’t want to be your rebound,” 

The teasing fades just a little. Your fingers, which had been lazily tracing the back of his neck, slow, and now you look at him too, at the way he’s looking at you like something cliche is about to happen now that he’s tasted something better than marijuana.

“You think I’d use you?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

You study him for a moment. His nose and ears are still pink, which admittedly does something to you. It makes him look shyer somehow, less untouchable, like all that quiet control has slipped just enough for you to see he’s not as unaffected as he wants to seem.

He looks back at you, thumb moving once at your waist. “Let me take you out.”

You stare at him. “You’re asking me on a date right now? While I’m sitting on you?”

His mouth twitches despite himself. “Not my best timing.”

You laugh, soft and surprised, but he doesn’t laugh with you right away. You lean in again, slower and softer, just lips meeting and staying there, but his breath still hitches. You lets it last for a few seconds before you pull back, still close enough that your noses nearly brush.

“Ask me when we’re not high.”

Then he laughs once, quiet and disbelieving, his hand flexing at your waist. “Fine.”

Riki drives you home that night and you arrive at around 3 am, friends completely unaware of where you are or who you’re with — but you don’t care, even when your phone’s blown out of weird proportion. You laugh when he insists on walking you to your front porch, just to make sure you don’t slip and fall and he wouldn’t lose his favorite weed customer. 

“You’re ridiculous, Riki Nishimura.” you shove at his arm weakly.

“And you,” he leans down enough that his nose nudges yours. “are so pretty.”

You laugh harder, admittedly a little flustered the way you never have been before. He tells you to eat something real when you head in, and you mock him for it but he just smiles and nods,  agrees with the idea he is so, very stupid and funny for you.

Riki thinks the universe is testing him. Because ever since last night, every single thing reminds him of you. 

The cherry gloss taste still ghosting his mouth when he wakes up, the faint perfume lingering on his hoodie, even the stupid heater smell in the car feels different now, like the seats remember the way you climbed over the console and kissed him until his dick ached for you.

“Dude,” Jake says, throwing his duffel bag. “You look like shit.”

Riki drags a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”

Jake doesn’t push it, which Riki appreciates for about three seconds before he sees where the cheer team is practicing. On the other side of the gym court, you’re standing with your friends, ponytail tied high, hands on your hips while you go over counts as the captain. You’re not doing anything special, occasionally laughing at something one of the girls beside you says, but Riki still feels his attention pull toward you like it has no discipline left.

He looks away first.

PE is already starting by the time he reaches their side of the court. He pulls his sleeveless shirt down properly and rolls his shoulders once, mostly because he needs something to do with his body. His hair keeps falling near his eyes, and he can feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck before class has even properly started.

He tells himself not to look. But then he looks.

You’re already looking too.

It only lasts a second. Your eyes meet his, then drop briefly to his arms before you turn back to your friends like nothing happened. Riki presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looks at the ball in his hands, suddenly way too aware of himself.

Jake notices, but all he does is glance between the two of you. “Since when do you know her like that?”

Riki bounces the ball once. “I don’t.”

Jake gives him a look. Riki doesn’t look back. “Not like that.”

“Okay.”

The drill starts, and for a while, it’s just run, catch, dribble, pass, move. Riki focuses on the court, on the PE teacher’s whistle, on the ball against his palms. It works for half the time, until your voice cuts across the space, counting with the rest of the cheer team, and he misses a pass by half a second.

“Pay attention,” Jake says, not even laughing.

“I am.”

“You’re really not.”

Later, when the class breaks for water, Riki walks toward the drinking fountain and finds you there already, refilling your bottle. Your friends are a few steps away, talking among themselves, close enough to notice if either of you makes it obvious, far enough that neither of you has to pretend not to see each other.

He stands behind you to wait for his turn, and from afar, it doesn't look scandalous. You take your time refilling your bottle, eyes forward, one hand steadying the plastic under the stream. He keeps his gaze on the wall in front of you, jaw working once, because he knows exactly what you're doing when you lean a little farther than necessary and let the silence stretch.

Your skirt shifts when you bend, showing the backside of your thighs and the slight swell of your ass, and he sighs through his nose like he's deeply disappointed in both of you. Then he looks away completely.

You bite back a smile.

When the bottle finally fills, you straighten and cap it slowly, still not moving right away. He doesn't meet your eyes when you step aside, he just moves in, bends toward the fountain, and presses one hand against the edge for balance.

Then it's your turn to look away. But you don't, not even shamelessly. Because you’re the girl who got things her way and never got scared of the repercussions.

His sleeveless shirt pulls against his shoulders when he leans down, arm tense from holding himself there, the veins along his bicep showing under the gym lights. Water hits his mouth, and you watch the way his hair falls near his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. It's stupid, actually, how normal he's being and how much worse that makes it.

Riki finishes drinking, straightens, and wipes the water from his chin with the back of his hand. Only then does he look at you.

You're still staring. And for a second, neither of you says anything.

His expression barely changes, but something in his eyes does, like he caught you and decided not to make it easy. "What?"

