⋆

one thing you could say you loved about him though was the way he fucked you into oblivion. the first night the two of you had shared was not long after the wedding, it was about three weeks later when sunghoon brought it up to you saying, "if we're gonna do this let's at least have a little fun."

leading you to question what he meant and when he continued on, that night he showed you exactly what he had been hiding for the little time you've known each other. sunghoon was not small, so it definitely surprised you when he first began to thrust into you slowly and made you feel completely full. this was a normal thing now, he was just like a regular hookup except you lived with each other and unfortunately we're married as well.

leading you to question what he meant and when he continued on, that night he showed you exactly what he had been hiding for the little time you've known each other. sunghoon was not small, so it definitely surprised you when he first began to thrust into you slowly and made you feel completely full. this was a normal thing now, he was just like a regular hookup except you lived with each other and unfortunately we're married as well.

now, with the way your nails dug deep into the skin of his back, sunghoon couldn't help but groan louder at the painful but pleasurable action. you were a wreck yourself, and though your husband didn't love you he sure fucked you like he did.

"mm cock drunk already, i see," sunghoon comments, grinning devilishly and watching the way your eyes turned white due to them rolling to the back of your head, "too big for you?"

you didn't reply, just moaned louder at the way he changed directions of his thrusts— now roughly thrusting up into you, hitting exactly where you needed him to.

"f– fuck sunghoon~" you whine.

"answer me, bitch," he grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks together.

"so bi— big, stretch me out so well hoonie," the dark look in his eyes made you choke on your own breath. he was very beautiful, no doubt about it. at least you didn't marry someone you weren't somewhat attracted to.

"that's right," his hand moved down, grabbing ahold of your throat and squeezing tighter.

sunghoon held onto your neck the best he could, fucking you rougher than before. you moved your hands away from his back, holding onto his wrist now. "holding onto me like i'm going somewhere, i don't have anywhere else to go, y/n," sunghoon comments, "neither do you, this pussy is mine got it?"

you hum, nodding to the best of your ability.

"i want you to say it," he said through gritted teeth, grip on your neck just tightening and nearly taking all your air away.

in a way, you knew he was only saying this and wanted you to play along for the thrill of things, being in the moment, but somehow you still believed him. you were his wether you liked it or not.

"y– yours," you struggle to say, voice airy from the choking, "it's yours, hoonie."

the possession this man had over you was insane. after you both got comfortable with each other, you'd go out like couples would do though you weren't really dating. in public, if any man dared to look at you he'd pull you by your waist and held you against his body till you got back to the car. he wasn't super loving and affectionate, especially not at home, kisses here and there only when one of the two was leaving. you thought of it as a friends with benefits type of relationship, only thing different about it was that legally you were married.

after hearing the words come from your mouth, loving how it was so easy for you to obey— he pressed his mouth roughly against yours he hadn't kissed you like this ever, it was slow and messy, partially passionate in a way. the deep and loving makeout didn't compare to the way his hips moved fast and fucked his fat cock in and out of you, not stopping for a second until you both were satisfied.

he treated your body so nicely, at the end of the day he did think of it as his own because again— you were his wether you liked it or not. after these past months, he's learned too much about how to please you that everything he did was always right.

your back arched off the bed, breasts pressed flush against sunghoon's chest who giggled into the kiss at your action. the knot in your stomach grew extremely tight, clenching around him and moans spilled from you that came out more like hums since you were still glued to sunghoon's lips.

"cumming baby? make you feel so good, yeah?" he grins again, slowing down his thrust but making sure they were still rough and sharp enough to hit deep inside you.

"c– close," you speak out softly.

sunghoon loosened his grip on your throat, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip soon pushing past your lips and forcing you to suck on his thumb through your orgasm. he sped up his thrusts again, trying to get you to cum for him so he could release as well.

he loved watching the way your body reacted to taking his load after you were already sensitive, from the beginning though he always felt comfortable with you finishing first even on the days where he'd edge you. this was the somewhat gentleman side of him, in all honesty he just wanted to make you feel good and still be comfortable with the situation they were put in.

not long after his thrust sped up, you were clenching tighter and cumming hard around his length. your body shook violently, mouth opening wide with sunghoon's thumb still resting inside and letting out the most pornographic sounds.

"so pretty, keep making those pretty noises for me," like it was hard to keep them in in the first place.

sunghoon continued to pound into you, the skin slapping sounds echoing off the walls, letting out hot moans of his own as he grew closer to his climax. he sat up and eyed your body, fucked out, sensitive and spread out for him.

"m'gonna fill you up to the brim baby, you know how fucking sexy you'd look knocked up by me?" his hands held onto the back of your thighs and pushed deeper into you, he groaned low at the thought, twitching inside you, "tits all swollen, fuck—"

that must have been what got him, because cute little whimpers left his lips and he twitched once more at the thought of fucking you pregnant. his warm seed began to spread inside you, adding to the oversensitivity you already felt.

"take all of it, every fucking drop like the slutty cum dump you are," sunghoon fucked his cum deeper into you, still filling you up. you felt full before and now you felt so stuffed that you thought you'd explode, "don't know what you do to me."

he was breathless, thrusts slow and watching the way his cum dribbled out of you every time his cock moved out and pushed back in for the fun of it. the way he was in between your legs, sweaty abs on display and every part of his body prettier than the last, the messy blonde hair you oh so loved since he first bleached it— you wondered how you got so lucky even though you didn't want this marriage.

the sex was so good it was hard for either one of you to go out and sleep with someone else, in fear of not being able to stop thinking about the other. it was hard for you to admit that you did indeed care for sunghoon, even liked him just a bit— he liked you too, he didn't admit this either though. everything was so rushed it's scary to actually begin to feel romantically for each other after already being married.

you didn't know what it was, you two just were still weird about the whole marriage thing, who wouldn't be? it felt like roommates who just fuck and also happen to share a bed. wasn't like you wanted it to be like this forever, you figured maybe further down the line when you get closer to your two years, which meant if you wanted a divorce after the two years you can do so, but what if by then you begin to fall in love? what if you're already in love?

"thinking about something?" sunghoon asked, had been way past the pulling out and cleaning himself and you steps in the aftercare.

"hm?" you snap out of your deep thoughts to turn your head his direction, "n– no, just... happy that's all."

"happy?!" he asked, raising his voice a bit from the bathroom he had just walked into to wash his hands. soon enough he came back, eyebrows farrowed and looking at you, "what for?"

sunghoon got under the blanket, bringing you with him and cuddling up against you, head on your bare chest, "this." you admit, "even if we don't love each other, i really enjoy everything."

You walk into the lecture hall on your first day of the semester and choose a seat near the exit because you’re not expecting anything special from an Advanced Ethics class—until the door opens and Professor Park walks in.

He looks almost too young to be a professor, yet he carries an intriguing air of authority. The moment he begins to speak, introducing the course in a low, calm voice, you’re instantly hooked. Something deep in your stomach twists with sudden heat.

You spend the entire class staring at him, barely able to take any notes. He doesn’t smile once during the introductory lecture, and there’s something magnetic about it. He doesn’t seem to care about being liked by his students—he’s simply there, doing his job with strict discipline.

You’ve never been attracted to a professor before, but there’s something about him that captivates you instantly. Maybe it’s the way his biceps flex when he gestures while explaining something, or the fact that he seems almost too cold and professional.

By the end of the class, you feel an intense wave of jealousy over the measured praise he gave to other students. You want him to praise you. You want him to notice you. You want to be his favorite student.

Later that same day, back in your dorm, you make your first diary entry about Professor Park:

"Today I met Professor Park and my God, he’s so attractive. The way his thick eyebrows furrow when he’s explaining something… it honestly got me a little wet. I’m going to try to get his attention in the next classes."

You start sitting in the front row from that day forward, taking real notes and listening attentively to everything Professor Park says.

Throughout the week, you write more entries in your diary:

"God, the way his voice drops when he’s explaining something… I keep imagining him using that same low tone while he tells me exactly what to do on my knees. His hands look so big, with those long fingers. I wonder how they would feel gripping my hips or squeezing my thighs…"

"I want him to bend me over the desk after everyone leaves, lift my skirt, and fuck me hard. I’d stay so quiet for him… or maybe he’d fuck me even harder if I moaned his name out loud? Either way, I just want his cock to stretch me open."

By the end of the first week, he already knows your name because you answer a question correctly in class, where he simply replies with a neutral "Correct," but it’s enough to make your stomach flip.

Still, you want more. Knowing your name isn’t enough — you need all of his attention. So you decide to try something new in the second week.

────────

You wake up earlier to put extra effort into your makeup and outfit. For your first attempt, you go for something natural — soft mascara, a light blush, and a touch of lip gloss. You pair it with a blouse with a subtle neckline and a medium-length skirt that falls just at your knees.

Sitting in the front row, you raise your hand several times, making intelligent and well-thought-out comments because you actually studied for it. When you do, you receive a "Good point" from him, accompanied by a small approving smile. It’s enough to make your heart race.

In the next class, you try a bolder look — eyeliner, a proper lipstick instead of gloss, and a bit of contouring. He glances at you during the lecture, but he doesn’t compliment you. His expression remains neutral. When you make another smart comment, he simply nods. The conclusion is clear: he prefers the natural look, so that’s what you stick with.

Now it’s time to experiment with clothing. The following day, you wear a revealing outfit — a blouse cut low enough to show your collarbones and a shorter skirt that reveals your thighs. Professor Park’s eyes linger a little longer on your cleavage and bare thighs. It’s not obvious, but you notice. Cleavage and shorter skirts seem to work better, so you start leaning into that.

You keep pushing yourself — spending hours studying, pouring everything into every assignment, arriving early to class in hopes of catching a moment alone with him, craving his praise like it’s oxygen. With each passing class, your blouses get tighter and your skirts get shorter, exactly the way he seems to like.

Your efforts are paying off. His compliments come more frequently now — "Well argued" and "You captured the theme perfectly" — making you press your thighs together under the desk.

During one lecture, you participate actively, offering solid arguments and sharp answers, earning even more praise from Professor Park. When the class ends, he stops beside your seat. His gaze drops to your breasts for half a second before returning to your face.

"You’re showing great improvement," he says.

It’s enough to leave you soaked.

That night, your diary entry is filled with need:

"He looked at my tits today. He really looked. God, I want him to praise me while he wraps his arms around me and squeezes me so tight I can barely breathe. I’d call him Daddy so easily — actually, that’s what I’m calling him from now on. I want to be Daddy’s favorite. I’d let him fuck my ass if that’s what it takes to be his good girl."

────────

After your morning class, you’re walking down the corridor when you spot him near the faculty offices, carrying a tall stack of papers and wearing glasses. Now you have a new fantasy — getting fucked by him while he’s wearing those frames.

You quicken your pace, pretending to be focused on something on your phone, and then "accidentally" drop your notebook right in front of him. "Oh no…"

You quickly drop to your knees, letting your short skirt ride up even higher. The view you give him is perfect: you on your knees, looking up with a submissive gaze, lips slightly parted, your breasts nearly spilling out of your low-cut blouse.

His crotch is right in front of your face. The fabric of his pants stretches tightly over the heavy outline of his bulge, the thickness clearly visible. This is exactly what you would see if you were sucking his cock. The fantasy of pulling that thick cock out and taking him down your throat while looking up at him with innocent eyes makes you shiver.

Professor Park makes no effort to help you up. He towers over you, his thick eyebrows furrowed in a rare expression of surprise on his usually neutral face. "Are you alright?" he asks.

Your eyes travel from the bulge right in front of you up to his face. You pick up the notebook and look up again from that perfect blowjob angle, whispering softly, "Yes, Professor. I’m just so clumsy sometimes."

For half a second, his gaze drops — taking in your glossy lips so close to his groin, the way your skirt has ridden up, and how your breasts look even more prominent from this angle. He clears his throat and forces his attention back to your face. "Be more careful next time."

You smile sweetly and finally stand up, tugging your skirt down even though it barely covers anything. "Thank you, Professor Park."

Your panties are soaked and your mouth is watering, the image of his bulge so close to your lips still burned into your mind.

He gives you one last lingering look before walking past you. If he had stayed even a second longer, you might have noticed the growing, hardening bulge in his pants.

That afternoon, you write in your diary:

"Holy fuck, I was literally on my knees right in front of him, exactly like I would be if I were sucking his cock. I wanted him to pull it out, grab my hair, and make me take every inch of that heavy length down my throat. I’m so wet just remembering how tall he looked standing over me. Please, Daddy… notice how desperate your good girl is."

────────

As the students begin to leave when the class ends, you deliberately take your time packing your things, hoping for another interaction with Professor Park. It works. He starts walking toward your seat and stops beside it.

"Miss, stay after for a moment," he says.

"Yes, sir," you reply. Your mind immediately wanders — imagining him locking the door, bending you over the desk, his strong arms pinning you down while his cock finally stretches you open as he calls you his "good girl."

Once the last students are gone, you walk up to him on shaky legs, your panties soaked and your nipples hard, clearly visible through the thin fabric of your tank top.

"Yes, Professor?" Your voice is soft and innocent, but your heart is pounding as hard as your clit. Please, touch me. Fuck me right here. I’ve been such a good girl for you, Daddy. The words echo loudly in your head.

His eyes meet yours before slowly drifting down, scanning you from head to toe. "I’ve noticed how much you’ve improved this semester, so I was wondering if you’d be willing to help one of the students who’s struggling. Sharing notes or a few short tutoring sessions would help a lot."

The disappointment hits you like a punch. You’re standing here dressed for him, dripping wet and trembling with need, and he’s asking you for academic favors. No locked door. No biceps wrapped around your throat while he fucks you hard. Just tutoring another student. "Of course, Professor Park. I’d be happy to help."

He gives a small nod. "Thank you. I’ll email you the details. Keep up the excellent work."

You linger for a few more seconds, hoping he’ll say something else, but he simply turns his attention back to the papers on his desk — clearly dismissing you.

While waiting for the email he mentioned, you write in your diary:

"He asked me to stay after class and I swore this was finally going to happen — that he was going to fuck me mercilessly on his desk, choking me between his biceps and calling me his good little girl, his desperate pet. But nothing happened and fuck, it’s driving me insane. I’m dressing like a slut for him and he still stays so cold and professional. Luckily, I don’t give up easily."

────────

You arrive early and take your usual seat in the front row. As soon as the lecture begins, you pull a cherry lollipop from your bag, unwrap it slowly, and bring it to your mouth. At first it looks innocent — but you make sure it’s anything but.

You suck on it gently at first, your tongue swirling around the shiny red head, then take it deeper, hollowing your cheeks slightly. Your eyes stay locked on him the entire time — watching the way his muscular arms move as he explains the material, the serious tone of his voice, and the way his thick eyebrows furrow in concentration.

Every time he turns toward your direction, you push the lollipop in and out between your lips in slow, suggestive movements, imagining it’s his cock instead. He pauses mid-sentence for half a second as his gaze fixes on your mouth, then smiles — flashing those sharp canines. Holy fuck. Your pussy throbs at the sight.

Feeling bold, you don’t stop. You lick the lollipop from base to tip with long, wet strokes of your tongue. Every time his eyes meet yours, you suck it deep while keeping eye contact.

When the lecture ends and most students leave, he looks straight at you while you’re still sucking on the lollipop and packing your things. "Miss, a word, please."

You stand up quickly and walk over to him, pulling the lollipop out slowly with a wet pop as you reach his desk. Your lips are glossy and shiny as you smile sweetly. "Yes, Professor?" You slip the lollipop back into your mouth while you wait for him to speak.

This time he doesn’t even try to hide it. His gaze drops to your glistening lips, then to your breasts — your hard nipples clearly visible through the thin tank top, no bra as usual. "Your latest essay was…" His eyes finally return to yours, a small mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Incredible."

"Thank you, Professor," you reply softly, matching his mischievous smile. "I’ve been working really hard to be your best student."

He nods. "Good. Keep it up and you’ll certainly become my favorite."

You give the lollipop one final slow lick while looking him straight in the eyes, then turn to leave, swaying your hips in those tiny shorts. You can feel his gaze burning into you the entire way out.

That night, you write in your diary:

"Fuck, the way he stared at my mouth while I was sucking that lollipop… I bet he was imagining how my lips would look wrapped around his cock. I wanted him to grab my hair and shove himself down my throat right there in front of everyone. Daddy looked so tense today, but he still praised my academic effort again. I feel like I’m getting so close to finally making him snap."

────────

The class starts as usual, with you sitting in the front row, paying close attention to Professor Park’s lecture as he discusses the topics in that controlled, precise tone.

In the middle of the lecture, Ni-ki — the guy you’ve been tutoring — leans over from the seat next to you and whispers in your ear, "Hey, are we meeting again today?"

You smile at him and nod, leaning in closer on purpose because you know Professor Park is watching. "Yeah, already missing me, Nishimura?"

Ni-ki stays close, chatting quietly with you while the class continues. You smile widely and laugh at everything he says — he’s so funny and goofy. "We can review that part after class if you want," you say sweetly, loud enough for Professor Park to hear.

Sunghoon’s reaction is subtle but noticeable. His jaw clenches, one thick eyebrow lifting for half a second as he watches the two of you. He pauses mid-sentence when he catches Ni-ki staring at your breasts, then continues with a noticeably deeper, colder voice. When his eyes meet yours again, there’s something different in them. Jealousy.

"Concentrate, please," he says to the entire class, but his gaze is locked directly on you.

After class, when most students have left, you stay behind, pretending to organize your notes. Professor Park walks over to your seat and stops right beside you, towering over you with his arms crossed over his chest. His biceps strain against the sleeves of his shirt.

"Miss… I appreciate you helping Ni-ki, but I’d prefer if tutoring sessions stayed professional and outside of my lecture time."

You look up at him with feigned innocence, biting your lower lip. "I’m sorry, Professor. I was just trying to help like you asked… I really want to be useful to you."

Those words make his cock twitch inside his pants.

"That’s fine, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your performance," he replies. "You’re one of my best students. I’d hate to see that change." He lingers for a second longer, staring at you, before stepping back.

"One of." That’s not enough. You want to be his favorite. The only one.

That day, you write:

"He was jealous today, it was so obvious. Daddy didn’t like me giving attention to another guy and fuck, that’s so hot — it left me soaked. I wanted him to snap right there, drag me to his office, put me on all fours and fuck me stupid. I need him to claim me, ruin me, remind me who I belong to. Please, Professor Park."

────────

Another class ends. This time, you don’t wait for everyone to leave so you can have a brief moment alone with Professor Park. In a rush to meet your friends at a nearby café, you end up forgetting your notebook on the desk — the one filled with all your filthy thoughts about him.

Professor Park is packing up his things when he notices the forgotten notebook on the seat where you sat during class. He picks it up, planning to return it to you next lecture, but decides to open it first to check for a name — just to make sure it’s yours. His eyes scan the first page, then the next, and the next.

"Today I met Professor Park and my God, he’s so attractive…"

"I want him to bend me over the desk after everyone leaves, lift my skirt, and fuck me hard."

"I want to be Daddy’s favorite. I’d let him fuck my ass if that’s what it takes to be his good girl."

"I wanted him to grab my hair and shove himself down my throat right there in front of everyone."

He freezes, jaw clenched tight, every muscle in his body tense as he keeps reading. Page after page of your explicit fantasies — the way you teased him with the lollipop, dropped to your knees in front of him, wore shorter and shorter skirts with tighter blouses, all of it deliberately done to provoke him.

With every new entry, his cock grows harder, throbbing painfully against the confines of his pants.

You only realize you forgot the notebook when you’re already halfway across campus. Panic floods through you instantly — every filthy thought, every "Daddy," every explicit fantasy is written in there. Your stomach twists at the thought of someone finding it and reading everything. You run back to the lecture hall as fast as you can.

When you arrive, the door is slightly ajar. Peeking inside, you see that Professor Park is still there.

Breathless, you push the door open. His eyes lock onto yours the second you step inside. The air feels thick, heavier than ever. His gaze is different now — darker, more intense, hungry. In that same instant, you know you’re fucked.

"You forgot this," he says in a low, serious voice. A cruel smile plays on his lips as he holds the notebook out toward you, but he doesn’t let go when you try to take it.

"Interesting reading…" He flips through the pages again and reads one of the entries out loud. "Please, Daddy… notice how desperate your good girl is." Then he lets out a low, mocking laugh — clearly amused by how desperate you sounded in those notes.

Your face burns with shame. The words get stuck in your throat. What excuse could you possibly give when everything is written so explicitly? "Professor… I—"

He closes the notebook with a sharp snap and pins you with a piercing stare that makes your entire body shiver. "We’ll discuss this later. In private."

He finally releases the notebook. The moment it’s in your hands, you turn and flee as fast as your trembling legs can carry you.

The rest of the day is pure torture. You can barely sleep that night, your mind racing with every possible consequence — and every possible thing he might do to you.

Later that evening, your phone vibrates with an email from him.

My office. Thursday, 4:30 PM. We need to discuss the contents of your notebook.

— Sunghoon Park.

On Thursday, you spend the entire day getting ready. You wear the tightest tank top you own — thin enough that your hard, needy nipples are clearly visible — paired with the shortest skirt you’ve ever worn, one that barely covers the curve of your ass.

At exactly 4:30 PM, you knock on his office door, your heart pounding so hard you feel dizzy.

"Come in," he says from inside.

You open the door slowly. There he is, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over his broad chest, jaw clenched, a malicious smile on his lips and a hungry look in his eyes as they rake over your body from head to toe. The cold, professional mask he always wore in class is gone, replaced by something much darker.

"Lock the door and sit down," he orders, leaving no room for argument.

You obey with trembling hands, locking the door before sitting down, pressing your thighs together. You can already feel your panties getting wet. For a few long seconds, he just stares at you, his gaze lingering on your hard nipples straining against the thin fabric.

When his eyes finally meet yours, he speaks. "You wrote about wanting me to bend you over this desk. About my arms suffocating you. About calling me Daddy. About dressing like a desperate little slut just to get my attention."

You feel exposed, vulnerable, and shamefully aroused, your pussy throbbing.

"I didn’t… I mean, I—" The words die in your throat as he steps closer, towering over you.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it’s been to stay professional?" he growls. "Watching you in class every day in those tiny skirts and tight tops. Reading how badly you want me to claim you."

Before you can respond, he grabs your waist and lifts you effortlessly onto his desk. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them so he can step between them.

"Professor Park…" you whimper, your voice trembling with need and nervousness.

He kneels in front of you, eyes locked on yours as he pushes your skirt up and pulls your panties to the side, exposing your needy, dripping wet pussy. The first touch of his hot tongue against your folds makes you gasp sharply.

"Oh God—" you moan, gripping the edge of the desk.

Sunghoon eats you out like a starving man — with long, slow licks from your entrance to your clit, then sucking hard on the swollen bundle of nerves. Two long fingers slide deep inside you, curling perfectly to stroke that sensitive spot while his tongue works relentlessly.

"Sunghoon, fuck— that feels so good," you whimper, tangling your fingers in his hair. "I’ve waited so long for this…"

He growls against your pussy when he hears you moan his name so casually. The vibration sends shivers through your entire body. His fingers pump faster and deeper as he sucks your clit into his mouth. The pressure builds quickly until you cum hard, thighs trembling around his head, loud moans ripping from your throat as you soak his chin and the desk beneath you.

When he finally stands up, his lips are glistening with your juices. He’s breathing heavily, the massive bulge in his pants straining painfully against the fabric.

"Please, Daddy…" You spread your legs even wider, eyes glassy with tears of frustration and pleasure. "I need your cock. Please, fuck me."

Sunghoon steps forward, pressing his clothed erection firmly against your soaked entrance and rubbing slowly. You moan softly, rolling your hips against him desperately, chasing more friction, but he pulls away again.

"I’m not reckless enough to fuck you in my office," he groans, clearly fighting for control. "No matter how badly I want to bury myself inside this needy little pussy."

You let out a pathetic whine, eyes pleading. He leans in close, gripping your jaw firmly with one hand.

"Tonight. My apartment. 8 PM. If you want me to fuck you properly." He pauses, his voice low and dark. "I’ll send you an email with the address."

────────

You arrive at his building exactly at 8 PM, wearing the sluttiest outfit you own. Your pussy is already dripping down your thighs by the time you knock on the door.

Sunghoon opens the door dressed differently from usual — a simple black shirt and gray sweatpants that do nothing to hide the thick, heavy outline of his hard cock.

"Come in," He orders and you obey, the door closing behind you with a heavy click.

The second you step inside, his reserved professor mask finally shatters and he snaps.

He grabs you by the waist and slams you against the wall, his grip so strong it will definitely leave bruises. "You have no fucking idea what you’ve done to me," he growls, pressing his erection hard against your stomach. "Reading page after page of you begging to be my little whore. Calling me Daddy while thinking about my cock."

You moan, arching into him desperately. "Please… I need it. I’ve needed your cock for so long."

He spins you around and bends you roughly over the back of the couch. Your tiny skirt rides up, exposing your bare, dripping pussy — you didn’t even bother wearing panties. His large hand comes down hard on your ass, making you cry out.

"Look at this desperate little cunt," he says, stroking the spot he just spanked. "Dripping all over my floor." Two thick fingers slide through your folds and push deep inside you without warning. You scream, pushing back against his hand as he fingers you hard, curling his fingers against that sweet spot while his thumb circles your swollen clit.

"You’re tighter than I imagined," he groans, pumping faster. "All those weeks teasing me in those tiny skirts and tight tops… you’re going to take every inch of Daddy’s cock tonight."

You’re already a sobbing, dripping mess. "Yes, Daddy, please fuck me."

He pulls his fingers out, yanks your top up to free your breasts, and spins you around to face him. Before you can say anything, his mouth crashes against yours in a hungry, demanding, almost desperate kiss — his tongue pushing past your lips to claim you completely.

You melt into him, moaning into his mouth while grinding against his hard cock. When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen and you’re panting.

He walks you backward toward the bedroom, still kissing you between steps, until the back of your knees hit the bed. Sunghoon throws you onto your back, pulls off his shirt, and shoves down his sweatpants — finally freeing his cock that springs out, thick and rock hard with pulsing veins along the shaft. Your mouth waters at the sight.

He climbs on top of you, grabs your thighs and spreads them wide. Without any ceremony, he lines up and thrusts deep inside you in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt in your soaked pussy. "Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight."

Then he starts fucking you hard — deep, merciless thrusts that make the bed creak and his heavy balls slap against your ass with every stroke.

You’re completely lost in it, moaning like a whore because he’s so big and the stretch is overwhelming. "Your cock is so big… you’re stretching me so good."

He leans down and kisses you again, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you. His muscular body pins you to the mattress, his heat and weight dominating you the best way possible.

"You’re mine now," he growls against your lips. "My perfect little pet. This pussy belongs to me now."

Sunghoon presses one hand firmly on your lower belly and starts fucking you with slow but incredibly deep strokes. His cock is so long and buried so deep that you can clearly see the bulge moving under your skin with every thrust.

"I can literally see my cock bulging your tiny stomach. Feel that?" He thrusts harder, pressing down so you can feel the head of his cock pushing against his hand through your body.

You nod, sobbing with pleasure, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Yes, I feel it. You’re ruining my pussy, Daddy. I’m so full."

"My cock is bigger than your little womb can handle… but you’re still taking every inch like a good girl," he groans, almost hypnotized.

"Please, don’t stop," you beg desperately, voice breaking. He fucks you even deeper, one hand still pressing on the bulge in your stomach while the other pins your wrists above your head.

The pressure becomes unbearable until you can’t hold back anymore. You cum hard, screaming as your pussy clenches violently around his cock, squirting while he keeps fucking you through it. The sight and feeling push him over the edge too. He buries himself as deep as your body allows and fills you with thick, hot ropes of cum, groaning loudly as he empties himself inside you.

He slowly pulls out of you, his cock glistening with the mixture of both your cum. You’re panting, legs still trembling from the intense orgasm, when suddenly he flips you onto your stomach without warning. He grabs your hips and pulls your ass up, putting you on all fours.

"Arch your back," he orders. "I want to fuck you like the desperate little pet you are."

You obey immediately, arching your back deeply and presenting your wet, swollen pussy to him. This position leaves you completely at his mercy as his tall, muscular frame towers behind you.

He leans over you, one hand sliding down your spine until he grabs the back of your neck, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest. With the other hand, he turns your head to the side and kisses you deeply. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming every inch while his thick cock teases between your ass cheeks.

You moan into the kiss, melting under him. "Daddy… fuck me harder," you beg breathlessly against his lips.

He kisses you even more aggressively, biting your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "Open your mouth."

You obey without hesitation, sliding your tongue out slightly. Sunghoon leans over you and spits directly into your open mouth — a thick string of saliva landing on your tongue.

You moan pathetically and swallow it all. "Thank you, Daddy…"

"Good girl," he praises with a wide smile, then spits into your mouth again. "Now take my cock."

He pushes you back down onto the mattress, grips your hips with both large hands, and thrusts into you with one brutal stroke. The new angle lets him bury every thick inch even deeper, stretching your tight pussy to its limit.

"Fuck!" you cry out, fingers gripping the sheets. "You’re so deep like this… Oh my God."

Sunghoon starts fucking you hard, his hips slamming against your ass with loud, wet slaps that push your body forward with every thrust. His thick cock rubs against your cervix and every sensitive spot inside you — the obscene sound of your soaked pussy getting fucked filling the room.

He keeps one hand on the back of your neck, pressing your face into the mattress while the other spanks your ass hard in time with his thrusts, leaving red marks on your skin. "Take it," he groans. "This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be fucked like a bitch in heat by your professor."

"Yes, yes, Daddy." you moan loudly, pushing your hips back desperately to meet his rhythm. "Fuck me harder… I love being your little slut."

He leans over you again, chest pressed against your back, and continues pounding into you mercilessly. Every thrust makes your ass ripple and your tits bounce beneath you.

Sunghoon reaches around and grabs one of your breasts roughly, pinching your nipple without slowing his punishing pace — his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every stroke.

"You’re so fucking tight like this," he growls against your ear, biting your shoulder. "This tiny pussy was made for my cock."

You’re sobbing with pleasure, completely lost in how deep and hard his huge cock is fucking you. "I’m gonna cum. Sunghoon, please... can I cum?" you beg, voice breaking.

He slaps your ass hard again, making you squirm under him. "Cum on my cock like a good girl."

You scream into the mattress as your inner walls clench violently around him, the orgasm hitting you violently. He doesn’t slow down — he fucks you straight through it, chasing his own release.

Until he buries himself to the hilt and fills you with another huge load, pumping rope after thick rope of hot cum deep inside your pussy in heavy spasms.

You’re still trembling and leaking his cum when he pulls out and suddenly flips you onto your back so he can look at your ruined body and flushed, wrecked expression. "On your knees," he commands, his voice low and rough.

You obey instantly, like you always do. Sunghoon reaches over to the nightstand where he keeps his satin ties and grabs a couple. "Hands behind your back, pet." He ties your wrists securely behind you and then binds your ankles, leaving you completely helpless on the bed.

The silk bites into your skin just tight enough to make you fully at his mercy. When you test the restraints and realize you can’t escape, a needy moan escapes you.

"Look at you…" he says, slowly stroking his cock, which is already rock hard again. "All tied up and dripping for me. Exactly how a desperate little slut should be.:

You whimper, your pussy clenching around nothing. "Daddy, please..."

He lets out a cruel laugh, then grabs you by the hair and drags you off the bed to the large full-length mirror on the bedroom wall. He positions you on your knees right in front of it, facing your own reflection. "Eyes open," he whispers into your ear. "Watch what I do to you."

You stare at the obscene image in the mirror: your wrists and ankles bound, your skirt bunched uselessly around your waist, tits exposed, and your face flushed with lust.

Sunghoon kneels behind you, his muscular body making yours look tiny. He yanks your head back by the hair and thrusts into you with one brutal stroke, burying his cock to the hilt.

He starts fucking you hard, deep and punishing thrusts that jolt your bound body forward. His biceps flex as he grips your hips, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke. The mirror shows everything — your tits bouncing, your face twisted in pleasure, and his body dominating you from behind.

"Fuck, look how well your tight little pussy takes me," he groans. One hand wraps around your throat while the other arm snakes around your upper body. He pulls you back against his chest, smothering you between those massive biceps while he keeps thrusting. Your vision starts to blur from the overwhelming pleasure as you gasp for air, forced to watch yourself being destroyed in the mirror.

Sunghoon unties your ankles and in one smooth motion stands up, lifting your body like you weigh nothing. He presses you against the mirror, your tits and cheek smashing against the cold glass as he enters you from behind again.

The mirror fogs up with your hot breath while he fucks you relentlessly. "You teased me for weeks," he growls in your ear, one hand still gripping your throat. "Now you get to watch yourself get fucked like the whore you are." His hips slam against your ass with loud, wet smacks, his cock driving incredibly deep in this standing position.

You cum hard, screaming as your pussy squirts around his cock and your legs shake violently, but he doesn’t stop. He pulls out, spins you around, and lifts you onto his cock, impaling you completely again. His strong arms do all the work, bouncing your bound body up and down on his thick shaft.

"Beg for it," he demands.

"Please, Daddy, cum inside me again," you sob desperately. "Fill your good girl up… I need it so bad."

He buries himself to the hilt one final time and floods your pussy with another massive load, pumping rope after thick rope of hot cum until it overflows around his cock and drips down your ass.

Still buried deep inside you, he carries you back to the bed and sits you up on the edge of it, standing in front of you. "Open that pretty mouth. Time to clean Daddy’s cock and get your throat fucked."

He doesn’t wait for you to do it. He simply grabs your hair and slaps his cum-covered cock against your tongue a few times before shoving it straight down your throat. You gag hard, your eyes watering instantly as he forces his thick length past your gag reflex.

"That’s it, swallow it all, you filthy little cocksucker," he groans, starting to thrust deep and steady.

You gag and drool uncontrollably, thick strings of saliva running down your chin and dripping onto your tits and thighs. Glk- glk- glk. The obscene sounds fill the room as he fucks your face mercilessly.

You pull against the restraints around your wrists, trying to escape while moaning around his cock. When he pulls out briefly to let you breathe, you gasp desperately. "I’m your dirty little whore, Daddy."

He groans and thrusts back in, fucking your throat harder and faster while holding you in place. Tears stream down your face, but you keep looking up at him submissively. Finally, with a deep groan, he buries himself to the hilt and cums straight down your throat. You swallow every drop like the good girl you are, coughing and gasping for air when he finally pulls out.

Sunghoon releases the restraints from your wrists and sits on the edge of the bed, his cock still hard and glistening, slapping against his stomach. He pulls you onto his lap, gripping your hips possessively. "Get on top, baby," he says, his voice low and rough. "I want to watch you ride Daddy’s cock."

Even though you’re trembling and completely wrecked, you obey. You straddle him, align his cock with your soaked entrance, and sink down slowly, moaning loudly as he stretches you open again. "Fuck… Daddy, you’re so deep like this," you moan, bottoming out with a shaky breath.

Sunghoon leans back slightly, supporting himself on his hands, his thick dark eyebrows furrowed as he watches you. One large hand immediately slides up to your breast, squeezing it hard while his thumb brushes over your sensitive nipple. "Ride me. Show me how badly you wanted this."

You start moving, rolling your hips and bouncing on his cock. He slaps your ass hard. SMACK. the sharp sound echoing as your flesh jiggles. "Faster," he demands, slapping the other cheek even harder. "Don’t be shy. Fuck yourself on me like you wrote in that dirty little notebook."

You ride him harder, your tits bouncing wildly in front of his face. He leans forward and catches one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while his other hand keeps spanking and groping your ass, occasionally spreading your cheeks so he can feel how tightly you’re stretched around him.

"Oh my God, Sunghoon!" you moan loudly, head falling back. "Your cock feels so good… I love your cock. Please, spank my ass harder!"

His big hand comes down again and again, turning your ass red while his other hand kneads and pinches your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. The mix of pain and pleasure makes your pussy clench around him.

"Look at you… bouncing on your professor’s cock like a whore. These pretty tits are mine." He squeezes them together, burying his face between them, biting and sucking marks into your soft skin.

You’re losing control, riding him relentlessly while grinding your clit against his pelvis with every bounce. "I’m gonna cum, please. Can I cum?" you beg.

He slaps your ass one more time, hard enough to make you scream, then grips your hips tightly and starts thrusting up to meet you. "Cum," he growls against your chest. "Cream all over Daddy’s cock."

You scream loudly, your body shaking violently as your pussy clenches and squirts around his thick shaft. Sunghoon doesn’t stop — he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, spanking your ass and playing with your bouncing tits until he groans deeply and buries himself inside you, pumping another thick load into your already overflowing pussy.

Sunghoon gently rubs your wrists and ankles before lifting your trembling body along with his and carrying you in his arms to the bathroom.

Under the hot streams of water, he presses your body against the tiles, pinning you there. "Can you take one more? Just one more for me, hm? I know you can, baby…"

You nod quickly. "I can."

He lifts one of your legs, lines himself up, and slides back into your sore, dripping pussy. The water cascades over both of you as he fucks you deep and steady, one thick arm wrapped loosely around your throat from behind while his other hand gropes your breasts and rubs your clit.

"You’re such a messy little whore, but so good for me," he whispers in your ear, thrusting harder. "Still leaking my cum down your thighs."

"Yes, I’m yours," you whimper, pushing back against him. "Fill me again, please. Breed me. I want to be yours forever, Daddy."

He pins you harder against the wall until you cum again, moaning his name. With one final deep thrust, he groans and releases inside you once more, making the mixture of cum and water run down your legs.

Sunghoon turns off the water, dries you carefully, and kisses every mark he left on your body. He carries you back to the bed and pulls you into his arms, cuddling you against his chest.

"You were incredible tonight," he murmurs softly, stroking your hair. "Such a good girl for Daddy. You took everything so well."

You nuzzle into him, your voice low and exhausted. "Thank you, Daddy… I loved every second. I’m yours now."

He massages your sore wrists, thighs, and neck with gentle, careful hands, then brings you water and holds the glass while you drink. He cleans between your legs again with a warm cloth, kissing your forehead the whole time.

"Stay here with me," he whispers, wrapping you in those strong arms. "Rest, baby."

You fall asleep feeling safe and warm in his arms, completely owned, satisfied, and already dreaming about the next time.

────────

You wake up slowly, your body sore and marked — your thighs sticky with dried cum, your throat still a little raw. You smile to yourself like a lovestruck idiot, then slip out of bed wearing one of his dress shirts that you stole from the chair in the room.

You walk toward the kitchen, following the smell of fresh coffee. He’s standing at the counter, so you quietly approach from behind and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back.

"Good morning…" you murmur, kissing his back softly. "Thank you for last night. I can still feel you everywhere."

Sunghoon doesn’t turn around immediately. He stays still for a moment, then lets out a low, cold laugh that makes your stomach twist.

He finally turns, wearing that same reserved, stern expression he used during lectures as he looks at you like you’re something both pathetic and mildly amusing.

"You’re already acting clingy?" he says, his voice low and cruel. "One night of getting your holes ruined and you think you can play housewife?"

Your cheeks burn, but you still try to be sweet, pressing your body against his and rubbing your hard nipples against his chest.

"Sorry… I just feel so close to you right now," you whisper softly, looking up at him with big, adoring eyes. "I love being your good girl."

He reaches out and grabs your chin roughly, forcing your head back with a firm, almost painful grip. "Look at you," he says mockingly. "So desperate and sweet in the morning. You were screaming like a whore last night, begging Daddy to fill your insides with cum… and now you’re cuddling up to me like a lost puppy?"

Before you can respond, he releases your chin and turns back to the counter as if you don’t even deserve his attention. But you keep trying, stepping forward again and wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Please, Sunghoon… I really like you. It’s not just the sex—"

"Enough," he interrupts sharply. He turns again, grabs you by the waist, and easily lifts you onto the kitchen counter, spreading your legs. The shirt rides up, exposing your bare, still-swollen pussy. "You’re not going to play sweet and domestic after writing page after page about wanting to be my personal cum dump."

"But… I want to make you happy," you say softly, your voice trembling.

He leans in close, trapping you on the counter. "Then stay quiet and keep that little cunt ready for whenever I want it," he says coldly. "Sweetness doesn’t suit a desperate pet like you. Now spread your legs wider and stop pretending you’re anything more than my dirty little secret."

He delivers a hard, cruel slap directly to your clit, making you gasp. Then he steps back, leaving you sitting there exposed, dripping, and aching on the counter while he casually drinks his coffee.

He loved seeing you turn into a flustered mess around his best friend. So he took every opportunity he could to put you two in the same room, watching from the side as you tried and failed to appear cool and relaxed. 

Jay was a good sport about it, smiling when he was supposed to, keeping his flirting just subtle enough to drive you insane without crossing a line. 

Jungwon watched it all, pulling you into his chest after getting home, as you babbled about how hot Jay was. You let him run his hands down your arms and bury his face in your neck, too distracted by thoughts of Jay to realize just how much your roommate loved to touch you.

Another message popped up on Jungwon’s phone. 

Jay was ten minutes away.

He looked at you again, your face relaxed as you stared at your phone, your mouth curling slightly at the corners at something on the screen. 

It was going to be a fun night. 

You looked at Jungwon as the doorbell rang. “Are you expecting someone?”

He shrugged, gently removing your feet from his lap as he stood up. “Nope, I’ll check.” He got up and walked to the door, his figure disappearing down the hall. 

You heard the door open, and a familiar voice trailed into the room.

You froze.

No, it couldn’t be.

You bolted upright, looking down in horror as you realized that you were in pajamas: an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts that rode up your thighs. There was no time to change, no time to hide in your room. You ran your fingers through your hair, adjusting the shorts on your hips as you assumed a normal sitting position on the couch.

Jay walked into the room, and you glanced over your shoulder as casually as you could manage. “Oh, hey, Jay.”

His characteristic side-smile appeared on his face: “Hey, y/n, how are you?”

You smiled, “I’m good, just…relaxing.” You tried not to let your eyes wander. He was wearing a loose button-up shirt and baggy jeans. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to his elbows, with two buttons undone at the top, so his collarbone was on full display. 

But the worst (best) part? A thin pair of black glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, perched lazily as if he threw them on in a rush.

Was he trying to kill you?

You turned away as you felt heat creeping up your neck, scrolling absently on your phone. 

Jungwon’s voice wafted through the space: “Can I get you something to drink, Jay?”

“Water’s fine.”

Your eyes were on your phone, but your attention was solely focused on Jay’s every movement. You heard him shift on his feet before he walked over and took a seat on the couch next to you, only a cushion between you.

“You look comfy.” He said.

You sucked in your bottom lip, pulling your bare legs under you as you shot him a half-smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were coming over.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound triggering a warm ache between your legs. “It’s ok, I don’t mind.” He paused before adding, “It’s cute.”

A smile worked its way to your mouth as you fiddled with the bottom of your shirt. This kind of comment was normal for Jay, subtle but said at just the right moment to make you squirm. No matter how many times he did it, you never got used to it.

Jungwon came over with a glass of water for Jay, setting it on the table in front of him before sitting on the other side of you. He put his arm over your shoulder and practically pulled you on top of him, drawing a surprised yelp from your lips.

You gave him a sharp look, feeling a blush settle on your cheeks. He was never this touchy when Jay was around, always opting to hover on the sidelines and hold you later after you were done being a flustered mess. 

But now his arm casually rested over your waist, your back against his chest as he traced your stomach through your shirt. 

Jay’s eyes flicked to Jungwon’s arm over you, but he said nothing, his face unreadable. He leaned over and brought the water glass to his lips, his throat bobbing as he drank.