You blink, then lift your bottle a little. "You took forever."

He looks at you, calm, unreadable, except for the faint color rising at the tips of his ears and the slight lift on the corner of his mouth. "You're one to talk."

Your friends laugh at something behind you, and the sound snaps the moment thinner, not enough to break it, but enough to remind you both where you are. You glance over your shoulder, then back at him, only to find he's still watching you. Not obviously, just enough to show that he knows exactly what that night did to you, and worse, exactly what this day is doing too.

And that he’s enjoying the view.

You tuck your bottle against your chest and step back. "Try not to miss another pass."

His mouth curves. "Then don't distract me."

The second he says it, your smile gets bigger, like a shared inside joke between you two now. Then you turn back to your team, and he stays by the fountain for one extra second, pretending the afternoon heat is the reason he can't stop feeling warm. In the locker room, he pretends it’s celibacy that’s making his cock hard again, and not the picture of you bending in front of him, the fat of your ass presenting itself to him so adorably.

In the cafeteria, while pages turn and keyboards clack for an upcoming test for biology, you try your best to stay focused the way you can on the usual. Riki was right about you — you were smarter than what people thought, and the merit beside your name is shocking to a whole lot when it’s pasted on the board. 

You think you’re no longer smart. Not when you’re staring at the open reviewer in front of you, color coded with little sticky tabs but you’re still distracted.

You grab your coffee and drink, just to try if that could help with your lost concentration. Something about protein synthesis and cell division. Something about how Riki’s hands looked wrapped around the steering wheel that one night while he called you weird and interesting in the same breath.

This is so inconvenient.

“Babe.”

Your boyfriend slides into the empty chair beside you like he owns the furniture, sunglasses pushed up on his head even though the cafeteria lighting could barely offend a bitch. His hand settles automatically on your thigh beneath the table, casual and familiar, and you almost flinch.

“You disappeared last night,” he says casually.

You lean back in your chair. “I told you I left.”

“Yeah, but where?”

You think briefly about Riki’s car parked under the streetlamp — fogged windows, heated air, cherry gloss smeared on his mouth, plump lips smirking in restraint, hands squeezing you in the right place, keeping you in place.

“I just went home,” you reply smoothly.

Your boyfriend hums, clearly unconvinced, but also has about three seconds of emotional stamina left for the topic, so he lets it go and steals one of your fries instead. “My parents want dinner with you this weekend.” he says instead.

He continues talking about it but you’re staring at the flashcards and reviewers in front of you, imagining what your parents would say if Riki would’ve showed up to a family dinner instead. Maybe he’d appear in different clothes, a white button-up just to sit there and attempt to look polite in ways he isn’t with you — which makes your heart jump a little. 

Dinner drags on for three excruciating hours.

Three whole hours of crystal glasses and polished silverware and your boyfriend’s parents discussing investment portfolios. The restaurant is one of those stupidly expensive places where portions are microscopic and every waiter looks vaguely judgmental — you don’t complain, you’re rather very grateful for his parents (sometimes).

You sat there in a pretty dress your mother picked out. Your boyfriend talks over you twice when you try contributing to the conversation, his mother asks about your grades before asking how cheerleading is going, like academics and aesthetics are the only two things remotely interesting about you. At some point, your boyfriend likes another girl’s Instagram story right beside you at the table and everything about the night is just bad.

You just feel tired, especially on the way home. 

Tired in the way performances always leave you feeling like you’ve spent hours acting inside a role you got stuck with years ago — because it mostly worked in your favor, until that one time you decided to jump out of your comfort zone and try weed. It’s the worst thing you have done, but it’s the only thing that made you feel good.

Your heels click quietly against the marble floors when you enter your house and you make it halfway upstairs before the pressure behind your eyes finally cracks. Obviously, you don’t sob out of sadness, just frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks while you struggle with the zipper of your dress. “Fuck,” you mutter.

Your makeup’s ruined now; mascara faintly smudged beneath your eyes, lipstick mostly gone except for traces still staining your mouth. 

Before you can think too hard about it — which is kind of bad — you open Riki’s contact, and your fingers move faster than your dignity can intervene.

you: he actually sucks so bad like genuinely i think talking to drywall has more nuance

You exhale through your nose and laugh weakly at yourself because obviously Riki probably has better things to do than babysit you after 9PM, not when you’re just another weed customer and smoking buddy he had. You toss your phone onto the bed and sit in silence for a second, still in your dress, earrings discarded somewhere.

You try not to think about anything for the minutes you’ve spent staring at the ceiling: not about Riki, or your dumb boyfriend, or your (im)perfect life, or the way Riki kissed you, or the way he looked at you, or the way he thought about you. 

Because that's the part that bothers you most. Not the kiss itself, not even the fact that you wanted it, but the way he seemed to actually think about you before touching you. Like you weren't just pretty or convenient or someone people liked because you made sense beside them. Riki looked at you like he was trying to understand you, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything you've ever had.

And maybe that makes you painfully average.

Maybe you’re not special at all, maybe you’re just another girl in the long, embarrassing history of girls who developed feelings for the first boy who looked at them like they were a person. Congratulations, really. Very original and groundbreaking, for being part of the emotionally confused teenage girls.

You turn onto your side and press your face into your pillow, immediately hating yourself for how dramatic that feels.

Until something taps three times against your window.

Your brows furrow immediately because your bedroom is on the second floor and nobody normally knocks on windows like some suburban horror movie, you don’t even try to look because of what could be there. For a second, you genuinely think you’re hallucinating from emotional exhaustion and expensive restaurant food and maybe (you did not do prior research) the possibility of the long term hallucinations of marijuana.

Then it happens again. Three deliberate taps.

You sit up slowly from the edge of your bed, the strap of your dress slipping off one shoulder while your heels remain abandoned somewhere near the door. When you turn to the window, your heart practically falls from your chest when you see Riki standing outside like a fucking delinquent moron. He’s standing on the roof of the first floor near your window, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, while one hand steadies himself against the frame. 

You burst out laughing while fumbling with the lock of your window. Riki’s entire expression softens the second he hears you laugh and that does something unhealthy to him.

Because he drove for twenty minutes thinking about you crying over some guy who doesn’t even look at you properly, wondering if climbing a house at this hour officially qualifies as insanity (he’s never done that before, and it doesn’t sound so conformist right now either). Riki’s usually good at self-restraint, at risk assessment, at understanding what makes sense and what doesn’t.

For the record, this doesn’t make sense. Yet here he is anyway.

 “Hi.”

You stare at him in disbelief once you finally open your window. “What the fuck are you doing?” you whisper-yell.

“You sounded sad.”

“Is that supposed to be an answer?”

“What?” he says defensively while climbing inside carefully. “You said your boyfriend sucks. That sounded shitty.”

The second he lands properly inside your room, he looks at you before anything else. He’s used to seeing you fixed with perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect posture, like you just stepped out of a university brochure about good conduct and that the school cheer spirit is something one definitely needs for personal development.

This version of you feels familiar, and traitorously and selfishly, he thinks it’s for him.

Your dress is wrinkled now, your jewelry sits slightly crooked against your skin, your makeup’s smudged enough to expose the eyebags underneath, and your hair’s started falling from whatever expensive style you wore to dinner.

Riki swallows once before he can stop himself. “You were crying?”

Immediately, you look away, a bit embarrassed when you realize what you look like. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird,” he says quickly, hands lifting instinctively. “I just.”

He cuts himself off because he suddenly realizes he has no idea how to navigate this. Girls usually don’t text him while being miserable and summon him to their bedroom windows like some modern romance movie directed by a bad romcom enthusiast. Nothing is romcom-y about this.

So instead, awkwardly, he holds the backyard vegetation toward you.

“I got you these.”

Flowers. They aren’t roses and lilies, especially not the peonies your boyfriend orders because it looks better in pictures. They’re not anything arranged like the bouquets your boyfriend’s family sends during competitions and birthdays and events where impression matters. They usually screamed ‘I have money’ so I had my manager fix these for you.

Riki brought you wildflowers, which are tiny white, yellow, and purple ones bundled unevenly together like he picked them himself on the side of the road and decided, yeah, these ones are perfect. They’re crooked and asymmetrical and a little pathetic, and it weirdly looks a lot like you.

You take them carefully, looking down at the tiny flowers bundled together with what suspiciously resembles a broccoli rubber band.

“Oh my God,” you laugh quietly. “These are so ugly.”

He looks offended immediately. “Okay, first of all, fuck you.”

You laugh, open and loud. “They’re literally weeds.”

“I mean. Matches us, no?” he argues.

You’re still smiling when you bring them closer to inspect, and he notices your eyes when you admire them because he notices everything when it comes to you now, apparently.

“He made you cry?” he asks quieter this time.

You look up at him, flowers resting against your chest while you slump a little. “Not exactly.”

He raises his brows. “That means yes.”

You sigh, gaze dropping to the petals between your fingers. “He’s just…” You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know. I guess I’m really sick of it.”

Riki stays quiet — not because he doesn’t have thoughts, but because he has too many.

The thing is, he understands that social hierarchy is basically one giant theater production and he’s spent his entire life studying how to survive inside it correctly — he’s admitted to live in it quite comfortably. Which people to talk to, which ones to avoid, what behavior keeps life stable and uncomplicated, who not to sell weed to.

You were supposed to be part of that stable world, the part that he shouldn’t have had any associations with. Instead, you’re now standing barefoot in front of him holding ugly flowers with watery eyes while confiding in him like he’s become something safe. Now he’s giving a girl weeds for flowers, while his own cannabis has become untouched for quite a while now.

You narrow your eyes up at him suddenly, a teasing smile on your lips. “You could’ve used the front door.”

“And say what?” he snorts. “‘Good evening, your daughter texted me so I’m here to comfort her?”