You couldn’t help but stare.

“Should we watch something?” 

Jungwon’s voice interrupted your thoughts, and you tore your gaze away from Jay and to the TV, where Jungwon was already scrolling through movies.

Ten minutes later, you all settled on some rom-com you’d never seen, the studio fanfare echoing through the room.

Jungwon rested his chin on your head, his arm tightening around your waist as he shifted to pull you closer.

You didn’t move; you couldn’t move, because pulling away from him would mean moving closer to Jay, which was not an option. So you leaned back, letting yourself relax against Jungwon. You felt him smile behind you.

Throughout the movie, Jungwon’s hands got bolder. He traced circles on your thigh, brushed his knuckles against your arm, and played with the edge of your shirt so his fingers were just centimeters from the bare skin of your stomach.

You tried to ignore it, but with Jay on the other side of you, every touch felt different—charged. You knew that Jungwon was enjoying this, a hum vibrating from his chest every time you shifted under him. 

At one point, he put his lips next to your ear, hot breath fanning over your neck as he whispered, “Comfortable?”

Your skin shivered, and you let out a breath, “Yeah.”

“Really? Because you’re moving a lot.”

You glanced at Jay to see if he was listening, but his face was turned towards the TV, seemingly totally unaware of your conversation.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hissed.

Jungwon let his hand rest at the top of your thigh. “What am I doing?”

“Being annoying.”

He laughed softly against your hair, which drew Jay’s attention. His dark eyes flicked to his friend's hand on your thigh, and this time—just barely—his eyes narrowed.

Jay stood up. “I’m going to grab a beer; anyone want one?”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Jungwon said

Jay looked at you, “y/n?”

You nodded, “Sure.”

The second he left the room, you wiggled out of Jungwon’s arms, climbing out of his lap.

“Hey,” he whined, reaching for you.

You ignored him. “What’s gotten into you? You’re so…clingy.”

“Can a guy not cuddle with his roommate?”

“Uh, not in front of the guy you know I like,” You said.

“I’m helping you; this will make him jealous.”

“Or it will scare him off, because Jay’s a good guy who wouldn’t steal the girl his best friend is fondling.”

Jungwon shrugged, “Fine, if you don’t like me touching you, I won’t.” He crossed his arms.

“I-,” you stopped. Of course, you liked it—being held by him. After a long day, Jungwon was always the person who could help you relax. Always the person who made you feel safe.

But this was different, at least—that’s what you told yourself.

You were still staring at Jungwon’s pouty expression when Jay walked back in. 

He handed you both a beer and took his old seat, eyes darting between you and Jungwon. 

You sighed and sat between them, your knee now barely brushing against Jungwon’s. He didn’t look at you.

The TV droned on, and you kept telling yourself that this was what you wanted. To be around Jay and embarrassingly flirt with him until (you hoped) he would finally make a move. But he was quietly watching the movie, and Jungwon was looking ahead with an expression like a stone, ignoring you regardless of how many apologetic glances you sent him. 

You sank into the couch cushions and chalked the night up to a failure. 

When the movie ended, you immediately got to your feet, planning to hide in your room for the rest of the evening.

“Tired already?” Jay said.

You laughed nervously, “Yeah, well I have a lot of studying to do tomorrow.”

“You didn’t even finish your drink.”

You looked down at the coffee table where your barely touched beer sat, the one you’d abandoned after Jungwon had given you the cold shoulder.

“You can finish it.” You said.

“y/n.”

You stopped, because no matter how hard you tried, Jungwon was your weakness. You turned, and almost smiled in relief when you saw that his cold expression had been replaced with a teasing smirk.

“How about we play a game?”

Your eyes narrowed. “What game?”

“Hmm,” he put a finger on his lip, “Would You Rather? Never Have I Ever? Truth or Dare?”

“What are we, thirteen?” Jay snorted.

“Come on, Jay Hyung, it’ll be fun. Have you ever even played them?”

Jay tapped his foot. “I guess not.”

Jungwon grinned at you. “y/n? Don’t make me force you.”

You tried to resist. Tried to make the words “no” come out of your mouth because the idea of playing any of those games with Jay in the mix made your heart race. But you still felt bad for shutting down Jungwon earlier, and he looked so cute right now with his hair flopping over his forehead…

“Fine.” You plopped back onto the couch. “Would You Rather sounds the least painful.”

“What do you say we introduce some shots into the mix, Jay?” Jungwon said.

Jay smiled, “In that case, Truth or Dare is best.” He looked at you, “That way you have an out.”

You groaned, “Why ask me if you’re not gonna listen?”

Jungwon laughed and ruffled your hair before heading to the kitchen. “You were outvoted y/n; it’s totally fair.”

“Whatever.”

Ten minutes later, the three of you sat on the ground around the coffee table, a shot glass in front of each of you with a bottle of vodka in the center.

“You'd better actually play the game, Wonie. I’m not in the mood to deal with you being drunk right now.” You grumbled.

He waved his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll play, I promise.”

Jay just chuckled and poured each of you a shot. “One to start?”

You didn’t even wait for them. Just grabbed your glass and downed it, wincing as the bitter liquid hit the back of your throat.

Both of them stared at you with surprise etched on their faces.

“What?”

“Someone wasn’t lying about the long day,” Jay said, downing his too.

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just start.”

After taking his shot, Jungwon turned to you. “Ok, y/n, truth or dare?”

You hesitated. This game was new for Jungwon, a step beyond the teasing comments and subtle hints. To make things worse, you could tell from the way he looked at you that he was feeling risky. Neither option was safe.

“Truth.”

He smiled sweetly. “What do you think about Jay Hyung?"

You froze. The question was simple enough, and Jungwon asked it with a casual lightness to his voice that could fool everyone. Everyone except you. You glanced at Jay, who seemed to be trying to hold back a smirk.

“Jay is…nice. He’s respectful and caring and…plays the guitar really well.”

Jungwon raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

You nodded quickly, avoiding Jay’s eyes that you felt burning into the side of your face. “Yup.”

He shrugged. “Ok, your turn then.”

“Truth or dare, Jungwon?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

You bit your lip, flying through a list of potential dares. They all felt so boring, and you were starting to feel a bit vengeful. He loved making you squirm; maybe it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine.

“I dare you to let me text your ex.” You smirked; it was perfect. He hated talking about her. You’d met her once, and she was that annoying type who was painfully clingy and controlling. If she wasn’t with him, she was texting him—often about her complete disapproval of you—saying how “improper” it was for a guy to have a female roommate. He had to block her for his own sanity. He would definitely take the shot; no way would he open up that can of worms.

Jungwon pulled out his phone and held it out to you with zero hesitation. “Go ahead.”

You stared at him, pushing down your shock as you slowly took it out of his hands. “Really?”

He shrugged.

You pursed your lips and decided to take a different route. You stood up and walked over to Jungwon, lowering yourself into his lap. You felt him exhale sharply, and Jay chuckled from the other side of the table. You took Jungwon’s arm and wrapped it around you, then pulled up his phone camera. You shifted until the picture looked as couply as possible, then took it, the frame showing nothing but his large hand palming your stomach. 

You stood up and sent it before looking back at Jungwon.

He looked genuinely flustered, the most you’d ever seen him. His face was bright red, his pupils wide, and he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. 

You cocked your head. He touched you like that all the time and never looked more than vaguely amused. But the second you initiated, he looked just like you after a few hours of talking to Jay…

Wait.

No.

Jungwon’s phone buzzed in your hand, ripping you out of your thoughts. You opened it to the message you’d sent, eyes widening at the texts that flooded the screen.

I fucking knew you liked her. You asshole, how long were you cheating on me?? That bitch can’t give you HALF of what I could!!

They went on and on and on… and you half-threw Jungwon’s phone back at him before sitting back down, feeling slightly dizzy. Were you really that oblivious?

Jungwon looked between you and the messages lighting up his phone, his eyes a storm of concern and satisfaction.

Jay wasted no time. “Jungwon, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said, trying to catch your eye.

“Did you really choose to room with y/n over me because you thought ‘space would be good for our friendship’?”

Your head snapped up, looking between the two boys before settling on Jungwon, who was shooting Jay a death glare. 

“You told me Jay had already found a roommate.” 

He laughed nervously, “Well, Heeseung was looking for a place.”

“But I asked him first,” Jay said. “He turned me down almost immediately.”

“Listen…” Jungwon tried.

“Answer the question or drink,” Jay said.

You were staring at Jungwon like he was a different person, and you assumed he noticed, because one look at you and he was reaching for his shot glass. After he drank, he leveled an annoyed expression at Jay.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Jay said.

Jungwon worked his jaw, studying Jay carefully. “I dare you to take your shirt off.”

Jay snorted, his eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Do it or drink, Jay Hyung.”

You stared at your lap, wanting nothing more than to hide in your room. You knew if Jay did that, you’d be a blushing mess, and Jungwon knew it too. 

But if he liked you, why did he keep pushing you towards Jay? Shouldn’t he be possessive or something? Although now that you thought about it, he was possessive—at least around everyone who wasn’t Jay. He never let you out of his sight at parties, and within minutes of a guy approaching you, he was always by your side, a light hand at your back as he subtly told the guy to fuck off.

You thought he was looking out for you, making sure you were safe. But now, you saw it for what it really was: a claim.

And for some reason, Jay was the only exception.

Jay glanced at you, his eyes dropping down to the way you were wringing your hands. He nodded slightly, and slowly—torturously—unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He let it slip off his shoulders and tossed it behind him, leaving his chest completely bare.

It should be illegal how good he looked. Messy black hair, tan skin, black glasses sitting crooked on the edge of his nose. You tried not to stare. You really did. But you’d been imagining this exact image for months, and now that it was in front of you, you couldn’t look away.

Jay caught your eye and smirked, leaning back onto his hands behind his back and looking smugly at Jungwon.

But your roommate’s eyes were locked on you. He studied you with a hunger you’d never seen in him, watching the way your eyes were pulled to Jay like a magnet, and the way you crossed your legs, trying to calm the hot pressure building in your core.

“It’s your turn, y/n,” Jay said.

You stared at the bottle of vodka on the table, not wanting to look at either of them. The tension in the room was palpable, hovering around you like a raincloud ready to burst. 

You forced yourself to look at Jay, trying with your entire being to keep your eyes on his face. “Truth or dare?”

He tilted his head, a slight smile on his face as he took in the blush on your neck. “Truth.”

“Um.” You looked between him and the vodka. “Do you…really think I’m cute?”

You watched as Jay’s eyes darkened, his gaze briefly dropping to your lips. He leaned forward, his muscles flexing as he rested his forearm on the table. “I mean what I say, y/n.”

The way he was looking at you was doing unholy things to your brain. You felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, his stare lingering on every shift of your hips as you squirmed under his attention. 

You wanted him to touch you so bad it hurt.

Jungwon cleared his throat, snapping you both out of your trance. A muscle in his jaw was clenched as he looked between the two of you, his fingers tapping against his knee in a steady rhythm. 

You bit your lip, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. “Go ahead, Jay.”

“Truth or dare y/n?”

You were quickly losing your ability to look Jay in the eye without every thought in your head immediately dissolving into warm emptiness. Your thighs clenched involuntarily every time his low voice slipped from between his lips, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it together. 

“Dare.”

Jay exhaled softly, and you saw his hand clench. He looked at Jungwon, whose cheeks were already flushed, and pupils wide as he looked at you, a half-contained neediness in his eyes.

“I dare you to sit in my lap.”

You felt your mouth fall open as the words left his mouth, a rush of blood going straight between your legs. His eyes traced the parting of your lips the same way a cat looked at a toy, drinking in your shock like it was fuel. He shot you the crooked half-smile he knew drove you crazy. “You can drink, you know.”

You knew you should. It was one of those dares that was supposed to make you drink, but the thought of your back pressed against Jay’s bare chest…it was everything you’d been dreaming about.

Jungwon’s gaze bore into you like a physical pressure, and as you turned your head, you prepared yourself for jealousy, even anger. But instead, when your eyes met his, you found only anticipation. 

You stared at your shot glass, every thought in your brain screaming at you to fill it, but your desire was winning, and your body was being pulled towards Jay as if he was your center of gravity.

Slowly, you got to your feet and moved towards Jay. His eyes were almost completely black as he watched you, and when you lowered your butt to sit squarely in his crossed legs, his hands found your hips, holding you firmly against him. 

He took off his glasses and placed them on the table, then shifted so his chin rested on your shoulder, his breath hot on your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Good choice.”

You had to hold your breath to stop from whimpering. His skin felt electric whenever it touched you, and his hands weren’t helping. His fingers traced gentle strokes in the bend between your hips and thighs, one of them occasionally brushing up your bare leg. 

You cursed yourself for wearing shorts; the skin-to-skin contact was going to be the end of you.

“Jungwon, go.” Jay’s low voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from exhaling softly.

You felt him smile against your ear.

Jungwon licked his lips, gaze locked on the way you chewed on your lip to keep from making a sound you knew you’d regret. 

“y/n, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said quickly.

His question was instant and slightly breathless. “Are you turned on right now?”

You tensed, and at that moment, Jay’s hand drifted towards your inner thigh. 

You gasped, pressing your back against his chest as the pressure in your core tightened.

Jungwon smirked, his expression almost predatory.

Jay chuckled. “I feel like that answers it.”

“I want to hear her say it,” Jungwon said.

You knew there was no getting out of this one, but you tried to sound at least a little put-together as you said it. “Yes…”

“Yes what?” Jungwon asked.

You clicked your tongue. “Yes, I’m turned on.”

Jay nuzzled his nose behind your ear, his lips brushing over your hot skin, sending a shivering jolt down your back.

“Jay…” you sighed.

He made a sound similar to a purr. “Oh, I like it when you say my name like that.”

The ache between your legs was so intense it hurt, and you were about five seconds away from grinding on Jay’s lap. You couldn’t take it anymore; you needed to be touched.

Then you realized you had the power, because it was your turn.

Jungwon had moved closer, taking your old spot as he watched the way Jay traced your neck with his lips, his fingers playing with the necklace around his neck.

“Jungwon, truth or dare?”

His eyes darted up to yours. “Truth.”

You sighed because it was not the one you wanted him to pick. Luckily, you still had plenty of questions. “Why do you like watching Jay flirt with me?”

You saw them exchange glances.

Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck. “I liked…that he distracted you. I could see you get flustered and nervous around me since it wasn’t about me. You’d let me hold you and comfort you, something that would never happen if I-”

He stopped, and you noticed the growing tint of red on his cheeks. 

“If you what?”

He leaned back on his hands, a teasing smile on his face. “You’ll have to wait for your next turn.”

You rolled your eyes, momentarily forgetting where you were sitting until Jay’s hand slipped under your shirt. 

You inhaled sharply as his hand palmed your stomach, the contact making your hunger flourish with a new intensity. 

Jay’s voice sounded close to your ear. “I guess it’s my turn now. Are you ready?”

You nodded, your head feeling heavy.

His breath made your skin tingle as he spoke. “Truth or dare y/n?”

Frankly, you were done playing games. 

“Dare.”

He smiled against your neck, and a few seconds passed before he declared your fate. 

“I dare you to kiss Jungwon.”

The room went silent.

You looked at Jungwon.

He was staring at Jay with wide eyes, all of his playful confidence gone as his carefully guarded desires were revealed to the world.

“You can still drink y/n,” Jay said, his voice smug.

You realized you didn’t want to, and even though Jay was the one who made your knees weak, you were so horny you didn’t particularly care who was doing the touching.

Your eyes flicked down to Jungwon’s lips, and you felt a spark of pleasure in your brain when you saw his eyes visibly darken with need. Plus, it was about time that Jungwon took his turn being the flustered one. 

You moved to climb out of Jay’s lap, but his hands gripped your hips, holding you down. “Nope, he has to come to you.”

Jungwon didn’t hesitate. He moved until he was directly across from Jay’s legs, looking up at you with nervous anticipation. 

Slowly, you hooked your hand behind his neck, playing with the ends of his hair as your eyes scanned his face. 

You’d barely touched him, and he looked wrecked. His pupils were blown completely wide, his skin was hot, and his breathing came out in quick, shallow gasps. He kept looking between your eyes and your lips, like he was scared they’d disappear if he looked away for too long. 

You smiled because you were starting to understand why Jungwon enjoyed seeing you like this. The way he was looking at you made your core ache just as much as Jay’s rogue fingers, and you wondered how many of the nights that he held you after watching you lose your mind over Jay ended with him stroking himself in his room.

Now, you could help each other.

You leaned in, and you felt him tentatively brush his nose against yours, his hot breath ghosting over your mouth before your lips finally touched.

His lips were soft, familiar like you’d kissed them thousands of times. You felt a warmth bloom in your chest like a campfire—intense but safe. Jungwon made a sound, and you felt his hand instinctively rise to brush your waist, like he wanted to hold you but didn’t want to overstep.

You grabbed his wrist and moved his hand the rest of the way, smiling against his lips as his fingers dug gratefully into your side. 

That’s when you felt a finger press on your clit.

You gasped into Jungwon’s mouth as a surge of pleasure swept through your body, your grip on his hair tightening, causing a groan to slip from his lips. 

“Don’t mind me,” Jay said, pulling your hair back from your neck and leaning down to kiss the sensitive skin, his finger still pressed firmly on your clit through your shorts.

Your focus was narrowed until all you could feel was the painful pressure between your legs and the warmth of Jungwon’s lips. But in that moment, it didn’t matter whose lips were whose, or whose hands; all that mattered was that you wanted them on you.

So you kissed Jungwon as if your life depended on it, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him as close as physics allowed, because on that floor—sandwiched between two boys that’d been devouring you with their eyes for hours—it felt like it did.

Jungwon responded to your sudden eagerness like he’d been waiting for it all his life, opening his mouth and letting your tongues dance like fated lovers, his hands gripping your waist with a claiming force.

Jay hadn’t stopped kissing your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin like he wanted to spell his own name in bruises. His fingers had started making light circles over your clothed core, the slight pressure driving you even crazier than direct contact. You shifted on his lap, trying to grind against his finger and increase the pressure. Every time, his other hand would pinch the skin on your inner thigh, making you arch and tremble against his back.

You desperately wanted to feel your skin pressed against his bare chest, so you moved one arm from around Jungwon’s neck and gripped the bottom of your sleep shirt, tugging it up against Jungwon’s hands. He got the message and detached from your lips with a wet pop, ripping your shirt off your body and tossing it to the side. 

A broken groan escaped his lips as he took you in bare before him. “You’re more than I ever imagined.” He reached out and rolled one of your hard nipples between his thumb and index finger, smiling as you moaned at the contact.

“Do you like it when I touch you y/n?”

“Yes!” You gasped. “I love it when you touch me, Wonie.”

“God, you sound so pretty,” Jay said, teeth grazing over your ear.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, sighing as your skin met his.

“Fuck Jungwon,” Jay said, his hand on your hip moving up to cup your other breast. “How did you hold back for so long?”

Jungwon took your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud. “I wanted her to beg for it.”

Jay smiled and forced your chin towards him, drinking in your wrecked expression with hungry eyes. “I don’t hear much begging.”

“Jay,” you breathed, “I want you so bad.”

“How bad?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” He sighed, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

You continued, the pressure in your core so intense it was making you delirious, Jungwon’s persistent mouth on your chest not helping. “I’ve wanted you for so long, I dreamed of you inside me, please.”

The sentence had barely left your mouth when he kissed you. 

His lips were hungry, firm, devouring your mouth like a wild animal. One of your hands found his hair, and he growled, holding your chin towards him with an almost painful grip.

The room was filled with the sound of clashing tongues and wet licks, your strained moan occasionally cutting through the filth.

Jay’s hand had migrated under your sleep shorts, running up your folds through your soaked panties.

Your hips jerked against him with every stroke, begging for more.

He just smiled against your lips, never giving you the pressure you craved.

He was just as bad as Jungwon, preferring to watch you slowly come apart, much more than the end goal. You wondered if your roommate had learned it from him.

You were vaguely aware of Jungwon removing his hoodie and t-shirt, moving forward until you were basically straddled between them. His hands found your waistband, pulling your shorts down completely until you were naked besides your panties. He watched Jay’s hand run over your core with glazed eyes, his erection growing painfully in his pants.

When you felt Jungwon’s hand on your wrist, pulling it towards him, you broke the kiss with Jay to look, breathing heavily. 

Jungwon placed your palm over his bulge, groaning as you squeezed softly.

You leaned forward, watching every twitch of pleasure on Jungwon’s face as you rubbed him. “How long have you been hiding this from me, Jungwon?”

He tilted his head back, moaning softly. “So long, baby.”

The pet name made you smile. “You should have just asked; you know how much I like to make you happy. My sweet Wonie, my perfect roommate. I could have helped you.”

His face was strained as he looked at you. “Really? You would have…?”

You lowered your voice, keeping your eyes locked. “Anything for you, Jungwon.”

That was enough to make him buck against your hand, and he pulled away from your touch, gasping as his legs trembled. “I almost came right there, and you barely touched me.”

“Take it off, Jungwon.”

He nodded, pulling at the waistband of his sweats, stripping down his pants, and his boxers in one motion. His cock sprang free, already dripping and angry with arousal.

You licked your lips and reached for him.

Jungwon sat back down, and when your fingers made contact, he groaned.

You slowly stroked his shaft, watching his face contort in pleasure at your touch. 

You heard Jay sigh behind you, the sound sending a vibration through your back. “Need to see your face look like that,” he whispered.

Then his fingers slipped under your panties.

“Jay!” You moaned, pressing your back harder against his chest.

His finger swiped through your wet folds, the sound so filthy it made you arch against him. 

You continued your strokes along Jungwon’s shaft, speeding up slightly when Jay’s fingers made your control slip. 

Jungwon was a moaning mess under you, keeping himself propped up on his elbows as he watched you touch him while Jay made you squirm.

Jay put his other hand back on your breast, pinching your hard nipple as he continued to tease your entrance.

You brushed your finger over the slit on Jungwon’s tip; his sounds were the only thing keeping you grounded as Jay edged you.

“Fuck!” Jungwon groaned. “Talk to me, y/n; I want to hear your voice.”

“Wonie,” you gasped, trying to grind against Jay’s fingers. “I’ve always loved it when you touched me; you always made me feel good even when I was miserable.”

Jay’s thumb pressed against your clit, drawing a high-pitched moan from your throat. You pumped Jungwon’s dick with desperate speed, feeling the pressure in your core building.

Jungwon’s breathing was ragged. “y/n, I’m close!”

“Jay!” You sobbed, turning your head to bury your face in his neck.

Jay chuckled lowly and finally slipped two fingers past your entrance, a scream streaming from your lips as he curled up to hit your G-spot.

Your orgasm hit you like a truck, exploding through you like a parade of fireworks. You let go of Jungwon and gripped Jay’s knees with an iron grip as pleasure wracked your body.

Jungwon came right after, gasping as hot ropes of his cum shot out over your stomach and even Jay’s hand, which was still moving inside you as he helped you through your orgasm. 

You ground on Jay’s hand as you rode out the aftershocks, your chest heaving as the hours of buildup were finally released.

When you were slumped against him, Jay removed his hand, eyes going to Jungwon as he studied the remnants of cum on his arm. 

Jungwon lay on the ground with a lazy smile on his face. “Sorry, Jay Hyung.”

Jay just smirked and put his arm in front of your mouth. “Open up.”

Your mouth dropped open, too spent to be anything but obedient.

Jay put his hand on the back of your head and pushed you towards his arm, sighing as he watched you lick up the white substance. “Good girl.”

When you were done, you fell back onto Jay’s chest, finding solace in his warmth.

He chuckled. “You ok?”

You nodded, your eyes closed as you nuzzled your cheek into his neck. “I’m perfect.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jungwon said, watching you curl into Jay with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“But I feel bad that you didn’t get to feel good, Jay.”

Jay stroked your hair. “Don’t feel bad; watching you was reward enough.”

You traced his collarbone with your finger, his skin so warm and smooth it was intoxicating. You remembered what you’d said to him earlier when he’d asked you to beg. You hadn’t lied; they weren’t just words spoken in desperation. You wanted Jay fully, and the fresh ache in your core told you that you weren’t ready for the night to end. 

You put your lips next to his ear and lowered your voice into a whisper. “Jay, I still need you.”

He tensed under you, his hands that had been wandering over your waist stilling. 

“y/n…” he said, his voice strained.

“What?” You pouted. “Do you not want me?”

He stared at your plump lips, and you could see the battle of restraint in his eyes. His expression alone answered your question, but you wanted to hear him say it.

“It’s not that, I just…” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he looked at Jungwon, who was watching the two of you closely. “Jungwon has liked you for so long and I can’t-”

Jungwon cut him off. “It’s ok, Jay, do what she asks.”

“What?” Jay said.

You looked at your roommate, whose back was already propped against the table, his hand drifting to his hardening cock. “Fuck her, Jay Hyung.”

Jay searched your face for confirmation, his hand drifting down to your ass. 

So you kissed him.

Jay groaned into your mouth, his lips moving with a new intensity now that the unspoken boundaries had been stripped away. One of his hands tangled in your hair while the other hooked under your thigh, holding you flush against him. He gently lowered you off his lap, pushing you onto your back on the carpet. He stood up and grabbed at the zipper on his jeans, sighing as his hard length finally sprang free.

“Jay,” you moaned. Your walls clenched at the sight of him, and you watched with bated breath as he slowly sank to his knees before you.

Beside you, Jungwon had started to stroke himself. His eyes were glassy as they flicked between Jay’s dick and your face, pupils widening as he watched your lips part in a needy whine. The effect your sounds had on him was almost concerning. He thought that he could spend the rest of his life hearing them and never get tired of it. He reminded himself to ask if he could record you next time.

Jay grabbed your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, smirking when you gasped at the sudden change in position. He hissed as he let his tip run through your folds, your wetness coating his length.

You clawed at the floor, fingers curling in the carpet as shockwaves of pleasure coursed through you in intense bursts. Your vagina clenched around nothing, wanting so desperately to be filled. 

“You feel so fucking good.” Jay groaned. He teased your entrance, hovering at the rim of your hole, moving in small circles.

You tried to push yourself onto him, but he pulled back every time, watching with brutal satisfaction as a few tears spilled down your face.

“Jay!” You sobbed, so frustrated you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t think you’d wanted anything more in your life.

“Shh, it’s ok, baby.” Jungwon appeared by your head. He stroked your hair and peppered kisses down your face. “Just a little longer, ok?”

You reached for him; his voice a beacon in the dark, more comforting than you could put into words.

Jungwon interlaced your fingers and leaned down to kiss your lips.

You gripped his hair, holding onto him like a lifeline.

His kiss was deep and claiming, full of unspoken confessions and pent-up desires. With every move of his lips, you remembered the way he held you to his chest after a long day, or the way he hovered near you at a party, only a step away whenever you needed him.

You were lost in it, lost in him, and then you felt a pressure between your legs, and with a strangled groan, Jay pushed inside of you.

You cried out, ripping your mouth away from Jungwon as you threw your head back, the stretch so good you were seeing white. 

Since you were still wet from earlier, Jay wasted no time. He moved inside of you in eager thrusts, his rhythm hard and devastating. 

“You’re so tight,” he growled, “so fucking perfect for me.”

Jungwon kept stroking your hair, his other hand on his cock as he pumped himself in time with Jay’s thrusts. “Keep going, Jay Hyung, she’s so pretty right now.”

Jay’s grip tightened on your hips as he deepened his thrusts, studying the pleasure on your face with the same care and intensity he studied his F1 races.

You were a moaning wreck, your sounds getting higher and more frequent as you felt your orgasm building.

Jungwon removed his hand from your hair and shifted towards where Jay was slipping inside of you. With one hand never leaving his dick, his gaze turned towards you; he reached down and pressed two fingers on your clit.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as he started making firm, consistent circles over the sensitive bud. 

He pumped himself harder, his breaths turning ragged as he approached his climax. 

Jay had started slamming into you with frantic snaps against your pelvis, his eyes wide as short gasps stumbled from his lips.

You were all close, all chasing a release you’d been thinking of the second Jungwon turned down Jay’s roommate offer. Beginning the slow-burn cycle of stolen glances and loaded words that left you all aching by the end of the day.

You came first.

A broken cry ripped from your throat as you felt your walls clamp down around Jay, spasms of pleasure flowing through your body in waves.

Jay followed you, gasping as his hot seed filled you to the brim, your pussy milking him dry. He slowed his thrusts as he helped you through it, the two of you moaning in harmony.

Jungwon was last. He jerked himself off with quick strokes of his hand, wrecked whines slipping from between his lips as he came for the second time that night. He aligned himself so most of it landed around your mouth, and you licked up as much as you could, finding the way he followed the flicks of your tongue addicting.

The smell of sex lingered over the room like a cloud, the only sound the heaving of your mingled breaths. 

Jay pulled out of you, groaning as your bodies came apart with a wet squelch. He collapsed next to you, eyes closed as he caught his breath.

Jungwon crawled to the vacant space between your legs, licking his lips before leaning down to clean up Jay’s cum leaking down your thighs. 

You whimpered, oversensitive and spent, too weak to shove him away.

“Jay, would you get her face?” Jungwon said, voice muffled between your legs.

Jay sighed, opening his eyes and leaning over you. He kissed away the remains of Jungwon’s mess, tongue flicking over your skin as he licked up every drop. When he was done, he kissed you softly, and you moaned when you tasted Jungwon’s cum on his lips.

He smirked, “You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You kissed him again, a smile on your lips. “Only for you.”

When Jungwon was finished, he lay down on your other side, his hand moving to your waist as he pulled your back against his chest. He kissed your shoulder. “How do you feel?”

You placed your hand over his on your waist, brushing his fingers. “Tired.”

“But a good tired?” Jay asked.

You laughed. “Yeah, pretty good.”

“So I didn’t ruin our friendship?” Jungwon asked, face buried in your hair.

You smiled. “No, Wonie, I think you made it better.”

“So…we can do this again?” 

You giggled at the hope in his voice. “All three of us?”

Jay pushed a strand of hair out of your face. “If you want.”

You ran your hand down Jay’s chest, smiling when his muscles flexed under your touch. You could get used to this. 

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Jungwon made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, peppering kisses down your neck, his lips curved into a smile against your skin. “Now I can stop pretending everything you do doesn’t drive me insane.”

Jay leaned in and kissed you softly. “You know, at first, I only flirted because Jungwon asked me to, but somewhere along the way, I started believing what I was saying.”

You grinned, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “So you’re in?”

He smiled. “All the way.”

Taglist: @kristynaaah @heeddungi @every-w @iouven @enhniki1009 @cherryluvssss @abby1009poosay

A/N: Oh Em Gee!!! This is my first completed fic EVER!! I’ve picked up writing not too long ago so I’m not a professional or anything… And I don’t know much about abo so pls I’d love to hear your thoughts and opinions, don’t hold back! Enjoy:3 PS: Header divider and other images are from pinterest!

The first thing that he notices is your attitude.

"Don't fucking stare, you prick." You huff.

Your leg is bouncing against the plush flooring of his sedan, your arms crossed over your chest in a defensive posture he knows all too well. Okay, this is normal.

"Wasn't staring." He mutters with a weak snarl, fidgeting with the rubber cover on his steering wheel.

The second thing he notices is your scent.

Peachy sweet with an undercurrent of something sharp and defiant. Almost earthy like the rain or wet grass, but clean and sharp like eucalyptus.

Normal, again. But something feels off today. Your scent… it's stronger than usual. Heightened. He could tell the second you stepped into his raggedy sedan that… your scent is off. It slapped him in the fucking face, for Christ sakes. Usually the first note that hits him is your earthy, sharp scent. Defiant and unwilling, your Omega teeth bared(cute.) Its something he can almost always count on. But you're unusually… sweet this evening.

"Just drop me off at the pub, asshole." The least you could do is look at your driver when you request a drop off.

Your head is stubbornly turned toward the passenger window, staring out at God knows what— just anything that isn't him, really. Your leg is still bouncing up and down restlessly. Tap, tap, tap.

"The pub? Why—"

"None of your fucking business, why." You spit, teeth clenched so tight he can see the muscles in your neck working, twitching and pulsing like they're trapped, fighting to escape.

You're awfully restless this evening.

Not only is your leg bouncing still, but your nails are digging into your skin where they're crossed over your chest, leaving crescents into the soft flesh of your arm. Your other hand plays idly with the hem of your shirt, and your gaze is still averted like looking at him— no, even letting him see your face would be grave.

But he can still see you, and your body is telling him more than anything your words ever could.

"Just shut up, take me to the pub, drop me off, and drive away." You smile something cruel and mocking, your nails pressing deeper into your skin. "That's all you're good for anyway."

He raises an eyebrow, amused. "Driving is all I'm good for?" That doesn't earn a response from you who's clearly more focused on trying to stay calm.

You have… tells.

Your breathing is uneven, poorly controlled. Shaky and almost ragged. Your leg is bouncing even faster now and you look so strung like you could snap at any given second. He's surprised you haven't managed to break skin on your arm already.

Then he hears it. Something so soft, almost lost in the sound of his car's engine. But no, he heard it. Clear as day. A whimper.

And it hits him. Again. A thick, cloying wave. Something so sweet and suffocating he almost recoils. Your scent.

His nostrils flare and fucking burn from the sheer potency of your sex. His chest rises up and down with quickening breaths, his own body traitorously responding to yours. A low, unmistakable rumbling sound stirs in his chest, nearly clawing its way up and out of his skin like it would wrap its claws around you if it could.

The sound goes unheard by you, swallowed by the hum of the engine.

He swallows. Hard. His knuckles are white where they're now gripping his steering wheel, and his own leg starts to bounce with restless energy.

Everything is heightened. Your scent, his own sharpening in response to your call. Your proximity feels even slimmer, more suffocating. He feels so fucking claustrophobic that his throat is tight, mouth fucking dry until it wets and nearly drools at the sight of you.

The thought of you. The thought that you're probably so fucking slick in your panties right now that you're dripping onto his seat. The thought that he could taste you if he really wanted to. Lick the slick right off of your swollen fucking folds, suck your clit and fuck you open on his fingers until you clenched and pulsed around him, begging him to just stuff and knot you instead.

You're sweating. He can fucking smell you. Your skin is flushed from your cheeks to your neck, a rosy, feverish blotch disappearing under the neckline of your shirt that's gone wet and sticky, clinging to your collarbone and chest as you fucking heave.

He watches you reach over with a trembling hand to turn on the AC, blasting it on its highest setting.

"It's fucking h.. hot in here." You sigh in relief that's short lived, fanning out the neckline of your shirt as you lean your head back against the headrest, the cool air doing nothing at all to satiate the heat that feels like it's welling up under your very skin.

When he makes no move to actually drive, you snap. "Are you going to fucking drive? Take. Me. To. The. Pub."

"You're going to the pub… like this?" He questions, his voice tight and controlled. You finally look at him. Your pupils are fucking dilated, your cheeks rosy, forehead sweaty. Like fucking hell he's letting you near any pub— no, any public place in general. Taking you anywhere while you're like this, all needing and vulnerable, is a recipe for disaster. Any hungry, disgusting Alpha that caught sight of you wouldn't waste a fucking second taking advantage of you— His teeth clench so fucking hard he swears he hears a crack.

Fuck. No.

"Like what?!" You whine at an octave that clearly signals your growing impatience. You're sweating properly now, and you're trying (and failing) at hiding how you grimace and recoil every time a surge of heat clamps down on your tummy with every torturous second that you're not being fucked and filled.

You must be fucking crazy. Why the hell would you ever want to go out in this state anyway? To a fucking pub on a Friday night where any waiting, predatory Alpha could find you and fucking—

Oh. Right. He gets it now. You need a little… help, don't you?

He smirks cruelly.

"Ohhhh, that's it, is it?" He turns more toward you, his posture deliberately relaxed though his chest is coiled tight with something hot and possessive. "You don't have an… Alpha of your own, do you? You haven't been knotted, haven't been claimed, hm?" He tilts his head, his tone of voice so soft almost like a purr that contradicts with his aggravating, challenging sneer.

You feel fucking sick, your cheeks burning with indignance. "Excuse m—" "Ah-ah. Did I say you could speak?" He presses a calloused finger right against your lips.

"WHA-" "Checks out, really. Explains why you're so… pent up. Tense, and bitchy." His palm is properly pressed against your mouth now, effectively muffling any indignant sound or biting remark, and you don't even… fight it.

Just kidding. You? Of course you fucking fight it.

Your nails claw and drag down the expanse of his arm taking the same path as a bulging vein, causing him to hiss. But he doesn't relent. He just presses harder, and he leans in closer, your heat throbbing traitorously as your proximity lessens.

"Don't—" He huffs, frustrated air that slaps right against your cheeks. "Keep your hands to yourself, you fucking brat." He emphasizes the insult with a push to your head, finally releasing your mouth and you immediately gasp and retort.

"ME?! Keep MY hands to MYself?!" Your voice raises, arms flailing incredulously like you cannot fucking believe his audacity, and he just leans back against his drivers side door, completely amused and completely unbothered.

Feigned nonchalance. Sunghoon is practically thrumming with the same furious sexual energy you naturally radiate. Christ sakes, he can fucking smell you.

He can see you. Your body's turned more toward him now despite the derisive way you scoff and snarl, the dismissive way you brush off your clothes like his touch was repelling enough for you to do so. Then his eyes flit down. Not to your chest, no. He's already seen the lacy material of your bra through the thin whiteness of your "shirt" that's now stuck to you like a second skin. No, further down.

To your leggings. To your thighs, and he watches them tremble with anger and something else. Then higher.

Christ. He knew you were needy but fuck. He didn't know you were this needy. Your leggings are already black but you've managed to make them deeper, darker in the dip right between your fucking thighs.

You're fucking drenched. A whole wet patch is stained right against your fucking cunt and he swears he can see it throb under his gaze.

He swallows hard, biting back drool and nausea and fucking want. No, a primal need to tie you down and fuck his knot into you so deep you—

"Get out." Your hand scrambles for the door handle. Wait— fuck. That's not what he fucking meant. Get out? Is he crazy?

"Stop— Don't fucking move." You freeze, not willingly. But your body… your Omega halts under the demanding tone of his Alpha. Under his command.

"Good." He takes a deep, controlled breath, his jaw tight. It looks painful. "Get in the back."

You whip your head around so fast, your mouth open and ready to deny, to hold onto any semblance of control as your body already betrays you and unbuckles your seat.

"Wha- why?!" "Jesus Christ, stop fucking yelling." He closes his eyes, breathing slow like he's trying to hold back. His entire— entire body is so tense you can almost see the tremor in his legs he's trying so hard to suppress. "Stop yelling and get in the back."

Your seatbelt is undone. "I am not getting in the back!" He opens his eyes and says… nothing. He stares at you. And stares. Stares some more.

Then a cruel twist of lips. He's smirking.

"Did I not just tell you to stop yelling?" He shifts slightly in his seat, his knee coming up to rest on the console between you. "Brat. You're such a fucking brat." Then he's suddenly shifting, lunging across the console to your side and reclining your chair, straddling your hips and pinning your hands at your sides.

He leans down into your face, his lips so close to your ear that they skim across your skin as he speaks next and you can't help but fucking shiver. "Do I need to fucking pin you down to get you to listen to me?"

"Ack- What the hell?! Get off of me, you asshole!" You wriggle uselessly under his grip, but he remains unyielding. He's too big, too strong to gain any sort of footing. You're effectively trapped. And you're really, really fucking horny.

You've got 6 foot of fucking Alpha pinning you down, his thighs bracketing your hips, his lips pressing against your neck with teasing kisses and nips to your scent glands, and his own scent wrapping around you so strongly you cannot fucking think straight. Holy shit you don't think you've ever thrummed with such fucking pleasure in your whole life, your entire body is singing in response to his Alpha's mere proximity to your Omega. You're fucked.

"Get off of you?" His tone is soft, deceptive. "Mmm… No." Your body… it's too far gone to fight back. Not like you could anyway, he's got you pinned. But that doesn't mean you won't use your words. "What the literal fuck are you doing?! Are you insane?! Anyone could see!" You turn your head anxiously toward the window where the view inside is 100% unrestricted (fishbowl ass car), but he doesn't let your gaze stray far. He grips your chin and turns your face back toward him, and when he speaks again his face is so close to yours that you can feel his lips brush against your own.

"Y/n." He whispers. "Stop denying this. You need me, don't you? Need my knot." He presses on closer, your lips flush, and you whine into his mouth. "Need me to fuck you full, is that right?" You whimper with a frantic nod, your lips moving in hasty kisses against his own that won't reciprocate. He's just… still.

"Needy fucking whore." He pulls back abruptly, leaving you shocked and flushed, and your cheeks burn brighter at his insult. "Needy whore?! You're the one who fucking pounced on me!" Your body writhes and squirms under him, your legs attempting to kick him off. "Get off of me then!"

"Tsk, tsk." He tuts, never once lessening his hold on you, never budging a single inch. "But you," He shifts his leg, shoving it right between yours and pressing it up against your aching core. You arch almost immediately, a needy, pathetic sound escaping your lips before you could even stifle it. "You're so wet and so fucking needy." He rubs his kneecap right against your clit, watching you writhe and break beneath him. "Mm, that's it… feel it."

"You get into my car asking me to drive you to a pub in the middle of your heat and for what? To get laid by some whore Alpha who probably couldn't even make you come— no, who probably wouldn't even think of making you come?" He laughs breathy and disbelieving, shaking his head. "Why do that, hm?" He leans in, and you bite your lip and stifle the moan that threatens to surface when he nips your sensitive scent gland and rubs his knee harder against your clit simultaneously. Fuck, is he trying to kill you?

"Why go through all that trouble when you could've just asked me?" You make a disapproving noise that's really just a moan. "Ask you? Fu— hah… Why the hell would I do that?" He only smirks against your skin, and bites down harder. "Shit! Ow, stop that!"

"Y/n." He pulls back to look at you, his hands still clamped down on your wrists at either side of your hips. "I'm going to fuck you." He shakes his head. "No. I'm going to claim you. Do you understand?"

You don't respond. Well, not with words at least. But he doesn't need verbal confirmation when your body tells him everything he needs to know.

Claimed? He may as well had wiggled a red fucking cloth in front of a bull. Your Omega is thrumming with pure ecstasy, and your body responds with another gush of slick as you arch and rub down onto his knee.

"Holy— yessss, fuck. Look at you." He rubs you harder against his jeans, clearly feeling the weight of his words. "Did you just fucking… Fuck, you're so wet for me I can feel it— I can see it. Fucking whore."

"I'm not a fucking whore!" You whine in need as you continue to grind faster now, but it's not enough. You need more, more, more. You need—

"Fucking— UGH! FUCK ME ALREADY!"

There's a pause.

Then, "Oh?" He raises his eyebrow, an amused smile playing on his lips. "I'm not a fucking whore!~" He mocks, throwing your words back at you.

"God you are such a fucking di— ngh!" Your words are cut off as he suddenly removes his knee and replaces it with his hand, cupping you through your soaked leggings, smearing your slick all over his fucking palm before removing it and bringing it up to his face, watching it glisten in the light.

He sniffs his hand greedily. "God, fuck." Then, like the fucking freak he is, he licks his palm from the base to the tip of his middle finger, smearing your slick all over his tongue, shoving his finger into his mouth and sucking off with a pop that makes you shiver and gush more.

"Mmm." He closes his eyes as if savoring the taste. "So fucking good. So good." And when he opens his eyes, they're more dilated and intense than you've ever seen them. His scent is even stronger now, something woodsy and coaxing and fucking primal.