You laugh again and Jesus Christ, he thinks he’d probably climb ten more roofs if it meant hearing that sound a second time.

Which is not good at all.

He looks around your room now, and he finds that is not in the dramatic movie sense where he’s overwhelmed by femininity and candles or whatever bullshit directors think teenage girls do in bedrooms. It’s just your space and that feels undeniably you in a way he’s never gotten access to before — never thought he would, actually. There’s a stack of annotated reviewers on your desk beside skincare products, then a half-folded cheer uniform hangs over your chair. Your bookshelf is organized by color at first glance, but he notices that some books are stuffed sideways and doubled-up like gave up halfway through organizing.

You’re contradiction after contradiction. Which feels fitting considering Riki’s currently inside the bedroom of a girl he once categorized under absolutely not my problem.

This is exactly why social structures exist. To prevent situations like this where a guy who sells weed ends up standing in the bedroom of a girl who looks expensive enough to kill him.

You set the flowers carefully on your vanity like they’re not random plants held together by produce rubber. Riki watches how gentle your hands are, watches the way your dress slips slightly higher on your thigh when you move.

You step closer to him after, eyes peeking through your lashes, and he starts to feel drunk from your perfume.  “You really came all the way here because I was sad?” you ask softly.

Riki opens his mouth automatically with something sarcastic prepared because that’s safer, because joking is easier than admitting the truth. But then he looks at you looking at him like he’s become something important frighteningly fast.

Honesty slips out before he can stop it. “Yeah.”

Your eyes soften in a way that completely wrecks him, because nobody’s ever looked at him like this before — like he did something meaningful instead of useful.

You step even closer now until there’s barely space between you. “You’re really bad at being casual,” you murmur.

He huffs a laugh. “You climbed into my lap the first time we kissed.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I was high.”

“And what’s your excuse now?”

Your lips twitch and his gaze drops there instinctively.

Big mistake, because now he’s thinking about kissing you again and suddenly being in your bedroom at midnight feels significantly more dangerous than it did when he drove here. Riki clears his throat and looks away first. Usually he’s good at eye contact, good at keeping composure, good at staying levelheaded even when situations become complicated, because he knows emotional regulation keeps things orderly, predictable, and safe.

You are none of those things anymore.

Standing this close to you feels like someone slowly dismantling every sensible thought process he’s ever had and replacing it with bad decisions and pretty girls in wrinkled dresses. 

Riki swallows, eyes still not fully on yours. “Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

You sigh, shoulders dropping a little as you look away. “I don’t know.”

Riki nods, though he doesn’t look surprised. “Well,” he says quietly, “you aren’t happy.”

The honesty in his voice catches you off guard, because it isn’t dramatic or possessive or demanding — it’s actually the complete opposite. He says things carefully. Your boyfriend never talks to you carefully. 

You study Riki for a second — the slight flush across his cheeks, the hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, the fact he literally climbed your house because you sounded sad over text. 

Clearly, he’s lost the plot somewhere. He might find it in your room, but why would it be there?

You look at the boy who notices everything about you, who reads you better than anyone ever did. And maybe that’s pathetic, but after a long time of performance and image, you can’t quite find irrationality when something finally sees you so clearly. 

You don’t even realize you’re crying again until his expression changes. The tears just spill over quietly, slipping down your cheeks before you can catch them, and for a second, you don’t understand why his eyes drop there with so much concern because you aren’t sad, nor overwhelmingly happy.

His hand lifts and his fingers touch your cheek lightly and carefully. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the tear before it reaches your jaw. Then the other hand comes up too, steadying your face with a gentleness that makes your throat tighten worse than the crying did. You stare up at him while he wipes your face like it’s something important, his hands warm, his touch steady even though his breathing isn’t. He just keeps his palms against your cheeks, thumbs soft under your eyes, focused on you.

Riki’s thumb slows beneath your eye, his gaze moving over your face with something almost pained. “You’re too pretty to cry over him,” he says quietly.

Your hand lifts before you can think better of it, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist to keep him there. His skin is warm beneath your palm, and for a second, his whole body seems to still when you touch him. You look up at him because he’s so tall this close, broad enough to block out half your room, and he’s holding your face like you might bruise if he moves wrong.

“I’m not crying over him,” you say, and your voice comes out quieter, “I think I’m crying because I want someone else.”

His hand stays against your cheek, but his thumb stops moving entirely. He has no immediate answer right now, no dry comment waiting in the back of his throat, no clever way to make the moment smaller than it feels. He just looks at you, like he heard you perfectly and still needs another second for it to reach the rest of him.

He shifts closer, but only slightly, careful enough that you notice the restraint. “Are you sure?”

You let out a tiny, breathless laugh. “Yes.” 

Then your gaze drops from his eyes, not because you’re embarrassed exactly, but because looking at him straight on feels like standing too close to something bright. Your eyes settle on his chest instead, on the front of his hoodie rising and falling with a breath he’s clearly trying to control. His hands move from your cheeks, careful and slow, until his palms settle just beneath your jaw while his fingers slip behind your ears, curling gently at the back of your neck. 

For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Actually, you know he is. You can feel it in the way his breathing changes, in the way his eyes drop to your mouth and stay there this time, no pretending it was an accident. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne and whatever terrible decision-making brought him to your window.

Then something in you panics — not because you don’t want him to.

That’s the problem. You want him so much it feels insulting to every sensible part of your life (even though you’ve made many irrational choices that have shamed them anyway). You want him in your room, in your space, in the middle of all the pretty, curated pieces of yourself nobody else gets to see messy. You want him, and it would be so easy to lean up and let that be the answer. But there is still one stupid, technical, irritating thing standing between you and that, so you pull back a little.

He freezes immediately, hands dropping like he thinks he did something wrong. “What?”

“I need to do something.”

His brows pull together. “Right now?”

You turn away before you can lose your nerve, moving toward your bed where your phone is half-buried in the sheets. Your hands are unsteady when you pick it up, which is annoying because you are not the kind of girl who fumbles — you are the kind of girl who answers essay questions with proper structure, corrects formations instinctively, and pretends she’s fine so convincingly that people believe it until it becomes inconvenient not to.

Calling your boyfriend while Riki Nishimura stands in your bedroom after midnight is, admittedly, not your most elegant moment, but there’s a kind of clarity to it too.

He stays behind you, quiet, watching as you scroll to the contact you have ignored for most of the night. His name on your screen looks strange now.

The call rings twice.

Riki moves closer, though not touching you yet, just behind your shoulder, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. It makes focusing much harder, which is extremely inconsiderate for someone who climbed into your room to be supportive.

Your boyfriend answers with your name, voice already irritated. “It’s late. I’m busy.”

You close your eyes for half a second. “I’m just letting you know. We’re done.”

There is a pause. “What?”

You swallow, your grip tightening around the phone. “I’m breaking up with you.”

Behind you, Riki goes very still. Your boyfriend lets out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.”

“After everything? After tonight, you’re just gonna call me and say that?”

You stare at the wall in front of you. It’s absurd, actually, how little the anger reaches you. Maybe you should be shaking or crying harder or preparing a speech that starts with all the ways he hurt you — instead, you feel strangely calm.

He starts talking again, louder this time, something about your parents, his parents, how you’re overreacting, how you both agreed, how you don’t get to act innocent either. Until Riki’s hand appears beside you, and he takes the phone from your hand.

Your eyes widen. “Riki.”

He looks at the screen, hears your boyfriend still talking, then tosses the phone onto the bed, where it lands face-up against the sheets, the call still running, your boyfriend’s voice now small and furious through the speaker.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

His eyes stay on yours. “You already broke up with him.”

On the bed, your ex says your name again, sharp and confused, but neither of you are looking at the phone. 

Riki lifts one hand, not touching your face yet, just brushing his knuckles lightly near your jaw like he’s giving you one last chance to move away.

That is all he needs before he kisses you. It is not rushed, not messy from panic, just a little harsh from jealousy. But it’s slow enough to make your knees feel unreliable, steady enough that your whole body seems to understand before your brain does. You grab the front of his hoodie and he exhales against your mouth, the sound going straight through you. His hand settles at the side of your neck, thumb brushing under your jaw while his other hand finds your waist, careful but sure. 

The phone is still there, your boyfriend is still talking. It should ruin the moment, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the whole thing feel worse in the way your heart is pounding too hard, in the way Riki keeps kissing you like he’s trying not to prove a point and failing anyway, in the way you know this is a terrible way to end a relationship and still cannot bring yourself to care.

Riki pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead almost touching yours. “He talks a lot,” he says quietly.

You laugh before you can stop yourself, and he kisses you before you can even finish a thought he physically cannot hear another word about your boyfriend tonight, earning a gasp from your mouth. It’s soft at first, his mouth catching yours that makes you go still for half a second, surprised, and then your hand tightens around his wrist as you kiss him back. He exhales through his nose, quiet and shaky, and his fingers press a little more firmly into your nape, not pulling you in too hard, just holding you.

You make this soft startled sound against his lips and he swears it nearly kills him on impact. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead bumps lightly against yours. 

“I don’t wanna talk about him anymore,” he says quietly.

His voice comes out rougher than before. You stare at him for a second, and your lips twitch.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He kisses you again almost immediately, and this time you kiss him back just as fast, your chests pressing against one another until you can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his hoodie. His hands find your waist, the weight of them warm and steady through the thin fabric of your dress, like he’s grounding you and keeping himself grounded too.

You tilt your head up to meet him properly, rising slightly onto your toes without meaning to, and he bends down into you like the movement pulls something out of him. His fingers press carefully at your sides, thumbs shifting once against your waist. The kiss deepens then, your hand sliding up the front of his hoodie until you’re holding onto him too.

Riki exhales against your mouth, almost shaky, and his grip tightens for one second before he loosens it again, like he’s reminding himself to be careful.