"Take them off." He doesn't wait for you to comply, already shoving his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, yanking them down in one harsh, firm pull that makes you gasp. "W-wait—" He immediately freezes and looks at you.

"NO!" You slap a hand over your mouth. "I- I mean keep going… don't stop… please." He blinks for a moment, then a slow, infuriating smirk splits his features. "Sorry?" He questions, feigning genuine confusion. "What was that?" He has your pants yanked halfway down to your calves, the only thing covering you being your underwear that may as well be a second fucking skin with how drenched you are, yet he thinks now is the time to tease and push your limits?!

"I didn't mean wait, you dumbass! Just… just do it!"

"Do what?"

"Are you—"

You let out a frustrated sound almost like a growl that just has him grin even wider. "Do… what?" At this point you're considering just walking yourself to the damn pub to find someone better. If they won't make you come at least they'll skip the small talk and fucking touch you.

"Touch me, you fuckin—"

"Say please."

"HUH?! I JUST— ngh- ahhh…"

He presses the pad of his thumb directly onto your swollen, throbbing clit, right over your drenched underwear, rubbing tight, furious circles that make your head spin and pussy clench around nothing but air. God, it aches. You need to be filled. Like now. "Touch? Like this?"

"AH— yes! Just like that!" You arch and moan, bucking into his hand like a fucking slut begging for more friction as if you can't get enough. And truthfully… you can't. You need more, much more.

"M-more…" You whine as his thumb continues it's relentless rubbing. "More?" He stops and your eyes widen with a gasp. "NO—" "Ah-ah." He cuts you off, pushing you back down by the shoulder when you try and sit up. "Say please."

One word. You need to say only one word, one, and you get everything you've been asking and aching for.

"Eat shit and die."

Well I can't help you there.

"Right."

You don't know how it happens. The world spins and suddenly you're on your stomach, ass up, back arched and completely fucking exposed. Wait…

"Such a dirty fucking mouth on you." Slap. "How should I tame you, hm?" Slap. "OW!—" He yanks your underwear down in one swift motion, the cool air hitting your heated skin causing you to clench around nothing and hiss through your teeth.

Okay, now you're completely exposed.

"Get!— AHHhhhnnng……" You have no time to process when he abruptly shoves two fingers into your sopping cunt, splitting you fucking open on his thick fingers over and over and over again even as you writhe in pain just cause he likes to hear how wet you are for him. "Ah, hear that?" The satisfaction in his voice and scent is thick as he continues to fuck you open on his hand, searching for that sweet spot that has you crying out in both pleasure and pain at the stretch.

"Right there! Right there! Don't stop!" The amount of fucking relief you feel is indescribable. You think even drugs can't feel this fucking good as your forehead lolls against the headrest, bouncing up and down from the sheer force he's fucking you with.

Then he pulls out. The world stops.

"NO— mmph!" He's cruel, really.

"What's that? Can't talk now, can you?" He taunts, two slick fingers shoved into your mouth deep enough to make you gag, his other hand a fist in your hair. Well, he's right, at least. You can't talk.

"Ngh.. I… agh—"

"Hm? Speak up, I can't hear you~" Oh, what a fucking dick. You bite down, hard.

"Shit." Well it worked at least, because he abruptly pulls his fingers out. "You're worse than I thought." You turn your head enough to throw a triumphant look in his direction until—

"AH!"

He fucking digs his five nails into the globe of your ass. Just digs them in, a fistful of fucking flesh under his sharp, merciless nails, deeper, deeper, and deeper still.

"AH, NO— OW!" You shake, buck, squirm, you even swat at his arm. He doesn't let up, just bites his lip as he looks down at you as you fucking writhe in pain like a sick fucking sadist.

"You can take it." He murmurs, quiet, almost like he didn't even mean to say it out loud. "I— I can't! It hurts, you asshole! Stop!" He sinks the sharp daggers into the soft flesh deeper until the skin breaks and you feel the warmth of your own blood dripping down the side of your fucking ass.

Eventually, he stops, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the wound making you jolt. "Good girl." He praises, and you can hear the smugness in his voice as he scoops up your blood, sucking it off his thumb with a sick, wet noise.

"Did you just— you're so gross!"

"And?"

"And?! And?! You're sick! Absolutely sick! You literally just dug your nasty nails into my fucking ass cheek and licked the blood!"

Silence. A beat. Then,

"They're not nasty."

You really, truly cannot believe it. "Oh my god. Oh my GOD! Just get me out of here! I can't do this anymore!" You begin you push yourself up on unsteady arms. "If you're not going to FUCK ME, then I'm fucking leaving! Ack—"

He fucking shoves your head back down with a force that nearly knocks you out. He keeps his hand there, a rough, uncompromising pressure as he leans down and whispers in your ear, his voice tense.

"I told you to keep your fucking voice down, did I not?" When you don't respond he applies more pressure, shoving your head further against the seat. "I said, did I not?"

"Mhmmph." You nod as much as his grip will allow, feeling and wallowing in his dominance.

"Good. Now, leave? And go where? To the fucking Pub to be fucked by some scum? Really?" You hear him scoff. His grip tightens on your head to an almost painful degree, his voice a possessive drawl. "You're not going anywhere. You're going to stay here in my car, take my cock, my knot, my cum until your pussy is full and satisfied. Understood?" You shudder, just fucking shudder when he drags his hard cock along your ass.

"Mhmmph." His grip loosens and he pushes himself back up to look at you, really look. "Good fucking girl." He drawls, the satisfaction in his voice evident as he gropes your ass, taking each cheek into his hands and pushing them together, watching them jiggle as he lets go. You're still sore from his nails, and you have to bite down on your tongue when he slaps over the wound just to watch you recoil.

What a sick fucking sadist.

"That. Hurts." You grit out.

"Don't give a shit. Arch."

You comply, your muscles already sore from the awkward way you have to lay on this damn seat. He hums in approval, his scent sharp and eager, and he soothes his palm over the mark. Well he must think it's soothing but it's really not since his palms are so fucking calloused. You whimper but you take it, being in no position to argue and just wanting to be fucked all fucking ready.

Then you hear it. His belt unbuckling. Then his buttons and finally, his zipper. God, you could just moan in sheer delight at the fucking sound.

"Finally…" You didn't even mean to say it, truly.

"What was that?" You hear him pause, his zipper only halfway down. Fuck. Okay, don't panic.

"I.. I said.." You arch back against him, shaking your ass (hopefully) coaxingly. "Please. Fuck me?" You hear him unzip his jeans the rest of the way, the fabric giving as he finally slides them down his hips and you just squeeze your eyes shut and thank the lord above for this blessing.

"Mm. Since you asked so nicely." He hums, taking himself in his hands and stroking once, twice, slowly, just watching the way you arch and clench around air, still so fucking slick that you're glistening in the light. Then he positions himself between your legs, rubbing his fat, swollen tip through your folds and catching it purposefully, cruelly, onto your clit.

"Don't tease…" You pleade, your cheek squished against the headrest as you crane your neck to the side as much as you can just to catch a glimpse of him. And when he prods his tip at your entrance, a cold, doom-like feeling washes over you, and suddenly you take everything back. It's comical, really, how a huge cock could make you never want to have sex again instead of the highly implied opposite…

"Ready for me?" He doesn't wait, pushing just the tip past your tight, yielding entrance, your walls already clamping down on him hard enough to make you gasp and him grit his teeth in attempt not to shove all of himself inside with one brutal thrust. "Shit, open up for me…" He grits out, his body trembling like he's forcing himself to hold back. He grunts as he sheaths inch by torturous fucking inch inside your poor cunt, and all you can do is just lay there and take it because after all, this is what you asked for.

No amount of fucking slick could ever— ever be enough to make this process any smoother. It's slow and fucking painful, and it only angers you more knowing that you're the only one feeling the pain. So what do you do? You reach back and dig your nails into his forearm as hard as you fucking can just to make him feel even half as much fucking pain as you, but not before looking back at him and batting your lashes with a look that says: "Oh, me? It just hurts, that's all…" and not like you just want to draw blood out of spite.

"S-slow… slower…" He rubs your back, surprisingly gentle. "Relax, just take it." He coaxes, "Come on, you can take it, can't you? You can take your Alpha's cock— that's it, fuckkk. Open up for me, baby. Just like that…"

When he finally sheaths his entire ?inches into you, all you can do is moan and sag your entire body in relief of finally, finally being filled.

His hand snakes around your tummy, pulling you up with one unforgiving tug as he starts to move, and he's just fucking cruel with it. Slamming his cock into you so rough and deep, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. "Get the fuck— up." He grunts, his biceps working and bulging as he fights to keep your limp weight arched at his disposal, but you just… you can't hold yourself up. You can't move, really. Your entire body feels like jelly, it's just humming in pure ecstasy as you feel his thick cock plunging in and out of your soaking, swollen walls relentlessly, his veins dragging against you with every ministration… you're just a whining, moaning fucking mess.

"G—go…. God, yes… yess…. God, YES—"

"That's it." He smugly comments, his lip bitten and red, a flush evident and blotched on his cheeks down to his neck. He watches as your head bobs against the seat in an obviously uncomfortable way with every brutal thrust and he doesn't even give the slightest shit, all he cares about is watching and feeling your tight pussy take his cock as you cry out, his Alpha satisfied knowing it's finally taking care of your needs.

This is for you, afterall.

He thrusts once, twice more, then a third thrust that has you feeling him so deep you swear you can feel him in your tummy, and he just holds it there. He leans over your back, bracing one nail bruised forearm beside your head, applying all his weight against your hair that's a mess on the headrest and he doesn't care, he just breathes into your ear. "You feel that?" He shifts his hips ever so slightly just so you can feel his tip brush against your cervix. "That's how deep I'm gonna be when I fucking knot you."

Fuck. Just… just fuck. Are you in heaven?

"Are you all talk?" You must be crazy.

"Just fucking knot me already— hah— then! Or all you all fucking talk?" You crane your neck backwards to shoot him a challenging look that makes him snarl in response. Bingo!

"Oh, is that it?" He chuckles lowly, cold and mean. Then he fists your already knotted hair and shoves your head back down into the fucking seat harsh and unforgiving. His other arm has already given up on holding you up because at this point it's obvious your limbs won't be able to take it, and he just applies a sick pressure to your lower back with his hand and starts fucking you again, harsher this time(if that was even possible.)

You can't say much. You don't think you've ever heard yourself make such raw noises, they're truly coming from the depths of your soul as you feel him reach that very spot, dragging those sounds out with every thrust out and in.

"You've got a talent for running your fucking mouth." It's crazy how you can hear the smile on this man. He doesn't even sound mad, he sounds… pleased.

If you thought it was overwhelming before then you thought wrong because apparently there's always a more. "What's it gonna take to— shit… To shut you up, huh?" He accentuates each word with a jarring thrust, his nails biting into your skin on your lower back and you just arch into it, relishing in the pain. "I pin you down, I bend you over and fuck you on my fingers, then with my actual dick and somehow you've still got the energy? You can't even hold yourself upright and you're still talking shit."

"Are you that fucking desperate for it?" He tugs your hair back in a rough motion that has you staring dazedly at the roof of his sedan. "Huh? You're so desperate for my cock that you feel the need to rile me up? Hm?" Tug, thrust, scratch, another tug. "Is this what you wanted? For me to fuck you so hard you can't even speak?"

Bingo!

He seems so caught up in his anger that he just fucks you more, harder still, and you didn't even think it was possible. Is this all it took? Pissing him off?

You feel the heat coiling in your belly by the second, your legs trembling and back arching so hard and unwilling that you just have to squeeze your eyes shut and ride it out, focusing on the pleasure building in your gut.

"Is that— ngh! Is that all you can d-do? Harder..!" His control (you didn't think he had any left) finally snaps. He growls, fucking growls, and fucks you harder, so deep that it nearly knocks the air out of your fucking lungs, his fist tugging your hair back so rough and he doesn't even realize how far he's got your neck craned back (it's bad), he just sees red.

"This it? This hard enough for you? Fucking whore!" You nod frantically, your entire body in so much pleasure and pain it's hard to decipher between the two, and you don't think he realizes you're even close until you go tense, your legs trembling so badly you hear your thighs which are sticky with sweat stick and unstick to the leather skin of the seat rhythmically.

You shake, shake and fucking shake until your body goes completely rigid and the most intense pleasure you've ever felt in your entire life courses through what feels like your veins. It's so intense that it nearly whites out your vision. You don't think you've ever arched so hard, fucking moaned so loud and genuine. You clench around him so tight that his hips stutter and he has to put in more effort to thrust around your pulsing.

"Fuckkk, yes. Squeezing me so fucking tighttt, fuck… You feel good, baby? That what you needed? Did I give it to you?" He fucks you through every wave until your body goes slack again and you tremble from oversensitivity and he still goes, still fucks into you with that same relentless speed, and you can't even complain because you feel him finally start to swell at his base. Finally.

"Ah, yes… Gonna knot you, okay? Gonna knot you, baby. I'm gonna give it to you— shit… Gonna— Gonna—" And he finally, with a deep, ragged groan, finally stills deep inside you, pumping you full of his milky come and finally locks you together.

His body finally goes slack, slumping his entire weight against your back, squishing your poor bones and face into the seat for the last time. He's all lean muscle and you can hardly breathe but fuck, it might just be worth it. He shifts slightly with a contented hum, his scent thick and satisfied, and he nuzzles his face into the back of your neck. "Good?"

You're gonna be here for a while.

A/N: My second ever fic>< god, this one is honestly embarrassing idek why i wrote it but i had an image of gas station jw in my head for some reason so i haddd to write it out. As always pls comment and lmk your thoughts and opinions… im daiing to know. Enjoy:3 PS: i don’t support any of this behavior! Don’t be a perv! >:(

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

You wonder how there's any way in the year of 2026 that there hasn't been anyone intelligent enough to invent a teleportation machine.

Okay, like, you get it. A time machine sounds a bit ridiculous and too unrealistic. But a teleportation machine? Guys, come on. How haven't we?! Just think of all the places you could go… Literally anywhere in the world! Italy, France— Or, oh! To that one mall with the built in amusement park… To the UK, to an Egyptian pyramid. Or, most importantly, to a luxury hotel where you can be there for the sole purpose of fucking the shit out of your coworker.

Okay, you might have a problem. A very sweet, innocent, sexy, totally off-limits, Jungwon-shaped problem. You might, just maybe, want to fuck the living shit out of your poor coworker who's been assigned to night shifts only recently with you for the last week, and he hasn't even the slightest clue of what goes on in your brain when he's around. Or not around, helping a customer as you watch from afar at how his Adam's apple bobs with every word and polite laugh, just thinking about how badly you want to suck and lick marks all over it. Or, your favorite, in front of you where you can see his ass and exactly which muscle in his back that he strains when he lifts something particularly heavy. Or behind you, beside you…. Or when he's stocking shelves on his knees or when he's standing tall and has to grab something that you can't, fix something that you're unable to reach.

You twirl the same piece of gum you've been chewing for the last 2 hours around your pointer finger over and over as you wait behind the register for a customer like the good worker you are, while simultaneously harboring the very thoughts that could get you fired. Something your friend warned you about how coworkers are 'highly inappropriate fuck buddies' especially if it's only the two of you together at all times and something annoying about how "Y/n, you need this job! You haven't had a steady job in years—" and yeah, yeah. Blah, blah. You don't give a shit.

So you think of the ways you absolutely are going to fuck your off-limits coworker. Let's see… on a bed, obviously, but what if you can't get there quick enough? Like, what if he's just so fucking horny for you that he needs you now? I mean, come on, you have to consider all possibilities. You'll take him in the bathroom, then. Hell, you'll take him right fucking here, right on the cash wrap if you need to.

Ah, you sigh almost dreamily, not really seeing the products you're scanning or the amount of change you owe. Just throwing nickles and quarters into your palm with a generous 20 dollar bill and handing it off to the 40th wrinkled trucker you've seen in the last 2 hours with a "Thank you! Please come again~" that's just as fake and saccharine as the artificial gum you've been chewing. Something absolutely has to give because at this point, you think you're horny enough to follow him into the bathroom like a creep.

Push him inside and follow right behind him, closing and locking the door behind you as you watch him whip his head around, pulse surely ticking fast. "Y/n! U-um… Did you need to go too…?" He'd say, all flustered and almost apologetic like he was the one in the wrong. "You could've just told me, I would've let you go first. Now no one's up at the front—" And you'd cut him off with your palm while backing him up until his lower back hits the edge of the rusted sink—

"Y/n?" You jolt. "Woah, hey. Didn't mean to scare you." Speak of the (very angelic) devil. You turn your head, your face an innocent mask of 'Just working and totally not thinking of gripping your hips while sucking your dick, hehe~'

"No problem," You throw in a sweet giggle. "What's up?" Somehow Jungwon always makes the ugly, shit-green colored workers shirt look good. And honestly, you think if he wore even a trash bag he'd still look flawless. It's those beautiful eyes, his pouty lips and his charming, boyish smile that makes you want to bite him so hard he bleeds and cries. It's infuriating, really.

"Oh, it's just that…" He rubs the back of his neck, clearly hesitating. "The bathroom… it's clogged again." Well, fuck.

"Oh… the bathroom?" You clarify quietly, twirling a strand of hair with your finger. Any second now…

"Uh, actually… Don't worry about it. I'll do it. I'll be right back." He throws a shy smile, turning on his heel.

Easy as pie. He's too sweet for his own good, really. Truthfully, it is technically your job to clean the bathrooms (as stated by your boss) but also truthfully, you don't give a shit. So you watch him as he walks away— Oh, how you love to watch him go. He always wears jeans that are baggy enough to be fashionably acceptable yet fit enough to show off the roundness of ass… God, what a fucking slut. Holy shit you've never wanted to have sex with someone so bad in your entire life.

People might say it's just the forced proximity talking and maybe the fact that it's just the two of you together for eight hours straight at night. And yeah, it might be that (it definitely is just that) but also, Jungwon is just very… attractive. Like, if you saw him on the street or at a cafe, you might not think of how you want to bend him over but you'd still appreciate his beauty from afar. You just so happen to be blessed with his constant, guaranteed proximity to you at all times during the late hours of the night. It's a recipe for disaster, truly. But how can anyone blame you because by this time now at least on a weekend, you'd be 7 inches deep on your dildo fucking yourself to the thought of him (and very perverted, very bad pictures you'd taken of him when he wasn't looking (you're honestly so, so fucking gross and so, so unashamed.))

You shrug. Everyone knows that late hours are horny hours, anyway. Wait… Jungwon during horny hours, Jungwon during horny hours…

You can picture it now as you stare dazedly at the direction he disappeared off to. Jungwon, lonely on his bed, gripping the base of his cock as he painfully tries not to cum so quick to the thought of you. His tip, all swollen and weeping, aching to be touched and pulsing in rhythm with the quickening beats of his poor, perverted heart.

God, you just wanna know what it looks like. How big it is. You want to count how many veins are littered on it, how fat his tip is, how thick he is, how full he could make you feel… Ugh, what does his precum taste like? What does his actual cum taste like? Is he a shooter, or does it just ooze out deliciously enough for you to lick it right off his shaft?

You have to squeeze your thighs together for temporary, public-appropriate relief, and for the 100th fucking time as you ring up another customer. This is torture. Absolute fucking torture.

・・・୨୧・・・

The only good thing about these torturous, eight hour-long shifts are the hour long breaks.

It's only been 3 hours into your shift and you already want to take your break. It's nothing but the same things over and over again. Smile and greet every time you hear the bell on the door chime, ring product after product, laugh and smile when appropriate, give them change if needed then give thanks and make sure to tell them to come back.

Oh, and periodically check yourself in the bathroom just to make sure you haven't soaked yourself through your fucking jeans.

Jungwon has long since finished with the whole toilet clogging issue and he's now perched at your side like a clinging puppy as he always does on shifts like these (bless the Lord.)

"And then, and then!" He giggles, his eyes crinkling. "He said 'Tell her to take it out back.'" He laughs properly now, his head falling back like he'd just recalled the funniest memory and to be honest, you haven't properly obtained a single piece of silly information he's thrown at you for the past 30 minutes because you've been too busy staring at the way his neck muscles work with every word.

The top of his workers shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a sliver of his chest and collarbone that your eyes just cannot for the life of you stray away from, his hair is falling so perfectly over his eyes that it makes you want to curl in on yourself, and fuck… the way he blows air toward it with his mouth when a strand gets too close to his eye like a SLUT, makes you want to rip him to shreds.

"I swear, it was the funniest thing I've ever seen!"

"Right… Right…"

His giggles falter slightly. "Y/n? You good? You've kinda been staring off into space for a while." He looks behind himself as if checking for the distraction that you're so focused on. Little does he know he's the distraction.

"No. I'm… I'm good." You murmur, purposefully quiet, purposefully monotone just to see his brows furrow with worry. "Are you… Are you sure? You look a bit pale… Are you feeling alright?"

"No."

"What? Um… Do you want me to get you some medicine? I can buy you some, I think we still have some over here…" He turns, already in search of the medicine and you can't even believe it… He's so kind that he'd buy you some cheap medicine just because you'd been staring at his chest for 30 minutes straight?

"Where are you going? Stay."

"But.." He hesitates, his body still turned toward the Travel Essentials aisle. "You're not feeling well, right? Let me buy y—"

"Stay. I like looking at you."

He freezes, his eyes widening slightly but still composed, like maybe he's just hoping he'd heard you wrong. "What?" He whispers.

"Stay. I like looking at you, Jungwon. You look…" You advance slightly, watching how he tenses up, his eyes widening even further. He looks almost like he's been stricken in place, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. "Y/n…"

Ding!

Great. A customer. You turn almost automatically toward the door with a smile, "Hi, welcome!" And when you turn your attention back toward Jungwon, he's already backing up slightly.

"U-um… I'm gonna go take my break now." "Alread—" "You got this? Okay, good…" And he's already scurrying off, nearly tripping over his own shoes as he makes his way to the back room.

Yikes. Scaring the poor guy off already? Well, whatever. You've said worse before, to be honest.

・・・୨୧・・・

This is so fucking boring.

You've been standing in the same spot for hours on end, occasionally pacing beside the length of the cash wrap and honestly your head actually is starting to hurt from the clinical lights overhead that feel like they're boring into your very soul.

You've helped at least 11 different customers since Jungwon had practically fled from your immediate vicinity and honestly that says a lot since he's been gone for nearly over an hour. What you mean is, your throat's sore from every meaningless conversation you've had, and your wrist aches with every swipe of product against the barcode scanner. You're fucking ready to go home.

Minutes tick until it's been 20, 30, then 60, and finally you start thinking something else other than the very detailed, very descriptive ways you want to bang Jungwon, which is: Where the hell is he?

His break ended, or at least should've ended about 10 minutes ago, and it's especially concerning considering Jungwon is always so punctual.

You've been staring at the front of the store not really seeing anything at all and replaying the same interaction on loop for the past hour wondering if you really did it this time.

I mean, you didn't even do anything, really. All you did was imply that he looked nice! It was just a compliment! Honestly though if Jungwon had told you to stay and that he liked looking at you, you would've combusted and squirted everywhere on the spot, not scurry away in fear! What the hell was that?!

Sigh, maybe you should just apologize. Maybe that's exactly why he's taking forever to come back and face you. Maybe he's hiding back there with your manager on speed dial, considering calling her and reporting your perverted ass to HR. Okay, fuck. Maybe this is worse than you thought.

Wait, but… No way, right? All you did was say you liked looking at him! That doesn't compare even a little bit to that one time you "accidentally" brushed against his ass with your hand when reaching for a plastic bag. Or that other time you really "didn't mean" to walk in on him in the bathroom! (It was the men's restroom. The women's is on the complete opposite side of the store.)

Whatever. You should just go apologize and get it over with. I mean… Jungwon's sweet. Chances are, he's probably sitting there thinking of ways to apologize to you for running off like that.

You push off the counter with a heavy sigh and make your way toward the back. You haven't had a customer in the past 30 minutes so you pray none show up now. It'll only be a second anyway, then Jungwon can replace you so that you can finally take your break.

Why're you kind of dreading this right now? It's almost like you feel a little… guil— Just never mind. You? Guilty? Please. You've already gone as far as taking sneaky photos of the man. A little compliment definitely is not going to make you feel guilty at all—

"S-s-shittt…" You stop dead in your tracks. A groan, a slick, wet noise. Then a whine.

"Y/n… Y/n, I…" No… No way. You're hearing things wrong because there's no way. There's just no. Fucking. Way.

You step closer to the break room door, pushing it open ever so slightly and… Oh My God.

There he is. He's slouching in a chair (right by the door, mind you) head bowed, eyebrows furrowed and concentrated as his hand works quickly on his cock. Up, down, up, down, slick noises filling the room as the muscles in his arm bulge and strain to keep up with his quick pace. His other hand is hovered over his mouth in an attempt to stifle his moans but he can't help it… He can't help but whine into the void.

"I.. I'm close…! I'm gonna…"

You barge in.

"Well, well, well… What do we have—" "Y/N— OH MY GOD—" He scrambles to his feet, the chair skidding back on the floor with a loud noise in his haste, nearly tipping over. "Oh my God… This isn't— I wasn't— You have to believe me, I would never…!" He's stammering, blabbing on and on and you can't help but relish in the way he looks so absolutely distraught and humiliated.

His chest is heaving, he's so fucking red from exertion and embarrassment, his hair is a mess, eyes wide and blown… He looks an absolute wreck. The angels are singing.

"Oh my— Oh my God… I'm such a pervert… I'm such a pervert…" He mutters into his hands, looking so ashamed and so guilty. You're honestly… impressed. You never would've expected sweet, innocent Jungwon to do such a perverted, filthy thing during store hours. If anything, you're shocked and almost ashamed it wasn't you who did it first. He beat you to it.

"Oh, it's not what it looks like, is it?" You tease. "Because to me, it kind-of-sort-of looked like you were just jerking off…" He looks sick, his face pale, and he can't even bring himself to look at you. "To the thought of me—"

"NO!" He shouts, horrified. Then, almost frantically, he makes his way over to you. "Y/n— Y/n. Please. You have to believe me, I would never—"

"I heard you say my name, Won." He makes a strangled, devastated noise. Then— you fight a laugh, he kneels.

His head is bowed. "I am so— So sorry…"

"You do realize there's cameras in here, right?" You hum, trailing your pointer finger along his jaw. "That was dirty, Won. And to the thought of me, too…" You wince with faux sympathy and he shakes beneath your finger with heavy, silent sobs.

"You should be ashamed of yourself."

He chokes. "And to think I was just going to apologize for earlier. Tsk. You were getting off to it all along." He shakes his head slowly, his eyes squeezed shut, his voice thick with shame and tears. "I'm not… Please, I need this job… I'm so sorry, I won't ever do it again—"

"So you admit it? You were jerking off to me?" There's silence, the only thing audible being his ragged, wet breaths. Then slowly, he nods. "Say it, Jungwon. Out loud." He chokes on a sob.

"I was jerking off to you." He whispers.

"Look at me." When he doesn't immediately comply, you grip his chin to force his gaze upward. "Look at me and say it."

He meets your gaze. "I was jerking off to you."

It's a miracle how you haven't busted out laughing at the audacity of this entire situation. You used to think that it would be you on the floor crying and begging for forgiveness after he finally caught you in a perverted act after all of this time. But this… Him kneeling before you, his eyes puffy and red rimmed with tears streaking down his face, his lip quivering, and he's looking at you like you could tell him to do anything— anything at all and he'd comply in a heart beat. This is so much better than anything you've ever imagined before.

"Stand up." He scrambles to his feet, looking down at you with tear-filled eyes. "O-okay…" You nod toward the chair, your expression carefully neutral. "Go ahead. Sit down."

"U-um.." He blinks, clearly a bit thrown off, but he starts to back up anyway. "B-but… But Y/n… Do you… Are you going to tell management?" Oh, baby… Management is definitely going to see. There's a camera pointed quite literally directly toward the table he was jerking off at. Shaking my head, Jungwon. You almost have to laugh at his stupidity. A real pervert would never make such a silly mistake.

"That wouldn't look good on your record, would it?" You trail after him, backing him toward the chair. He shakes his head quickly, his hair falling into his eyes. He doesn't seem to care about blowing it away this time. "I won't tell. Under one condition."

When the backs of his knees hit the chair, he scrambles to sit down. He looks up at you with a mix of caution and desperate hope, his hands gripping his knees. "Under one… W-what condition?" You plant your foot between his, and nudging his legs open with your knee, you stand between them. When you lean down to whisper in his ear, he has to fight the urge to dart his tongue out and lick your pulse. "I suck you off."

"Wh-what?! Suck… Suck me off?! Me?" You straighten slowly. He looks shocked, his eyes wide and his hands tremble where they grip his knees. You can tell he's trying to look disgusted but is greatly failing, the flush on his cheeks and neck giving him away. He shifts his hips, scooting more toward you. "Who else? Is there another Jungwon that I'm not seeing?"

"W-well… Well, no… But—"

"But? But what?" You sigh, losing patience. "Listen, either we do this or we don't, Jungwon. Your choice. I can go tell management, or…" He panics, his hand shooting out to grab yours when you start to back away, his grip tight and shaky. "NO! No… No, don't leave. Please… Just, please, Y/n. Suck me off." He squeezes his eyes shut like he can't bare to see your reaction, the flush on his cheeks have now spread to his ears and high on his forehead, completely giving away that he doesn't give a shit about management anymore. He just wants you.

You kneel. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" A shudder wracks his frame as you begin to make quick work of his jeans. You unbutton them (he hadn't even bothered with the zipper,) sliding them down just enough to free his still painfully hard, leaking cock.

It's everything you've ever imagined. It's long, standing proud against his tummy and it's so fucking thick that you can hardly wrap your entire hand around it. It's hot to the touch, almost feverish, and he jolts when you make contact, a full bodily reaction.

"G-god… Please, yes… Please, yessss." You start to move your palm slowly, almost teasingly. From his sticky tip to his base, you smear the wetness and coat his cock to make it slick enough for your ministrations. But to be honest, it was already slick from his previous denied orgasm (you almost feel bad.)

He's whining now, was even before you'd started touching him, and his hips keep making involuntary thrusts into your palm with every stroke. You begin to move faster just to hear the noises you can pull from him… You feel on top of the world right now.

"The amount of— ngh… Times I've t-thought about this…"

What? You pause and he protests with another whine, his hand coming up to cover yours on his shaft. "Hey, wait… Keep going, please.." He lifts his hips, fucking into your palm in search of friction you won't give. You're frozen. He's… He's thought of this, too? I mean, you should've assumed as much considering you just walked in on him quite literally jerking off to you.

"You've thought about this?" You question, the disbelief in your voice thick as you idly squeeze his cock, just feeling the skin give and veins pulse. He jolts at the feeling, "Ah, y-yeah? I… Is that bad?"

"No." You start to move again and he nearly sobs in relief. "T-thank God… Thank G-god…"

You speed up, watching how his head falls back, his throat opening up to spill all sinful noises without shame, his hips twitching every time your fist slaps against his base. "What have you thought about?" Jungwon doesn't respond. Or he does, and it's just another broken moan as your soft hand slides over his weeping tip once more. His neck is completely open and vulnerable, his Adam's apple bobbing with every moan and whine and you can't help yourself. You need a taste to satiate the vile, insatiable hunger you've inhabited for the past week on end. You keep your hand graciously moving on his cock but your other hand snakes around the back of his neck as you lean in close, and you close your lips (less graciously) over his Adam's apple, just tasting at first.

Fuck, he tastes salty from sweat and something else that's uniquely Jungwon. You can't help but bite down, just a little, just enough to leave your claim.

"Ah! Ah…" His hand comes up to the back of your head, keeping you there as he arches his neck into the pain and pushes your head into him even more. "Yes, keep going… Harder, harder…" You pull back, the taste of his sweat a ghost on your tongue. "Jungwon, I asked you a question."

"Y-you did?" He lifts his head slightly to look down at you with glazed-over eyes that aren't really seeing anything at all. "What did you—" "What have you thought about, exactly?"

"You. Just… Just you." He plants his hands on either side of his hips to give him leverage as he starts to properly fuck up into your hand now. "E-everything… The way you s-smell… Fuck, your tits… Your— Your…" He squeezes his eyes shut whether in pleasure or shame, you're unsure. "I've thought about spreading you open— ngh… Fucking you h-here, on the c-clock…"

"Me too." His eyes shoot open, his hips stuttering slightly at your admission. He looks almost shocked like he can't believe you would think such inappropriate things about him. It's clear he feels very ashamed of his own filthy thoughts and hearing that you feel the same… Honestly though, is he dumb? Has he really not caught on…?

"I've thought about worse. Much, much more." Your hand has long since stopped its aggressive pace, only now idly stroking his skin as you lean back to look him in the eyes, your own wide and almost… scary.

"Jungwon. You don't even want to know what I've thought about you." You admit, your body shaking from adrenaline as you finally get this off of your chest. It's like a dam has finally broken, your words spilling one after the other.

"I've thought about you fucking me here, in the bathroom. Bending me over the sink, or just sinking to my knees and sucking you off. Hell, I've thought about you fucking me on the cash wrap right in front of the store, right where anyone could walk in and see. I've thought about taking you to my home, letting you fuck me on every surface, in every hole. My mouth, my pussy, my hands… everything. And I've thought about tying you down to my bed so you can never leave… I would let you do nasty things to me, Jungwon. I don't think you even want me to say them." You take a deep, shaky breath.

"Jungwon… I've thought about your cock so many times. My curiosity was a physical ache. Just dying at night, fucking myself until I cry and sob into my hands knowing it would never feel like you. I've… Oh my God, I've taken so many pictures of you I can't even count. They're all in a folder in my phone that I open only when I masturbate. I—"

"W-wait… Just wait." His eyes are wide and unblinking, flitting all over your face as he tries to process this information. "You… You took pictures, too?"

"Too?" Your eyes widen with shock. "What?" You don't even seem to realize the fucking grip you have on his cock as you process this ground-breaking information until you see him grimace, and you still don't let up. "You've taken pictures of me?" He squeezes his eyes shut, his teeth gritted as he rides out the pain. "I… I'm so disgusting…" He chokes, his head bowing, shoulders shaking as tears threaten to fall yet again. "I've taken over 50… I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

"Yeah, that's bad." You offer no reassurance. I mean, why deny it anymore? That is bad. You're bad and you've known that, you've lived with it. "You should feel lucky, to be honest. That you were perverted about me and not someone else, someone who'd be disgusted and scared or less turned on than I am right now."

He blinks at you.

"I'm gonna suck your dick now." You waste no time, releasing your merciless grip to lick him from his balls to the tip slowly, savoring the taste and the pulse throbbing under your tongue. You shudder and moan at the taste, scooping up his precum with the wet muscle as you inhale his musk greedily. You're not even the one being pleasured but fuck, does it feel like it. After all of this time, you finally get a taste and it's better than anything you could've ever pictured. You could shed a tear.

You slowly lower your head onto him, taking him into your mouth inch by inch until you feel him hit the back of your throat and you threaten to gag but you don't, you force him down, your eyes rolling back as you take all that you can. You wrap your hand around the length that you can't fit, and you start to move.

Jungwon's hands immediately scramble to grab at your hair tight and shaky, his breathing already ragged. "Oh my— Ugh… Don't stop… So warm…" He's so hot on your tongue, his veins pulsing and sliding against your gums as you bob more and more until the room is filled with slick noises and his loud, unrestrained moans. You gag a couple times but you persevere, determined to finish him, to finally, finally feel him come down your throat.

You hollow out your cheeks, swallowing around him as he bucks helplessly into your warmth. "Ah, yes! Yes, yes! Just like that, harder!" He grips the top of your head and pushes you down as he starts to violently shake and fuck himself into your mouth. His ass isn't even touching the chair anymore, he's holding himself up with one hand planted on the seat and the other in your hair, half standing/half sitting as his hips buck into you over and over again.

You can't fucking breathe. Your scalp hurts, your throats sore and he just won't stop fucking bucking into your mouth. He doesn't even seem to realize how red your face is from near suffocation but you don't want him to and instead you grip his hips to urge him on, to fuck into you harder, faster. His thighs start to tremble, threatening to lose balance and you can feel it— he's right there, right at the edge. His cock starts to twitch and throb, his thrusts become shorter and harder, less rhythmical until—

"Yes, shit… I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fucking cum— I'm gonna— I'm cumming!" He stills and shudders, his whole frame wracking as he comes and pulses down your throat. It's warm and salty and it just keeps going. Even when you think he's done, his hips twitch more and he spills uncontrollably down your throat until he collapses back onto the seat, breathing heavy.

His chest is heaving and he's so sweaty that you can see it seep through his workers shirt (you wanna huff that so bad (you'll be stealing that from him later)) and he just stares at you, a slow, dazed smile touching his lips.

"T-thank you… Thank you…"

You're definitely fired.

(PS: He's a shooter :p)

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

The box marked KITCHEN – MISC sat half-open on the counter. Three minutes had passed while you stood there hoping the spatulas and measuring cups might somehow organize themselves into something useful.

“Jake.”

From the living room, he glanced up from where he was kneeling beside a tower of boxes labeled BOOKS in his cramped handwriting. His hair jutted out at odd angles from repeatedly dragging his fingers through it. “Yeah?”

“Did you see where the coffee mugs went?”

“Uh.” He sat back on his heels and squinted at the kitchen like the answer might be written on the cabinets. “Weren’t they in the box with the plates?”

“No. I already unpacked that one.” Your foot connected with the flattened cardboard, sending it sliding across the tile until it thumped against the wall. "I've checked every kitchen box we brought in."

Jake pushed himself up and made his way over. The scent of cardboard dust clung to him, mixed with the cologne he saved for occasions he deemed important. Apparently moving qualified. He bent over the counter, peering into the box you'd been rifling through. "Could they still be out in the car?"

“I brought everything in already.”

“ What about the bedroom?”

“Why would I put mugs in the bedroom?”

Both his hands came up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just throwing out ideas. You're the one who did the packing."

That was true. The memory came back sharp and clear. You'd wrapped every single mug in newspaper, arranged them with care in a box you'd marked FRAGILE – MUGS with a red Sharpie. You'd insisted on carrying it in yourself since Jake and the neighbor had been wrestling the couch through the doorway, and you didn’t trust anyone else with your favorite mug from the café in Seoul.

“This is so weird.” You turned in a slow circle like the mugs might materialize if you looked hard enough. The kitchen was small and bright. Sunlight poured through the window above the sink, bathing the compact kitchen in warm light that made everything seem pristine and hopeful. This was meant to be your new beginning. "Things keep disappearing. My phone charger went missing yesterday. The day before that, my toothbrush."

“You found your toothbrush.”

“In the bathroom closet. I never put it there.”

Jake opened the cabinet above the stove, examining the interior despite knowing it held nothing but the shelf liner you'd spent time measuring and cutting the previous day. "Could be you're just exhausted. Three solid days of unpacking will do that."

“I’m not tired.”

“You’re definitely tired.”

Part of you wanted to push back, but your spine throbbed from hunching over countless boxes and your fingertips stung with tiny cuts from wrestling with packing tape. The realtor had sold you on this house by emphasizing how much easier it would be compared to the cramped apartment. Look at all this room, Jake had said during the tour, we could actually entertain guests. The bay window had charmed you, along with the east-facing bedroom that would flood with morning light. Right now though, you just wanted those damn mugs.

“Who’s moving my stuff?” you said. It came out lighter than you meant.

Jake's mouth quirked up as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Must be the house ghost."

"That's not funny."

"They'll show up eventually." He returned to the living room, dropping back down beside his book collection. His voice drifted through the open floor plan. "Try the bathroom. Maybe you stuck them in there without thinking

You were certain you hadn't, but you went to look anyway since you'd exhausted other options. The small bathroom still reeked of the bleach you'd used to scrub every surface two days prior. A crack spider-webbed across one corner of the mirror, something the landlord had sworn he'd repair. You crouched down and opened the cabinet beneath the sink.

There they sat. All six mugs, stacked with precision, with your Seoul café mug rested on top.

You stared at them for a long time. There was absolutely no way you had placed them here.

“Any luck?” Jake called from the living room.

You closed the cabinet door and straightened up. Your knees cracked. “Yeah. They were under the sink.”

“See? Told you they’d turn up.”

You didn’t mention that you’d never looked under the sink. You wouldn’t have put mugs there even if you were unpacking at three in the morning with your eyes closed. Jake was already back to organizing his books by author, and you didn’t want to stand in the bathroom doorway and argue about something that didn’t matter.

The hours that followed melted into one another. You tackled the bedroom while power tool sounds and muttered curses floated up from where Jake wrestled with bookshelf assembly instructions. Eventually you both converged on the closet, bickering over the distribution of space between his sneaker collection and your dresses. He secured victory by highlighting how you'd already claimed the entire dresser. You had to admit he had a point.

By the time sunset arrived, the house had transformed into something almost livable. Boxes still created obstacles along the hallway and packing paper buried the kitchen table, but at least you could navigate most rooms without tripping. Progress, you supposed.

Jake called in an order from the Thai restaurant a few blocks away. The two of you sat cross-legged on the living room floor since unfolded laundry had claimed the couch. He kept cracking jokes about breaking in the new place properly, and you managed to laugh despite feeling like you were wading through deep, deep water.

The wedding had been five weeks ago. You'd opted for a simple courthouse ceremony to avoid the chaos of event planning. Afterward came two weeks wandering through Japan, walking until blisters formed on your feet, staying awake far past any reasonable hour, and making hollow promises about catching up on sleep during the flight home.

You hadn’t. Jake had fallen asleep with his head on your shoulder and you’d spent seven hours staring at the seatback screen without watching anything.

Upon returning, you'd immediately begun shoving your lives into cardboard boxes since this house's lease kicked in on the first and paying double rent wasn't an option. Two solid weeks of packing and hauling everything into a borrowed truck from some coworker of Jake's whose name you couldn't remember.

The drive here yesterday had eaten up six hours. Jake had offered to take turns behind the wheel but you'd insisted you could handle it. That had been a lie. Your fingers had locked around the steering wheel in a death grip and your eyes had stung from the endless stretch of highway.

Now you sat on unfamiliar floorboards in a house that didn't feel like yours yet, every muscle in your body demanding rest. Jake's voice washed over you as he talked about work or maybe friends or something else entirely. You managed to nod at appropriate intervals, tried to anchor yourself to what he was saying, but his words kept dissolving before you could grasp them.

"You okay?" His question cut through the fog. When you looked up, concern had softened his features.

“Just tired.”

“You should take a break tomorrow. I can finish unpacking.”

“We’re almost done.”

“Baby. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Collapse seemed dramatic. You were simply running on empty. Perfectly normal after a move. Things would improve once you actually settled in, once you weren't surrounded by half-empty boxes and packing tape.

Jake gathered the dishes and headed to the kitchen. Water started running in the sink. You remained on the floor, gaze fixed on the wall. The realtor had described this soft cream shade as warm and inviting. Right now it just seemed blank and expressionless.

You should get up and be useful, help with the dishes or finish unpacking the bathroom.

Instead you pulled yourself up and told Jake you were going to take a shower. He said something about joining you later and you made a noncommittal sound that could’ve meant anything.

The water pressure here beat the apartment's pathetic dribble. Small victory. You tipped your head back, letting heat seep into your knotted shoulders. Steam had already saturated the bathroom, condensing on every surface and shrinking the space.

You worked your fingers through your hair and felt the tension start to drain out. Three days of hauling boxes and arguing about where the couch should go. Jake had won again. It faced the window now instead of the TV.

The shower curtain moved.

Not much, just a quick pull to the side like someone was peeking in.

“Jake.” You kept your eyes closed. Shampoo suds slid down your neck. “You’re such a pervert.”

No answer.

“I’m literally covered in soap. Can you wait like five minutes?”

Only the steady percussion of water against porcelain answered you. You scrubbed at your stinging eyes with the back of one hand, blinking away the burn. The curtain now hung partially open. Beyond it, the bathroom stood empty.

No Jake leaning against the sink with that stupid grin he got when he was trying to be smooth. No shadow moving past the frosted window. There was only steam and the towel hanging on the rack and the crack in the mirror you kept forgetting about until you saw it.

“Jake?”

The sound of your own voice startled you with its volume. Water drummed against your shoulders and ran down the drain in a steady rush. You reached out and pushed the curtain open further. It scraped along the rod with a metallic sound that made your teeth hurt.

The door was still closed. You would’ve heard it open. The hinges squeaked every time. You’d mentioned it to Jake yesterday and he’d said he’d oil them this weekend.

You twisted the faucet off. Silence rushed in to fill the void. The house exhaled around you with creaks and groans. Ancient wood adjusting. Pipes losing their heat. Somewhere beneath the floor, the heater kicked on with a mechanical click.

Water dripped from your hair onto the bathmat as you stood frozen, staring at that closed door. Each heartbeat thundered in your ears.

“Jake?” you said again.

Nothing.

You secured the towel around yourself and eased the bathroom door open. Darkness swallowed the hallway except for a strip of light bleeding from the bedroom down at the far end. Your feet left damp impressions on the hardwood as you walked.

Jake was in bed with his phone. He looked up when you came in. “Hey. Feel better?”

“Were you just in the bathroom?”

“What?” He set his phone on the nightstand. “No. Why?”

“The shower curtain moved.”

“It’s an old house. Probably just a draft.”

“The door was closed.”

Jake patted the bed beside him. “Come here. You’re shivering.”

You weren’t shivering. Were you? The room felt colder than it should. You climbed into bed and pulled the towel tighter around you. Jake wrapped an arm around you and you pressed your face against his shoulder. He smelled like the laundry detergent his mom always used. It was supposed to be comforting.

“I think someone opened the curtain,” you said into his shirt.

“Like a person?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

His hand moved in slow circles on your back. “Baby. There’s no one here but us.”

You fell silent. Somewhere below, the house groaned like something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Jake's expression didn't change. Perhaps the sound never reached him. You let your eyes drift shut, trying to match the rhythm of his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Steady and constant.

His hand moved lower on your back, slipping under the edge of the towel. “You’re so tense.”

“I’m fine.”

"You're really not." Something shifted in his voice, dropping into that particular tone he used when he had intentions. "Let me help you relax."

Your eyes opened to find him watching you with that half-smile that typically got him what he wanted. His hand traveled up your spine before tracing back down with deliberate slowness.

“Jake.”

“What? I’m being a good husband.” His mouth found your shoulder, then migrated to your collarbone. His fingers found the knot holding your towel closed. “You’ve been stressed all week. Let Daddy take care of you.”

You didn't protest when he worked the towel free. The fabric slipped away and gathered on the sheets beneath you. Cold air met your exposed skin. Jake's hands offered warmth. His kisses traveled down your sternum, across your stomach, and despite everything gnawing at your mind, you felt yourself beginning to surrender.

He pushed your legs apart and settled between them. Heat from his breath ghosted across your inner thigh. “Just relax.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow, and tried to focus on the feeling of his mouth instead of the sound the house had made and the shower curtain moving on its own. For a moment, it worked. His tongue traced a slow path along your folds and you gasped, your fingers threading into his hair. 

The bedroom door creaked open.

Every muscle in your body locked. Jake's grip on your hips intensified but his mouth didn't stop its work.

“Jake.”

“Mm?”

“The door.”

He lifted his head. Moisture glistened on his lips. “What about it?”

“It just opened.”

Jake threw a glance over his shoulder. The door now stood halfway open, hallway darkness spilling through the gap. When he looked back at you, his features had rearranged themselves into something gentler, laden with concern. "Baby. The door wasn't latched properly. It does that."

“I closed it.”

“You didn’t close it all the way.” He shifted to sit beside you, drawing the blanket over your legs like you required modesty now. "This is exactly what I mean. You're too stressed. You're seeing things that aren't there."

“I’m not seeing things.”

“The curtain moved because of a draft. The door opened because old houses do that. There’s nothing weird happening.” His palm cradled your face while his thumb swept across your cheekbone. “I’m worried about you.”

Your throat felt tight. “I’m fine.”

"You're not sleeping properly. You picked at dinner. And now every little sound makes you jump." He pressed his lips to your forehead in a gesture that felt more appropriate for a child than a wife. "Maybe we should find you a doctor here. Someone you can talk to."

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help. Especially after everything we’ve been through lately. The wedding and the move and all of it piling up. It’s a lot to process.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that you weren’t imagining things. Something was wrong with this house and he needed to believe you.

But he was looking at you like you were fragile and might break if he pushed too hard.

You pulled the blanket up higher and turned onto your side away from him. “I’m just tired.”

“I know.” His arm came around your bare waist, pulling you flush against his clothed body. Normally, you might have ground back against time, tried to reignite what he’d started. Tonight you just want to sleep. “Get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

They wouldn’t. You already knew that with absolute certainty. You closed your eyes anyway and listened to Jake’s breathing gradually evened out behind you.

The door remained open. Darkness from the hallway seemed to press into the room like something physical. You could feel eyes on you from that space beyond, watching and waiting. Jake's arm lay heavy across your ribs. Moving would wake him. So you remained motionless, gaze fixed on the wall, counting down the hours until dawn

────୨ৎ────

The whole reason you moved here was to escape the old one, full of unfriendly neighbors and people who filed noise complaints over the smallest things. Someone had once left a passive aggressive note on your door about your footsteps being too loud at seven in the morning. Jake had wanted to frame it.

You’d heard this neighborhood was friendlier, more community-oriented. The realtor had gone on about block parties and how everyone knew each other’s names.

Instead, the people on your street kept staring and whispering.

This morning, the woman two houses down had been collecting her mail when you reversed out of the driveway. Her gaze had followed your car all the way to the stop sign. You'd lifted your hand in a friendly wave. She'd pivoted and disappeared inside without so much as a nod.

Yesterday, the older couple across the street had been deep in conversation on their driveway when you'd emerged to water the housewarming plants from Jake's mother. Their voices had died the moment they spotted you. You'd felt their eyes boring into your spine the entire time.

According to Jake, you were making it up. New neighbors always attracted attention. It was normal curiosity and you were reading too much into it.

Perhaps he had a point. Jake had always been oblivious to social undercurrents. He could enter a room crackling with tension and remain completely unaware until someone spelled it out for him.

You pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. The new curtains sat in the passenger seat in their plastic bag from the home goods store. You’d spent an hour debating between ivory and cream before settling on something called vanilla linen that looked identical to both.

The old curtains had been too dark. That’s what you’d told Jake this morning when he asked why you needed new ones. They made the living room feel smaller. He’d shrugged and said whatever made you happy.

Bag in hand, you stepped out of the car. Daylight softened the house's edges, made it seem less threatening. The blue-gray paint looked almost charming, and the porch had decent structure despite the wobbly railing Jake kept promising to secure this weekend.

The front door was unlocked. It swung open easily under pressure from your hip, and you sealed it shut with your heel.

“Jake?”

Silence answered. Still at work, probably. You'd gotten lost browsing the store and hadn't tracked the time.

Sunlight poured through the bare living room windows, carving geometric patterns across the hardwood. The boxes had finally disappeared. You'd spent yesterday afternoon breaking them down and hauling them to the garage. The space was starting to resemble an actual home now.

You set the curtain bag on the couch and went to the kitchen for scissors. The drawer stuck like it always did. You had to yank it twice before it opened.

Movement flickered at the corner of your eye.

You spun around. The kitchen was empty. There were dishes drying in the rack by the sink and a coffee maker on the counter. Nothing was out of place.

Scissors acquired, you returned to the living room. Plastic crackled as you ripped the bag open. Vanilla linen fabric tumbled onto the couch in soft folds that were absolutely just overpriced ivory.

The curtain rod remained mounted from the previous set. You'd stripped those down last night, shoving them into a trash bag because the sight of them had started constricting your chest. Jake had checked if you were alright. You'd claimed you simply wanted something lighter and brighter.

What you didn't mention was the persistent image of the shower curtain moving by itself.Heavy fabric didn’t just shift without someone touching it.

You hoisted yourself onto the couch's arm and stretched toward the rod. Your fingers had barely made contact with the cool metal when sound filtered down from above.

Footsteps upstairs, slow and deliberate, moving from the bedroom toward the hallway.

You froze with your arms above your head and the curtain rod pressing into your palms. The footsteps stopped before they started again, closer to the stairs now.

“Jake?” The question emerged barely above a whisper.

The footsteps reached the top of the stairs. You could hear the floorboards creaking under invisible weight. One step. Then another.

You scrambled down from the couch, hands trembling. The scissors still lay on the coffee table. You snatched them up reflexively, brandishing them like some kind of weapon even though you knew how useless they'd be.

The footsteps stopped halfway down the stairs. Your eyes locked on the staircase, on the space where a body should be visible. The house had gone so silent that your own pulse thundered in your ears.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

The scissors had gone slick in your sweating palm, the metal handles warming against your skin. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you strained to hear any other sounds from above, but the house had fallen into an oppressive silence that felt almost deliberate, like it was holding its breath and waiting to see what you'd do next.

The front door swung open behind you with enough force to make you jump.

You whirled around, nearly dropping the scissors in the process. Jake filled the doorway, work bag draped over one shoulder and his tie loosened from a long day at the office. His attention landed on you first, taking in your defensive stance and wide eyes, then traveled down to the scissors clutched in your white-knuckled fist. His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline in a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Uh. What are you doing?“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"There was someone upstairs." The words tumbled out in a rush, breathless and shaky.

Jake nudged the door shut with his heel, the lock clicking into place with a soft sound that seemed too loud in the quiet house. "What?"

"I heard footsteps. They were coming down the stairs." You stared at the scissors like they'd materialized in your hand through no action of your own, like you couldn't quite remember picking them up or why you'd thought they might protect you from whatever had been walking through your house. You set them carefully on the coffee table, your hands still trembling. "Someone was in the house. I heard them moving around up there."

Jake abandoned his bag by the entrance and crossed the room in quick strides. His hand came up to press against your forehead, palm flat and assessing like he was checking a child for illness. The touch was gentle but clinical, and something about that detached concern made your stomach twist. "You're burning up."

"I'm not sick." You tried to step back but his hand followed, persistent.

"Did you eat lunch? When was the last time you had water?" The questions came rapid-fire, each one dismissing what you'd just told him in favor of finding some mundane explanation.

“Yes. Jake. I’m fine. I know what I heard.”

His hand shifted to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone in what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture. That expression had returned, the one from last night where he looked at you like you were made of porcelain that might crack under too firm a grip, like you were a problem he needed to solve rather than a person he needed to believe. "Baby."

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

"Look at me like I'm losing my mind." The words came out sharper than you intended, edged with frustration and fear and exhaustion all tangled together.

His hand fell away as he dragged it through his hair instead, disheveling the strands that had already been mussed from the wind outside. The breath he released sounded carefully measured, like he was actively working to maintain patience in the face of what he clearly thought was irrational behavior. "I'm not saying you're losing your mind. I'm saying you're running on empty and stressed to your limit and maybe that's affecting your perception. You haven't been sleeping well. You've barely been eating. Your body is exhausted."

"I heard footsteps." You repeated it like if you said it enough times he might actually hear you, might actually consider that you were telling the truth.

"Old houses are noisy. The wood expands and contracts with temperature changes throughout the day. Pipes settle as they cool down. Floorboards creak under their own weight." He was using his reasonable voice now, the one he used when explaining things to clients at work. "It can sound exactly like footsteps when it's not. I've heard it too since we moved in."

Heat crept up your throat and into your face. "You weren't here. You didn't experience what I just experienced. You didn't hear them stop halfway down the stairs like someone was standing there watching me."

"Okay." The word came out gentle and placating in a way that made you want to scream. "Okay. If it makes you feel better I'll go check upstairs. I'll look in every room and make sure no one's here."

“Thank you.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead in a kiss that felt more like reassurance for himself than comfort for you before heading for the staircase. You tracked the sound of him taking the steps two at a time, his footsteps heavy and grounded and completely different from the measured, deliberate tread you'd heard earlier. His presence moved through the house above you, traversing the bedroom first, then migrating to the spare room where you'd been storing boxes, then finally the bathroom. Doors swung open with their familiar squeaks and thumped shut in succession, and each sound felt like another nail in the coffin of your credibility.

You retrieved his abandoned work bag from its spot by the door, the strap still warm from his shoulder, and carried it to the kitchen to give your hands something to do besides shake. Setting it on the counter with more care than necessary, you began extracting its contents one item at a time. An empty tupperware container that had held his lunch, the lid slightly ajar and a few grains of rice stuck to the rim. A water bottle with dried residue crusting around the threading that desperately needed a thorough scrubbing. Some crumpled papers he'd probably need for tomorrow that were already getting bent at the bottom of the bag.

You pulled open the cabinet to store the water bottle, and that pervasive mildew smell hit you immediately, musty and organic and wrong. Mental note: pick up baking soda or whatever product actually eliminated that kind of persistent odor, maybe some of those moisture absorber packets you'd seen at the hardware store.

Someone materialized behind you without warning. Arms encircled your waist in an embrace that felt startlingly intimate, sliding around you with a familiarity that should have been comforting. A head came to rest against your shoulder blade, the weight of it solid and grounding. The full presence of another person pressing into your back, their body heat seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt.

You melted into the contact without thinking, your muscles loosening as you allowed yourself to be supported by what you assumed was your husband. Jake must have finished his inspection upstairs and come down quietly to surprise you, to offer comfort after dismissing your fears. "Long day at work?"

No verbal response came. Just the steady rhythm of breathing against your spine, warm exhales that you could feel through your clothes. The arms surrounding you felt undeniably solid and present, more real than anything else in this moment. You registered the rise and fall of a chest expanding and contracting against your back with each breath, the subtle shift of fabric, the particular pressure of hands resting just below your ribcage.

You glanced down expecting to see Jake's familiar hands, maybe still wearing his watch, maybe with the small scar on his left thumb from that cooking accident last year.

There was nothing there.

No arms around your waist. No hands resting against your stomach. Only empty space and the counter stretching before you and your own solitary body standing alone in the kitchen with nothing touching you at all.

The presence evaporated. Not gradually but instantaneously, like someone had released their hold and retreated in a single motion, leaving behind only the fading impression of where they'd been. The warmth against your back disappeared so quickly you wondered if you'd imagined it, except you could still feel the ghost of those arms, the memory of that weight.

You lurched forward involuntarily, your body trying to catch itself from falling into an embrace that was no longer there. Your hip collided with the counter edge with enough force to send a sharp spike of pain radiating through your pelvis, the kind that would definitely leave a bruise by tomorrow. The water bottle escaped your grip and went clattering into the sink basin with a hollow plastic sound that seemed far too loud.

“Everything’s clear up there.” Jake’s voice came from the stairs, slightly winded from his search. “No one’s home but us.”

You remained frozen where you stood, unable to pivot and face him, unable to explain what had just happened. Your fingers had locked onto the counter edge hard enough to drain all color from your knuckles, the pressure the only thing keeping you upright. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps that you couldn't quite control, and somewhere in the back of your mind you registered that you were probably having a panic attack but that knowledge did nothing to stop it.

Jake walked into the kitchen, his presence announced by the familiar sound of his work shoes against the hardwood. Real footsteps, heavy and grounded and unmistakably human, each one landing with the full weight of a living person moving through space.

"See? Nothing to worry about." His hand touched your shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture and you flinched so violently you nearly sent the dish rack crashing to the floor. The dishes rattled precariously in their slots before settling. "Whoa. Hey. It's just me."

You managed to turn around despite your body's resistance to the movement. Jake stood there with both hands raised in a gesture of surrender, palms out like he was approaching a frightened animal that might bolt at any sudden movement. His expression had shifted from patient understanding to something rawer, genuine worry creasing his forehead and pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“What happened?”

"I felt someone." Your voice emerged trembling and unsteady, each word requiring conscious effort to form. "Right now. Just seconds ago. Someone was standing behind me exactly where you are. They had their arms around me. I felt their weight against my back, felt them breathing."

“I was upstairs. No one else is here.”

“I know. I thought it was you. I felt them, Jake. It wasn't my imagination. Their arms were solid and real and they were holding me.”

Jake closed the distance between you and pulled you firmly against his chest, eliminating any space that might exist between your bodies. His heart beat steady and strong under your ear, that reliable rhythm you'd memorized over the years together. His arms came around you and they felt fundamentally different from whatever had been holding you mere moments ago. Warmer, more substantial, anchored in reality in a way that the other presence hadn't been despite feeling so convincing.

“You’re okay,” he said into your hair. “You’re okay. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Your breathing wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't fall into any normal pattern. It kept catching in your throat like you'd forgotten the basic mechanics of drawing air into your lungs, each attempt stuttering and incomplete.

"Hey." His voice underwent a transformation, dropping into that lower register he reserved for specific moments, the tone he used when you needed grounding, when your mind was spiraling and your body needed an anchor. "Look at me."

You tilted your head back with effort, forcing your gaze upward. His eyes had gone serious and focused, all his attention concentrated entirely on you with an intensity that left no room for anything else in his awareness.

"Breathe with me. In." He demonstrated with a slow, deliberate inhale and you attempted to mirror the movement, your lungs expanding with air that felt inadequate. "Out."

Your exhale emerged shaky and uneven but you managed it, the air leaving your body in fits and starts.

"Good girl. Again." In. Out. His hand traveled up and down the length of your spine in time with the breathing, the repetitive motion creating a rhythm your body could follow. The simple physical pattern gave you something concrete to focus on beyond the panic.

"That's it. Just like that." His thumb traced along your jawline with deliberate gentleness. "Let Daddy take care of you. You don't have to think right now. You don't have to figure anything out or make sense of what happened. Just breathe."

Something in your chest began to loosen its grip. Not completely, not enough to make you feel normal again, but enough that air could flow in without the sharp pain that had been accompanying each breath.

"There you go." He kissed your forehead before moving on to pepper gentle kisses across your face, each one a small point of warmth and reassurance. Your temples, your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, your closed eyelids. "Shhh. I've got you. You're safe here with me."

You allowed yourself to go completely boneless against him, surrendering your weight and trusting him to hold you upright. His hand cupped the back of your head with protective care and kept you pressed securely against his shoulder, creating a small pocket of safety in the space between your bodies.

“We’re okay,” he murmured. “Everything’s okay. You’re safe with me.”

You wanted desperately to tell him that safety wasn't actually the problem, that something was fundamentally wrong with this house and he needed to listen to you instead of trying to rationalize everything away. But your body was finally beginning to release the tension it had been holding, your muscles gradually unclenching one by one, and your thoughts were developing fuzzy edges that made forming coherent arguments feel impossible. You were so profoundly tired of being scared, exhausted from the constant vigilance and the way fear had taken up permanent residence in your chest.

Jake rocked you slightly. “What do you need right now, hm? You want to sit down? Get some water?”

You shook your head against his chest, the fabric of his work shirt soft against your cheek.

"Okay. Then we're just going to stand here for as long as you need." His hand maintained its gentle movement through your hair, the repetitive strokes soothing in their predictability. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stand here all night if that's what you need."

You couldn't detect the presence anymore, couldn't sense anything beyond the immediate reality of Jake's arms creating a solid barrier between you and whatever else might exist in this space. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear. The warmth radiating from his body and seeping into yours. These tangible, provable things.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you genuinely needed to see a doctor and get something to help you sleep, to quiet your mind enough that it stopped creating experiences that felt real but couldn't possibly be. Maybe the exhaustion and stress had damaged something in your perception of reality.

Or maybe something was very, genuinely wrong with this house and you were the only one whose senses were attuned enough to detect it, the only one it had chosen to reveal itself to for reasons you couldn't begin to understand.

Jake had convinced you to lie down after the episode in the kitchen. He'd guided you upstairs with a hand on your lower back and tucked you into bed with the kind of careful attention usually reserved for someone running a fever, pulling the blankets up to your chin and smoothing them down with excessive care. He'd promised to finish unpacking his work things and dealing with the curtains, assured you that everything would be handled and you just needed to rest. You'd closed your eyes obediently and listened to him moving around downstairs, the familiar sounds of cabinets opening and closing, of objects being set down and picked up, all while trying desperately not to think about the weight of those phantom arms that had felt so impossibly real.

Sleep refused to come despite your body's exhaustion. You'd lain there staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, watching the way shadows moved across the plaster as clouds passed outside, counting the small imperfections in the paint job, anything to occupy your mind. Finally you'd given up on the pretense of rest.

You needed air. Real air, outside air, something that didn't taste like this house.

Now you were walking down the street with your hands buried deep in your jacket pockets and your breath forming small clouds that dissolved in the evening air. The temperature had dropped noticeably since you'd left the house, enough that you wished you'd grabbed a heavier coat. Everything looked softer in the fading light, edges blurred and colors muted as the sun continued its descent toward the horizon. The whole neighborhood seemed wrapped in that particular quiet that came with approaching dusk, when people retreated indoors and the day began its transition into night.

You passed three houses before encountering another person, your footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness. A woman roughly your age was approaching from the opposite direction with a little girl who couldn't have been more than six years old trailing slightly behind her. The child wore light-up sneakers that flashed brilliant pink with every bouncing step she took, the only spot of brightness in the growing dimness.

The woman's eyes landed on you when you were still about twenty feet apart. Something shifted in her expression, transforming from neutral to something you couldn't quite identify but that sent an uncomfortable prickle down your spine. Without breaking stride, she reached out and took her daughter's hand with sudden firmness, then began angling toward the opposite side of the street, her trajectory deliberately taking them away from you.

The little girl immediately pulled against her mother's grip, her small face scrunching with confusion and resistance. "Mommy, I want to say hi."

"Not now." The woman's response was clipped and final.

"But they're new. We're supposed to be nice to new people." The girl's voice carried that particular brand of childish logic that hadn't yet learned about unspoken social rules. She managed to free one hand long enough to offer you an enthusiastic wave. "Hi!"

You lifted your own hand automatically to return the greeting, a reflexive response to the innocent friendliness.

The woman immediately yanked her daughter's arm down with enough force to make the girl stumble slightly. "Stop it. Don't talk to them."

"Why not?" The question emerged with genuine bewilderment, the kind only a child could muster when confronted with arbitrary adult rules.

"Because." The woman's voice dropped lower, probably attempting discretion, but the evening quiet carried her words across the distance with perfect clarity. She wasn't really trying very hard to keep you from hearing. "They're from the bad house."

"What's a bad house?" The girl's confusion deepened, her small voice rising with the question.

"Shh." The woman accelerated her pace, practically dragging her daughter along now. The child had to break into an awkward half-jog to keep up, her light-up shoes flashing pink in rapid succession as they hurried away from you like you were carrying some contagious disease.

You remained frozen on the sidewalk, rooted to the concrete as you watched them disappear around the corner at the end of the block. Your heart had begun hammering against your ribs with unnecessary force, adrenaline flooding your system even though nothing overtly threatening had occurred. The street felt dramatically emptier than it had just moments ago, the absence of their presence somehow more pronounced than the quiet had been before they'd appeared.

The bad house.

Those two words kept circling in your mind, each repetition adding new weight to them. You turned slowly and looked back toward your house, studying it from this new perspective. It sat there among its neighbors looking fundamentally identical to every other structure on the block. Nothing about it screamed warnings or danger. Nothing about it appeared visibly different from the houses on either side or across the street.

But that woman had physically pulled her daughter across the street to avoid you, had forbidden the child from even speaking to you, all because you lived there. Like whatever was wrong with the house was something that could contaminate you just by proximity.

You started walking back, your feet moving faster than the situation warranted, propelled by some instinct you couldn't name. The sun had almost completely disappeared now, leaving behind only that purple-gray twilight that made familiar things look strange. Shadows stretched impossibly long across front lawns and driveways, distorting the shapes of trees and cars into something vaguely menacing. You kept your eyes fixed on your house as you approached, tried not to let your mind spiral into speculation about what "the bad house" might actually mean, what might have happened there before you and Jake had signed the lease.

Jake's car still occupied its spot in the driveway, exactly where he'd left it when he'd come home from work. Warm light glowed through the living room windows, golden and inviting in the gathering darkness. You could make out his silhouette moving around inside, probably still dealing with those curtains or maybe starting to think about dinner.

You climbed the porch steps carefully, muscle memory guiding you even as your mind remained elsewhere. The third step released its familiar creak under your weight, the sound seeming far too loud in the evening quiet, like an announcement of your arrival that anyone within a hundred feet could hear. You pushed open the front door and stepped gratefully into the warmth, the temperature difference immediately making your cold-stung cheeks tingle.

Jake had indeed returned to hanging the new curtains. He'd repositioned the couch so he could use it as a makeshift ladder and was currently balanced on the cushions, arms extended overhead as he worked to slide the vanilla linen fabric onto the rod. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door, offering you a quick smile. "Hey. Feel better?"

“A neighbor just called this the bad house.”

His hands went still on the curtain, the fabric bunching slightly where his fingers had stopped moving. "What?"

"I was walking and this woman with her kid deliberately crossed the street to avoid me. The kid asked why they couldn't say hello, and the mother said because we're from the bad house." You closed the door behind you and engaged the lock with more force than necessary, the metallic click somehow reassuring. Your hands were trembling visibly now. "What does that mean? Why would she say that?"

Jake stepped down from the couch with careful deliberation, his work shoes landing softly on the hardwood. "Maybe she's just weird. Some people are like that. You know how neighborhoods can be."

“She pulled her daughter away from me like I was dangerous.”

"Okay. So she's rude and weird and probably watches too many true crime documentaries." He crossed the space between you and took both your hands in his, his warmth immediately noticeable against your chilled skin. He began rubbing your hands between his palms, trying to restore circulation. "You're freezing. How long were you outside?"

“Jake. This is serious.” You tried to pull your hands back but he held on.

"I know it feels serious. But people say weird stuff all the time, especially in small neighborhoods where everyone thinks they know everyone's business. It doesn't necessarily mean anything." He tugged gently, trying to guide you toward the couch. "Come on. Let's finish these curtains and then we can figure out dinner. You'll feel better once you eat something substantial."

You let him lead you closer to the couch but resisted actually sitting down, your body remaining tense and resistant. "What if something's genuinely wrong with this house? What if there's a reason she called it that?"

“Nothing’s wrong with the house.”

"Then why would she say that? Why would an entire neighborhood apparently know it as 'the bad house'?" Your voice was climbing despite your efforts to keep it level.

“I don’t know. Maybe the last people who lived here were assholes. Maybe they played loud music at three in the morning and everyone hated them.” He released your hands to pick up the curtain again, clearly ready to move past this conversation. “It has nothing to do with us.”

You watched him climb back onto the couch with practiced ease, threading the fabric onto the rod like everything was perfectly normal and you hadn't just been deliberately avoided by a stranger who thought your house was dangerous enough to warn her child about. The living room seemed to shrink as the curtains went up, the fabric blocking out what little remained of the evening light. You couldn't see outside anymore, couldn't monitor the street or know if anyone else was out there looking at your house and whispering about the people foolish enough to move in.

Jake stepped down from the couch and moved back to assess his handiwork, his head tilting as he examined the way the fabric hung. "There. What do you think? Much better than those heavy dark ones, right?"

You thought the room felt like it was actively closing in around you, the walls pressing closer with each breath. You thought about how badly you wanted to pack everything back into boxes and leave this place immediately, drive until you found somewhere that didn't make your skin crawl, somewhere that neighbors didn't warn their children away from.

“It looks good,” you said.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

────୨ৎ────

You were still trying to catch your breath when you saw it.

Jake had collapsed beside you moments ago, one arm flung dramatically over his face in that particular way he always did after sex, like the effort had completely drained him. His chest continued rising and falling in heavy, labored pulls of oxygen. The sheets had become hopelessly twisted around both your bodies during the preceding activity, the fabric now clinging uncomfortably to your sweat-dampened skin.

Your body was still humming with residual pleasure, nerve endings firing in that pleasant way that usually left you feeling boneless and satisfied. You should have felt good right now, relaxed and content in that post-orgasm haze. Instead your heart was racing for an entirely different reason, adrenaline flooding your system and wiping away any trace of the satisfaction you'd felt seconds ago.

There had been someone in the closet.

You'd seen them. The memory was crystalline and undeniable, seared into your brain with the kind of clarity that only came from genuine fear. It had happened right at the end, at that precise moment when your eyes had rolled back and Jake's name had torn from your throat in a cry you couldn't have suppressed if you'd tried. The closet door had been cracked open just enough, and in that sliver of darkness there had been a face. Watching. Present. Real.

You'd made direct eye contact. You were absolutely certain of it. Brown eyes that had locked onto yours with unmistakable awareness, staring directly at you while Jake moved inside you and you came apart underneath him, while you were at your most vulnerable and exposed.

"Jake." Your voice came out rougher than intended, still affected by how you'd been using it moments before.

"Mm." The sound was drowsy and satisfied, already halfway to sleep. His hand found yours somewhere in the tangle of sheets and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“There’s someone in the closet.”

His hand went still. “What?”

“I saw someone in the closet. They were watching us.”

Jake lifted his arm from his face with visible reluctance and turned his head on the pillow to look at you directly. His hair stuck up in complete disarray, standing at odd angles from where you'd run your fingers through it. "Babe."

“I’m serious. There was someone there. I looked right at them. We made eye contact.”

He sat up with a heavy sigh, the sheet pooling around his waist and exposing his bare chest still marked with faint scratches from your nails. "You saw someone. While we were having sex."

"Yes. Please. You need to check right now." You pulled the sheet higher, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with nudity.

Jake dragged both hands down his face, pulling at his features before releasing a long, controlled breath through his nose that spoke volumes about his patience wearing thin. Then he extracted himself from the bed completely and crossed the room without bothering to cover himself, his naked body moving through the lamplight. He grabbed the closet door handle and yanked it open with more force than strictly necessary, the door swinging wide to reveal the interior.

Your clothes hung in their neat, organized row exactly where you'd left them. His shoes were lined up along the bottom in the careful arrangement he always insisted on. Boxes that you'd been procrastinating about unpacking sat stacked in the corner, still sealed with packing tape.

"There's no one here." He gestured at the empty closet like it was evidence in a trial.

“Check behind the boxes.”

He released another one of those long-suffering sighs before bending to grab the boxes. He moved them aside one by one, shifting them away from the corner they'd been occupying. Nothing lurked behind them except bare wall, the paint slightly darker where it had been protected from light exposure. He straightened and turned back to face you with both hands spread in an "I told you so" gesture. "See? Empty. No one here but us."

Something fluttered down from the top shelf like a falling leaf, a photograph. It descended in a lazy spiral before landing face-up on the floor directly between Jake's bare feet, the timing so perfect it felt orchestrated.

He looked down at it for a moment before bending to retrieve it from the hardwood. You instinctively pulled the sheet up higher over your chest, suddenly feeling the need for more coverage, and leaned forward with anxious curiosity to see what he'd found.

It was a photograph of a man. Young, probably late twenties at most. Dark hair that looked carefully styled, and a smile that revealed too many teeth in a way that should have been charming but somehow wasn't. He stood positioned in front of a house that you recognized immediately with a sinking sensation in your stomach. Your house. Except in this photo, the blue-gray paint looked pristine and freshly applied, and the porch railing stood straight and sturdy instead of loose and requiring Jake's promised repairs.

Jake held it out to you. “Must’ve been left by whoever lived here before.”

You accepted it with hands that had begun shaking again, your fingers trembling as they made contact with the aged paper. The photograph was clearly old, its edges yellowed and gone soft from excessive handling over the years. You found yourself staring at the man's face with growing horror, at those brown eyes that looked directly at the camera lens with unnerving focus.

“That’s him.”

“What?”

"That's who was in the closet. That's the exact face I saw watching us." Your voice began climbing higher with each word, panic making it difficult to control your volume. You could hear yourself getting louder, more frantic, but stopping seemed impossible. "Jake. That's him. I saw him. Those eyes. That face. He was watching us have sex."

"You saw a picture fall out of the closet." Jake's tone had gone flat and carefully neutral, the voice he used when he was trying very hard to remain patient.

"No. I saw him before the picture fell. He was looking at me." The words came out in a rush, desperate and pleading. "His eyes were at a different angle than in this photo but it's the same face. The exact same face. Jake. I'm so scared."

Jake lowered himself onto the edge of the bed with deliberate slowness, the mattress dipping under his weight. He reached over and carefully extracted the photograph from your trembling fingers, then set it face down on the nightstand like even having it visible in his peripheral vision was too much. Like he could make the problem disappear by simply not looking at it. Then he pulled you firmly against his bare chest, his arms wrapping around you with protective intensity. Your entire body was shaking with an internal tremor you had no control over, muscles quivering like you'd been left out in freezing temperatures.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. That’s it. We’re getting you help.”

“What?”

“I’m calling a doctor tomorrow. We’re getting you on something.”

You pulled back to look at him. “I don’t need medication.”

"Yes you do." He wasn't angry, which somehow made it worse. Anger you could have fought against, could have met with your own defensive rage. But he just sounded exhausted, worn down to nothing, like this conversation was draining the last reserves of energy he possessed. "Baby. You're having hallucinations. You're seeing things that aren't there. You're terrified constantly, jumping at every sound, unable to sleep. That's not normal. That's not healthy."

"I'm not hallucinating." You tried to inject conviction into the words but they came out weak and unconvincing even to your own ears.

"You just told me you saw a dead guy watching us have sex." He stated it plainly, without embellishment, and hearing it repeated back like that made it sound insane.

“I didn’t say he was dead.”

"Well he's clearly not alive and physically standing in our closet, so what else would he be?" Jake's hands came up to frame your face with careful gentleness, his palms warm against your cheeks. His thumbs pressed against your cheekbones with just enough pressure to ground you. "I love you. So much. More than anything. But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep checking every single room and closet and telling you nothing's there while I watch you fall apart piece by piece. You need help. Real, professional help. Not just me reassuring you that everything's fine when clearly it's not."

Your eyes began burning with the familiar pressure of approaching tears. You felt them spill over and track down your cheeks, the moisture collecting against his hands where they still held your face. "You don't believe me."

"I believe that you're genuinely seeing things. I believe that you're absolutely terrified and that your fear is real." He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. The gesture felt like an apology, like he was asking forgiveness for what he was about to say. "I don't believe there's actually a ghost in our house. I believe your mind is creating these experiences because you're exhausted and stressed beyond your breaking point."

You wanted desperately to argue, to defend yourself against the implicit accusation that you were losing touch with reality. You wanted to grab that photo and shove it in his face and make him understand that you weren’t crazy. It was real and he needed to listen instead of looking at you like you were broken. You wanted him to look at you like his wife instead of like a patient who needed managing.

But he was holding you like you were made of something fragile that might shatter, and the combination of fear and exhaustion had left you with nothing left to fight with.

"Okay," you whispered, the surrender tasting bitter on your tongue.

Relief washed across his features so visibly it was almost painful to witness. "Yeah? You mean it?"

“Yeah. I’ll see a doctor.”

He pulled you back against his chest immediately and held you with enough force that your ribs protested, his arms creating a cage around you that was probably meant to feel protective but somehow felt more like containment. "Thank you. God, thank you so much. Everything's going to be okay. I promise. We're going to figure this out and get you feeling better."

You closed your eyes and pressed your face hard into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin mixed with the lingering smell of sex. You could still feel those brown eyes on you, watching from somewhere you couldn't see, their presence as real and tangible as Jake's heartbeat against your cheek.

────୨ৎ────

Three weeks on the pills and things had been better.

Not perfect. The house still released its nightly symphony of creaks and groans, wood settling and pipes contracting in ways that sometimes sounded almost deliberate. You still experienced that persistent phenomenon of misplaced objects, things migrating from where you'd carefully set them down to locations that made no logical sense. But the hallucinations had stopped. You weren't seeing faces materialize in closet shadows anymore, weren't feeling the sensation of phantom hands pressing against your body when you were alone. Most importantly, Jake had stopped treating you like delicate glass that might shatter at any moment, stopped monitoring your every word and expression for signs of deteriorating mental health.

You stood at the kitchen sink in the quiet morning light and tipped two pills from the prescription bottle into your palm. They were small and white and deceptively ordinary looking for something that had apparently rewired your brain chemistry. You placed them on your tongue and chased them down with water, felt them slide down your throat in that particular way pills did, slightly catching before completing their descent.

Jake had departed for work several hours ago, his goodbye kiss still a fading warmth on your forehead along with his cheerful instruction to have a good day. You had a whole list of mundane tasks planned: errands to run, groceries to buy, dry cleaning to pick up. All the tediously normal things that normal people with stable mental health did on ordinary weekdays.

You climbed the stairs to get dressed, your hand trailing along the banister out of habit. In the bedroom you pulled on your favorite jeans and a comfortable sweater, the fabric soft from repeated washing. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror showed someone who looked tired around the eyes but fundamentally stable, grounded in reality. Progress, even if it was hard-won. You collected your keys from their designated spot on the bedroom dresser and made your way back downstairs, your footsteps echoing slightly in the quiet house. Your purse waited by the front door exactly where you'd left it the night before. You performed your usual pre-departure check, fingers locating your wallet and phone in their expected pockets. Everything accounted for and in order.

Your skin felt warm.

You froze with your hand already extended toward the doorknob, fingers hovering just inches from the cool metal. The warmth was spreading with unsettling speed, an internal heat that had nothing to do with the house's temperature. It originated somewhere deep in your chest and was now radiating outward like you'd swallowed something molten, creeping up your neck in a slow crawl, traveling down your arms in tingling waves, settling into your stomach with uncomfortable intensity.

The heat intensified with alarming rapidity. Within seconds your skin was burning, the sensation so overwhelming it felt like you'd stepped directly into a sauna set to maximum temperature or positioned yourself too close to an open flame. You grabbed at the neck of your sweater with clumsy fingers, pulling at the fabric that suddenly felt suffocatingly thick and restrictive, like it was actively trying to strangle you.

Something else was happening simultaneously, a secondary sensation that made your stomach drop with confused alarm. A different kind of heat had begun throbbing low in your belly, an unmistakable arousal pooling between your legs with an intensity that was both shocking and unwelcome. Your thighs pressed together in an automatic, unconscious response and the resulting friction against sensitive flesh made you gasp out loud, the sound startlingly loud in the empty house.

What the hell.

You abandoned your plan to leave and instead leaned heavily against the door, using it to support your suddenly unsteady body. Your heart was hammering violently against your ribs like it was trying to escape your chest. Your breathing had deteriorated into shallow, rapid gasps that weren't pulling in nearly enough oxygen. The dual sensations of burning heat and building arousal kept intensifying with each passing second, feeding off each other in some terrible feedback loop. Your body felt hypersensitive to the point of pain, every nerve ending firing at maximum capacity. The brush of your jeans against your legs, the pressure of your bra against your chest, every sensation registered as too much, overwhelming your ability to process sensory input.

You were simultaneously burning up and desperately turned on and you had absolutely no understanding of why this was happening or how to make it stop.

The pills. Your thoughts felt sluggish and fuzzy, like your brain was operating through layers of cotton, but that single word managed to surface through the haze. Had you somehow taken the wrong medication? Grabbed the wrong bottle in your morning routine? You stumbled back toward the kitchen with uncoordinated steps, your legs feeling weak and unreliable beneath you like they might give out entirely at any moment. The prescription bottle still sat on the counter exactly where you'd left it. You snatched it up with trembling hands that could barely maintain their grip and forced your eyes to focus on the tiny print of the label.

It was the same prescription. Same exact dosage. They were the same pills you’d been taking every morning for three weeks.

This wasn't a documented side effect. The doctor had been thorough when prescribing the medication, walking you through the complete list of potential reactions. Nothing like this had been mentioned. Jake had done his own research and would have definitely said something if this kind of response was even remotely possible.

You set the bottle back down with a clatter and gripped the counter's edge hard enough that your knuckles immediately drained of all color, the skin stretching white and tight over the bones. The heat had become genuinely unbearable now, so intense you genuinely felt like your skin might actually split open from internal pressure, like something was attempting to force its way out from inside your body.

Your sweater had to come off immediately. You grabbed the hem with both hands and yanked it over your head in one desperate motion, not caring when it caught briefly on your hair. The garment hit the floor in a heap of discarded fabric. The removal provided approximately ten seconds of relief, blessed coolness against your overheated skin, before the burning sensation returned with even greater intensity than before.

You lurched toward the refrigerator and wrenched open the freezer door with enough force to make the entire appliance rock slightly. Cold air billowed out in a visible cloud and you immediately pressed your face directly into the frigid stream, desperate for any kind of relief. It felt incredible, almost transcendently good in a way that felt vaguely scandalous, pleasure and relief tangling together in your overloaded nervous system. A sound escaped your throat before you could suppress it, a moan that was entirely too loud and breathy and suggestive for someone standing alone in their kitchen.

This was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Your physical responses had begun mimicking exactly what you'd feel if Jake was actively touching you, as if invisible hands were currently sliding across your bare skin with deliberate intent and  phantom lips were pressed against your neck leaving invisible marks. But you were completely alone in the kitchen wearing nothing but your bra and jeans and there was absolutely nothing and no one physically touching you.

You could feel it anyway, could feel all of it with perfect clarity. Phantom sensations that felt as real as anything you'd ever experienced made your spine arch involuntarily and your breath catch in your throat. Waves of pleasure were building inside you with relentless momentum, completely beyond your control or ability to stop.

"Stop," you said out loud to the empty kitchen, your voice emerging wrecked and desperate and barely recognizable. "Stop it."

It didn't stop. The invisible touch moved lower with deliberate intent, phantom hands sliding down your stomach toward the waistband of your jeans. Your hips rolled forward in an involuntary response against absolutely nothing, your body betraying you with its automatic reaction. Your hand shot out wildly and connected with the pill bottle still sitting on the counter edge. It went flying, hitting the floor with a sharp crack of plastic against tile. Pills exploded everywhere, scattering across the kitchen floor in a spray of white tablets that pinged and rolled in every direction.

You sank down to your knees, your legs finally giving out completely under the dual assault of sensation and fear. The tile was shockingly cold against your overheated skin, the temperature contrast almost painful. You pressed your forehead directly against that cold surface and tried desperately to breathe through what was happening to your body, tried to find some kind of mental anchor that might let you regain even a fraction of control.

The phantom sensations kept building with relentless momentum, pushing you inexorably toward something you absolutely did not want. Not like this. Not alone on the kitchen floor half-dressed while something invisible touched you everywhere at once, while pleasure you hadn't asked for built inside you beyond your ability to stop it.

You squeezed your eyes shut with enough force to see stars behind your eyelids and bit down hard on your lip, the sharp pain grounding you slightly. You tasted copper as skin broke under your teeth.

And then you felt breath against your ear, warm and real and so close you could feel the shape of words even though no sound came out.

Someone was here with you.

You forced your eyes open, terror overriding every other sensation flooding your system.

The man from the photograph was crouched directly in front of you, close enough to touch. His dark hair fell across his forehead in soft waves, partially obscuring brown eyes that watched you with unmistakable amusement. He was near enough that you could catalog every detail of his face with perfect clarity.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were something fascinating he'd discovered. "Hey."

You screamed.

He laughed in response, the sound casual and completely at odds with the situation. One hand pressed over his heart in an exaggerated gesture while a mockingly touched expression crossed his features. "Yeah, I know. I get that a lot. The ladies love me."