Without so much as a few words, your gaze meets his. But that’s not enough for him, not when he needs to hear that you want this too. The zipper you struggled with earlier starts undoing when his hand finds the back, before he leans in just enough for his voice to drop between you. 

"Words, baby," he whispers.

He isn't teasing now. His voice is low, but careful, like he needs to hear you say it before he lets himself want anything more.

You swallow, fingers tightening lightly in his hoodie. "I want you."

Riki watches your face for a second, and when he sees the true genuineness and want in your eyes, he lets himself have it. He dips down to your height, capturing your lips in a kiss again, before fully pulling the zipper down to the small of your back. With barely any effort, the dress slides off your body and pools around your feet on the floor. 

Too busy getting drunk on his plump lips, you don’t even notice his hands roaming over your skin, his fingertips memorizing the arch of your spine, before gliding up to the curve of your ribcage. You don’t notice how close he really is until his fingers find the underside part of your breasts. You pull away with a gasp, seeing him smile coyly when you finally realize you’re naked in front of him, and how he’s massaging your mounds in his hands.

He lets his thumbs brush your hardened nipples, watching your face scrunch and melt with fluster. He holds you so well, heat rushing all over your skin with the way he studies your body, eyes carefully taking in every detail about you. He continues stroking your nipples and massaging your breasts when he bends down again, kissing the corner of your lips before trailing over to your jaw. He presses open mouthed kisses on your pulse next, sucking and biting to leave love bites there.

You moan, all breathy and heavy, and his cock twitches in his sweats. For a man that’s been so cautious with you, he can’t help but fight the urge to pound into you recklessly right now.

“On the bed,” he prompts softly, taking a step forward. 

You obey with no fight, pathetically stepping backward until you sit back on the soft mattress. You adjust a little to get on your knees, eyes finding his through your lashes again. He’s looking at you with half-open lids, hand already reaching up to the back of your head, fingers tangling with your hair. He likes you like this, on your knees and your face so fucking close to his bulge, he can practically see it.

And because he has been so kind to you, you want to recompense for all of it. Your fingers hook at the hem of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze steady on his face to watch the way he reacts when he realizes what you’re about to do. You drag his pants down, enough for it to slip down his legs. 

His cock bulges in his briefs, begging to be set free. You cup it gently and he lets out a low moan, deeper than his usual, and when you look up, he’s just watching you. You lean in, only to lick a stripe from the bottom to top — his grip on your hair tightens, and you feel him pull you closer. Since you both don’t hold any godly kind of willpower, you waste no time lowering the fabric.

Riki’s stupidly long cock springs forward once you remove his briefs, and everything about it just makes sense. It isn’t excessively thick in girth, but it’s length makes you wonder if it can even fit at all. It’s pale at the base and turns pink towards the tip, the slit lathered with pre all over the head, all for you.

You bite your lip, not being able to help the thrilled grin on your face, eyes bright at the sight of it. He clears his throat, caressing the back of your head gently. “You good?”

You snicker, reaching up to wrap your hand around the base. He chokes out a gasp, stilling completely yet his hips buck forward. He watches you handle him so delicately, even the way you start pumping his dick, watching the way pre-cum leaks out the tip. You lean forward, tongue flat against the head, tasting him. 

“O-oh, s-shit —” his breathing becomes heavy, arm flexing involuntarily as he keeps rubbing the back of your head.

You giggle, tilting your head a little to press soft pecks all over his length. “Watch me, sweet boy. Okay?” 

You’re a fucking tease. That’s all he manages to come up with before his brain completely blanks out when you tilt forward and let your mouth close around the head of his dick. You start to suckle on it, tongue playing with the slit a little. Then you push forward, enough the tip touches the back of your throat and your cheeks hollow around his length.

And he’s still too fucking long. 

You start choking a little, tears touching your waterline. You stroke the part you can’t reach, and he can’t help but smirk arrogantly.

Heavy breaths turns into deep groans, trying to keep his sounds to himself but the way you look as your head bobs on his dick, practically choking as you suck on it, and his hand flexing a tight grip on your hair — this has got to be better than any fucking narcotic ever. He bets morphine won’t ever feel this good. “Y-you’re fucking sublime, baby,”

You retract your mouth, going back to suckle on the tip, before taking him all back down your throat. His hips jerk forward, you can tell just how gentle he’s trying to be even when he’s losing all control. 

And it’s too good, because twenty years of chastity has started to reach him faster than the way you rub him. He feels his abdomen tighten, and fuck does his balls feel tense. So as any illogical, preposterous, unsound idiot ever, he pulls you away from his cock. He holds you by your hair, slowing you down as you stare up at him, eyes wide and confused, lips wet from your saliva and his fluids.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, catching your breaths. 

Riki licks his bottom lip, and you can see every restraint holding him back from breaking you. The tips of his ears are red, and his eyes, once so tender and meticulous, looks down at you like he just can’t wait to fuck you senseless. They’re sharper than they ever have been, and once since this night began, you’re scared.