"What?" Your voice emerged as barely more than a rasp, your throat already raw from screaming. You scrambled backward desperately, your nearly naked back scraping against the cabinet hardware as you tried to put any amount of distance between yourself and this impossible presence. "What are you? A pervert? What the hell are you doing to me, you freak?"

"Ouch." He settled back on his heels, looking genuinely wounded by your words. The amused smile faded into something closer to an actual pout, his bottom lip pushing out slightly. "That's rude. I have a name, you know. It's Sunghoon. Can you call me that instead of these mean names?"

You sputtered incoherently for a moment, your brain completely unable to process the sheer audacity of this ghost or hallucination or whatever he was acting offended while you were literally sprawled half-naked on your kitchen floor.

"You know," he continued conversationally, like you were having a normal chat over coffee instead of this nightmare scenario, "I wasn't sure exactly how long it would take to kick in. The bottle said thirty minutes for full effect but I figured with your body weight, maybe closer to twenty?" He glanced down at his wrist like he was checking a watch that wasn't actually there, miming the gesture with his empty arm. "Pretty close to my estimate. I'm getting really good at this."

You stared at him, your oxygen-deprived brain struggling to process the words coming out of his mouth or reconcile what you were seeing with any version of reality that made sense. "What?"

"The pills." He reached down and plucked one of the scattered tablets from the floor, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger for your inspection like it was evidence in a trial. "I switched them out. Well, not all of them obviously. That would've been way too obvious and you would've noticed immediately. Just enough that you'd take them at your normal time and," He gestured broadly at you sprawled on the kitchen floor in just your bra and jeans, skin flushed and breathing labored. "Here we are."

"What did you give me?" Your voice cracked.

"Aphrodisiacs. Really strong ones too." He shifted to crouch at your level, bringing his face even closer to yours, that infuriating smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. "Took them from the previous owner's bedroom stash. They left in such a hurry they forgot all sorts of interesting things up there." He paused, his head tilting again in that particular way that made him look predatory despite the casual tone. "I could touch you whenever I want, you know. Make you feel anything. But where's the fun in that? This is so much better. You have no idea what's happening to your own body. You can't fight it or control it or make it stop." His eyes dragged over your half-clothed form with deliberate slowness, taking in every detail of your current state. "You should see your face right now. It's perfect."

Horror crashed through you in a wave so intense it momentarily overrode even the chemical heat flooding your system. "You're insane. You're harassing me!" The burning arousal was still coursing through your body with undiminished intensity but fear was cutting through it now, slicing everything into sharp focus and making your panic spike even higher. "Get away from me right now."

His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline in exaggerated surprise. "I'm harassing you? That's rich. You're the one who moved into my house without permission."

“Your house? This is my house. Jake and I bought it.”

"Bought it." Sunghoon's laugh filled the kitchen, bright and cheerful and completely wrong given the circumstances. "Yeah, okay. Sure. Pretty sure I was here first though. Like, years before you showed up. And I tried so hard to get you to leave, I really did put in the effort. The mugs appearing in weird places. The shower curtain moving. The footsteps on the stairs." He gestured broadly like he was presenting a resume of accomplishments he was particularly proud of. "I even watched you guys having sex. Stood right there in your closet and watched the whole thing. Thought that would definitely do it for sure, thought you'd be out of here within a week."

Your stomach turned violently at the confirmation that all of it had been real, that you hadn't been losing your mind. "You're disgusting."

"Hey, I didn't enjoy it." He paused, a wink accompanying his next words. "I mean, I didn't not enjoy it either. You're cute. Your husband is incredibly boring but you? You're cute."

"Change them back," you gasped out desperately, your hands gripping the cabinet behind you hard enough to hurt. The pharmaceutical heat was still overwhelming every other sensation, still building despite your terror. Your body was still responding to whatever he'd given you, and knowing the cause wasn't doing anything to make it stop. "Give me the real pills. Please."

"Can't. Already flushed them down the toilet." He sat back on his heels, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who'd just admitted to drugging another person. "These should wear off in a few hours though. Maybe six? The bottle wasn't super clear on dosage recommendations. But hey, look on the bright side! At least now you know you're not crazy. Well, not about the house stuff anyway."

“Get away from me.” You tried to press further back but there was nowhere to go. The cabinet was solid against your spine.

"Can't do that either. This is my house, remember? I literally can't leave." Sunghoon reached out slowly like he was going to touch your face, his hand moving through the space between you with deliberate intent. His fingers stopped just short of making contact with your skin, hovering there in a way that felt more threatening than an actual touch would have been. "Besides, you can take all the real pills you want now, see all the therapists your insurance will cover. I'm still going to be here. I tried to scare you off, I really did put in genuine effort. But you're still here after all of it."

He leaned forward, eliminating what little distance remained between your bodies. His face was now mere inches from yours, close enough that you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to, close enough to see the unnatural stillness of his chest that never rose or fell with breath. You shouldn't be able to see this much detail on something that was supposed to be dead. "And honestly? I don't mind anymore. You're entertaining. Way better than the last people who lived here. They were so boring, so predictable. Didn't even scream when I moved their stuff around."

The chemically-induced heat pulsed stronger through your system, your traitorous body responding with renewed intensity even though your mind was screaming at it to stop. You let out a choked sound that was half desperate sob and half something else entirely, something you didn't want to acknowledge.

"Yeah. See? You like it." His voice dropped several registers lower, becoming softer and more intimate in a way that made your skin crawl. "I can make you feel so good. Better than your husband does, and I've been watching so I know exactly how he touches you. I know exactly what you need, what makes you fall apart."

“You’re sick.”

"I'm dead actually. Pretty different thing when you think about it." He sat back slightly, creating a few more inches of space between you. The increased distance felt like it should provide some relief but it didn't help at all. You could still feel phantom touches crawling all over your body with increasing boldness. "But sure, yeah. Call me sick if it makes you feel better about the situation. Doesn't change the fact that you're stuck with me now."

You tried to stand, tried to force your legs to cooperate and get you upright and away from this nightmare. Your muscles refused to obey the commands your brain was desperately sending. The drug-induced pleasure was building again with terrifying momentum, cresting toward something you absolutely did not want to reach, not with him watching with those amused eyes.

You squeezed your eyes shut with brutal force, trying to block him out of your awareness, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. The phantom pressure against your overheated body intensified in immediate response to your attempt at escape. The sensation of a mouth traced a deliberate path along your jawline. It wasn't human, lacked all the normal qualities of an actual kiss. There was no wetness or natural warmth, just an impossible suction of penetrating cold that somehow burned against your flushed skin. Your head thrashed violently to the side in denial, a pathetic whimper escaping your lips as the ghost of a tongue dragged down the vulnerable tendon of your neck with agonizing slowness.

The searing phantom heat raging inside your body was fighting a war with the invasive cold attacking from outside, and the conflict between the two extremes was systematically shredding your nerves into ribbons. You were going to scream, or dissolve into hysterical tears, or worse, give in completely to the relentless chemical need he'd deliberately poisoned you with.

"There you go," his voice purred directly in your ear despite the fact that his physical form still sat visible in front of you, just observing your breakdown with clinical interest. "Fighting it makes it so much sweeter to watch."

“Stop,” you begged, the word a broken thing. “Please.”

"That's the wrong word to use." His voice carried the texture of velvet wrapped around a threat. "Try 'more' instead."

He simply shifted forward on his knees, closing the distance you'd been trying to maintain. His mouth, suddenly solid and undeniably real, pressed against the exposed base of your throat. You felt the distinct pressure of teeth against your vulnerable skin before he bit down with deliberate force.

A gasp ripped from your chest involuntarily. It was a deep, marrow-chilling shock that seemed to leech the very warmth from your blood, a branding cold that arced through your entire system. It provided a strange and terrible counterpoint to the drug's artificial fever burning through you. The cold stole your breath completely. For one blessed second, the overwhelming internal heat was eclipsed entirely by this violent, invasive cold.

He released you and leaned back casually, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in a gesture that was deliberately provocative. A smirk played across his face while his eyes gleamed with dark, perverse satisfaction. The spot on your neck where his teeth had been throbbed with a lingering, icy ache that pulsed in time with your racing heartbeat.

"You taste like panic," he said, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. "And lavender laundry detergent. Interesting combination."

You couldn't speak, couldn't force any words past the constriction in your throat. You brought a trembling hand up to your neck, fingers searching for damage. The skin was unbroken, no mark visible or tactile, but you could still feel the exact imprint of his teeth branded into your flesh.

The spell of the drug, momentarily stunned, came roaring back with a vengeance, intensified by the adrenaline crash. A violent shudder wracked your body, and your vision swam. The kitchen tiles tilted. Everything blurred into a nauseating swirl.

The spell of the drug, momentarily stunned into submission by the shock of his bite, came roaring back with absolute vengeance, intensified exponentially by the adrenaline crash flooding your system. A violent shudder wracked your entire body and your vision swam alarmingly. The kitchen tiles seemed to tilt at impossible angles. Everything blurred into a nauseating swirl of color and sensation.

Your muscles clenched, a tight coil of absolute need. You tried to think of anything else, grocery lists, the bland color of the living room walls, Jake’s face smiling at you this morning. The thoughts melted like wax before the flame. A low, wounded sound was trapped in your throat. Your body wasn’t listening to you anymore. It was listening exclusively to the poison coursing through your bloodstream.

The sensation built with terrifying inevitability, a cresting wave that had nothing to do with genuine pleasure and everything to do with biological hijacking. Your back arched violently off the floor, your fingers scraped desperately against the unforgiving tile hard enough to break skin, and a silent, shuddering release tore through you with brutal force. For approximately three seconds, it flooded you with relief.

Then the heat roared back twice as fierce as before. This time it manifested as a raw and scraping hunger that made the previous burning seem like gentle warmth by comparison. A choked cry of despair escaped you. The release hadn't helped at all. It had only made the empty, aching need more desperate and consuming.

"Oh, wow." Sunghoon's voice dripped like liquid honey from somewhere above you. He hadn't moved from his position. He was just sitting there comfortably, legs crossed, chin resting in his hand, watching you completely unravel on his kitchen floor like it was entertainment. "That looked incredibly unsatisfying. All that work and you're still right back where you started. Maybe even worse now, yeah?"

You couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see whatever expression was on his face. Humiliation coated your mouth like thick paste, mixing with the panting breaths you couldn't control. Your whole body was trembling uncontrollably, oversensitive and raw, screaming for a relief that the orgasm had cruelly teased and then stolen away.

“The body wants what it wants,” he sighed, as if discussing a mildly inconvenient fact. “And yours wants a lot right now. It must be so confusing for it. All dressed up with nowhere to go.”

The phantom touches started again. Not the broad, overwhelming waves from before, but precise, expert taps and strokes along the most overheated, frantic parts of you. It was deliberate. It was torture. You jerked against the cabinet, a fresh sob breaking loose.

“Do you want me to make you feel better?”

The question hung in the air, so simple and so monstrous. It was a taunt.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to bury your face in your arms. The movement sent another vicious pulse of need through your core.

“I can,” he pressed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The cold spot of his presence materialized right beside your ear. You felt the shape of words against your skin. “I know exactly how. I’ve been practicing. I can make it stop hurting. I can make it feel so good you’ll forget your own name. Just say the word.”

Every cell in your body was a lit fuse. The rational part of you, the part that was still you, screamed in negation. But that part was small, and drowning, and so very tired of the burning. The animal part, the part the pills had put in charge, only understood the agony of need and the promise of pleasure.

The silence stretched, broken only by your ragged breathing.

He let out a soft, disappointed hum. “Okay. Suit yourself. I’ve got all day. All week, really. Forever’s a long time to be this uncomfortable.”

Another expert, invisible stroke. A pained whimper was torn from your throat. “Fine! Yes!”

Sunghoon shifted, his form solidifying more as he settled cross-legged on the floor in front of you, blocking your view of the scattered pills. He looked like a boy about to listen to a good story, his head tilted, that pretty mouth pressed into a line of mock-sympathy.

“See, that’s a start,” he said, his voice a silken thread. “But ‘yes’ is… vague. You always beg so nicely for your husband.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Can’t you be more specific?”

The phantom touch, which had paused, returned with a sharp flick right where you were most sensitized. You jolted, a cry strangling in your throat. He was provoking you.

“You want me to make you feel better?” he prompted, his eyes dark and hungry for more than just your body. He wanted the words. “Then ask for it. Properly.”

Tears of frustration and shame burned hotter than the drug. Your body was a traitor, arching slightly toward the source of the touch even as your mind recoiled. “Please,” you whispered, the word torn from you.

“Please what?” he singsonged, relentlessly cheerful. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop? Context is everything.”

Another slow, swirling stroke, this one drawn-out and deliberate. Your hips gave a tiny, involuntary rock against nothing. The breath hitched in your chest, coming in shallow pants.

“I can’t,” you sobbed.

“You can. You’re a big girl.” His smile was chilling in its patience. “Use your words. What do you want me to do? Be explicit. I’m not your husband. I don’t do guesswork.”

The pressure built again, a tantalizing promise of release held just out of reach. The need was a physical pain now, a raw, scraping hollow that demanded to be filled. Your sanity was a distant shore. There was only the fire and the ice-cold boy who controlled the faucet.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hot tears tracking through the dust on your cheeks. The words felt like swallowing ground glass.

“Please… touch me.”

A beat of silence. Then a sigh, disappointed. “Again with the vagueness. Where?” The last word was a sharp whisper, accompanied by a sudden, pinpoint burst of sensation so intense it blurred your vision. “Here?”

You gasped, nodding frantically, your forehead nearly touching the tile.

“Say it.”

Your voice was a broken thing, ragged and small. “There. Please. Touch me there.”

“Better.” The approval in his voice was the worst part. It felt like a stain. “But we’re still being so clinical. So detached.” The phantom touch withdrew completely, leaving you shaking, the emptiness somehow more violent than the teasing. “I want to hear you want it. Really want it. Beg for it.”

The withdrawal was a new kind of torture. The chemical tide, denied its outlet, turned inward, scraping at your nerves. A low moan escaped you. The last fragile thread of resistance snapped.

“Please,” you babbled, the words tumbling out in a desperate, humiliated stream. “Please, I need it. Please, just… do it. Make me come. I can’t-I need to come. Please, Sunghoon, please.”

There it was. His name, followed by the specific, degrading request. 

“See? Was that so hard?” The smile didn’t leave his face. It was a real smile now, reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners. He looked like a boy who’d just been given the best present. He unfolded himself from his cross-legged position and crawled toward you. 

You tried to shrink back, but the cabinet was still there, unyielding. Your body, thrumming with the poison, betrayed you further, tilting toward him as he closed the last of the distance.

“Shhh,” he whispered, though you hadn’t made a sound. His hand came to rest on your bare knee.  “Just relax. I’ll take care of it.”

His other hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. The touch was intimate, possessive. His eyes scanned your face, reading every flicker of terror and unwilling need. “This is better, right?” he murmured. “Asking for what you need?”

You couldn’t answer. Your throat was sealed shut with shame.

He leaned in. You braced for a cold kiss, but he just rested his forehead against yours. His skin was like marble. You could see the faint, impossible pores in his nose, the individual black lashes. He was so there.

“Now,” he breathed, the word floating into your mouth. He slid your panties off quickly, wasting no time before sinking into you.

The sensation of him thrusting inside you carved a white-hot line of pure pleasure through the drug’s fever. It was fullness where there had been an agonizing need. It was so profoundly wrong that your mind short-circuited. A shattered sound was trapped in your frozen lungs.

Sunghoon’s forehead still pressed to yours, his brown eyes wide open, watching you dissolve. A soft, appreciative sigh escaped his lips. “Oh,” he whispered, as if genuinely moved. “That’s it. See?”

He began to move.

There was no rhythm to it. Each movement was calculated, a cruel parody of intimacy you usually get when it’s Jake inside you. Sunghoon’s targeting places that made your back bow and your fingers claw against the tile. The chemical need, met with this chilling mockery of relief, created a feedback loop of sensation that was intolerable. Pleasure and revulsion twisted together, inseparable.

Tears streamed down your face silently. You were pinned between the solid wood of the cabinet and the solid cold of him.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice thick with a dark kind of wonder. “That’s all me. I’m everywhere you are.”

His form began to blur slightly at the edges, not vanishing but spreading. The cold wasn’t just inside you anymore. It was seeping into your muscles, your bones, a frost spreading through your bloodstream. The heat of the drug fought it, creating a war under your skin. You were shaking violently, a puppet with its strings cut and frayed.

The pressure inside you coiled tighter, drawn by his will. The climax, when it was ripped from you, was a devastating earthquake. It was a seizure of icy voltage, a shattering that left you hollowed out and raw. Your vision whited out at the edges, and for a few seconds, there was nothing. No sound, no sight, just the echo of the violation.

Then, when you open your eyes, you make eye contact with Jake.

Jake stood in the kitchen doorway, his work bag dangling from one limp hand. His face was a blank slate of incomprehension. He blinked, his brain visibly scrambling to process the scene: you, on the floor as your body shakes with an invisible weight, surrounded by a chaos of pills. 

“What…?” His voice was soft, almost polite with confusion. He took a step inside, his keys jangling. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

He was looking at the pills, at your state of undress, trying to fit it into a logical box. Maybe you’d fainted, had a seizure or something medical.

Sunghoon’s laugh was a humid whisper against your neck, his rhythm relentless and claiming. “He looks so stupid,” he murmured, the words slithering into your ear as your body jerked with his movement. “Just a confused little husband.”

“Talk to me,” Jake pleaded, his confusion sharpening into alarm as he watched your back arch against the cabinet. “Why are you… what’s happening?”

Your mouth moved. No sound came out. How could you form words around what had just happened? A ghost drugged me and then fucked me on the kitchen floor while I begged for it? The sentence was insanity itself.

“He looks pissed,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice a secret just for you. “Bet he’s never seen you like this. All used up. Bet he doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Jake took another step, his shoes crunching on a pill. “Talk to me. Right now.” The command in his voice was new. It was fear, sharpened into anger.

“She can’t,” Sunghoon answered for you, his tone sing-song with mock sympathy as he drove himself harder into your yielding body. “She’s a little busy being full. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Jake’s gaze dropped, following the helpless, rhythmic clench of your body in thin air, and the color drained from his face. The logical world he built his life on splintered right there on the kitchen tiles.

“Stop it,” he growled, though he didn’t know who or what he was commanding, his voice thick with a rising terror. He took another step, hand outstretched not to you, but to the empty, charged space between your thighs.

Sunghoon’s pace became punishing, a brutal celebration of his own invisibility. “See how he watches?” he cooed, his breath chilling your skin. “He’s starting to get it. That his wife is coming apart on nothing.”

A sob tore from your throat as the sensations crested, a terrifying wave you couldn’t fight. Your eyes locked with Jake’s, screaming an apology he couldn’t possibly understand.

“Tell him,” Sunghoon insisted, each word a thrust. “Tell your husband why you’re gaping open like a cheap whore while he watches.”

“It’s him,” you choked out, the words raw and scraped from your throat as your body betrayed you with another uncontrollable shudder. You forced your gaze away from Jake’s shattered expression, turning your head as if to address the cold air at your cheek. “Sunghoon. Show yourself.”

Jake moved then, a jerky, mechanical step to the side, his eyes fixed lower. From behind you, he saw everything. The impossible, intimate flutter of your walls around something that was stretching you out despite the empty space. His breath hitched, a sharp, pained sound.

“What?” he whispered, the question hollow.

A rich, amused laugh answered, swirling through the chilled kitchen air, the sound closer to your ear than Jake’s voice had ever been. “Why would I do that?” Sunghoon purred, his movement inside you shifting to a slow, possessive grind that made your knees buckle. “I only like pretty girls seeing me.”

Jake’s confusion finally broke into a frantic, disbelieving motion. His face was a mask of revulsion and desperate denial, his mind scrambling for any explanation other than the one his eyes reported.

“This isn’t happening,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice thin. He took one last, jerky step forward, his hand outstretched with a trembling hesitation.

His thumb brushed your inner thigh, a touch so familiar it made you weep, before his index finger pressed tentatively against the slick heat of you, right at the point of that impossible, rhythmic clenching.

He felt it immediately.

The undeniable, solid presence of something moving inside you, something cold and foreign thrusting hard and deep. His finger was pressed right alongside it, trapped against the invading shape by your own tortured flesh.

He froze.

His eyes, wide and unblinking, locked onto yours. His breath stopped in his chest. All the color and  warmth left his face. The sensation against his finger was a concrete, physical truth his logic could not absorb or explain away.

Sunghoon thrust again. A full, brutal slide that made your entire body jolt and a sick, wet sound escape you. Jake’s finger moved with it, forced aside by the motion. You moan at the fullness, stretched beyond what you could handle. He snatched his hand back as if burned, staring at his own fingers as if they belonged to a stranger.

Sunghoon chuckled, a sound of pure delight that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. He slowed to a torturous, rolling grind, savoring the audience. “Believe it now, Jake?” he whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“You felt that,” you managed to say, the words tearing out of you on a ragged exhale. “You felt him.”

“I felt something,” Jake corrected, his voice a hollow rasp. He looked down at his own body, then back at you. His expression crumbled into something worse than fear, shame. His sweatpants tented unmistakably.

Sunghoon’s grinding inside you paused, replaced by a low, delighted hum. “Oh, this is good,” he breathed into your ear, his fingers tracing a cold line up your ribs. “Look at him. Terrified out of his skull and still pitching a tent. You must just give off a vibe, huh?”

“Jake, please,” you begged, fresh tears hot on your cheeks.

“Don’t ‘please’ me,” he snapped, but the anger was thin, covering a bottomless well of panic. He didn’t move from the refrigerator, as if pinned. “What is this? Some kind of… sleepwalking thing? A seizure?”

“It’s not me!” you cried, your body jerking again as Sunghoon began a slow, teasing slide.

“He thinks it’s you,” Sunghoon murmured conversationally, his lips ghosting your temple. “He thinks his sweet wife is having some hysterical episode, rubbing herself on the cabinet like a cat in heat while he watches. And he likes the show.”

“Stop saying that,” you whimpered, closing your eyes.

“What am I saying?” Jake yelled, pushing off the fridge, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He still wouldn’t come closer. “I’m not saying anything! You’re the one talking to the goddamn air!”

Sunghoon laughed, and the vibration traveled through you. “Tell him the truth. That I’m here, inside you. That your husband is so turned on by watching his wife get haunted that he’s about to bust a seam.”

The crude words, spoken in that intimate, boyish voice, finally broke something in you. You focused on Jake’s terrified, aroused, utterly lost face.

“You can’t see or hear him, but you felt him. He’s-” your words break off into a moan when Sunghoon presses down on your clit with his thumb. “He’s inside me.” 

Jake’s mouth fell open. A violent shudder ran through him.

“That’s it,” Sunghoon cooed, his pace increasing, becoming purposeful and deep. “Now we’re all on the same page. You’re both so fucked up. A matched set.”

“Who? Who are you talking to?” Jake demanded, his voice cracking. He took one step forward, then another, driven by a frantic need to fix this.

“Sunghoon,” you sobbed, the name now a permanent stain in your kitchen. “His name is Sunghoon.”

Jake reached for you, not the air this time, his hands aiming for your shoulders to pull you away from the cabinet, to shake you awake. But as his fingers brushed your skin, Sunghoon thrust hard, pinning you in place. You cried out, your back arching.

Jake flinched back, but his hands stayed on your shoulders. In that horrible moment, his hips unconsciously jerked forward an inch, a tiny, reflexive stutter against the roaring adrenaline and paralyzing fear.

Sunghoon saw it. You felt his delight like a static charge.

“You slut,” he whispered, warm and approving against your ear. “You’re so slutty you broke your husband’s brain. He wants to fuck you right now while he watches you get railed by a ghost. That’s a new one, even for me.”

Jake’s hands dropped from your shoulders as if your skin had electrified him. He took two stumbling steps back, his breath coming in short, ragged pulls. The visible evidence of his arousal was now a source of palpable shame, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his posture folding in on itself.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered, but the words held no conviction, only a hollow hope. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, took in your body. He scanned your trembling legs, the sheen of sweat on your collarbone, the frantic rise and fall of your chest. Logic had nothing left to give him.

“Feels pretty real from here,” you gasped, as Sunghoon resumed a slow, excruciating rhythm, each deep stroke a cold mockery of intimacy.

A different kind of tension was coiling tight in your belly, separate from the violation. It was a low, chemical burn, a remembered heat flickering back to life in your veins. Your mouth felt cottony. The edges of the room pulsed softly.

Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly, doctor’s instinct cutting through the panic. He saw the unnatural flush on your neck, the dilated black of your pupils swallowing the iris in the dim light. His gaze darted to the empty water glass on the counter, then back to your face.

“The pills,” he said, his voice shifting from terror to a strained clinical concern. “Your prescription. Did it do something to you?”

Sunghoon’s movement inside you hitched, then stilled, a predator listening. A cold finger traced the shell of your ear.

“Oh, this is juicy,” he murmured, his voice a secret just for you. “The little medicine. It’s still buzzing in there, isn’t it? Must be getting pretty uncomfortable.”

You nodded at Jake, a stiff, jerky motion. “Just two.” The admission was thick on your tongue.

“Just two,” Sunghoon parroted, laughing softly. “But it still aches doesn’t it? Your system’s all lit up with nowhere to put the juice.”

Jake ran a hand over his face, the friction loud in the quiet kitchen. “Okay. Okay, that’s a side effect. A rare one, but it’s in the literature. The heightened… sensitivity. It can cause agitation, a feeling of…”

“Of needing to come so bad it feels like your skin’s on fire?” Sunghoon finished for him, cheerfully crude. “Tell him, sweetheart. Tell your smart husband what his wife’s little medicine is making her feel right now, with me inside her.”

You shook your head, biting your lip until you tasted copper.

“Tell him,” Sunghoon insisted, and he pushed deeper, a sharp, startling penetration that made you cry out. “Or I stop moving entirely. I’ll just sit here, inside you, and you can ride out that chemical burn all by yourself. See how long it takes before you’re screaming.”

The threat was worse than the motion. The burning intensified, a wave of raw, frustrating need that overrode dignity. Your hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk against the empty air, seeking friction, release, anything.

Jake saw it. His clinical analysis collided with the grotesque reality before him.

“It… it hurts,” you choked out, the confession shattering you. “Jake, it’s burning. It won’t stop. The pill and he… and I can’t…”

Sunghoon hummed in approval. “Good girl. Now ask him. Ask your husband to help you feel better.”

“No,” Jake said, the word immediate and final. He backed up until the counter’s edge dug into his spine. “I am not… I am not doing anything with you while that… while he’s…”

“He doesn’t care,” Sunghoon sang, his voice light. “I’m not going anywhere. This is the situation. Your wife is in physical distress, and you’re just going to stand there and watch her cook from the inside out? What kind of a husband are you?”

The burning was a live wire now, sizzling through your nerves, concentrating in a desperate, aching pulse between your legs made a thousand times worse by the occupying cold. Rational thought dissolved. 

“Jake, please,” you begged, your voice breaking into a sob. “Please, just help me. Make it stop. I don’t care, I can’t think, it just hurts.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, agony in his own voice. “Not with him there. Don’t ask me to do that.”

“You don’t have to do anything to me,” Sunghoon keeps talking as if Jake can hear him. “Just her. She’s the one suffering. Think of it as medical aid for the burning.”

You slid down the cabinet another inch, your legs giving way. The tile was icy against your thighs. “Please, Jake. I need you. I just need it to stop. Help me.”

The words hung in the chilled air. Jake stood paralyzed, a man torn between the impossible and the unbearable. He stared at his wife, broken and begging on their kitchen floor, and the last wall of his denial crumbled into dust.

A ragged breath tore from his lungs. He crossed the cold tiles in three stiff strides, his own body still tensed with a revolting mixture of fear and that traitorous, persistent heat.

“Okay,” he said, the word barely audible. “Okay, just… tell me what to do.”

Sunghoon’s laughter was a silent tremor you felt deep inside your marrow. The oppressive, moving cold within you stilled, becoming a static fullness. “Finally,” the voice sighed near your ear. “Just get her ready for us. She’s tight as a fist.”

Jake knelt, the linoleum cracking under his knees. His hands, usually so sure, hovered over your splayed thighs. He looked into your eyes, seeking permission.

You gave a tiny, desperate nod.

His touch was clinical at first, fingers slick with your own moisture, probing tentatively. He touched where the emptiness should have been, and his knuckles brushed against solid, cold resistance.

He flinched, a full-body shudder. “Christ.”

“He’s right there,” you whispered, watching his face. “Can you feel him?”

Jake’s jaw worked. He pressed two fingers in alongside that chilling presence, a slow, careful stretch. The sensation was wrong, all wrong. Your warmth hugged his fingers, but they slid against something unyielding and frigid, a sleek barrier sharing the same space.

“It’s like a wall,” he muttered, his voice thick with disbelief. “A cold, living wall.”

“I’m not a wall,” Sunghoon chided, amusement rippling through the connection. “I’m just comfortable. Hurry up, man. The anticipation is cute and all, but we’re burning daylight.”

Jake added a third finger, his movements becoming more urgent, a mechanic trying to fix a broken machine with the engine still running. He was breathing hard through his nose, eyes glazed, focused on the paradox under his hand.

You gasped, the stretch a raw contrast to the chemical fire. “Please, Jake. Now.”

He fumbled with the waistband of his sweatpants, his movements clumsy. When he positioned himself, the reality of it hit him like a physical blow. He could see nothing. But the space was occupied. He pressed forward, and the head of his cock met not just you, but the shocking, solid coolness of another.

“Oh, God,” he choked.

He pushed, and the impossible happened. He slid in, a tight fit alongside that other presence. They were packed together moving in a perverse unison. He could feel the other’s shape, its motion, a synchronous pressure alongside his own.

“See?” Sunghoon’s voice was a breath of pure delight. “Cozy.”

Jake’s first thrust was a stutter, a spasm of horror and base mechanics. His eyes were wide, unseeing, locked on a point past your shoulder. He was inside his wife, and he was not alone. The trippy, brain-breaking reality of it short-circuited expression.

He just moved.

The rhythm was jangling and off, two separate entities trying to share a single groove. You were utterly full, stretched beyond any sense, the burning panic now fused with an overwhelming, choking pressure. You could feel every inch of Jake, warm and familiar and trembling. And you could feel Sunghoon, cold and exacting and still, just… there.

“There you go,” Sunghoon coaxed, as if coaching a teammate. “Get a rhythm. It’s like a tandem bike. Or a threesome where one guy’s a ghost. Cheaper, I guess.”

Jake made a sound, a guttural mix of a sob and a moan. He found a pace, a deep, driving tempo born of desperation to finish this. Each forward push met that chilling presence, a constant, rubbing reminder.

Your sounds were cries strangled by sheer overwhelm. Your fingers scrambled against the cold tile, finding no purchase. Sunghoon began to move again, subtly at first, then with more definition, carving his own path within the shared space. Jake gasped, faltering.

“Don’t stop,” Sunghoon commanded, his voice losing its playful edge for a slit-second. “You’re doing so good. Just keep going. She’s almost there.”

It was a lie. You were nowhere near anything but insanity. But Jake obeyed despite not being able to hear the command. Jake’s rhythm became frantic, purposeful, a man trying to hammer a nail through his own nightmare.

Sunghoon matched him, thrust for thrust, a cold echo to Jake’s heat.

The pressure crested in a splitting fullness. You screamed, a raw, torn sound that seemed to startle the very air in the room. Your body locked, convulsing around the dual invasion. It ripped through you, locking your muscles and arching your spine off the cold tile.

Jake felt the violent, rhythmic clench around him and cried out, a sound of utter surrender. His own release was torn from him, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he spilled warmth inside you.

Inside you, the cold presence jerked, then pulsed. Another flood of wetness joined the heat, this time a cold wave that whipped a broken gasp from your throat. And as Sunghoon finished, a low, satisfied groan escaping him, something flickered.

A crackle of static, a warp in the air behind Jake’s shoulder. For a second, it was just a distortion. Then it solidified.

Sunghoon’s groan cut off into a sharp, startled hiss. “Shit.”

Jake, still buried in you, his body trembling with spent horror, felt the new presence like a change in pressure. He lifted his head from your shoulder, his bleary, tear-filled eyes following your frozen gaze over your shoulder.

And he saw.

A man, crouched on the floor of their kitchen, one hand braced against the cabinet as if steadying himself, his other hand still hovering near the back of Jake’s thigh. Mid-twenties, dark hair falling into eyes that were wide with momentary surprise before they shuttered into cold amusement. A pretty, boyish face that didn’t match the crude reality of where he’d just been.

Jake froze. All breath, all thought, all sound left him. 

Sunghoon recovered his grin, though it was tighter now. “Oops,” he said, his voice no longer a whisper in your ear but a clear, resonant sound in the room. He didn’t move his hand from beside Jake’s leg. “Got a little carried away. Hi, Jake.”

Jake did not speak. He was a statue etched in pure, paralytic shock. His eyes dragged from Sunghoon’s face, down his arm, to where his own body was still joined to yours. The geometry of it, the three of them connected in this vile chain, finally had a visible link.

The logical mind, so diligently clung to, gave its final, silent scream and went dark.

With a raw, animal noise that started in his gut, Jake wrenched himself back, separating from you with a wet sound. He scrambled away on all fours, like a crab, until his back hit the oven door, his sweatpants tangled around his knees.

He stared, unblinking.

“You’re…,” Jake breathed, the word rusted.

“I’m,” Sunghoon agreed, pushing himself upright with an eerie, weightless grace. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, looking between you, still splayed and trembling on the floor, and your husband huddled by the stove. “Yeah. This is awkward.”

Jake’s hand rose, pointing a trembling finger. “You were… inside…”

“Yeah, we covered that part,” Sunghoon said, sighing as if bored. He examined his own nails, which looked perfectly solid. “The seeing part is new. For you, anyway. She,” he nodded toward you, “has been getting the full VIP specter experience for a while now.”

Jake’s head swiveled to you. His eyes were shattered windows. “You see him? Like this?”

You could only nod, pulling your knees to your chest, a futile attempt to shield yourself from both of their gazes. The burning was gone, replaced by a hollow, frozen ache and a shame so profound it felt like your own ghost was leaving your body.

“All this time,” Jake whispered. The words were flat, dead things. “You weren’t stressed.”

“Told you,” you managed to whisper, but it held no victory.

Sunghoon pushed off the counter and took a spectral step toward Jake, who flinched, pressing harder against the oven. “Don’t look so betrayed,” Sunghoon said, his head tilting. “You just had a conjoined orgasm with me. That’s a pretty intimate icebreaker. We’re practically besties.”

“Don’t touch me,” Jake spat, the command automatic and weak.

“I’m not,” Sunghoon said, holding up his translucent hands. He took another step, crouching down to bring himself eye-level with Jake, who recoiled. “But see? Now you believe. Now we can all play together properly. No more misunderstandings.”

Jake’s breathing was a series of sharp, panicked inhalations. He was looking at a ghost, a real ghost, in his kitchen, discussing shared orgasms. 

Sunghoon’s smile turned intimate, conspiratorial. “We should do this again sometime. Maybe without the pills. Now that we’ve broken the ice, you know?” He paused. “Or, you know. Now that I’ve broken you in.”

You pout at the notebook, like a child denied ice cream.

“I don’t get why there are letters in math,” you complain, twirling the pink pen between your fingers. “Numbers were already enough.”

Jake snorts softly from across the library table, dragging the worksheet closer before you can accidentally doodle hearts in the margins again. He leans over to rewrite the equation for the third time, and your eyes drift from the page to the exposed skin of his forearms, before landing on the swell of his biceps that flexed whenever he rested his elbows against the table.

Jake was too nice to look at, and it made studying with him impossible.

“Here,” he says, moving your notebook closer. “You solve this one.”

You immediately push it back.

Jake exhales sharply through his nose, like he's already exhausted by you. "You're gonna make me beg?" His knee nudges yours apart beneath the table. "Or should I just give up and bend you over this desk instead?"

"I don't know how!"

"You know exactly how," he counters, "You've been teasing me for twenty minutes."

You twirl your pink pen. "Maybe I like it when you get frustrated."

Jake's laugh is low and dangerous. "You're the worst student I've ever had."

"But I'm your favourite. Aren’t I?"

He pauses just long enough to make your stomach flip. "Yeah," he admits.

Before you can think too hard about it, Jake reaches over and takes the pencil from your hand.

“Watch,” he says. “You move this here first, then divide both sides.”

You try to focus. You really do!

But Jake’s sitting close enough that his shoulder keeps brushing yours every time he writes, and he smells faintly like cologne, and suddenly algebra feels like the least important thing in the room.

“You’re not listening,” he says without looking up.

“How do you know?”

The thing was, you weren’t listening. You probably hadn’t been for the last 3 minutes he spent explaining equations that didn’t make sense. 

It wasn’t like you weren’t trying to pay attention; you seriously did try your best. You’d listen attentively as he explained content you had no understanding of, attempting to let the words click in your head. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, tapping the worksheet with the end of the pencil. His brows pull together in fake seriousness as he turns toward you. “Tell me what comes first.”

You stare at the equation for a long moment, glossed lips pursed thoughtfully.

Then you glance at him.

Then back at the worksheet.

“…crying?” you answer quietly.

Jake immediately drops his head into his hand, shoulders shaking with laughter he’s trying to hold in. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters into his palm.

“I’m serious,” you insist with a small pout, sitting up straighter in your chair. Your bracelets clink against the table as you gesture dramatically toward the page. “This looks evil.”

“It’s literally basic algebra.”

“Then why,” you ask, squinting suspiciously at the numbers, “are there so many steps?”

“Because math would be too easy otherwise.”

You slump in your chair, defeated by the question. Jake could lie and say he wasn’t watching the way your chest bulged over your top as you did, but that would be the furthest thing from the truth. 

"Y'know," he says, spinning the pencil between his fingers with infuriating ease, "most girls at least pretend to care when I tutor them."

“I do care!” you insist, fluttering your fake lashes.

“Really?” Jake raises a brow, unconvinced.

“Yeah.” You nod earnestly. “I care about making you proud of me.”

That catches him off guard. His smirk falters for half a second—just long enough for you to notice—before he schools his expression back into one of lazy amusement.

“That’s…” He clears his throat, adjusting in his seat. “Not what I meant.”

Jake exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. "Christ. You're manipulative."

You grin. "And yet you're still here."

"Because if I'm not," he leans in, voice dropping low, "some idiot's gonna have to explain why you failed."

"And because you like me."

Jake stares at you for a beat too long before exhaling slowly. "You make it really fuckin' hard to remember why I agreed to this."

Your eyes widen innocently. "Studying with me?"

“Yeah.”

You lean closer, lowering your voice like it’s a secret. "Is it because I distract you?"

Jake doesn't answer right away. His gaze flicks to your lips, then back up, before he huffs out a quiet laugh.

"You distract everyone," he mutters, shaking his head like he can't believe he's admitting it.

You beam as if you've just won something.

Jake watches you for another second before shoving the worksheet back in front of you with a sigh. "Alright, pretty girl. Focus." He taps the paper. "Solve it."

You chew on the end of your pen thoughtfully. "...Can I have a hint?"

Jake groans. "Jesus. I've given you, like, six."

"One more?" you wheedle, nudging his arm with your elbow.

He exhales sharply, but there's no real bite to it when he finally relents. "Move the x-values first."

You scribble something down with intense concentration, tongue poking slightly against the inside of your cheek. Jake watches quietly this time, chin resting against his fist.

A whole minute passes before you slide the notebook toward him with a triumphant grin.

“I got an answer,” you announce proudly.

He leans over. “Okay, let’s see—”

Then Jake stops.

"...How the fuck," he says slowly, tracing the pink "42" smudged across the page, "did you get forty-two?"

Your proud smile falters. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

Jake looks from the paper—where the numbers only go up to twelve—back to your pouting face. His mouth twitches.

“Baby,” he says carefully, trying not to laugh again, “the equation only goes up to twelve. Did you just... guess?”

You puff out your glossed lips in an exaggerated pout, twirling a curled strand of hair around your manicured finger. "But numbers are, like, soooo confusing!" you whine, deliberately pushing your chest forward until your bedazzled, low-cut crop top looks like it could split at the seams at any second.

Jake's gaze drops to your cleavage for a second too long before he exhales sharply.

"Christ." He snatches the pen from your hand, scrawling the actual answer onto the page. "This is what happens when you flirt instead of focusing."

You bat your lashes. "But flirting's way more fun!"

Jake sets the pencil down, rubbing his mouth with one hand to hide his smile. "Alright. Let's try this differently."

"Oooh, are we playing a game?"

His fingers trail up your bare arm, making you shiver. "Something like that." He taps the pencil against your bottom lip. "First rule? No skipping steps."

You pout prettily. "But rules are boring!"

"Trust me," he murmurs, leaning in until his breath ghosts over your ear. "You'll love the rewards."

"First," he announces, tapping the paper. "Write the equation perfectly. Every symbol in the right place."

When you bite your lip and copy the equation (after three tries), his large hand slides up your thigh beneath your skirt. "Good girl," he purrs, thumb brushing dangerously close to where you're already damp.

"Reward one," he continues, guiding your hand as you subtract from both sides. When you get it right, his fingers tilt your chin up. You squeal when his lips crash against yours, his tongue teasing your lower lip before pulling away.

You're already breathless when he murmurs, "Reward two" He watches intently as you divide, his fingers tracing idle circles on your inner thigh. "Beautiful." His hand slides yours to his lap, where the hard length of him strains against his sweats.

"Reward three," he groans as you free him, his hips jerking when your fingers wrap around his cock. He guides your strokes, slow and firm.

"Now solve," he rasps, teeth grazing your neck. Your fingers tighten instinctively when you gasp out the answer.

"F-five," you whimper, and his grip tightens around your wrist.

Jake groans, his hips jerking into your grip. "Perfect." His free hand slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher until his fingers brush the damp fabric of your panties. "Reward four." He presses his palm against you, letting you grind shamelessly against him while you keep stroking his cock.

Your breath comes in uneven gasps, the dual sensation making it impossible to think. "J-Jake—"

"One more step," he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. "Prove it." He nudges your panties aside, dragging two fingers through your slick folds. "Show me how you got five."

You whimper, thighs trembling as his fingers circle your clit. "I—I subtracted first, then—oh god—divided—"

"Good girl." His fingers plunge inside you without warning, curling just right. Your back arches, your grip tightening around his cock as pleasure coils tight in your belly.

The textbook slides off the table when he lifts you onto it, spreading your legs wider. "Now," he growls, lining himself up, "let's check your work."

The first thrust punches the air from your lungs. His hands grip your hips, pulling you onto him with each rough snap of his hips. The sound of skin slapping fills the tiny dorm room, your moans muffled against his shoulder.

You come with a sob as Jake’s free hand claps over your mouth, concealing your desperate whines. Jake exhales sharply as he pulls out, watching you shiver at the sudden emptiness.  His fingers trail lazily through the mess between your thighs, smearing it across your flushed skin before bringing them to your lips.

"Lick," he commands, voice rough.

You part your lips obediently, swirling your tongue around his fingers until they’re clean, tasting the mix of salt and sweetness on his fingers. 

By the third "lesson", your ponytail is lopsided, lipstick smudged from Jake’s mouth on yours. His sweats are shoved halfway down his thighs, your sticky-sweet moans filling the room every time his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Still stuck?" he taunts, thrusting deeper as you squeal, hands scrabbling at the desk.