“Easy,” he drawls, hand withdrawing from you completely. He takes a step back, just enough to admire the way you look, panting and on your knees, breasts exposed and perky. Then with a small smirk, he pinches the edge of his hoodie. “You always this impatient?”

He slides the hoodie over his arms, the cloth revealing flesh that practically glow from your vanity lights. His chest and shoulder width is broad and wide, flat in that boyish way you love, expanding to the chiseled arms. You can feel yourself salivating at the muscles, at his taut abs, delicate grooves that trace down to a sharp v-line. Even his obliques and traps are so defined.

“Get on your back.” he rasps, and you don’t let yourself react before lying down, head against your soft pillows. He kneels in between your legs, eyes trailing over your body. He hooks his fingers over the elastic of your panties, just before he slowly pulls them off you, slow enough to make you embarrassed.

“Riki,” you murmur sheepishly, but he ignores you, keeping his eyes narrowed to the way your cunt glistens, your own fluids leaking out of you. She’s perfect, and his already frustrated cock twitches. 

Blonde hair sticks to his forehead, and his eyes are dark when your gaze meets again. He hovers over you, caging you against the bed before he leans in, kissing you again. Your lips part for him, breaths mingling, getting hot and heavy as his hand finds your ass. He squeezes the fat there, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re making it hard to think, pretty girl.”

You manage a giggle, though it quickly turns to soft moans when he kisses your jaw and presses his cock against your cunt. 

“Riki, please,” you can see how swollen his cock has gotten.

“I don’t know if I can be gentle,” he breathes, his arms tensing as he keeps himself up. He strokes himself a bit, just before he aligns the tip with your aching hole.

Your brain has gone hazy, not being able to process anything other than the way he kisses your neck when the head of his cock pushes through your folds, and immediately your arms come to his back, nails digging into his muscles. He tenses too, giving a sharp exhale when his length slides past the tight muscle and rubs against your gummy walls.

“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face against your neck while your teeth bite down your bottom lip. “G-god, that’s so good,” 

His hips closes against your pelvis, while his tip brushes against your cervix so good he’s pretty sure you’re sucking him in. And you feel stuffed, more than you ever have been, by Riki’s long cock. “Good fucking pussy, shit —”

Your legs are open wide for him, pressing flat against the mattress. And that’s enough for him, just to see you so spread beneath him, cunt squeezing him so tight; enough for him to pull back and watch the way your fluids wrap slick around his cock. Your hips wiggle for him, and that’s all he takes before slamming his hips back into you.

Riki’s jaw hangs open, a low moan gushing out him, strained and heavy into your ears. 

“R-Riki — f-f-fuck —”

The sounds of squelching pussy and skin slapping echoes throughout your entire room, walls so tight around his cock as you gasp. The pace is set already, quick and fucking drilling into you even though you’ve known him for his care and caution — yet he pounds into you like he doesn’t give a fuck about anything but his pleasure.

“S-s-so good — ugh, Riki — fuck,” you scratch his back muscles, tensing underneath your nails. His pelvis and abs are tight, slamming himself so hard against your cunt like he can’t keep himself apart from you.

He continues groaning, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he admires the way your tits bounce every time he rocks his dick deep into your cunt. His lips part to moan your name, and you love how he almost whimpers when you squeeze around him. 

Then he stills, though only fast enough before he slides an arm beneath your waist and gathers you closer, like he’s scooping you into him without fully lifting you. 

“W-what are you —” 

“On your stomach.” 

You can only blink and nod, before turning around, suddenly feeling empty when his dick slips from inside you. You settle on your hands and knees, then lie on your chest, face pressed to the soft pillow. “Fuck, my good girl.”

You can’t see him anymore, and you’re not sure with how you feel about it — not until you feel his warm body press against your back, his chest hovering slightly over you. He presses a hand on the back of your thigh, gently adjusting your knee higher, the position immediately spreading your folds more than you would have thought. 

“Lift your hips for me, baby,” he breathes, voice low and strained.

You obey, pussy clenching around nothing when he whispers quiet praises as your ass perks up and your folds glisten for him again, slick oozing out from you. You get on your hands a little, just enough to lift yourself and look over your shoulder. Without much of a warning, he pushes his cock back deep inside you again, walls welcoming him with a dirty squelch, your breath catches, then escapes in a quiet gasp.

“There, just like that —” Riki moans, his v-line pressed tight against your ass.

Then he continues, retracting his hips only to slap back inside you. The new positions doing fucking wonders to you, stretching you a whole lot more, his dick fucking you so raw that you can’t help the screams you let out. He presses his hands against your waist, fingers ingrained to lift your ass up and pound into you right after, grip so tight it’s already bruising.

You fuck yourself against him too, slapping back against his hips, cock choking in your tight walls. His eyes are almost rolling back, if not for how obsessed he is watching your ass shake and tits bounce every sloppy stroke, his hand sliding under you to grope your mound. He fondles with it, pinching your nipple and loving the weight of it against his palm. 

Sweat’s getting hot and the air’s smells too much of sex, he can feel it when his balls clench and how desperate he’s starting to get.