"Nuh-uh!" you lie, toes curling when he pinches your nipple through your lace bra. "I—oh!—I totally remember now!"

Jake’s grin is feral as he pulls out, positioning you onto your knees on the floor. "Prove it."

You whimper but obey, sinking your manicured fingers into his thighs before taking him into your mouth with an exaggerated, wet pop. His groan is ragged above you, hands fisting in your hair as you look up through your lashes, drool dripping down your chin.

"Such a good girl," he praises, and you preen, hollowing your cheeks just the way he likes.

The dorm room is a wreck by the time he’s done with you—your skirt ripped off, hair a tangled mess, and makeup ruined in the best way. Jake’s lazily tracing equations on your bare stomach with his cum when you stretch like a cat, giggling.

"See?" you chirp, wiggling your hips. "I told you I’m a fast learner!"

His hand smacks your ass hard enough to make you yelp. "We’ll see tomorrow," he growls, biting your shoulder. "After I quiz you."

Your breathy giggle dissolves into a moan as his fingers slide between your thighs again.

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

The box marked KITCHEN – MISC sat half-open on the counter. Three minutes had passed while you stood there hoping the spatulas and measuring cups might somehow organize themselves into something useful.

“Jake.”

From the living room, he glanced up from where he was kneeling beside a tower of boxes labeled BOOKS in his cramped handwriting. His hair jutted out at odd angles from repeatedly dragging his fingers through it. “Yeah?”

“Did you see where the coffee mugs went?”

“Uh.” He sat back on his heels and squinted at the kitchen like the answer might be written on the cabinets. “Weren’t they in the box with the plates?”

“No. I already unpacked that one.” Your foot connected with the flattened cardboard, sending it sliding across the tile until it thumped against the wall. "I've checked every kitchen box we brought in."

Jake pushed himself up and made his way over. The scent of cardboard dust clung to him, mixed with the cologne he saved for occasions he deemed important. Apparently moving qualified. He bent over the counter, peering into the box you'd been rifling through. "Could they still be out in the car?"

“I brought everything in already.”

“ What about the bedroom?”

“Why would I put mugs in the bedroom?”

Both his hands came up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just throwing out ideas. You're the one who did the packing."

That was true. The memory came back sharp and clear. You'd wrapped every single mug in newspaper, arranged them with care in a box you'd marked FRAGILE – MUGS with a red Sharpie. You'd insisted on carrying it in yourself since Jake and the neighbor had been wrestling the couch through the doorway, and you didn’t trust anyone else with your favorite mug from the café in Seoul.

“This is so weird.” You turned in a slow circle like the mugs might materialize if you looked hard enough. The kitchen was small and bright. Sunlight poured through the window above the sink, bathing the compact kitchen in warm light that made everything seem pristine and hopeful. This was meant to be your new beginning. "Things keep disappearing. My phone charger went missing yesterday. The day before that, my toothbrush."

“You found your toothbrush.”

“In the bathroom closet. I never put it there.”

Jake opened the cabinet above the stove, examining the interior despite knowing it held nothing but the shelf liner you'd spent time measuring and cutting the previous day. "Could be you're just exhausted. Three solid days of unpacking will do that."

“I’m not tired.”

“You’re definitely tired.”

Part of you wanted to push back, but your spine throbbed from hunching over countless boxes and your fingertips stung with tiny cuts from wrestling with packing tape. The realtor had sold you on this house by emphasizing how much easier it would be compared to the cramped apartment. Look at all this room, Jake had said during the tour, we could actually entertain guests. The bay window had charmed you, along with the east-facing bedroom that would flood with morning light. Right now though, you just wanted those damn mugs.

“Who’s moving my stuff?” you said. It came out lighter than you meant.

Jake's mouth quirked up as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Must be the house ghost."

"That's not funny."

"They'll show up eventually." He returned to the living room, dropping back down beside his book collection. His voice drifted through the open floor plan. "Try the bathroom. Maybe you stuck them in there without thinking

You were certain you hadn't, but you went to look anyway since you'd exhausted other options. The small bathroom still reeked of the bleach you'd used to scrub every surface two days prior. A crack spider-webbed across one corner of the mirror, something the landlord had sworn he'd repair. You crouched down and opened the cabinet beneath the sink.

There they sat. All six mugs, stacked with precision, with your Seoul café mug rested on top.

You stared at them for a long time. There was absolutely no way you had placed them here.

“Any luck?” Jake called from the living room.

You closed the cabinet door and straightened up. Your knees cracked. “Yeah. They were under the sink.”

“See? Told you they’d turn up.”

You didn’t mention that you’d never looked under the sink. You wouldn’t have put mugs there even if you were unpacking at three in the morning with your eyes closed. Jake was already back to organizing his books by author, and you didn’t want to stand in the bathroom doorway and argue about something that didn’t matter.

The hours that followed melted into one another. You tackled the bedroom while power tool sounds and muttered curses floated up from where Jake wrestled with bookshelf assembly instructions. Eventually you both converged on the closet, bickering over the distribution of space between his sneaker collection and your dresses. He secured victory by highlighting how you'd already claimed the entire dresser. You had to admit he had a point.

By the time sunset arrived, the house had transformed into something almost livable. Boxes still created obstacles along the hallway and packing paper buried the kitchen table, but at least you could navigate most rooms without tripping. Progress, you supposed.

Jake called in an order from the Thai restaurant a few blocks away. The two of you sat cross-legged on the living room floor since unfolded laundry had claimed the couch. He kept cracking jokes about breaking in the new place properly, and you managed to laugh despite feeling like you were wading through deep, deep water.

The wedding had been five weeks ago. You'd opted for a simple courthouse ceremony to avoid the chaos of event planning. Afterward came two weeks wandering through Japan, walking until blisters formed on your feet, staying awake far past any reasonable hour, and making hollow promises about catching up on sleep during the flight home.

You hadn’t. Jake had fallen asleep with his head on your shoulder and you’d spent seven hours staring at the seatback screen without watching anything.

Upon returning, you'd immediately begun shoving your lives into cardboard boxes since this house's lease kicked in on the first and paying double rent wasn't an option. Two solid weeks of packing and hauling everything into a borrowed truck from some coworker of Jake's whose name you couldn't remember.

The drive here yesterday had eaten up six hours. Jake had offered to take turns behind the wheel but you'd insisted you could handle it. That had been a lie. Your fingers had locked around the steering wheel in a death grip and your eyes had stung from the endless stretch of highway.

Now you sat on unfamiliar floorboards in a house that didn't feel like yours yet, every muscle in your body demanding rest. Jake's voice washed over you as he talked about work or maybe friends or something else entirely. You managed to nod at appropriate intervals, tried to anchor yourself to what he was saying, but his words kept dissolving before you could grasp them.

"You okay?" His question cut through the fog. When you looked up, concern had softened his features.

“Just tired.”

“You should take a break tomorrow. I can finish unpacking.”

“We’re almost done.”

“Baby. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Collapse seemed dramatic. You were simply running on empty. Perfectly normal after a move. Things would improve once you actually settled in, once you weren't surrounded by half-empty boxes and packing tape.

Jake gathered the dishes and headed to the kitchen. Water started running in the sink. You remained on the floor, gaze fixed on the wall. The realtor had described this soft cream shade as warm and inviting. Right now it just seemed blank and expressionless.

You should get up and be useful, help with the dishes or finish unpacking the bathroom.

Instead you pulled yourself up and told Jake you were going to take a shower. He said something about joining you later and you made a noncommittal sound that could’ve meant anything.

The water pressure here beat the apartment's pathetic dribble. Small victory. You tipped your head back, letting heat seep into your knotted shoulders. Steam had already saturated the bathroom, condensing on every surface and shrinking the space.

You worked your fingers through your hair and felt the tension start to drain out. Three days of hauling boxes and arguing about where the couch should go. Jake had won again. It faced the window now instead of the TV.

The shower curtain moved.

Not much, just a quick pull to the side like someone was peeking in.

“Jake.” You kept your eyes closed. Shampoo suds slid down your neck. “You’re such a pervert.”

No answer.

“I’m literally covered in soap. Can you wait like five minutes?”

Only the steady percussion of water against porcelain answered you. You scrubbed at your stinging eyes with the back of one hand, blinking away the burn. The curtain now hung partially open. Beyond it, the bathroom stood empty.

No Jake leaning against the sink with that stupid grin he got when he was trying to be smooth. No shadow moving past the frosted window. There was only steam and the towel hanging on the rack and the crack in the mirror you kept forgetting about until you saw it.

“Jake?”

The sound of your own voice startled you with its volume. Water drummed against your shoulders and ran down the drain in a steady rush. You reached out and pushed the curtain open further. It scraped along the rod with a metallic sound that made your teeth hurt.

The door was still closed. You would’ve heard it open. The hinges squeaked every time. You’d mentioned it to Jake yesterday and he’d said he’d oil them this weekend.

You twisted the faucet off. Silence rushed in to fill the void. The house exhaled around you with creaks and groans. Ancient wood adjusting. Pipes losing their heat. Somewhere beneath the floor, the heater kicked on with a mechanical click.

Water dripped from your hair onto the bathmat as you stood frozen, staring at that closed door. Each heartbeat thundered in your ears.

“Jake?” you said again.

Nothing.

You secured the towel around yourself and eased the bathroom door open. Darkness swallowed the hallway except for a strip of light bleeding from the bedroom down at the far end. Your feet left damp impressions on the hardwood as you walked.

Jake was in bed with his phone. He looked up when you came in. “Hey. Feel better?”

“Were you just in the bathroom?”

“What?” He set his phone on the nightstand. “No. Why?”

“The shower curtain moved.”

“It’s an old house. Probably just a draft.”

“The door was closed.”

Jake patted the bed beside him. “Come here. You’re shivering.”

You weren’t shivering. Were you? The room felt colder than it should. You climbed into bed and pulled the towel tighter around you. Jake wrapped an arm around you and you pressed your face against his shoulder. He smelled like the laundry detergent his mom always used. It was supposed to be comforting.

“I think someone opened the curtain,” you said into his shirt.

“Like a person?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

His hand moved in slow circles on your back. “Baby. There’s no one here but us.”

You fell silent. Somewhere below, the house groaned like something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Jake's expression didn't change. Perhaps the sound never reached him. You let your eyes drift shut, trying to match the rhythm of his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Steady and constant.

His hand moved lower on your back, slipping under the edge of the towel. “You’re so tense.”

“I’m fine.”

"You're really not." Something shifted in his voice, dropping into that particular tone he used when he had intentions. "Let me help you relax."

Your eyes opened to find him watching you with that half-smile that typically got him what he wanted. His hand traveled up your spine before tracing back down with deliberate slowness.

“Jake.”

“What? I’m being a good husband.” His mouth found your shoulder, then migrated to your collarbone. His fingers found the knot holding your towel closed. “You’ve been stressed all week. Let Daddy take care of you.”

You didn't protest when he worked the towel free. The fabric slipped away and gathered on the sheets beneath you. Cold air met your exposed skin. Jake's hands offered warmth. His kisses traveled down your sternum, across your stomach, and despite everything gnawing at your mind, you felt yourself beginning to surrender.

He pushed your legs apart and settled between them. Heat from his breath ghosted across your inner thigh. “Just relax.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow, and tried to focus on the feeling of his mouth instead of the sound the house had made and the shower curtain moving on its own. For a moment, it worked. His tongue traced a slow path along your folds and you gasped, your fingers threading into his hair. 

The bedroom door creaked open.

Every muscle in your body locked. Jake's grip on your hips intensified but his mouth didn't stop its work.

“Jake.”

“Mm?”

“The door.”

He lifted his head. Moisture glistened on his lips. “What about it?”

“It just opened.”

Jake threw a glance over his shoulder. The door now stood halfway open, hallway darkness spilling through the gap. When he looked back at you, his features had rearranged themselves into something gentler, laden with concern. "Baby. The door wasn't latched properly. It does that."

“I closed it.”

“You didn’t close it all the way.” He shifted to sit beside you, drawing the blanket over your legs like you required modesty now. "This is exactly what I mean. You're too stressed. You're seeing things that aren't there."

“I’m not seeing things.”

“The curtain moved because of a draft. The door opened because old houses do that. There’s nothing weird happening.” His palm cradled your face while his thumb swept across your cheekbone. “I’m worried about you.”

Your throat felt tight. “I’m fine.”

"You're not sleeping properly. You picked at dinner. And now every little sound makes you jump." He pressed his lips to your forehead in a gesture that felt more appropriate for a child than a wife. "Maybe we should find you a doctor here. Someone you can talk to."

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help. Especially after everything we’ve been through lately. The wedding and the move and all of it piling up. It’s a lot to process.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that you weren’t imagining things. Something was wrong with this house and he needed to believe you.

But he was looking at you like you were fragile and might break if he pushed too hard.

You pulled the blanket up higher and turned onto your side away from him. “I’m just tired.”

“I know.” His arm came around your bare waist, pulling you flush against his clothed body. Normally, you might have ground back against time, tried to reignite what he’d started. Tonight you just want to sleep. “Get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

They wouldn’t. You already knew that with absolute certainty. You closed your eyes anyway and listened to Jake’s breathing gradually evened out behind you.

The door remained open. Darkness from the hallway seemed to press into the room like something physical. You could feel eyes on you from that space beyond, watching and waiting. Jake's arm lay heavy across your ribs. Moving would wake him. So you remained motionless, gaze fixed on the wall, counting down the hours until dawn

────୨ৎ────

The whole reason you moved here was to escape the old one, full of unfriendly neighbors and people who filed noise complaints over the smallest things. Someone had once left a passive aggressive note on your door about your footsteps being too loud at seven in the morning. Jake had wanted to frame it.

You’d heard this neighborhood was friendlier, more community-oriented. The realtor had gone on about block parties and how everyone knew each other’s names.

Instead, the people on your street kept staring and whispering.

This morning, the woman two houses down had been collecting her mail when you reversed out of the driveway. Her gaze had followed your car all the way to the stop sign. You'd lifted your hand in a friendly wave. She'd pivoted and disappeared inside without so much as a nod.

Yesterday, the older couple across the street had been deep in conversation on their driveway when you'd emerged to water the housewarming plants from Jake's mother. Their voices had died the moment they spotted you. You'd felt their eyes boring into your spine the entire time.

According to Jake, you were making it up. New neighbors always attracted attention. It was normal curiosity and you were reading too much into it.

Perhaps he had a point. Jake had always been oblivious to social undercurrents. He could enter a room crackling with tension and remain completely unaware until someone spelled it out for him.

You pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. The new curtains sat in the passenger seat in their plastic bag from the home goods store. You’d spent an hour debating between ivory and cream before settling on something called vanilla linen that looked identical to both.

The old curtains had been too dark. That’s what you’d told Jake this morning when he asked why you needed new ones. They made the living room feel smaller. He’d shrugged and said whatever made you happy.

Bag in hand, you stepped out of the car. Daylight softened the house's edges, made it seem less threatening. The blue-gray paint looked almost charming, and the porch had decent structure despite the wobbly railing Jake kept promising to secure this weekend.

The front door was unlocked. It swung open easily under pressure from your hip, and you sealed it shut with your heel.

“Jake?”

Silence answered. Still at work, probably. You'd gotten lost browsing the store and hadn't tracked the time.

Sunlight poured through the bare living room windows, carving geometric patterns across the hardwood. The boxes had finally disappeared. You'd spent yesterday afternoon breaking them down and hauling them to the garage. The space was starting to resemble an actual home now.

You set the curtain bag on the couch and went to the kitchen for scissors. The drawer stuck like it always did. You had to yank it twice before it opened.

Movement flickered at the corner of your eye.

You spun around. The kitchen was empty. There were dishes drying in the rack by the sink and a coffee maker on the counter. Nothing was out of place.

Scissors acquired, you returned to the living room. Plastic crackled as you ripped the bag open. Vanilla linen fabric tumbled onto the couch in soft folds that were absolutely just overpriced ivory.

The curtain rod remained mounted from the previous set. You'd stripped those down last night, shoving them into a trash bag because the sight of them had started constricting your chest. Jake had checked if you were alright. You'd claimed you simply wanted something lighter and brighter.

What you didn't mention was the persistent image of the shower curtain moving by itself.Heavy fabric didn’t just shift without someone touching it.

You hoisted yourself onto the couch's arm and stretched toward the rod. Your fingers had barely made contact with the cool metal when sound filtered down from above.

Footsteps upstairs, slow and deliberate, moving from the bedroom toward the hallway.

You froze with your arms above your head and the curtain rod pressing into your palms. The footsteps stopped before they started again, closer to the stairs now.

“Jake?” The question emerged barely above a whisper.

The footsteps reached the top of the stairs. You could hear the floorboards creaking under invisible weight. One step. Then another.

You scrambled down from the couch, hands trembling. The scissors still lay on the coffee table. You snatched them up reflexively, brandishing them like some kind of weapon even though you knew how useless they'd be.

The footsteps stopped halfway down the stairs. Your eyes locked on the staircase, on the space where a body should be visible. The house had gone so silent that your own pulse thundered in your ears.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

The scissors had gone slick in your sweating palm, the metal handles warming against your skin. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you strained to hear any other sounds from above, but the house had fallen into an oppressive silence that felt almost deliberate, like it was holding its breath and waiting to see what you'd do next.

The front door swung open behind you with enough force to make you jump.

You whirled around, nearly dropping the scissors in the process. Jake filled the doorway, work bag draped over one shoulder and his tie loosened from a long day at the office. His attention landed on you first, taking in your defensive stance and wide eyes, then traveled down to the scissors clutched in your white-knuckled fist. His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline in a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Uh. What are you doing?“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"There was someone upstairs." The words tumbled out in a rush, breathless and shaky.

Jake nudged the door shut with his heel, the lock clicking into place with a soft sound that seemed too loud in the quiet house. "What?"

"I heard footsteps. They were coming down the stairs." You stared at the scissors like they'd materialized in your hand through no action of your own, like you couldn't quite remember picking them up or why you'd thought they might protect you from whatever had been walking through your house. You set them carefully on the coffee table, your hands still trembling. "Someone was in the house. I heard them moving around up there."

Jake abandoned his bag by the entrance and crossed the room in quick strides. His hand came up to press against your forehead, palm flat and assessing like he was checking a child for illness. The touch was gentle but clinical, and something about that detached concern made your stomach twist. "You're burning up."

"I'm not sick." You tried to step back but his hand followed, persistent.

"Did you eat lunch? When was the last time you had water?" The questions came rapid-fire, each one dismissing what you'd just told him in favor of finding some mundane explanation.

“Yes. Jake. I’m fine. I know what I heard.”

His hand shifted to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone in what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture. That expression had returned, the one from last night where he looked at you like you were made of porcelain that might crack under too firm a grip, like you were a problem he needed to solve rather than a person he needed to believe. "Baby."

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

"Look at me like I'm losing my mind." The words came out sharper than you intended, edged with frustration and fear and exhaustion all tangled together.

His hand fell away as he dragged it through his hair instead, disheveling the strands that had already been mussed from the wind outside. The breath he released sounded carefully measured, like he was actively working to maintain patience in the face of what he clearly thought was irrational behavior. "I'm not saying you're losing your mind. I'm saying you're running on empty and stressed to your limit and maybe that's affecting your perception. You haven't been sleeping well. You've barely been eating. Your body is exhausted."

"I heard footsteps." You repeated it like if you said it enough times he might actually hear you, might actually consider that you were telling the truth.

"Old houses are noisy. The wood expands and contracts with temperature changes throughout the day. Pipes settle as they cool down. Floorboards creak under their own weight." He was using his reasonable voice now, the one he used when explaining things to clients at work. "It can sound exactly like footsteps when it's not. I've heard it too since we moved in."

Heat crept up your throat and into your face. "You weren't here. You didn't experience what I just experienced. You didn't hear them stop halfway down the stairs like someone was standing there watching me."

"Okay." The word came out gentle and placating in a way that made you want to scream. "Okay. If it makes you feel better I'll go check upstairs. I'll look in every room and make sure no one's here."

“Thank you.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead in a kiss that felt more like reassurance for himself than comfort for you before heading for the staircase. You tracked the sound of him taking the steps two at a time, his footsteps heavy and grounded and completely different from the measured, deliberate tread you'd heard earlier. His presence moved through the house above you, traversing the bedroom first, then migrating to the spare room where you'd been storing boxes, then finally the bathroom. Doors swung open with their familiar squeaks and thumped shut in succession, and each sound felt like another nail in the coffin of your credibility.

You retrieved his abandoned work bag from its spot by the door, the strap still warm from his shoulder, and carried it to the kitchen to give your hands something to do besides shake. Setting it on the counter with more care than necessary, you began extracting its contents one item at a time. An empty tupperware container that had held his lunch, the lid slightly ajar and a few grains of rice stuck to the rim. A water bottle with dried residue crusting around the threading that desperately needed a thorough scrubbing. Some crumpled papers he'd probably need for tomorrow that were already getting bent at the bottom of the bag.

You pulled open the cabinet to store the water bottle, and that pervasive mildew smell hit you immediately, musty and organic and wrong. Mental note: pick up baking soda or whatever product actually eliminated that kind of persistent odor, maybe some of those moisture absorber packets you'd seen at the hardware store.

Someone materialized behind you without warning. Arms encircled your waist in an embrace that felt startlingly intimate, sliding around you with a familiarity that should have been comforting. A head came to rest against your shoulder blade, the weight of it solid and grounding. The full presence of another person pressing into your back, their body heat seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt.

You melted into the contact without thinking, your muscles loosening as you allowed yourself to be supported by what you assumed was your husband. Jake must have finished his inspection upstairs and come down quietly to surprise you, to offer comfort after dismissing your fears. "Long day at work?"

No verbal response came. Just the steady rhythm of breathing against your spine, warm exhales that you could feel through your clothes. The arms surrounding you felt undeniably solid and present, more real than anything else in this moment. You registered the rise and fall of a chest expanding and contracting against your back with each breath, the subtle shift of fabric, the particular pressure of hands resting just below your ribcage.

You glanced down expecting to see Jake's familiar hands, maybe still wearing his watch, maybe with the small scar on his left thumb from that cooking accident last year.

There was nothing there.

No arms around your waist. No hands resting against your stomach. Only empty space and the counter stretching before you and your own solitary body standing alone in the kitchen with nothing touching you at all.

The presence evaporated. Not gradually but instantaneously, like someone had released their hold and retreated in a single motion, leaving behind only the fading impression of where they'd been. The warmth against your back disappeared so quickly you wondered if you'd imagined it, except you could still feel the ghost of those arms, the memory of that weight.

You lurched forward involuntarily, your body trying to catch itself from falling into an embrace that was no longer there. Your hip collided with the counter edge with enough force to send a sharp spike of pain radiating through your pelvis, the kind that would definitely leave a bruise by tomorrow. The water bottle escaped your grip and went clattering into the sink basin with a hollow plastic sound that seemed far too loud.

“Everything’s clear up there.” Jake’s voice came from the stairs, slightly winded from his search. “No one’s home but us.”

You remained frozen where you stood, unable to pivot and face him, unable to explain what had just happened. Your fingers had locked onto the counter edge hard enough to drain all color from your knuckles, the pressure the only thing keeping you upright. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps that you couldn't quite control, and somewhere in the back of your mind you registered that you were probably having a panic attack but that knowledge did nothing to stop it.

Jake walked into the kitchen, his presence announced by the familiar sound of his work shoes against the hardwood. Real footsteps, heavy and grounded and unmistakably human, each one landing with the full weight of a living person moving through space.

"See? Nothing to worry about." His hand touched your shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture and you flinched so violently you nearly sent the dish rack crashing to the floor. The dishes rattled precariously in their slots before settling. "Whoa. Hey. It's just me."

You managed to turn around despite your body's resistance to the movement. Jake stood there with both hands raised in a gesture of surrender, palms out like he was approaching a frightened animal that might bolt at any sudden movement. His expression had shifted from patient understanding to something rawer, genuine worry creasing his forehead and pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“What happened?”

"I felt someone." Your voice emerged trembling and unsteady, each word requiring conscious effort to form. "Right now. Just seconds ago. Someone was standing behind me exactly where you are. They had their arms around me. I felt their weight against my back, felt them breathing."

“I was upstairs. No one else is here.”

“I know. I thought it was you. I felt them, Jake. It wasn't my imagination. Their arms were solid and real and they were holding me.”

Jake closed the distance between you and pulled you firmly against his chest, eliminating any space that might exist between your bodies. His heart beat steady and strong under your ear, that reliable rhythm you'd memorized over the years together. His arms came around you and they felt fundamentally different from whatever had been holding you mere moments ago. Warmer, more substantial, anchored in reality in a way that the other presence hadn't been despite feeling so convincing.

“You’re okay,” he said into your hair. “You’re okay. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Your breathing wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't fall into any normal pattern. It kept catching in your throat like you'd forgotten the basic mechanics of drawing air into your lungs, each attempt stuttering and incomplete.

"Hey." His voice underwent a transformation, dropping into that lower register he reserved for specific moments, the tone he used when you needed grounding, when your mind was spiraling and your body needed an anchor. "Look at me."

You tilted your head back with effort, forcing your gaze upward. His eyes had gone serious and focused, all his attention concentrated entirely on you with an intensity that left no room for anything else in his awareness.

"Breathe with me. In." He demonstrated with a slow, deliberate inhale and you attempted to mirror the movement, your lungs expanding with air that felt inadequate. "Out."

Your exhale emerged shaky and uneven but you managed it, the air leaving your body in fits and starts.

"Good girl. Again." In. Out. His hand traveled up and down the length of your spine in time with the breathing, the repetitive motion creating a rhythm your body could follow. The simple physical pattern gave you something concrete to focus on beyond the panic.

"That's it. Just like that." His thumb traced along your jawline with deliberate gentleness. "Let Daddy take care of you. You don't have to think right now. You don't have to figure anything out or make sense of what happened. Just breathe."

Something in your chest began to loosen its grip. Not completely, not enough to make you feel normal again, but enough that air could flow in without the sharp pain that had been accompanying each breath.

"There you go." He kissed your forehead before moving on to pepper gentle kisses across your face, each one a small point of warmth and reassurance. Your temples, your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, your closed eyelids. "Shhh. I've got you. You're safe here with me."

You allowed yourself to go completely boneless against him, surrendering your weight and trusting him to hold you upright. His hand cupped the back of your head with protective care and kept you pressed securely against his shoulder, creating a small pocket of safety in the space between your bodies.

“We’re okay,” he murmured. “Everything’s okay. You’re safe with me.”

You wanted desperately to tell him that safety wasn't actually the problem, that something was fundamentally wrong with this house and he needed to listen to you instead of trying to rationalize everything away. But your body was finally beginning to release the tension it had been holding, your muscles gradually unclenching one by one, and your thoughts were developing fuzzy edges that made forming coherent arguments feel impossible. You were so profoundly tired of being scared, exhausted from the constant vigilance and the way fear had taken up permanent residence in your chest.

Jake rocked you slightly. “What do you need right now, hm? You want to sit down? Get some water?”

You shook your head against his chest, the fabric of his work shirt soft against your cheek.

"Okay. Then we're just going to stand here for as long as you need." His hand maintained its gentle movement through your hair, the repetitive strokes soothing in their predictability. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stand here all night if that's what you need."

You couldn't detect the presence anymore, couldn't sense anything beyond the immediate reality of Jake's arms creating a solid barrier between you and whatever else might exist in this space. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear. The warmth radiating from his body and seeping into yours. These tangible, provable things.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you genuinely needed to see a doctor and get something to help you sleep, to quiet your mind enough that it stopped creating experiences that felt real but couldn't possibly be. Maybe the exhaustion and stress had damaged something in your perception of reality.

Or maybe something was very, genuinely wrong with this house and you were the only one whose senses were attuned enough to detect it, the only one it had chosen to reveal itself to for reasons you couldn't begin to understand.

Jake had convinced you to lie down after the episode in the kitchen. He'd guided you upstairs with a hand on your lower back and tucked you into bed with the kind of careful attention usually reserved for someone running a fever, pulling the blankets up to your chin and smoothing them down with excessive care. He'd promised to finish unpacking his work things and dealing with the curtains, assured you that everything would be handled and you just needed to rest. You'd closed your eyes obediently and listened to him moving around downstairs, the familiar sounds of cabinets opening and closing, of objects being set down and picked up, all while trying desperately not to think about the weight of those phantom arms that had felt so impossibly real.

Sleep refused to come despite your body's exhaustion. You'd lain there staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, watching the way shadows moved across the plaster as clouds passed outside, counting the small imperfections in the paint job, anything to occupy your mind. Finally you'd given up on the pretense of rest.

You needed air. Real air, outside air, something that didn't taste like this house.

Now you were walking down the street with your hands buried deep in your jacket pockets and your breath forming small clouds that dissolved in the evening air. The temperature had dropped noticeably since you'd left the house, enough that you wished you'd grabbed a heavier coat. Everything looked softer in the fading light, edges blurred and colors muted as the sun continued its descent toward the horizon. The whole neighborhood seemed wrapped in that particular quiet that came with approaching dusk, when people retreated indoors and the day began its transition into night.

You passed three houses before encountering another person, your footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness. A woman roughly your age was approaching from the opposite direction with a little girl who couldn't have been more than six years old trailing slightly behind her. The child wore light-up sneakers that flashed brilliant pink with every bouncing step she took, the only spot of brightness in the growing dimness.

The woman's eyes landed on you when you were still about twenty feet apart. Something shifted in her expression, transforming from neutral to something you couldn't quite identify but that sent an uncomfortable prickle down your spine. Without breaking stride, she reached out and took her daughter's hand with sudden firmness, then began angling toward the opposite side of the street, her trajectory deliberately taking them away from you.

The little girl immediately pulled against her mother's grip, her small face scrunching with confusion and resistance. "Mommy, I want to say hi."

"Not now." The woman's response was clipped and final.

"But they're new. We're supposed to be nice to new people." The girl's voice carried that particular brand of childish logic that hadn't yet learned about unspoken social rules. She managed to free one hand long enough to offer you an enthusiastic wave. "Hi!"

You lifted your own hand automatically to return the greeting, a reflexive response to the innocent friendliness.

The woman immediately yanked her daughter's arm down with enough force to make the girl stumble slightly. "Stop it. Don't talk to them."

"Why not?" The question emerged with genuine bewilderment, the kind only a child could muster when confronted with arbitrary adult rules.

"Because." The woman's voice dropped lower, probably attempting discretion, but the evening quiet carried her words across the distance with perfect clarity. She wasn't really trying very hard to keep you from hearing. "They're from the bad house."

"What's a bad house?" The girl's confusion deepened, her small voice rising with the question.

"Shh." The woman accelerated her pace, practically dragging her daughter along now. The child had to break into an awkward half-jog to keep up, her light-up shoes flashing pink in rapid succession as they hurried away from you like you were carrying some contagious disease.

You remained frozen on the sidewalk, rooted to the concrete as you watched them disappear around the corner at the end of the block. Your heart had begun hammering against your ribs with unnecessary force, adrenaline flooding your system even though nothing overtly threatening had occurred. The street felt dramatically emptier than it had just moments ago, the absence of their presence somehow more pronounced than the quiet had been before they'd appeared.

The bad house.

Those two words kept circling in your mind, each repetition adding new weight to them. You turned slowly and looked back toward your house, studying it from this new perspective. It sat there among its neighbors looking fundamentally identical to every other structure on the block. Nothing about it screamed warnings or danger. Nothing about it appeared visibly different from the houses on either side or across the street.

But that woman had physically pulled her daughter across the street to avoid you, had forbidden the child from even speaking to you, all because you lived there. Like whatever was wrong with the house was something that could contaminate you just by proximity.

You started walking back, your feet moving faster than the situation warranted, propelled by some instinct you couldn't name. The sun had almost completely disappeared now, leaving behind only that purple-gray twilight that made familiar things look strange. Shadows stretched impossibly long across front lawns and driveways, distorting the shapes of trees and cars into something vaguely menacing. You kept your eyes fixed on your house as you approached, tried not to let your mind spiral into speculation about what "the bad house" might actually mean, what might have happened there before you and Jake had signed the lease.

Jake's car still occupied its spot in the driveway, exactly where he'd left it when he'd come home from work. Warm light glowed through the living room windows, golden and inviting in the gathering darkness. You could make out his silhouette moving around inside, probably still dealing with those curtains or maybe starting to think about dinner.

You climbed the porch steps carefully, muscle memory guiding you even as your mind remained elsewhere. The third step released its familiar creak under your weight, the sound seeming far too loud in the evening quiet, like an announcement of your arrival that anyone within a hundred feet could hear. You pushed open the front door and stepped gratefully into the warmth, the temperature difference immediately making your cold-stung cheeks tingle.

Jake had indeed returned to hanging the new curtains. He'd repositioned the couch so he could use it as a makeshift ladder and was currently balanced on the cushions, arms extended overhead as he worked to slide the vanilla linen fabric onto the rod. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door, offering you a quick smile. "Hey. Feel better?"

“A neighbor just called this the bad house.”

His hands went still on the curtain, the fabric bunching slightly where his fingers had stopped moving. "What?"

"I was walking and this woman with her kid deliberately crossed the street to avoid me. The kid asked why they couldn't say hello, and the mother said because we're from the bad house." You closed the door behind you and engaged the lock with more force than necessary, the metallic click somehow reassuring. Your hands were trembling visibly now. "What does that mean? Why would she say that?"

Jake stepped down from the couch with careful deliberation, his work shoes landing softly on the hardwood. "Maybe she's just weird. Some people are like that. You know how neighborhoods can be."

“She pulled her daughter away from me like I was dangerous.”

"Okay. So she's rude and weird and probably watches too many true crime documentaries." He crossed the space between you and took both your hands in his, his warmth immediately noticeable against your chilled skin. He began rubbing your hands between his palms, trying to restore circulation. "You're freezing. How long were you outside?"

“Jake. This is serious.” You tried to pull your hands back but he held on.

"I know it feels serious. But people say weird stuff all the time, especially in small neighborhoods where everyone thinks they know everyone's business. It doesn't necessarily mean anything." He tugged gently, trying to guide you toward the couch. "Come on. Let's finish these curtains and then we can figure out dinner. You'll feel better once you eat something substantial."

You let him lead you closer to the couch but resisted actually sitting down, your body remaining tense and resistant. "What if something's genuinely wrong with this house? What if there's a reason she called it that?"

“Nothing’s wrong with the house.”

"Then why would she say that? Why would an entire neighborhood apparently know it as 'the bad house'?" Your voice was climbing despite your efforts to keep it level.

“I don’t know. Maybe the last people who lived here were assholes. Maybe they played loud music at three in the morning and everyone hated them.” He released your hands to pick up the curtain again, clearly ready to move past this conversation. “It has nothing to do with us.”

You watched him climb back onto the couch with practiced ease, threading the fabric onto the rod like everything was perfectly normal and you hadn't just been deliberately avoided by a stranger who thought your house was dangerous enough to warn her child about. The living room seemed to shrink as the curtains went up, the fabric blocking out what little remained of the evening light. You couldn't see outside anymore, couldn't monitor the street or know if anyone else was out there looking at your house and whispering about the people foolish enough to move in.

Jake stepped down from the couch and moved back to assess his handiwork, his head tilting as he examined the way the fabric hung. "There. What do you think? Much better than those heavy dark ones, right?"

You thought the room felt like it was actively closing in around you, the walls pressing closer with each breath. You thought about how badly you wanted to pack everything back into boxes and leave this place immediately, drive until you found somewhere that didn't make your skin crawl, somewhere that neighbors didn't warn their children away from.

“It looks good,” you said.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

────୨ৎ────

You were still trying to catch your breath when you saw it.

Jake had collapsed beside you moments ago, one arm flung dramatically over his face in that particular way he always did after sex, like the effort had completely drained him. His chest continued rising and falling in heavy, labored pulls of oxygen. The sheets had become hopelessly twisted around both your bodies during the preceding activity, the fabric now clinging uncomfortably to your sweat-dampened skin.

Your body was still humming with residual pleasure, nerve endings firing in that pleasant way that usually left you feeling boneless and satisfied. You should have felt good right now, relaxed and content in that post-orgasm haze. Instead your heart was racing for an entirely different reason, adrenaline flooding your system and wiping away any trace of the satisfaction you'd felt seconds ago.

There had been someone in the closet.

You'd seen them. The memory was crystalline and undeniable, seared into your brain with the kind of clarity that only came from genuine fear. It had happened right at the end, at that precise moment when your eyes had rolled back and Jake's name had torn from your throat in a cry you couldn't have suppressed if you'd tried. The closet door had been cracked open just enough, and in that sliver of darkness there had been a face. Watching. Present. Real.

You'd made direct eye contact. You were absolutely certain of it. Brown eyes that had locked onto yours with unmistakable awareness, staring directly at you while Jake moved inside you and you came apart underneath him, while you were at your most vulnerable and exposed.

"Jake." Your voice came out rougher than intended, still affected by how you'd been using it moments before.

"Mm." The sound was drowsy and satisfied, already halfway to sleep. His hand found yours somewhere in the tangle of sheets and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“There’s someone in the closet.”

His hand went still. “What?”

“I saw someone in the closet. They were watching us.”

Jake lifted his arm from his face with visible reluctance and turned his head on the pillow to look at you directly. His hair stuck up in complete disarray, standing at odd angles from where you'd run your fingers through it. "Babe."

“I’m serious. There was someone there. I looked right at them. We made eye contact.”

He sat up with a heavy sigh, the sheet pooling around his waist and exposing his bare chest still marked with faint scratches from your nails. "You saw someone. While we were having sex."

"Yes. Please. You need to check right now." You pulled the sheet higher, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with nudity.

Jake dragged both hands down his face, pulling at his features before releasing a long, controlled breath through his nose that spoke volumes about his patience wearing thin. Then he extracted himself from the bed completely and crossed the room without bothering to cover himself, his naked body moving through the lamplight. He grabbed the closet door handle and yanked it open with more force than strictly necessary, the door swinging wide to reveal the interior.

Your clothes hung in their neat, organized row exactly where you'd left them. His shoes were lined up along the bottom in the careful arrangement he always insisted on. Boxes that you'd been procrastinating about unpacking sat stacked in the corner, still sealed with packing tape.

"There's no one here." He gestured at the empty closet like it was evidence in a trial.

“Check behind the boxes.”

He released another one of those long-suffering sighs before bending to grab the boxes. He moved them aside one by one, shifting them away from the corner they'd been occupying. Nothing lurked behind them except bare wall, the paint slightly darker where it had been protected from light exposure. He straightened and turned back to face you with both hands spread in an "I told you so" gesture. "See? Empty. No one here but us."

Something fluttered down from the top shelf like a falling leaf, a photograph. It descended in a lazy spiral before landing face-up on the floor directly between Jake's bare feet, the timing so perfect it felt orchestrated.

He looked down at it for a moment before bending to retrieve it from the hardwood. You instinctively pulled the sheet up higher over your chest, suddenly feeling the need for more coverage, and leaned forward with anxious curiosity to see what he'd found.

It was a photograph of a man. Young, probably late twenties at most. Dark hair that looked carefully styled, and a smile that revealed too many teeth in a way that should have been charming but somehow wasn't. He stood positioned in front of a house that you recognized immediately with a sinking sensation in your stomach. Your house. Except in this photo, the blue-gray paint looked pristine and freshly applied, and the porch railing stood straight and sturdy instead of loose and requiring Jake's promised repairs.

Jake held it out to you. “Must’ve been left by whoever lived here before.”

You accepted it with hands that had begun shaking again, your fingers trembling as they made contact with the aged paper. The photograph was clearly old, its edges yellowed and gone soft from excessive handling over the years. You found yourself staring at the man's face with growing horror, at those brown eyes that looked directly at the camera lens with unnerving focus.

“That’s him.”

“What?”

"That's who was in the closet. That's the exact face I saw watching us." Your voice began climbing higher with each word, panic making it difficult to control your volume. You could hear yourself getting louder, more frantic, but stopping seemed impossible. "Jake. That's him. I saw him. Those eyes. That face. He was watching us have sex."

"You saw a picture fall out of the closet." Jake's tone had gone flat and carefully neutral, the voice he used when he was trying very hard to remain patient.

"No. I saw him before the picture fell. He was looking at me." The words came out in a rush, desperate and pleading. "His eyes were at a different angle than in this photo but it's the same face. The exact same face. Jake. I'm so scared."

Jake lowered himself onto the edge of the bed with deliberate slowness, the mattress dipping under his weight. He reached over and carefully extracted the photograph from your trembling fingers, then set it face down on the nightstand like even having it visible in his peripheral vision was too much. Like he could make the problem disappear by simply not looking at it. Then he pulled you firmly against his bare chest, his arms wrapping around you with protective intensity. Your entire body was shaking with an internal tremor you had no control over, muscles quivering like you'd been left out in freezing temperatures.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. That’s it. We’re getting you help.”

“What?”

“I’m calling a doctor tomorrow. We’re getting you on something.”

You pulled back to look at him. “I don’t need medication.”

"Yes you do." He wasn't angry, which somehow made it worse. Anger you could have fought against, could have met with your own defensive rage. But he just sounded exhausted, worn down to nothing, like this conversation was draining the last reserves of energy he possessed. "Baby. You're having hallucinations. You're seeing things that aren't there. You're terrified constantly, jumping at every sound, unable to sleep. That's not normal. That's not healthy."

"I'm not hallucinating." You tried to inject conviction into the words but they came out weak and unconvincing even to your own ears.

"You just told me you saw a dead guy watching us have sex." He stated it plainly, without embellishment, and hearing it repeated back like that made it sound insane.

“I didn’t say he was dead.”

"Well he's clearly not alive and physically standing in our closet, so what else would he be?" Jake's hands came up to frame your face with careful gentleness, his palms warm against your cheeks. His thumbs pressed against your cheekbones with just enough pressure to ground you. "I love you. So much. More than anything. But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep checking every single room and closet and telling you nothing's there while I watch you fall apart piece by piece. You need help. Real, professional help. Not just me reassuring you that everything's fine when clearly it's not."

Your eyes began burning with the familiar pressure of approaching tears. You felt them spill over and track down your cheeks, the moisture collecting against his hands where they still held your face. "You don't believe me."

"I believe that you're genuinely seeing things. I believe that you're absolutely terrified and that your fear is real." He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. The gesture felt like an apology, like he was asking forgiveness for what he was about to say. "I don't believe there's actually a ghost in our house. I believe your mind is creating these experiences because you're exhausted and stressed beyond your breaking point."

You wanted desperately to argue, to defend yourself against the implicit accusation that you were losing touch with reality. You wanted to grab that photo and shove it in his face and make him understand that you weren’t crazy. It was real and he needed to listen instead of looking at you like you were broken. You wanted him to look at you like his wife instead of like a patient who needed managing.

But he was holding you like you were made of something fragile that might shatter, and the combination of fear and exhaustion had left you with nothing left to fight with.

"Okay," you whispered, the surrender tasting bitter on your tongue.

Relief washed across his features so visibly it was almost painful to witness. "Yeah? You mean it?"

“Yeah. I’ll see a doctor.”

He pulled you back against his chest immediately and held you with enough force that your ribs protested, his arms creating a cage around you that was probably meant to feel protective but somehow felt more like containment. "Thank you. God, thank you so much. Everything's going to be okay. I promise. We're going to figure this out and get you feeling better."

You closed your eyes and pressed your face hard into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin mixed with the lingering smell of sex. You could still feel those brown eyes on you, watching from somewhere you couldn't see, their presence as real and tangible as Jake's heartbeat against your cheek.

────୨ৎ────

Three weeks on the pills and things had been better.