You look over your shoulder and he meets you halfway, leaning over to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. It’s full of saliva and it’s warm, messy in a way that tells how close you both are.

Then with so little strength (can’t compare to Riki Nishimura, really), your weight falls back to the pillow, face and chest pressed against the softness while your ass stays up. If not for his large hands keeping you up and still, you would’ve fallen over completely. 

Your abdomen clenches and pressure builds in there, and he continues rutting into you while you become a puddle of sweat and moans. “R-right there — fuck, Riki — !”

“I-I’m gonna fucking cum, s-shit – I’ll blow a fucking load in you —” his hips drive into your pussy with a new kind of intensity, faster and deeper somehow, his tip hitting your cervix that has you throbbing around him.

“Cum all over me, baby, please —” he whines, face pressed against your shoulder. 

You feel hot spurts of him fill you the same time your cunt clenches around him one final time, legs twitching while his hips come to a stutter. Cum settles in your hole, warm and full and sticky and practically seeping out of you. He collapses on top of you, unconsciously maybe, his heavier weight pressing over your body.

Your vision goes white for a bit, then it comes back, only for you to see hair all over your face, stuck with sweat and saliva. He’s still on top of you, but you can feel him carry himself a little, making sure not to crush you right after cumming in you.

Quiet beats stretch out the moment, and you don’t even notice his arm tucking underneath you to massage your tit, a tired laugh leaving your mouth when you do. When you both muster enough strength, he straightens just enough to lift himself off of you, while you manage to get on your hands. By the time you look over your shoulder, he’s already leaning in, his mouth finding yours again, a hand still fondling with your breast.

“Riki,” a small sheepish smile curves on your lips, all while he presses soft pecks against your mouth and jaw. 

“Hm?” he hums, tired and spent, clearly having nothing else to do but to kiss you. His breaths are still shallow, eyelids heavy before shutting completely.

You giggle, putting your hand over his on your breast. “Get off me,” you say with a playful grin. “You’re so heavy!”

WIth a quiet groan, he listens. He slides out of you, unplugging you to let your fluids out. Then he lies down, and he hasn’t realized how strained his muscles are until he sinks into the softness of your bed. He relaxes inevitably, while you stay up just to admire him for a bit.

Riki Nishimura is never going to be insecure about his looks, but the way you stare at him with dilated pupils that match his, especially post-sex, he can’t help but grow a bit bashful. 

He huffs out a laugh, one hand reaching out to squeeze your waist because you feel so far. "So do you have a no-cuddle policy, or," he murmurs.

You laugh before you can stop yourself because he's so stupidly funny for someone trying to sound serious. Instead of answering, you shake your head and lean more of your weight against one hand, the other resting against his chest as your fingers trace lazy, thoughtless shapes.

He watches you do it for a second, his expression going quiet in that way that makes your stomach turn. Then you glance up at him. "Can you roll one for me?"

He sighs so heavily it almost sounds personal. Before you can even react, his arm hooks around your waist and pulls you down against his chest, firm and immediate, like the idea alone offended him. Your hand lands against his abs to catch yourself, your cheek nearly brushing his shoulder as he keeps you there.

“Throw that shit away,” he says, voice low near your ear. “I swear to God.”

You blink, caught against him. “What?” His arm stays around you, warm and unmoving. “Why?”

Riki looks at you with half-lidded eyes, sleepy and a little strained, like even answering takes effort. “Because,” he murmurs, his grip softening at your waist, “after tonight, I think I found something better.”

Your jaw actually falls open. For one second, all you can do is stare at him, because there’s no way Riki Nishimura just said that to you while looking half-asleep and impossibly calm, like he didn’t just say something that made your entire stomach turn over and tighten all over again.

Then you smack his chest lightly. “Riki.”

He chuckles, low and tired, the sound vibrating against your palm. His arm stays around your waist, keeping you close even when you try to lean back enough to glare at him properly.

“What?” he murmurs, eyes barely opening more. “Use my dick instead, I won’t get mad.”

You smack his chest harder, earning a yelp from him. “Riki!”

He laughs under his breath, but before you can pull your hand back, his fingers wrap around your wrist. His eyes open a little more as he looks at you, still tired, still amused, and then he tugs you. 

You land over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips as his arm settles around your waist to steady you. For a second, neither of you moves. Your hand stays pressed to his chest, his heartbeat is faster than he's pretending. "Careful," he murmurs, like he wasn't the one who pulled you.

"You're so annoying," you whisper again, but it comes out softer this time, a quiet breath as you lean down to him. You're close enough now that your noses brush, close enough to feel his smile fade against your mouth.

Riki's gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. Your fingers stay flat against the broad hardness of his chest while his hand stays warm at your waist, slowly smoothing over the curve of your ass.

“Ride me?” he whispers against your lips.

You sigh, rolling your eyes while your mouth curves to a grin, back straightening. You act like you think about it, only for your exposed cunt to start grinding against his cock — which, obviously, because he is a very simple man, erects again.

A simple man such as he, all he knows is that he is yours.