Not perfect. The house still released its nightly symphony of creaks and groans, wood settling and pipes contracting in ways that sometimes sounded almost deliberate. You still experienced that persistent phenomenon of misplaced objects, things migrating from where you'd carefully set them down to locations that made no logical sense. But the hallucinations had stopped. You weren't seeing faces materialize in closet shadows anymore, weren't feeling the sensation of phantom hands pressing against your body when you were alone. Most importantly, Jake had stopped treating you like delicate glass that might shatter at any moment, stopped monitoring your every word and expression for signs of deteriorating mental health.

You stood at the kitchen sink in the quiet morning light and tipped two pills from the prescription bottle into your palm. They were small and white and deceptively ordinary looking for something that had apparently rewired your brain chemistry. You placed them on your tongue and chased them down with water, felt them slide down your throat in that particular way pills did, slightly catching before completing their descent.

Jake had departed for work several hours ago, his goodbye kiss still a fading warmth on your forehead along with his cheerful instruction to have a good day. You had a whole list of mundane tasks planned: errands to run, groceries to buy, dry cleaning to pick up. All the tediously normal things that normal people with stable mental health did on ordinary weekdays.

You climbed the stairs to get dressed, your hand trailing along the banister out of habit. In the bedroom you pulled on your favorite jeans and a comfortable sweater, the fabric soft from repeated washing. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror showed someone who looked tired around the eyes but fundamentally stable, grounded in reality. Progress, even if it was hard-won. You collected your keys from their designated spot on the bedroom dresser and made your way back downstairs, your footsteps echoing slightly in the quiet house. Your purse waited by the front door exactly where you'd left it the night before. You performed your usual pre-departure check, fingers locating your wallet and phone in their expected pockets. Everything accounted for and in order.

Your skin felt warm.

You froze with your hand already extended toward the doorknob, fingers hovering just inches from the cool metal. The warmth was spreading with unsettling speed, an internal heat that had nothing to do with the house's temperature. It originated somewhere deep in your chest and was now radiating outward like you'd swallowed something molten, creeping up your neck in a slow crawl, traveling down your arms in tingling waves, settling into your stomach with uncomfortable intensity.

The heat intensified with alarming rapidity. Within seconds your skin was burning, the sensation so overwhelming it felt like you'd stepped directly into a sauna set to maximum temperature or positioned yourself too close to an open flame. You grabbed at the neck of your sweater with clumsy fingers, pulling at the fabric that suddenly felt suffocatingly thick and restrictive, like it was actively trying to strangle you.

Something else was happening simultaneously, a secondary sensation that made your stomach drop with confused alarm. A different kind of heat had begun throbbing low in your belly, an unmistakable arousal pooling between your legs with an intensity that was both shocking and unwelcome. Your thighs pressed together in an automatic, unconscious response and the resulting friction against sensitive flesh made you gasp out loud, the sound startlingly loud in the empty house.

What the hell.

You abandoned your plan to leave and instead leaned heavily against the door, using it to support your suddenly unsteady body. Your heart was hammering violently against your ribs like it was trying to escape your chest. Your breathing had deteriorated into shallow, rapid gasps that weren't pulling in nearly enough oxygen. The dual sensations of burning heat and building arousal kept intensifying with each passing second, feeding off each other in some terrible feedback loop. Your body felt hypersensitive to the point of pain, every nerve ending firing at maximum capacity. The brush of your jeans against your legs, the pressure of your bra against your chest, every sensation registered as too much, overwhelming your ability to process sensory input.

You were simultaneously burning up and desperately turned on and you had absolutely no understanding of why this was happening or how to make it stop.

The pills. Your thoughts felt sluggish and fuzzy, like your brain was operating through layers of cotton, but that single word managed to surface through the haze. Had you somehow taken the wrong medication? Grabbed the wrong bottle in your morning routine? You stumbled back toward the kitchen with uncoordinated steps, your legs feeling weak and unreliable beneath you like they might give out entirely at any moment. The prescription bottle still sat on the counter exactly where you'd left it. You snatched it up with trembling hands that could barely maintain their grip and forced your eyes to focus on the tiny print of the label.

It was the same prescription. Same exact dosage. They were the same pills you’d been taking every morning for three weeks.

This wasn't a documented side effect. The doctor had been thorough when prescribing the medication, walking you through the complete list of potential reactions. Nothing like this had been mentioned. Jake had done his own research and would have definitely said something if this kind of response was even remotely possible.

You set the bottle back down with a clatter and gripped the counter's edge hard enough that your knuckles immediately drained of all color, the skin stretching white and tight over the bones. The heat had become genuinely unbearable now, so intense you genuinely felt like your skin might actually split open from internal pressure, like something was attempting to force its way out from inside your body.

Your sweater had to come off immediately. You grabbed the hem with both hands and yanked it over your head in one desperate motion, not caring when it caught briefly on your hair. The garment hit the floor in a heap of discarded fabric. The removal provided approximately ten seconds of relief, blessed coolness against your overheated skin, before the burning sensation returned with even greater intensity than before.

You lurched toward the refrigerator and wrenched open the freezer door with enough force to make the entire appliance rock slightly. Cold air billowed out in a visible cloud and you immediately pressed your face directly into the frigid stream, desperate for any kind of relief. It felt incredible, almost transcendently good in a way that felt vaguely scandalous, pleasure and relief tangling together in your overloaded nervous system. A sound escaped your throat before you could suppress it, a moan that was entirely too loud and breathy and suggestive for someone standing alone in their kitchen.

This was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Your physical responses had begun mimicking exactly what you'd feel if Jake was actively touching you, as if invisible hands were currently sliding across your bare skin with deliberate intent and  phantom lips were pressed against your neck leaving invisible marks. But you were completely alone in the kitchen wearing nothing but your bra and jeans and there was absolutely nothing and no one physically touching you.

You could feel it anyway, could feel all of it with perfect clarity. Phantom sensations that felt as real as anything you'd ever experienced made your spine arch involuntarily and your breath catch in your throat. Waves of pleasure were building inside you with relentless momentum, completely beyond your control or ability to stop.

"Stop," you said out loud to the empty kitchen, your voice emerging wrecked and desperate and barely recognizable. "Stop it."

It didn't stop. The invisible touch moved lower with deliberate intent, phantom hands sliding down your stomach toward the waistband of your jeans. Your hips rolled forward in an involuntary response against absolutely nothing, your body betraying you with its automatic reaction. Your hand shot out wildly and connected with the pill bottle still sitting on the counter edge. It went flying, hitting the floor with a sharp crack of plastic against tile. Pills exploded everywhere, scattering across the kitchen floor in a spray of white tablets that pinged and rolled in every direction.

You sank down to your knees, your legs finally giving out completely under the dual assault of sensation and fear. The tile was shockingly cold against your overheated skin, the temperature contrast almost painful. You pressed your forehead directly against that cold surface and tried desperately to breathe through what was happening to your body, tried to find some kind of mental anchor that might let you regain even a fraction of control.

The phantom sensations kept building with relentless momentum, pushing you inexorably toward something you absolutely did not want. Not like this. Not alone on the kitchen floor half-dressed while something invisible touched you everywhere at once, while pleasure you hadn't asked for built inside you beyond your ability to stop it.

You squeezed your eyes shut with enough force to see stars behind your eyelids and bit down hard on your lip, the sharp pain grounding you slightly. You tasted copper as skin broke under your teeth.

And then you felt breath against your ear, warm and real and so close you could feel the shape of words even though no sound came out.

Someone was here with you.

You forced your eyes open, terror overriding every other sensation flooding your system.

The man from the photograph was crouched directly in front of you, close enough to touch. His dark hair fell across his forehead in soft waves, partially obscuring brown eyes that watched you with unmistakable amusement. He was near enough that you could catalog every detail of his face with perfect clarity.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were something fascinating he'd discovered. "Hey."

You screamed.

He laughed in response, the sound casual and completely at odds with the situation. One hand pressed over his heart in an exaggerated gesture while a mockingly touched expression crossed his features. "Yeah, I know. I get that a lot. The ladies love me."

"What?" Your voice emerged as barely more than a rasp, your throat already raw from screaming. You scrambled backward desperately, your nearly naked back scraping against the cabinet hardware as you tried to put any amount of distance between yourself and this impossible presence. "What are you? A pervert? What the hell are you doing to me, you freak?"

"Ouch." He settled back on his heels, looking genuinely wounded by your words. The amused smile faded into something closer to an actual pout, his bottom lip pushing out slightly. "That's rude. I have a name, you know. It's Sunghoon. Can you call me that instead of these mean names?"

You sputtered incoherently for a moment, your brain completely unable to process the sheer audacity of this ghost or hallucination or whatever he was acting offended while you were literally sprawled half-naked on your kitchen floor.

"You know," he continued conversationally, like you were having a normal chat over coffee instead of this nightmare scenario, "I wasn't sure exactly how long it would take to kick in. The bottle said thirty minutes for full effect but I figured with your body weight, maybe closer to twenty?" He glanced down at his wrist like he was checking a watch that wasn't actually there, miming the gesture with his empty arm. "Pretty close to my estimate. I'm getting really good at this."

You stared at him, your oxygen-deprived brain struggling to process the words coming out of his mouth or reconcile what you were seeing with any version of reality that made sense. "What?"

"The pills." He reached down and plucked one of the scattered tablets from the floor, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger for your inspection like it was evidence in a trial. "I switched them out. Well, not all of them obviously. That would've been way too obvious and you would've noticed immediately. Just enough that you'd take them at your normal time and," He gestured broadly at you sprawled on the kitchen floor in just your bra and jeans, skin flushed and breathing labored. "Here we are."

"What did you give me?" Your voice cracked.

"Aphrodisiacs. Really strong ones too." He shifted to crouch at your level, bringing his face even closer to yours, that infuriating smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. "Took them from the previous owner's bedroom stash. They left in such a hurry they forgot all sorts of interesting things up there." He paused, his head tilting again in that particular way that made him look predatory despite the casual tone. "I could touch you whenever I want, you know. Make you feel anything. But where's the fun in that? This is so much better. You have no idea what's happening to your own body. You can't fight it or control it or make it stop." His eyes dragged over your half-clothed form with deliberate slowness, taking in every detail of your current state. "You should see your face right now. It's perfect."

Horror crashed through you in a wave so intense it momentarily overrode even the chemical heat flooding your system. "You're insane. You're harassing me!" The burning arousal was still coursing through your body with undiminished intensity but fear was cutting through it now, slicing everything into sharp focus and making your panic spike even higher. "Get away from me right now."

His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline in exaggerated surprise. "I'm harassing you? That's rich. You're the one who moved into my house without permission."

“Your house? This is my house. Jake and I bought it.”

"Bought it." Sunghoon's laugh filled the kitchen, bright and cheerful and completely wrong given the circumstances. "Yeah, okay. Sure. Pretty sure I was here first though. Like, years before you showed up. And I tried so hard to get you to leave, I really did put in the effort. The mugs appearing in weird places. The shower curtain moving. The footsteps on the stairs." He gestured broadly like he was presenting a resume of accomplishments he was particularly proud of. "I even watched you guys having sex. Stood right there in your closet and watched the whole thing. Thought that would definitely do it for sure, thought you'd be out of here within a week."

Your stomach turned violently at the confirmation that all of it had been real, that you hadn't been losing your mind. "You're disgusting."

"Hey, I didn't enjoy it." He paused, a wink accompanying his next words. "I mean, I didn't not enjoy it either. You're cute. Your husband is incredibly boring but you? You're cute."

"Change them back," you gasped out desperately, your hands gripping the cabinet behind you hard enough to hurt. The pharmaceutical heat was still overwhelming every other sensation, still building despite your terror. Your body was still responding to whatever he'd given you, and knowing the cause wasn't doing anything to make it stop. "Give me the real pills. Please."

"Can't. Already flushed them down the toilet." He sat back on his heels, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who'd just admitted to drugging another person. "These should wear off in a few hours though. Maybe six? The bottle wasn't super clear on dosage recommendations. But hey, look on the bright side! At least now you know you're not crazy. Well, not about the house stuff anyway."

“Get away from me.” You tried to press further back but there was nowhere to go. The cabinet was solid against your spine.

"Can't do that either. This is my house, remember? I literally can't leave." Sunghoon reached out slowly like he was going to touch your face, his hand moving through the space between you with deliberate intent. His fingers stopped just short of making contact with your skin, hovering there in a way that felt more threatening than an actual touch would have been. "Besides, you can take all the real pills you want now, see all the therapists your insurance will cover. I'm still going to be here. I tried to scare you off, I really did put in genuine effort. But you're still here after all of it."

He leaned forward, eliminating what little distance remained between your bodies. His face was now mere inches from yours, close enough that you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to, close enough to see the unnatural stillness of his chest that never rose or fell with breath. You shouldn't be able to see this much detail on something that was supposed to be dead. "And honestly? I don't mind anymore. You're entertaining. Way better than the last people who lived here. They were so boring, so predictable. Didn't even scream when I moved their stuff around."

The chemically-induced heat pulsed stronger through your system, your traitorous body responding with renewed intensity even though your mind was screaming at it to stop. You let out a choked sound that was half desperate sob and half something else entirely, something you didn't want to acknowledge.

"Yeah. See? You like it." His voice dropped several registers lower, becoming softer and more intimate in a way that made your skin crawl. "I can make you feel so good. Better than your husband does, and I've been watching so I know exactly how he touches you. I know exactly what you need, what makes you fall apart."

“You’re sick.”

"I'm dead actually. Pretty different thing when you think about it." He sat back slightly, creating a few more inches of space between you. The increased distance felt like it should provide some relief but it didn't help at all. You could still feel phantom touches crawling all over your body with increasing boldness. "But sure, yeah. Call me sick if it makes you feel better about the situation. Doesn't change the fact that you're stuck with me now."

You tried to stand, tried to force your legs to cooperate and get you upright and away from this nightmare. Your muscles refused to obey the commands your brain was desperately sending. The drug-induced pleasure was building again with terrifying momentum, cresting toward something you absolutely did not want to reach, not with him watching with those amused eyes.

You squeezed your eyes shut with brutal force, trying to block him out of your awareness, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. The phantom pressure against your overheated body intensified in immediate response to your attempt at escape. The sensation of a mouth traced a deliberate path along your jawline. It wasn't human, lacked all the normal qualities of an actual kiss. There was no wetness or natural warmth, just an impossible suction of penetrating cold that somehow burned against your flushed skin. Your head thrashed violently to the side in denial, a pathetic whimper escaping your lips as the ghost of a tongue dragged down the vulnerable tendon of your neck with agonizing slowness.

The searing phantom heat raging inside your body was fighting a war with the invasive cold attacking from outside, and the conflict between the two extremes was systematically shredding your nerves into ribbons. You were going to scream, or dissolve into hysterical tears, or worse, give in completely to the relentless chemical need he'd deliberately poisoned you with.

"There you go," his voice purred directly in your ear despite the fact that his physical form still sat visible in front of you, just observing your breakdown with clinical interest. "Fighting it makes it so much sweeter to watch."

“Stop,” you begged, the word a broken thing. “Please.”

"That's the wrong word to use." His voice carried the texture of velvet wrapped around a threat. "Try 'more' instead."

He simply shifted forward on his knees, closing the distance you'd been trying to maintain. His mouth, suddenly solid and undeniably real, pressed against the exposed base of your throat. You felt the distinct pressure of teeth against your vulnerable skin before he bit down with deliberate force.

A gasp ripped from your chest involuntarily. It was a deep, marrow-chilling shock that seemed to leech the very warmth from your blood, a branding cold that arced through your entire system. It provided a strange and terrible counterpoint to the drug's artificial fever burning through you. The cold stole your breath completely. For one blessed second, the overwhelming internal heat was eclipsed entirely by this violent, invasive cold.

He released you and leaned back casually, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in a gesture that was deliberately provocative. A smirk played across his face while his eyes gleamed with dark, perverse satisfaction. The spot on your neck where his teeth had been throbbed with a lingering, icy ache that pulsed in time with your racing heartbeat.

"You taste like panic," he said, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. "And lavender laundry detergent. Interesting combination."

You couldn't speak, couldn't force any words past the constriction in your throat. You brought a trembling hand up to your neck, fingers searching for damage. The skin was unbroken, no mark visible or tactile, but you could still feel the exact imprint of his teeth branded into your flesh.

The spell of the drug, momentarily stunned, came roaring back with a vengeance, intensified by the adrenaline crash. A violent shudder wracked your body, and your vision swam. The kitchen tiles tilted. Everything blurred into a nauseating swirl.

The spell of the drug, momentarily stunned into submission by the shock of his bite, came roaring back with absolute vengeance, intensified exponentially by the adrenaline crash flooding your system. A violent shudder wracked your entire body and your vision swam alarmingly. The kitchen tiles seemed to tilt at impossible angles. Everything blurred into a nauseating swirl of color and sensation.

Your muscles clenched, a tight coil of absolute need. You tried to think of anything else, grocery lists, the bland color of the living room walls, Jake’s face smiling at you this morning. The thoughts melted like wax before the flame. A low, wounded sound was trapped in your throat. Your body wasn’t listening to you anymore. It was listening exclusively to the poison coursing through your bloodstream.

The sensation built with terrifying inevitability, a cresting wave that had nothing to do with genuine pleasure and everything to do with biological hijacking. Your back arched violently off the floor, your fingers scraped desperately against the unforgiving tile hard enough to break skin, and a silent, shuddering release tore through you with brutal force. For approximately three seconds, it flooded you with relief.

Then the heat roared back twice as fierce as before. This time it manifested as a raw and scraping hunger that made the previous burning seem like gentle warmth by comparison. A choked cry of despair escaped you. The release hadn't helped at all. It had only made the empty, aching need more desperate and consuming.

"Oh, wow." Sunghoon's voice dripped like liquid honey from somewhere above you. He hadn't moved from his position. He was just sitting there comfortably, legs crossed, chin resting in his hand, watching you completely unravel on his kitchen floor like it was entertainment. "That looked incredibly unsatisfying. All that work and you're still right back where you started. Maybe even worse now, yeah?"

You couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see whatever expression was on his face. Humiliation coated your mouth like thick paste, mixing with the panting breaths you couldn't control. Your whole body was trembling uncontrollably, oversensitive and raw, screaming for a relief that the orgasm had cruelly teased and then stolen away.

“The body wants what it wants,” he sighed, as if discussing a mildly inconvenient fact. “And yours wants a lot right now. It must be so confusing for it. All dressed up with nowhere to go.”

The phantom touches started again. Not the broad, overwhelming waves from before, but precise, expert taps and strokes along the most overheated, frantic parts of you. It was deliberate. It was torture. You jerked against the cabinet, a fresh sob breaking loose.

“Do you want me to make you feel better?”

The question hung in the air, so simple and so monstrous. It was a taunt.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to bury your face in your arms. The movement sent another vicious pulse of need through your core.

“I can,” he pressed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The cold spot of his presence materialized right beside your ear. You felt the shape of words against your skin. “I know exactly how. I’ve been practicing. I can make it stop hurting. I can make it feel so good you’ll forget your own name. Just say the word.”

Every cell in your body was a lit fuse. The rational part of you, the part that was still you, screamed in negation. But that part was small, and drowning, and so very tired of the burning. The animal part, the part the pills had put in charge, only understood the agony of need and the promise of pleasure.

The silence stretched, broken only by your ragged breathing.

He let out a soft, disappointed hum. “Okay. Suit yourself. I’ve got all day. All week, really. Forever’s a long time to be this uncomfortable.”

Another expert, invisible stroke. A pained whimper was torn from your throat. “Fine! Yes!”

Sunghoon shifted, his form solidifying more as he settled cross-legged on the floor in front of you, blocking your view of the scattered pills. He looked like a boy about to listen to a good story, his head tilted, that pretty mouth pressed into a line of mock-sympathy.

“See, that’s a start,” he said, his voice a silken thread. “But ‘yes’ is… vague. You always beg so nicely for your husband.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Can’t you be more specific?”

The phantom touch, which had paused, returned with a sharp flick right where you were most sensitized. You jolted, a cry strangling in your throat. He was provoking you.

“You want me to make you feel better?” he prompted, his eyes dark and hungry for more than just your body. He wanted the words. “Then ask for it. Properly.”

Tears of frustration and shame burned hotter than the drug. Your body was a traitor, arching slightly toward the source of the touch even as your mind recoiled. “Please,” you whispered, the word torn from you.

“Please what?” he singsonged, relentlessly cheerful. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop? Context is everything.”

Another slow, swirling stroke, this one drawn-out and deliberate. Your hips gave a tiny, involuntary rock against nothing. The breath hitched in your chest, coming in shallow pants.

“I can’t,” you sobbed.

“You can. You’re a big girl.” His smile was chilling in its patience. “Use your words. What do you want me to do? Be explicit. I’m not your husband. I don’t do guesswork.”

The pressure built again, a tantalizing promise of release held just out of reach. The need was a physical pain now, a raw, scraping hollow that demanded to be filled. Your sanity was a distant shore. There was only the fire and the ice-cold boy who controlled the faucet.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hot tears tracking through the dust on your cheeks. The words felt like swallowing ground glass.

“Please… touch me.”

A beat of silence. Then a sigh, disappointed. “Again with the vagueness. Where?” The last word was a sharp whisper, accompanied by a sudden, pinpoint burst of sensation so intense it blurred your vision. “Here?”

You gasped, nodding frantically, your forehead nearly touching the tile.

“Say it.”

Your voice was a broken thing, ragged and small. “There. Please. Touch me there.”

“Better.” The approval in his voice was the worst part. It felt like a stain. “But we’re still being so clinical. So detached.” The phantom touch withdrew completely, leaving you shaking, the emptiness somehow more violent than the teasing. “I want to hear you want it. Really want it. Beg for it.”

The withdrawal was a new kind of torture. The chemical tide, denied its outlet, turned inward, scraping at your nerves. A low moan escaped you. The last fragile thread of resistance snapped.

“Please,” you babbled, the words tumbling out in a desperate, humiliated stream. “Please, I need it. Please, just… do it. Make me come. I can’t-I need to come. Please, Sunghoon, please.”

There it was. His name, followed by the specific, degrading request. 

“See? Was that so hard?” The smile didn’t leave his face. It was a real smile now, reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners. He looked like a boy who’d just been given the best present. He unfolded himself from his cross-legged position and crawled toward you. 

You tried to shrink back, but the cabinet was still there, unyielding. Your body, thrumming with the poison, betrayed you further, tilting toward him as he closed the last of the distance.

“Shhh,” he whispered, though you hadn’t made a sound. His hand came to rest on your bare knee.  “Just relax. I’ll take care of it.”

His other hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. The touch was intimate, possessive. His eyes scanned your face, reading every flicker of terror and unwilling need. “This is better, right?” he murmured. “Asking for what you need?”

You couldn’t answer. Your throat was sealed shut with shame.

He leaned in. You braced for a cold kiss, but he just rested his forehead against yours. His skin was like marble. You could see the faint, impossible pores in his nose, the individual black lashes. He was so there.

“Now,” he breathed, the word floating into your mouth. He slid your panties off quickly, wasting no time before sinking into you.

The sensation of him thrusting inside you carved a white-hot line of pure pleasure through the drug’s fever. It was fullness where there had been an agonizing need. It was so profoundly wrong that your mind short-circuited. A shattered sound was trapped in your frozen lungs.

Sunghoon’s forehead still pressed to yours, his brown eyes wide open, watching you dissolve. A soft, appreciative sigh escaped his lips. “Oh,” he whispered, as if genuinely moved. “That’s it. See?”

He began to move.

There was no rhythm to it. Each movement was calculated, a cruel parody of intimacy you usually get when it’s Jake inside you. Sunghoon’s targeting places that made your back bow and your fingers claw against the tile. The chemical need, met with this chilling mockery of relief, created a feedback loop of sensation that was intolerable. Pleasure and revulsion twisted together, inseparable.

Tears streamed down your face silently. You were pinned between the solid wood of the cabinet and the solid cold of him.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice thick with a dark kind of wonder. “That’s all me. I’m everywhere you are.”

His form began to blur slightly at the edges, not vanishing but spreading. The cold wasn’t just inside you anymore. It was seeping into your muscles, your bones, a frost spreading through your bloodstream. The heat of the drug fought it, creating a war under your skin. You were shaking violently, a puppet with its strings cut and frayed.

The pressure inside you coiled tighter, drawn by his will. The climax, when it was ripped from you, was a devastating earthquake. It was a seizure of icy voltage, a shattering that left you hollowed out and raw. Your vision whited out at the edges, and for a few seconds, there was nothing. No sound, no sight, just the echo of the violation.

Then, when you open your eyes, you make eye contact with Jake.

Jake stood in the kitchen doorway, his work bag dangling from one limp hand. His face was a blank slate of incomprehension. He blinked, his brain visibly scrambling to process the scene: you, on the floor as your body shakes with an invisible weight, surrounded by a chaos of pills. 

“What…?” His voice was soft, almost polite with confusion. He took a step inside, his keys jangling. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

He was looking at the pills, at your state of undress, trying to fit it into a logical box. Maybe you’d fainted, had a seizure or something medical.

Sunghoon’s laugh was a humid whisper against your neck, his rhythm relentless and claiming. “He looks so stupid,” he murmured, the words slithering into your ear as your body jerked with his movement. “Just a confused little husband.”

“Talk to me,” Jake pleaded, his confusion sharpening into alarm as he watched your back arch against the cabinet. “Why are you… what’s happening?”

Your mouth moved. No sound came out. How could you form words around what had just happened? A ghost drugged me and then fucked me on the kitchen floor while I begged for it? The sentence was insanity itself.

“He looks pissed,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice a secret just for you. “Bet he’s never seen you like this. All used up. Bet he doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Jake took another step, his shoes crunching on a pill. “Talk to me. Right now.” The command in his voice was new. It was fear, sharpened into anger.

“She can’t,” Sunghoon answered for you, his tone sing-song with mock sympathy as he drove himself harder into your yielding body. “She’s a little busy being full. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Jake’s gaze dropped, following the helpless, rhythmic clench of your body in thin air, and the color drained from his face. The logical world he built his life on splintered right there on the kitchen tiles.

“Stop it,” he growled, though he didn’t know who or what he was commanding, his voice thick with a rising terror. He took another step, hand outstretched not to you, but to the empty, charged space between your thighs.

Sunghoon’s pace became punishing, a brutal celebration of his own invisibility. “See how he watches?” he cooed, his breath chilling your skin. “He’s starting to get it. That his wife is coming apart on nothing.”

A sob tore from your throat as the sensations crested, a terrifying wave you couldn’t fight. Your eyes locked with Jake’s, screaming an apology he couldn’t possibly understand.

“Tell him,” Sunghoon insisted, each word a thrust. “Tell your husband why you’re gaping open like a cheap whore while he watches.”

“It’s him,” you choked out, the words raw and scraped from your throat as your body betrayed you with another uncontrollable shudder. You forced your gaze away from Jake’s shattered expression, turning your head as if to address the cold air at your cheek. “Sunghoon. Show yourself.”

Jake moved then, a jerky, mechanical step to the side, his eyes fixed lower. From behind you, he saw everything. The impossible, intimate flutter of your walls around something that was stretching you out despite the empty space. His breath hitched, a sharp, pained sound.

“What?” he whispered, the question hollow.

A rich, amused laugh answered, swirling through the chilled kitchen air, the sound closer to your ear than Jake’s voice had ever been. “Why would I do that?” Sunghoon purred, his movement inside you shifting to a slow, possessive grind that made your knees buckle. “I only like pretty girls seeing me.”

Jake’s confusion finally broke into a frantic, disbelieving motion. His face was a mask of revulsion and desperate denial, his mind scrambling for any explanation other than the one his eyes reported.

“This isn’t happening,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice thin. He took one last, jerky step forward, his hand outstretched with a trembling hesitation.

His thumb brushed your inner thigh, a touch so familiar it made you weep, before his index finger pressed tentatively against the slick heat of you, right at the point of that impossible, rhythmic clenching.

He felt it immediately.

The undeniable, solid presence of something moving inside you, something cold and foreign thrusting hard and deep. His finger was pressed right alongside it, trapped against the invading shape by your own tortured flesh.

He froze.

His eyes, wide and unblinking, locked onto yours. His breath stopped in his chest. All the color and  warmth left his face. The sensation against his finger was a concrete, physical truth his logic could not absorb or explain away.

Sunghoon thrust again. A full, brutal slide that made your entire body jolt and a sick, wet sound escape you. Jake’s finger moved with it, forced aside by the motion. You moan at the fullness, stretched beyond what you could handle. He snatched his hand back as if burned, staring at his own fingers as if they belonged to a stranger.

Sunghoon chuckled, a sound of pure delight that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. He slowed to a torturous, rolling grind, savoring the audience. “Believe it now, Jake?” he whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“You felt that,” you managed to say, the words tearing out of you on a ragged exhale. “You felt him.”

“I felt something,” Jake corrected, his voice a hollow rasp. He looked down at his own body, then back at you. His expression crumbled into something worse than fear, shame. His sweatpants tented unmistakably.

Sunghoon’s grinding inside you paused, replaced by a low, delighted hum. “Oh, this is good,” he breathed into your ear, his fingers tracing a cold line up your ribs. “Look at him. Terrified out of his skull and still pitching a tent. You must just give off a vibe, huh?”

“Jake, please,” you begged, fresh tears hot on your cheeks.

“Don’t ‘please’ me,” he snapped, but the anger was thin, covering a bottomless well of panic. He didn’t move from the refrigerator, as if pinned. “What is this? Some kind of… sleepwalking thing? A seizure?”

“It’s not me!” you cried, your body jerking again as Sunghoon began a slow, teasing slide.

“He thinks it’s you,” Sunghoon murmured conversationally, his lips ghosting your temple. “He thinks his sweet wife is having some hysterical episode, rubbing herself on the cabinet like a cat in heat while he watches. And he likes the show.”

“Stop saying that,” you whimpered, closing your eyes.

“What am I saying?” Jake yelled, pushing off the fridge, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He still wouldn’t come closer. “I’m not saying anything! You’re the one talking to the goddamn air!”

Sunghoon laughed, and the vibration traveled through you. “Tell him the truth. That I’m here, inside you. That your husband is so turned on by watching his wife get haunted that he’s about to bust a seam.”

The crude words, spoken in that intimate, boyish voice, finally broke something in you. You focused on Jake’s terrified, aroused, utterly lost face.

“You can’t see or hear him, but you felt him. He’s-” your words break off into a moan when Sunghoon presses down on your clit with his thumb. “He’s inside me.” 

Jake’s mouth fell open. A violent shudder ran through him.

“That’s it,” Sunghoon cooed, his pace increasing, becoming purposeful and deep. “Now we’re all on the same page. You’re both so fucked up. A matched set.”

“Who? Who are you talking to?” Jake demanded, his voice cracking. He took one step forward, then another, driven by a frantic need to fix this.

“Sunghoon,” you sobbed, the name now a permanent stain in your kitchen. “His name is Sunghoon.”

Jake reached for you, not the air this time, his hands aiming for your shoulders to pull you away from the cabinet, to shake you awake. But as his fingers brushed your skin, Sunghoon thrust hard, pinning you in place. You cried out, your back arching.

Jake flinched back, but his hands stayed on your shoulders. In that horrible moment, his hips unconsciously jerked forward an inch, a tiny, reflexive stutter against the roaring adrenaline and paralyzing fear.

Sunghoon saw it. You felt his delight like a static charge.

“You slut,” he whispered, warm and approving against your ear. “You’re so slutty you broke your husband’s brain. He wants to fuck you right now while he watches you get railed by a ghost. That’s a new one, even for me.”

Jake’s hands dropped from your shoulders as if your skin had electrified him. He took two stumbling steps back, his breath coming in short, ragged pulls. The visible evidence of his arousal was now a source of palpable shame, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his posture folding in on itself.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered, but the words held no conviction, only a hollow hope. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, took in your body. He scanned your trembling legs, the sheen of sweat on your collarbone, the frantic rise and fall of your chest. Logic had nothing left to give him.

“Feels pretty real from here,” you gasped, as Sunghoon resumed a slow, excruciating rhythm, each deep stroke a cold mockery of intimacy.

A different kind of tension was coiling tight in your belly, separate from the violation. It was a low, chemical burn, a remembered heat flickering back to life in your veins. Your mouth felt cottony. The edges of the room pulsed softly.

Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly, doctor’s instinct cutting through the panic. He saw the unnatural flush on your neck, the dilated black of your pupils swallowing the iris in the dim light. His gaze darted to the empty water glass on the counter, then back to your face.

“The pills,” he said, his voice shifting from terror to a strained clinical concern. “Your prescription. Did it do something to you?”

Sunghoon’s movement inside you hitched, then stilled, a predator listening. A cold finger traced the shell of your ear.

“Oh, this is juicy,” he murmured, his voice a secret just for you. “The little medicine. It’s still buzzing in there, isn’t it? Must be getting pretty uncomfortable.”

You nodded at Jake, a stiff, jerky motion. “Just two.” The admission was thick on your tongue.

“Just two,” Sunghoon parroted, laughing softly. “But it still aches doesn’t it? Your system’s all lit up with nowhere to put the juice.”

Jake ran a hand over his face, the friction loud in the quiet kitchen. “Okay. Okay, that’s a side effect. A rare one, but it’s in the literature. The heightened… sensitivity. It can cause agitation, a feeling of…”

“Of needing to come so bad it feels like your skin’s on fire?” Sunghoon finished for him, cheerfully crude. “Tell him, sweetheart. Tell your smart husband what his wife’s little medicine is making her feel right now, with me inside her.”

You shook your head, biting your lip until you tasted copper.

“Tell him,” Sunghoon insisted, and he pushed deeper, a sharp, startling penetration that made you cry out. “Or I stop moving entirely. I’ll just sit here, inside you, and you can ride out that chemical burn all by yourself. See how long it takes before you’re screaming.”

The threat was worse than the motion. The burning intensified, a wave of raw, frustrating need that overrode dignity. Your hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk against the empty air, seeking friction, release, anything.

Jake saw it. His clinical analysis collided with the grotesque reality before him.

“It… it hurts,” you choked out, the confession shattering you. “Jake, it’s burning. It won’t stop. The pill and he… and I can’t…”

Sunghoon hummed in approval. “Good girl. Now ask him. Ask your husband to help you feel better.”

“No,” Jake said, the word immediate and final. He backed up until the counter’s edge dug into his spine. “I am not… I am not doing anything with you while that… while he’s…”

“He doesn’t care,” Sunghoon sang, his voice light. “I’m not going anywhere. This is the situation. Your wife is in physical distress, and you’re just going to stand there and watch her cook from the inside out? What kind of a husband are you?”

The burning was a live wire now, sizzling through your nerves, concentrating in a desperate, aching pulse between your legs made a thousand times worse by the occupying cold. Rational thought dissolved. 

“Jake, please,” you begged, your voice breaking into a sob. “Please, just help me. Make it stop. I don’t care, I can’t think, it just hurts.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, agony in his own voice. “Not with him there. Don’t ask me to do that.”

“You don’t have to do anything to me,” Sunghoon keeps talking as if Jake can hear him. “Just her. She’s the one suffering. Think of it as medical aid for the burning.”

You slid down the cabinet another inch, your legs giving way. The tile was icy against your thighs. “Please, Jake. I need you. I just need it to stop. Help me.”

The words hung in the chilled air. Jake stood paralyzed, a man torn between the impossible and the unbearable. He stared at his wife, broken and begging on their kitchen floor, and the last wall of his denial crumbled into dust.

A ragged breath tore from his lungs. He crossed the cold tiles in three stiff strides, his own body still tensed with a revolting mixture of fear and that traitorous, persistent heat.

“Okay,” he said, the word barely audible. “Okay, just… tell me what to do.”

Sunghoon’s laughter was a silent tremor you felt deep inside your marrow. The oppressive, moving cold within you stilled, becoming a static fullness. “Finally,” the voice sighed near your ear. “Just get her ready for us. She’s tight as a fist.”

Jake knelt, the linoleum cracking under his knees. His hands, usually so sure, hovered over your splayed thighs. He looked into your eyes, seeking permission.

You gave a tiny, desperate nod.

His touch was clinical at first, fingers slick with your own moisture, probing tentatively. He touched where the emptiness should have been, and his knuckles brushed against solid, cold resistance.

He flinched, a full-body shudder. “Christ.”

“He’s right there,” you whispered, watching his face. “Can you feel him?”

Jake’s jaw worked. He pressed two fingers in alongside that chilling presence, a slow, careful stretch. The sensation was wrong, all wrong. Your warmth hugged his fingers, but they slid against something unyielding and frigid, a sleek barrier sharing the same space.

“It’s like a wall,” he muttered, his voice thick with disbelief. “A cold, living wall.”

“I’m not a wall,” Sunghoon chided, amusement rippling through the connection. “I’m just comfortable. Hurry up, man. The anticipation is cute and all, but we’re burning daylight.”

Jake added a third finger, his movements becoming more urgent, a mechanic trying to fix a broken machine with the engine still running. He was breathing hard through his nose, eyes glazed, focused on the paradox under his hand.

You gasped, the stretch a raw contrast to the chemical fire. “Please, Jake. Now.”

He fumbled with the waistband of his sweatpants, his movements clumsy. When he positioned himself, the reality of it hit him like a physical blow. He could see nothing. But the space was occupied. He pressed forward, and the head of his cock met not just you, but the shocking, solid coolness of another.

“Oh, God,” he choked.

He pushed, and the impossible happened. He slid in, a tight fit alongside that other presence. They were packed together moving in a perverse unison. He could feel the other’s shape, its motion, a synchronous pressure alongside his own.

“See?” Sunghoon’s voice was a breath of pure delight. “Cozy.”

Jake’s first thrust was a stutter, a spasm of horror and base mechanics. His eyes were wide, unseeing, locked on a point past your shoulder. He was inside his wife, and he was not alone. The trippy, brain-breaking reality of it short-circuited expression.

He just moved.

The rhythm was jangling and off, two separate entities trying to share a single groove. You were utterly full, stretched beyond any sense, the burning panic now fused with an overwhelming, choking pressure. You could feel every inch of Jake, warm and familiar and trembling. And you could feel Sunghoon, cold and exacting and still, just… there.

“There you go,” Sunghoon coaxed, as if coaching a teammate. “Get a rhythm. It’s like a tandem bike. Or a threesome where one guy’s a ghost. Cheaper, I guess.”

Jake made a sound, a guttural mix of a sob and a moan. He found a pace, a deep, driving tempo born of desperation to finish this. Each forward push met that chilling presence, a constant, rubbing reminder.

Your sounds were cries strangled by sheer overwhelm. Your fingers scrambled against the cold tile, finding no purchase. Sunghoon began to move again, subtly at first, then with more definition, carving his own path within the shared space. Jake gasped, faltering.

“Don’t stop,” Sunghoon commanded, his voice losing its playful edge for a slit-second. “You’re doing so good. Just keep going. She’s almost there.”

It was a lie. You were nowhere near anything but insanity. But Jake obeyed despite not being able to hear the command. Jake’s rhythm became frantic, purposeful, a man trying to hammer a nail through his own nightmare.

Sunghoon matched him, thrust for thrust, a cold echo to Jake’s heat.

The pressure crested in a splitting fullness. You screamed, a raw, torn sound that seemed to startle the very air in the room. Your body locked, convulsing around the dual invasion. It ripped through you, locking your muscles and arching your spine off the cold tile.

Jake felt the violent, rhythmic clench around him and cried out, a sound of utter surrender. His own release was torn from him, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he spilled warmth inside you.

Inside you, the cold presence jerked, then pulsed. Another flood of wetness joined the heat, this time a cold wave that whipped a broken gasp from your throat. And as Sunghoon finished, a low, satisfied groan escaping him, something flickered.

A crackle of static, a warp in the air behind Jake’s shoulder. For a second, it was just a distortion. Then it solidified.

Sunghoon’s groan cut off into a sharp, startled hiss. “Shit.”

Jake, still buried in you, his body trembling with spent horror, felt the new presence like a change in pressure. He lifted his head from your shoulder, his bleary, tear-filled eyes following your frozen gaze over your shoulder.

And he saw.

A man, crouched on the floor of their kitchen, one hand braced against the cabinet as if steadying himself, his other hand still hovering near the back of Jake’s thigh. Mid-twenties, dark hair falling into eyes that were wide with momentary surprise before they shuttered into cold amusement. A pretty, boyish face that didn’t match the crude reality of where he’d just been.

Jake froze. All breath, all thought, all sound left him. 

Sunghoon recovered his grin, though it was tighter now. “Oops,” he said, his voice no longer a whisper in your ear but a clear, resonant sound in the room. He didn’t move his hand from beside Jake’s leg. “Got a little carried away. Hi, Jake.”

Jake did not speak. He was a statue etched in pure, paralytic shock. His eyes dragged from Sunghoon’s face, down his arm, to where his own body was still joined to yours. The geometry of it, the three of them connected in this vile chain, finally had a visible link.

The logical mind, so diligently clung to, gave its final, silent scream and went dark.

With a raw, animal noise that started in his gut, Jake wrenched himself back, separating from you with a wet sound. He scrambled away on all fours, like a crab, until his back hit the oven door, his sweatpants tangled around his knees.

He stared, unblinking.

“You’re…,” Jake breathed, the word rusted.

“I’m,” Sunghoon agreed, pushing himself upright with an eerie, weightless grace. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, looking between you, still splayed and trembling on the floor, and your husband huddled by the stove. “Yeah. This is awkward.”

Jake’s hand rose, pointing a trembling finger. “You were… inside…”

“Yeah, we covered that part,” Sunghoon said, sighing as if bored. He examined his own nails, which looked perfectly solid. “The seeing part is new. For you, anyway. She,” he nodded toward you, “has been getting the full VIP specter experience for a while now.”

Jake’s head swiveled to you. His eyes were shattered windows. “You see him? Like this?”

You could only nod, pulling your knees to your chest, a futile attempt to shield yourself from both of their gazes. The burning was gone, replaced by a hollow, frozen ache and a shame so profound it felt like your own ghost was leaving your body.

“All this time,” Jake whispered. The words were flat, dead things. “You weren’t stressed.”

“Told you,” you managed to whisper, but it held no victory.

Sunghoon pushed off the counter and took a spectral step toward Jake, who flinched, pressing harder against the oven. “Don’t look so betrayed,” Sunghoon said, his head tilting. “You just had a conjoined orgasm with me. That’s a pretty intimate icebreaker. We’re practically besties.”

“Don’t touch me,” Jake spat, the command automatic and weak.

“I’m not,” Sunghoon said, holding up his translucent hands. He took another step, crouching down to bring himself eye-level with Jake, who recoiled. “But see? Now you believe. Now we can all play together properly. No more misunderstandings.”

Jake’s breathing was a series of sharp, panicked inhalations. He was looking at a ghost, a real ghost, in his kitchen, discussing shared orgasms. 

Sunghoon’s smile turned intimate, conspiratorial. “We should do this again sometime. Maybe without the pills. Now that we’ve broken the ice, you know?” He paused. “Or, you know. Now that I’ve broken you in.”

First, he manages to convince his way into your apartment. Over the weeks, he’s gotten better at it. Or maybe you’ve just gotten worse at resisting. Either way, it’s starting to recur with alarming frequency.

Tonight, it was one of his favorite excuses that landed him next to you on your comfortable but slightly worn couch. There was a new movie out that he just had to show you. Something scary that’s apparently been taking everyone’s Twitter feed by storm.

His facade was flimsy from the beginning, mostly because you already know that he’s an absolute baby when it comes to horror films. The last time he used a similar excuse, the only parts of the movie he managed to watch were from behind his fingers.

Then again, the movie itself was never his end goal.

Jungwon’s patient when he wants to be, but he never lets the opening credits roll without sneaking his way a little closer to you. Thigh pressed against yours, arm slung across the back on the couch, fingers toying with the strap of your bra just under your shirt.

You can never decide if you should roll your eyes or press your legs together a little more firmly to stop yourself from squirming under his ministrations.

Then, he pretends to watch whatever plays out on the screen. Will even lean over and whisper little comments, something about filming locations or actor feuds or plot predictions you have half a mind to suspect he just looked up on Wikipedia before coming over.

With every new comment, he lets himself get a little closer. Until you feel his words more than you hear them.

Lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he tells you about broken box office records and controversial interviews.

You’re no better, of course. After he’s done with you, you could hardly give an accurate plot synopsis. And the way little shivers flutter down your spine every time he gets closer is a dead giveaway that you know exactly what his game is.

You do. You’d have to be an idiot not to, at this point. Even if a movie night wasn’t the oldest trick in the book, it’s landed Jungwon and you in a similar position more than half a dozen times by now.

You know what he’s doing. You’re letting it happen.

Pretending to protest when he lets his latest whispered fact about fake blood capsules turn into an actual kiss, pressed just below your earlobe.

“Jungwon,” you warn.

“What?” he pulls back, only barely. Eyes already heavy-lidded, the way he looks at you is dangerous.

He’s unabashed, shameless in the way he lets his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips before slowly dragging them back up.

It’s not subtle, but he’s been paying attention over the weeks, too. He knows he doesn’t have to be.

Still, he always hovers there for just a moment. Eyes locked on yours like he can feel the way your heart is hammering so hard you think it’s trying to escape your chest.

Like he loves the way your thighs start to fidget, a dead giveaway of exactly where your mind has gone.

Tonight, the screen behind you flashes with another jumpscare.

Neither of you notice. Neither of you care.

Jungwon lets his eyelids flutter shut before leaning in. Slowly, but deliberately. All the way until his lips press against yours.

It’s chaste at first. His arm falls from the back of the couch to curl around your shoulder, something possessive in his grip.

He kisses you, mouth closed, eyes screwed shut. Lets his mouth cover as much territory as it can, pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth, the curve of your cheekbone, the junction of your jaw.

But he always comes back to your lips. And this time, it’s with renowned fervency.

Lips parting, he pulls your bottom lip between both of his. Lets his tongue start to wander. Lets his teeth start to tease.

The first time he’d kissed you, really kissed you, it took you longer than usual to find your rhythm.

It wasn’t a fault of his abilities. Just the fact that before Jungwon, you’d never known anyone that liked to make out so messy.

But he’s obsessed with it. Heavy, deep, open-mouthed kissing that leaves your lips sticky and swollen and covered in him.

Now, you’ve had time to adjust. To understand that a refined, even rhythm was never what he was going for.

Not when he wraps his hand around the curve of your cheekbone to angle you better.

When he pulls back slightly to press his thumb against the corner of your lips, watching with a heavy gaze as you bend to his silent request.

Slowly, you part your lips, let his thumb slide beteeen them. Eyes locked on his, you press your tongue against the intrusion, mouth closing around his thumb as he slides it deeper past your lips.

You can’t help it, the way your eyes screw shut for a moment before finding his gaze again. The way a sudden, desperate whine is pulled from somewhere deep in you, reverberating around his finger.

Eyes heavy, focus zeroed in on every micro expression you make, Jungwon pushes the pad of his thumb a bit more firmly against your tongue. And then releases a low, breathy groan when he feels you suck.

And then, like he can’t quite help himself, he leans back in. His doesn’t pull his thumb from your mouth, not entirely. Instead, he just slides it over, out of the way as his lips cover yours again, hungrier now. So heated, so desperate, it’s almost feverish.

He leaves his thumb there too, uses it as leverage to keep your mouth as open as he wants. To let his tongue find yours and encourage you to slide it further into his waiting mouth. Until he can return the favor by closing his lips around it, tugging gently before he sucks.

He releases it with a popping sound that reverberates around your living room, quiet except for the moan that gets half stuck in your throat and the low drawl of yet another forgotten movie.

Someone on the screen screams in terror. Jungwon bites at your bottom lip, tugging gently before replacing his teeth with his tongue.

There’s something about it for him, you’ve realized — seeing you like this. Messy, pliant, covered in the evidence of heavy, wet kisses that leave your lips spit-slick and swollen.

It eats at his control. Like the idea of you letting him touch you like this, cover you in him like this, does more to him than you can imagine.

It’s why most nights, Jungwon only manages to put you through a solid ten minutes of making out before his hands start to wander further.

Before his fingers start to dip beneath your waistband. Until you’re too lost to the sensation to kiss him back properly.

He never minds. He just keeps his mouth against yours. Open, still searching, still licking into you, while his fingers in your underwear make your jaw fall slack, swallowing all the pathetic little whimpers that escape from your throat.

But tonight, his hands stay in infuriatingly neutral places. Dipping beneath the fabric of your shirt as his palms splay across your stomach. Teasing along your collarbone, your throat.

Wide against your cheek as he angles you to his liking. Tangled in your hair when he pulls — gently, but with no room for argument. Dipping back into the space between your parted lips when he decides he needs you more open to make a better mess of you.

Time is a flighty thing, but you can tell he’s been chasing your lips for longer than usual. That no matter how many times you adjust your position, tilt your hips in search of friction, his hands refuse to wander any lower.

It confuses you. For one, you can tell that he’s hard. Straining against his grey sweatpants in a way that would usually inspire more urgency than the lazy, deep, wet kisses he still presses into you.

Until now, you’ve always been a follower. Happy to let him set the pace and the tone when it comes to the bedroom.

But maybe tonight he’s waiting for you to be the bold one.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you squirm even more — the thought of him falling apart against you, mouth slack on yours with your hand wrapped around him.

So, a bit timidly but still undeterred, you let your palm start to slide forward. Tracing his upper thigh until it’s all the way—

Jungwon’s hand slides out of your hair, falls to meet yours. And stops it dead in its tracks.

A frown pulls at your face, furrow between your eyebrows appearing as he slides his tongue against yours again.

You try to pull back, but his mouth chases yours. It’s even messier, hotter, wetter now that you’ve thrown his aim off. Like he’s terrified of breaking contact and all the more desperate because of it.

Bringing your other hand to his chest, you press firmly against him. He takes the hint well enough. Finally, he stops for long enough to allow you to speak, but not before pressing a final, surprisingly chaste kiss against your reddened bottom lip.

Only scant inches between you, his eyes bore into yours.

He’s a mess, too. Wet, swollen lips, flushed cheeks, hair messy where it falls over his forehead. Eyes heavy and still narrowed in intent. So completely fucked out from nothing but kissing.

You have half a mind to just pull him back into you.

But the frown is still pulling at your brows.

“Jungwon,” you mumble, suddenly a bit unsure how to approach this.

“Mm,” he hums, pressing an errant kiss to the tip of your nose like he just can’t help himself.

“Why did you…” you trail off, eyes falling to wear your other hand still lies enclosed in his. Resting against his upper thigh, only inches from your original intent.

Even without saying it directly, he knows what you mean.

His hand around yours squeezes, reassuring like he can tell that the gears in your mind have started spinning.

“I just…” he starts voice low, hoarse. Scraped raw from his previous ministration. There’s something vulnerable in his gaze when he asks, “Can we just kiss?”

A flicker of surprise crosses your features, quickly replaced with a resigned sort of acceptance.

Maybe this is it, you suppose. The beginning of the end. He’s found some other girl to keep him entertained. Maybe she’s better at this than you.

Maybe this is just the beginning of his evening and he’ll make an excuse to leave an go see her soon.

You hate it, the deep twist of jealousy that wrings your gut out unpleasantly. It’s not fair, probably, but you decide that you hate her, whoever this other girl is.

Then again, maybe you should be relieved. This whole thing with Jungwon was never meant to be serious after all. Just a way to blow off some steam.

Maybe it’s better to let it fizzle early, naturally.

After all, you don’t think there’s much you wouldn’t agree to when he sits in your couch with his smile and dimples and easy sort of comfort. When he’s got his fingers in your mouth and his lips insistent against yours.

That kind of power, the thought of him having it over you, is terrifying.

So yeah, it’s probably best to just call things off. Before you run the risk of getting too attached. Before you start obsessing over ridiculous things like the idea of him whining against your mouth, jaw slack as you work your hand against him under the waistband of his sweatpants.

You nod, about to pull away, when Jungwon’s hand wraps around the back of your neck. He lowers his lips again, until they’re brushing against yours.

All of a sudden, your heart is hammering, drilling against your rib cage.

“Had the shittiest day,” he mumbles, pulling your lip between his lazily. “Everyone was so annoying.” His tongue is back in the mix now, traces the seam of your lips. “All I could think about was this. Getting my mouth on you.”

“But you…” You frown. You still don’t get it. He’s not leaving for round two with someone else? “You’re hard,” you point out.

“Yeah,” Jungwon’s laugh is more exhale than sound. “I’ve been stressed as hell all day and now I’ve got my mouth on the prettiest girl in the world.” He smiles then, a little dopey as he pushes a strand of hair away from your face. “Of course I’m hard.”

“But you don’t…” You’re still so confused. And now, another feeling is starting to seep in. Fear. Something about it, the idea of him coming over here with nothing but the intent to make out like teenagers, is so horribly intimate you want to die a little. “You don’t want me to do anything about it?”

“Not tonight,” he shakes his head. “Feel free to ask me again in the morning, though.” His smirk is short-lived, melting quickly into a smile so genuine you’re not sure what to do with it.

The morning.

The morning.

He’s not running off to some other girl. He’s not tired of you and trying to craft an early exit. He’s sleeping over, and you’re not even having sex.

You have no idea what to do with that.

As if he can see the gears in your head spinning on full speed, Jungwon decides the best way to ease your worries is to distract you.

Or rather, to pull you back to him until your mind and your mouth and your senses are too full of him to leave room for anything else.

For now, at least, it works. You let your words and your worries and your questions die on your lips as he replaces them with his own.

You let him make a mess of you for long minutes, reveling in the tension that builds, the heat that generates slowly, more steadily than usual.

It’s frustrating in the most delicious way. The thrill of denying the unmistakable ache building deep in both of you.

The undeniable intimacy of choosing this instead. Of letting breaths mingle, lips explore, swallowing sighs, knowing it’s not going any further.

Of knowing that for tonight, this fulfills whatever need he came to you with. That he’s staying. That you’ll have the morning to see what desires you’re ready to explore then.

Jungwon is still hard in his sweatpants, and youre still chasing friction you can’t quite find. But it disrupts the illusion of urgency. It makes kissing, making out for hours in your couch like teenagers, feel like a luxury instead of a punishment.

The fear is still there, even if he’s good at burying it.

Because Jungwon has a pattern, but tonight he strayed from it. Found another way to lower your defenses. To catch you entirely off guard.

Someone that can do that so easily is dangerous. Will probably have terrible consequences for you and your poor little heart.

But for now, you just close your eyes, letting him make a mess of your lips and your hair and your heart.

You can deal with the consequences in the morning, you figure. Can let the doubt he eases with gentle touches redouble.

the bedroom is dim, only the low amber glow of the bedside lamp painting everything in pale gold. you’re on all fours in the middle of the bed, knees sinking deep into the soft mattress, back arched deep the way he likes it—spine curved like an offering, ass tilted up for him. the sheets are already twisted beneath your palms, cool against your heated skin.

jo’s behind you, one hand gripping your hip so hard you know they’ll be fingerprints left tomorrow, the other is braced on the small of your back like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

he’s been inside you for what feels like forever and not nearly long enough. every slow, deliberate thrust drags the thick head of his cock right against that spot that makes your arms shake and your mouth fall open on a broken moan. the wet sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, filthy and perfect.

you turn your head just enough to look back at him over your shoulder, and—fuck.

jo’s face is flushed, scrunched up, lips parted just slightly with that pretty pink bottom lip caught between his teeth like he’s trying not to fall apart.

his dark hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, strands falling into his eyes. those eyes—half-lidded, glassy, completely focused on where he’s disappearing inside you again and again.

his cheeks are pink, lashes fluttering every time you clench around him, and there’s this soft, wrecked little expression on his face that you’ve never seen before. like he’s the one getting ruined.

“angel…” his voice is low, hoarse, brows furrowed as he focuses on how you clench perfectly around him. “you feel so good. so tight—ah—mmph—”

he angles his hips and drives in deeper, and your elbows buckle. you drop to your forearms, face pressed into the soft pillow, ass still up for him. jo groans at the new angle, the sound raw and beautiful, and you force yourself to look back again because you cannot miss this.

god, he’s glowing.

the lamplight catches on the sharp line of his jaw, the delicate curve of his throat when he throws his head back for a second, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. every time he bottoms out his brows furrow just a little, like it’s almost too much, and his mouth falls open on a silent gasp.

he looks so pretty it hurts—ethereal and filthy at the same time, like some kind of fallen angel who decided the only place he wanted to be was buried inside you.

jo catches you staring. his eyes lock onto yours, dark and desperate, and the corner of his mouth twitches into this dazed, crooked smile that makes your stomach flip.

“are—you watching me—?” he says between heavy panting breathes, voice trembling. he slows his thrusts deliberately, grinding deep instead of pulling out, rolling his hips in filthy little circles that make you whimper. “like seeing how wrecked i get for you?”

you nod frantically, unable to form words. he leans forward, sweaty chest pressing against your bare back, one arm wraps around your waist to hold you right where he wants you, fingers splaying possessively over your stomach. his lips brush your ear, breath hot.

“mm...keep looking,” he whispers, and snaps his hips forward hard enough to punch the air out of your lungs. "want you to see exactly what you do to me.”

he fucks you like that—deep, relentless, face right next to yours so you can’t look away even if you wanted to. his damp hair brushes your shoulder with every thrust, and you watch every flicker of pleasure cross his perfect features up close: the way his eyes squeeze shut and his brows furrow, the way his mouth goes rests open and his head tips forward so his forehead rests against your skin. 

his breathing is ragged, little gasps and moans escaping with every snap of his hips. you can feel the tremble in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours, the way his fingers dig harder into your hip like he’s anchoring himself.

you’ve never seen anything prettier in your life. 

not the way he looks on stage under bright lights, not the soft morning version of him with sleepy eyes and bedhead, not even the quiet concentrated version of him drawing. this—sweaty, desperate, completely lost in how good you feel around him—is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed.

jo’s rhythm starts to falter, hips stuttering, breath coming in short, desperate pants against your neck. “mmph—close—ah, i’m so close—” his voice cracks on your name, raw and wrecked, and the sound of it makes you dizzy with want. he’s grinding now more than thrusting, chasing that edge, buried so deep it feels like he’s part of you.

you reach back blindly, fingers threading through his short hair, tugging just enough to make him moan. “cum for me,” you gasp. “wanna see your face when you fill me up—”

he makes this broken, gorgeous sound at your words—half-moan, half-sob—and buries himself to the hilt, in one final, deep thrust. 

he grinds against you as he comes hard, thick pulses of his seed flooding you, face pressed between your shoulder blades like he needs the contact to stay grounded. you feel every pulse, every twitch, every warm spurt as he empties himself inside you, hips jerking with aftershocks.

you catch his reflection in the mirror across the room—eyes shut tight, brows furrowed deep, mouth open in a silent cry, cheeks and ears flushed dark and short black hair sticking up in every direction. he looks completely undone, ruined in the most stunning way possible.

he’s never looked more beautiful.

jo stays there for a long moment, breathing hard against your skin, arms trembling as he holds you close. then he presses the softest kiss to the back of your neck, voice hoarse and sweet.

“love you,” he murmurs, still buried deep, still shaking a little. “love you so much.”

you smile into the pillow, heart so full it feels like it might burst, body buzzing with warmth and satisfaction and that deep, bone-melting affection only he can pull out of you.

then you turn your head just enough to catch his eyes again—still glassy, still soft with love and satisfaction—and you know without a doubt that this is the version of jo you’ll never get tired of seeing. the one that’s yours alone.

yeah.

he’s always pretty.

but like this?

nothing in the world even comes close.

© 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗲 2026ㅤ ❤︎ㅤ 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝘀 & 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗿 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱!

authors note: this fic is quite literally just based off of that one clip of him…i rewatched it at least 15 times writing this so i could get his facial expression as accurate as possible hehe (´⌯ ̫⌯`) i hope u guys enjoy this !! ill be back properly soon~ be patient for me, okay?

𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 open . . . . .  : @ikigaijo @blueuijoo @0wisewisdoom @d3adg1rlie @yudaism @sh1n3-4h4na @starl0stt @yeonyeonbun @vickiluvsjo @ampiesworld @rubyidk @maytaurus20 @whoisgwyn  @simplyscrewed @meowieshibal @zzniya @1014b @deerhuntings @tokunodoll @crushonfuma @enha-crumbs @zucchini-thepowerfull @pendragonfaye @guliexe @natthefreak @sailorinthesie @rikusqirl @mitsuyas-version @freetobeey  @xukeiko @fumaid @livelaughloveseventeen @berrysoft7 @gummiiiee @radxdga @hhoneylix @crdteezv @pageraf @yandere-stories @jpow345 @itzhbu @reisdoll @horangiungnico @patrickbatemansgf @yethoughts @sunsoomi @lovelynyah @ateez-atiny380 @crdteezv @moonchild-31 @yvalrik @makizdoll

the sounds are nasty, wet and slightly humiliating, yet he's not embarrassed.

"mm fuck, baby. you're dripping," he mumbles against you. "making a mess for me, huh?"

your hand shoots down to grip his hair, back arching off the bed, as he grins into you.

"shit, baby, look at you," he says, pulling back just far enough to admire it again. your pussy's museum worthy. your slick is smeared all over your inner thighs, dripping down to the sheets, and all over his face.

he strokes himself, being painfully hard the entire time he was eating you out, beads of precum slipping out.

"if you keep," he groans, sliding his dick through your folds, hearing the mess in between your legs, "..creaming like that and i'm gonna lose my fucking mind."

you whimper, thighs falling open even wider. "riki…"

"yeah?" he rasps. "needy for it, angel? gonna let me fuck it out of you?" you're nodding before he even finishes the sentence.

he doesn't even bother with his boxers, he just shoves them down far enough, strokes himself a few times and sinks into you in one smooth thrust.

"ffffuck—baby, fuck." he moans loud, head tipping back and fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave nail marks. he barely gives you time to adjust, already rolling his hips into yours with slow, deep strokes that make you feel every vein.

"she's so loud for me. you hear that?"

the lewd sounds of him sliding in and out of you are obscene, and he loves it.

"couldn't even wait for me to finish eating 'cause she needed me inside of her." you nod desperately, clawing at his shoulders, gasping his name again and again as he thrusts harder.

he leans in close, lips brushing your ear. "this pussy's mine, you hear me?"

a moan escapes you, full of need, and you can't help but to clench around him.

"that's it," he pants. "cum for me, baby. it's so beautiful when you do."

When you first met Heeseung it was for your debate program in University. He was the only one who could match you with for wit, point for point, all within the allotted time and with brevity and well spoken analysis that you were in awe of. Surprisingly the two of you did not become rivals, the way high school you would've fantasized, having read way too much enemies to lovers fanfiction. No, instead you two actually became very good friends, building a friendship based on mutual respect, sticking together even after graduation. 

Heeseung was practically perfect in every way except with one minute (major) flaw: his other best friend.

You and Park Sunghoon never really saw eye-to-eye; the moment you crossed paths with his childhood best friend, his original debate partner back in high school, you knew you had entered a battlefield.

It was a never ending fight between the two of you, always vying for Heeseung's affections. Sunghoon had always accused you of being a leech, just another sycophant who would reveal her true colors and nefarious intentions towards his best friend. Apparently they had known each other since childhood, and he had seen a million girls like you come and go. You, on the other hand, found Sunghoon to be an entitled, pompous brat whose rich family provided so much for him he had never been told the word no. He was so used to Heeseung being his and his alone that you had trouble picturing him sharing anything in his life. That was probably the real reason why girls didn't last long around Heeseung. 

It didn't help that Heeseung was constantly trying to facilitate things between the two of you, arranging for the three of you to hang out despite both parties' protest.

"If you guys only got to know each other better, I'm sure you'd get along!"

"Won't you guys try, for me? C'mon, I've always pictured what things would be like, the three of us."

"You're both my best friends. Why would anyone choose just one?"

More times than you could count you were invited to hang out with Heeseung, only to find Sunghoon already be there. You tried to get along with the man, really, but it was nearly impossible. He was so possessive of Hee, constantly glaring at the two of you when Heeseung showed you any affection. He always had some snide comment to make about it afterwards, like just seeing you two so close made him want to throw up. You were positively sure at this point that the younger was in love with his best friend, but it was a working theory.

Regardless, anything you showed up to with Heeseung, you'd have to be ok with Sunghoon tagging along as well. Tonight's party was no exception, though you had lost track of the duo when you went to find a drink to drown your sorrows, and then had to do it again after seeing said sorrow to drink over.

You stumbled up the stairs with a heavy heart, downing most of your cup to replace one bitter taste in your mouth with another. To your surprise you see your best friend waiting in the hallway, no Sunghoon in sight, looking just as drunk as you based on the way he was slumped against the wall.

You walked up to him, back pressing against the wall as well, leaning your arm against his for support and also needing the comfort of his body heat against yours right now. 

"Hey, where've ya been? I've been looking for you for the past ten minutes I feel," you pouted, taking another sip of the fruity concoction in your cup, the vodka starting to become less noticeable.

The moment Heeseung registered you he glowed, beaming with a goofy, drunk, genuine smile that made you feel safe.

"Hey, sorry! Hoon broke the seal, and I didn't want to lose more than one person in a single night," Heeseung chuckled, grabbing you arm and tucking it against his, pulling you in closer to his side. "How're you enjoying the party?"

You shrugged, unsure if you wanted to mention the sight downstairs you were currently running from. "It's fine, I guess."

"Yeah, I was thinking about the three of us ditching to go to that party on Brunswick, but none of us seem quite capable of driving just yet."

That put a damper on your hopes of Heeseung whisking you away from this place.

"I just remembered, I forgot to show you earlier today the new watch I got from Etsy!" Heeseung's glazed eyes lit up. "Look, it's called a serpent's watch." 

Heeseung flashed the fancy accessory on his wrist, the nontraditional wristband being coils of metal that wrapped down his wrist, the clock shaped closer to an oval or diamond than a circle. It really was shaped liked a serpent.

You absentmindedly nodded, fingers brushing over the way the watch wrapped around Heeseung's wrist. Your mind kept drifting from Heeseung's forearms, however, and without sobriety to keep your mind where it should be, tears were soon falling from your eyes.

Hee noticed immediately.

"Hey hey, what's wrong?" Heeseung cupped your face in his hands, thumbs swiping under your eyes to wipe away at the tears. "It's a party, you should be happy-drunk, not sad-drunk."

Your lip trembled as you melted into Heeseung's touch. "It's Jake," you explained, a pout on your lips as you said the name. "Just saw him downstairs with some girl. I just wasn't expecting it to hit so hard, y'know?"

"Aw, baby, I'm so sorry." Heeseung wasn't the biggest fan of your ex, secretly (not so secretly) elated when the two of you broke up. You didn't share the same sentiments, very clearly heartbroken when Jake dumped you to have sex with other girls. Go figure. "It's natural to be upset."

"I just—" You sucked in a breath. "I want to be over it already, y'know? I'm so sick of being pathetic and still crying about it."

"It was only two months ago. I don't blame you."

"You should. You should be sick of me at this point, crying to you about this. God knows Sunghoon is." You blinked away the tears, slowly coming back down to Earth as you grounded yourself further against Heeseung. "I'm sick of me."

"I could never be sick of you, trust me. Jake doesn't know what he's missing out on. Any sane man would be on his knees for you if you so much as asked."

That earned a laugh out of you, effectively brightening your spirit a tiny bit. You sniffled, resting your forehead against Heeseung's shoulder, sighing as you composed yourself. "Thanks, Hee. I appreciate it. God, why can't more guys be like you? There's too many assholes like Jake and Sunghoon around."

Heeseung chuckled at that. "Hey, Hoon's not that bad."

"He is to me."

"You guys just need to work on getting closer, that's all. Find some shared interest or hobby or something. Anything you might like to do together."

You rolled your eyes a bit. "I don't think there's anything like that that doesn't involve violence."

"He likes you more than you think. He just doesn't realize it yet," Heeseung assured.

You heard a knock from inside the bathroom, Sunghoon's voice calling out. "Heeseung?"

"Speak of the devil," Heeseung grinned. He turned toward the door. "What is it?"

"Can you come in here real quick?"

Both you and Heeseung exchanged puzzled glances.

"Are you guys about to get up to some gay shit?" You whispered quietly. "I mean, it's hot, I guess. Am I supposed to keep watch?"

"Dunno yet. Let me see what he needs," Heeseung said, not even bothering to deny the homosexual allegations as he stepped inside the bathroom. Sunghoon was turned away from Heeseung, looking down and fidgeting with something. "Everything ok man?"

"Yes— I mean no— I mean... shit." Sunghoon turned around, letting Heeseung see his situation. Unfortunately for him, the zipper of his pants had gotten stuck onto his boxers and was refusing to budge. "It's stuck," Sunghoon stated the obvious. "I've been trying to get it loose for like, five minutes now."

"Whoo boy, let's see what we're dealing with." Heeseung gave the zipper an experimental tug upwards. Sunghoon wasn't used to having Heeseung's hands so close to his genitalia, but he supposed it was a testimony to how close they were.

Sunghoon leaned against the sink, ears tinged pink with embarrassment as Heeseung yanked at the zipper with reasonable force.

"Hey, watch it man! I don't need you zipping up my balls, too," Sunghoon freaked.

"Relax, it's not— Jesus Christ, this thing really isn't budging," Heeseung hissed, hands starting to become sweaty with his efforts.

Sunghoon's eyes widened. He buried his face in his hands, feeling how hot his cheeks were already getting "Fuck. Fuck, man, what am I gonna do? I can't go out there with my fly like this!"

"I'd be more worried about the fact you spent, like, 500 bucks on these pants." If Heeseung used too much force on this he was at risk of breaking it beyond repair, and he really couldn't afford repairs for Prada the way Sunghoon could.

"Dude, I literally want to die right now." Sunghoon prayed everybody would be drunker than he was, at least enough where he could make a speedy exit without anyone noticing his problem.

"Wait!" Heeseung's head shot up, as though a brilliant idea came to him. "I know someone who's great with zippers!"

Sunghoon's thick brows furrowed, and all he could think about was lightning somehow shooting into the house and striking him down mercifully. "What? Wait—"

"Y/N! Get in here, we need your help!" Heeseung swung open the bathroom door, dragging you inside without preamble or Sunghoon's approval.

You grumbled, eyes narrowed with confusion. "Do I need to aim for you guys or...?"

"No! Hoon's got a bit of a..." Heeseung's eyes flicked down towards his friend's crotch. "...situation."

Your eyebrows jumped this time. "He has a boner?"

"No!" Now it was Sunghoon's turn to interject. He felt like he could die of embarrassment then and there, having to humiliate himself in front of you of all people. "My zipper is stuck."

"Aw, guess that Prada label doesn't guarantee quality after all, does it?" You jutted your lip out in a fake pout, taking your opportunity to jab at him. You were still suffering from the sting of seeing your ex, and Sunghoon was the best target you could ask for tonight. This was just too perfect.

"Hey, be nice," Heeseung scolded. "Will you help?"

"Maybe..." You tapped your cup against your chin, pondering. "If he begs."

"What?!" Sunghoon was shocked by your sheer audacity.

You shrugged, fighting (and failing) to keep the corner of your mouth from quirking up into a smirk. "If you want me to help, you have to say please. It's only polite."

"Oh my god, you're such a bitch—"

"That's not very nice."

"Nice? I can—"

"Guys, stop!" Heeseung interrupted the both of your squabbling, not wanting to be cramped in a bathroom with the two of you shouting in his ear. "Just say please, Hoon."

Sunghoon's eyes practically bulged out of his sockets when he heard Heeseung taking your side. You stuck your tongue out at him like a child, triumphant. 

He gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw as he muttered the words. "Will you please help me with my zipper? Please?"

You looked so cheeky and smug, putting your cup down on the sink. Sunghoon suddenly had the urge to bite you. "Well, since you sound so pathetic."

You reached for the zipper, and Sunghoon hissed to resist the urge of slapping your hands away out of annoyance. "I'm gonna get you back for this, I swear..."

"That's not how you say thank you to a favor, Hoonie," you teased, your fingers twiddling with the metal as you tried to yank it up.

"We both know you aren't doing this as a favor." Fuck, you were so close to him. He could smell both the perfume you wore and the alcohol you drank. Now he had to worry about the friction your jerky little tugs were causing. 

"Aw, look at you guys getting along," Heeseung smiled, reaching up to pat your head. "I told ya, you just needed to bond a little."

"We are not bonding— ow!" You tried to turn your head to face him, but something caught in your hair. You tried to move again, only realizing that Heeseung's fancy watch was now tangled in it.

"Sorry!" Heeseung apologized, trying to move his hand back but tugging your head along with it, making you howl. "Oh, sorry again!"

"Stop moving!" You reached one hand back to reach for his wrist, trying to pull a few strands away to get loose.

"Can you get lower? It's hard for me to untangle myself at this angle."

"Fuck!" The hand still on Sunghoon's zipper yanked on it in frustration, the tug doing nothing to free it.

"My hand's getting tired up here, it'll be quicker!" Heeseung whined petulantly.

You rolled your eyes and reluctantly sank onto your knees, the cold tile biting against your skin. You were now staring up at Sunghoon, who found the view a lot hotter than he cared to admit.

But he did say he was going to get back at you.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Look at you. Can't believe you're on your knees in a bathroom for me."

You scowled. "It's not for you."

"Right. You're on a dirty bathroom floor for me and Heeseung." Sunghoon snickered at your glare, soaking in your scowl.

You reached up for his zipper with both hands, tugging it back down in another attempt, your other hand gripping onto fabric to pull it out. "You really shouldn't piss off the one with a zipper to your balls."

"That's if you can do your job correctly down there."

"Oh, you can fuck right off— Oh fuck, Hee!" Your head jerked back again slightly, and your eyes scrunched as you winced in pain.

"Sorry!" Heeseung apologized again, patting your head with the unadorned hand. "It's almost out, just a little longer."

"Fuck!" You gripped onto Sunghoon's pants tighter, pulling him closer to you as you jerked the zipper more, feeling some leeway.

Sunghoon grappled onto the sink counter, trying not to fall against you or get hard, his footing unsteady as you tugged his pants closer to your face. If he wasn't careful you were going to end up with his dick print against your cheek. The sound of your little whine made popping a boner nearly impossible. It was difficult too with the sight of you frustrated and on your knees between the two of them, tiny hands scrambling with his zipper, and his mind was going to places they really shouldn't.

Your hand was moving the zipper up and down, desperately trying to get it loose, the tiny bit of fabric bunched beneath slowly giving way. You fisted at the fabric next to it, trying to pull it in the opposite direction so it would give.

"Fuck, I think I'm close," you muttered quietly to yourself, not even realizing how you sounded.

Fuck. Fuck Sunghoon needed to get his zipper fixed now because any second now he was going to get obviously hard, and there'd be absolutely no way of hiding it from you or Heeseung.

"I-I think I might—"

"Shut up, I'm almost there!" Of course you'd be fucking stubborn when you put your mind to something.

"Me too!" His best friend innocently commented, eyes glued on his watch. Heeseung seemed oblivious to Sunghoon's panic, just as focused as you when it came to the task at hand.

You tugged one more time, the slide finally becoming easier and the zipper making its way successfully to the very bottom, no fabric stuck. "Finally!"

Heeseung managed to free his watch with your hair still intact, though it was a mess from the tangles and pulling from prior. "Yes!" He rolled his wrist with satisfaction, his other, unadorned hand now combing through your mess of hair in attempt to smoothe it. "See, that wasn't too bad."

Sunghoon felt entirely too suffocated, and for the first time in his life he was desperately wanting a woman off her knees. "For you," he huffed, feeling hotter by the minute.

It was just then that the bathroom door, which you neglected to lock behind you, swung open.

The three of you must've been a sight: your hands up near Sunghoon's crotch while you were on your knees, Sunghoon's pants unzipped, your hair a tangled mess and makeup slightly smudged from crying. Sunghoon and Heeseung were also incriminating, both sweating a little from their frustration, breathing heavy from their intense focus on very different missions. 

Heeseung looked like a deer in headlights as he turned back toward the people in the doorway, the appearance of the situation seemingly dawning on him.

"Um... I know this is super cliché but... this isn't what it looks like."

—

So everybody thinks you had a threesome in the bathroom with the two hottest guys on campus. 

That's just great.

It's not like anyone's dick was even out or anything. Sure, you could see how it'd look like you guys were about to have a threesome, but that's a huge difference! Instead, you were getting bombarded left and right with people you've never even met, asking you what happened, what they were like, who was better, who was bigger. They heard some of the things that were being said, you couldn't fool them. The dialogue alone was incriminating. When you told them the truth they never believed you, some giving you a cheeky smile saying, Fine, keep your secrets.

You were starting to think you might as well have with how many people were convinced.

The mere idea of it was crazy. You, having a threesome with your best friend... and his best friend. Who you hated.

Still, your mind kept drifting back to the image of him looking down at you, so pissed, so on edge. You were lucky he seemed so panicked about the zipper that he didn't notice you pressing your thighs together.

You were a horny drunk, you could admit that much. You just didn't imagine you'd be getting horny for Sunghoon of all people.

Or Heeseung.

You thought of the way Hee's fingers carded through your hair, the assuring pat on your head and the way he cradled your face when you were crying. You thought about how he looked from above as well that night, brows furrowed in concentration, biting down on his lip.

Fuck. You can't be thinking of this. It was just a drunken misunderstanding.

You need to stop thinking about fucking your best friend and his best friend. End of story.

There was no way that was ever happening. Sunghoon hated your guts the same way you hated his, and Heeseung was always oblivious to everything. 

You just had to pretend that none of it was bothering you.

That's why you were loud as hell as you barged your way into Heeseung's apartment, holding your copy of his key between your fingers.

"Hee! I'm here!" you called, just in case Sunghoon was inside and you were unwittingly put into a trap with him. You stumbled your way into the living room, where Heeseung sat on his huge ass sofa, solo. "No Hoon today?"

"Nah, he's not going to be out of class for another hour at least. I'm all yours 'til then." He was so cocky with it, crossing his fingers behind his head and leaning back, giving a mischievous grin.

"Lucky me," you chuckled, kicking off your shoes to join him.

With an early start to wine and enough time to get you tipsy, your conversation with Heeseung had delved into the topic no one, you especially now, could take off their minds: threesomes.

At first it started with the two of you laughing over how ridiculous the rumor spreading about the three of you was.

"So, I'm guessing you heard the rumors too?"

"Which one? The one about the dean having the same dealer as us, or the one that Sigma Ki has a cuck hazing ritual?"

You lightly shoved at your friend, rolling your eyes. "You know the one."

Heeseung laughed at your annoyance, positively beaming. "Oh, you mean the one about you, me, and Hoon fucking each other in the bathroom? I may have heard about it."

How crazy that'd be. How stupid everyone was for automatically believing it. Then it continued, getting a bit deeper. You were currently ranting about how the concept of it in the general public, and what was deemed as more "acceptable" was two girls with one guy. It had only become a recent phenomenon of a girl getting to have two guys at the same time, the riskiest it was willing to go before still forcing her to choose one of the two. Meanwhile men's fantasies included harems and two women and expectations for girls that had been ingrained in the misogynistic society you were subjected to today.

"I mean, let's be soooo for real," you droned, the alcohol in your system making you bolder with your opinions. "Threesomes with two guys and one girl don't happen in real life. It's just a porn fantasy, and not one that gets delivered enough anyways because visual porn is much more catered to the male gaze. God forbid a woman's the center of attention."

"I'm sure those threesomes happen more often than you think, you know."

"Think about all the threesomes you know of, with real people you know, and measure out how many of those were two girls and how many were two guys. Those specific pairings. Go."

Heeseung pondered for a moment, giving it some thought. "So it's a bit... imbalanced."

"Guys have it so easy!" You whined, sinking into the couch cushions, crossing your arms with a huff. "Girls are constantly expected to be gay with their girl friends. If a girl isn't down to have a threesome with another girl, she's seen as boring. That's why so many of those Tinder couples are looking for a girl. And it's all catered towards the guy. Hell, if I were with another naked chick, the guy definitely wouldn't be getting all the attention. It's like rowboating with a heavy ass robot in the middle. Sure, hypothetically you can get the job done, but overall it'd just be best if the useless piece of junk were out of the picture."

Heeseung cackled at your comment, shaking his head. "You have the strangest way of describing things."

"I'm pretty sure I heard it from some comedian." You waved aside the thought. "Meanwhile, if you ask a guy to have a threesome with his bestie, he'd look at you like you have two heads! It only exists in porn, not real life," you rambled on.

"I'm still sure it happens in real life more often than you'd think."

"No, I doubt that. That's why it's so silly that everyone's so gullible. Guys are always going on about how it'd be gay to have a threesome with another man, but it's just as hot for the girl as it is for the guy in the switched scenarios," you pointed out. "Why else would girls be reading yaoi or reading gay fanfiction when they themselves are not gay men? Get turned on when they kiss?"

"I don't know. Some guys aren't as insecure in their masculinity as you think."

"Oh yeah? Like who?"

"Me."

You scoffed. "You? Yeah right."

"I don't think I'd mind," he shrugged, as though it were the most casual thing in the world.

"Oh really? So if a woman asked if you and your best friend— if you and Sunghoon, were down to fuck her, you'd do it?" Surely Heeseung was just blowing smoke out of his ass. Your sweet Hee? No way. The mere concept of him and Sunghoon actually sharing a girl was enough to give anyone a nosebleed. Like Sunghoon would be capable of sharing in general. 

Heeseung stared at the ceiling, as though thinking about it. "Depends on the woman."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I wouldn't sleep with just any woman, first of all, my best friend included or not."

"Fair point." You thought about it for a moment. "Imagine, like, the hottest girl you've ever seen, then. You'd be down to fuck her no matter what."

Heeseung looked at you with a half-lidded gaze, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek. "Is she as hot as you?"

You rolled your eyes at his typical sleazy compliments, brushing it off with ease. He sometimes unintentionally flirted with you like this, riled you up, reminded you of what you couldn't have. At least, definitely not with Sunghoon in the way. It was always innocent banter, some light teasing, like he doesn't know what it does to you. You wonder if he was truly oblivious or if he was just really good at pretending as a way to watch you squirm. "I forget, this whole thing's easy to you. You forget the rest of us plebeians have trouble even getting one person to want us, let alone two. You could probably pick three for one night, easy." You ruffled his hair, pushing his head to the side. "Not all of us look like we could be on the cover of Vogue, you know."

Heeseung pulled you in closer, arm looping around your waist until your thighs were pressing against one another's. "You're hot and you know it."

"Yeah, but I'm not on like, you or Sunghoon's level," you snorted. Hate Sunghoon all you want, you couldn't deny the man creeped into the edges of your mind when you were getting off to the thought of his doe-eyed best friend. How you got to know two such gorgeous men, even in this sense, was beyond you.

"You're prettier than both of us. Sunghoon would agree." Heeseung leaned in and nosed your neck affectionately, and half of you expected Sunghoon to walk in any minute and scold you two for defiling the couch, even though the gesture was surely done with the purest of intentions.

"Doubt that," you chuckled. "I know I'm sorta pretty—"

"Definitely pretty."

"Definitely pretty," you corrected yourself. "But I have no doubt that I get weird stares when the three of us are in public, and people who don't know us wonder how I was able to pull that off."

Heeseung cocked his head to the side, studying your reaction, assessing your words and narrowing his eyes as though he wanted to argue. Slowly, his gaze drifted further down your face, lingering on your lips. "Ask me the question again."

"What question?" You forgot it already. 

"Ask if me and my best friend would be down to fuck you."

Immediately your heart jumped. Your cheeks burned at his clarification, and you squirmed in your seat. "I don't think I phrased it like that!" You couldn't help but feel exposed, even though he misread your question entirely.

"It is now." He leaned in closer, invading your space. You instinctively tried to sink further into the couch. Heeseung stopped his face a few inches from yours, arm hooking over the back of the couch behind you, impossible to ignore, waiting on your answer. He nudged at your chin with his fingers to get you to look at him properly, the way his eyes glittered being far too mischevious for your comfort. "Ask it."

You wanted to tell him to fuck off and quit playing with you, but you were also determined to hide how affected you were. This was so unlike him. Typically he was a clueless dolt, adoring, sweet, not this. The last thing you wanted Heeseung to know was how accurately he was now seeing you now. Did he always? Was he just pretending like he didn't know all this time? You didn't want him to see how excited you were getting by some hypoethical question that could never happen for two very big, very handsome reasons.

But this is Heeseung you're talking about. There was a very real possibility he was just bluffing to get a reaction out of you. You were used to him pulling shit out of his ass to make some contrived point.

"Fine." You squared your shoulders, looking Heeseung in the eye. "Would you want to fuck me with Sunghoon?"

There's something that seemed to go dark inside his eyes, his face serious. "Yes."

You couldn't prevent the immediate small exhale of your nose, shaking your head and breaking eye contact. "You're so full of shit. Anything to prove your point and win an argument, huh?" He was exactly the same back in debate, go figure.

You were about to push him aside when you felt a hand on your knee. You stared up at him in surprise, his face still deadly serious.

"I mean it."

His thumb did a small brush against the side of your leg, and it was enough to make your knee jump beneath his palm. Your heartbeat raced, and you're suddenly left shy, as though this weren't your best friend Heeseung.

"I... That still doesn't prove my point!" Your brain was now melting away, and you're scrambling for whatever solid parts were left to form words. Heeseung was saying he wanted to fuck you. With Sunghoon. What kind of sick joke was the universe playing with you? "The likelihood of one guy agreeing to that in the first place is super low, much less two."

"Sunghoon would say yes, too."

You looked at Heeseung as though he were crazy. "Are we talking about the same Sunghoon?"

"Yes."

"Bullshit." You couldn't help but relax a little, reminding yourself of the impossibility, especially where Sunghoon was involved. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Heeseung insisted.

"He does, too." Your confidence was slowly returning, and for a moment you pay no mind to Heeseung's hand on your knee, your mind now tuning back into debate-mode. "And I know for a fact he'd think you're crazy for even asking and say no."

"He wouldn't. I saw how he was looking at you in the bathroom."

You swore your heart stopped then and there. "You're bluffing."

Heeseung grinned, and you could practically see the devil horns starting to grow. Perhaps the angel act really was a disguise. "Wanna bet?"

"What on?"

His smile deepened. "If he says no, we forget this whole thing happened. Hell, I'll take you out to that trendy little coffee place you love so much. You win."

The unasked questioned stands in the air before you take the plunge. "And if I lose?"

His eyes flicker down to your lips for just a moment, barely long enough for you to catch. "Guess."

You sucked in a breath at that. The thing about Heeseung was that he could never truly be trusted for when he was bluffing and making shit up or when he was saying fact. It was one of those things that made beating him in the moment, with all his deceit and bravado, even more special.

So that's why you found the courage to say: "Call him."

Heeseung didn't even break eye contact with you, whipping out his phone from his back pocket and ringing up Sunghoon, turning it on speaker so it was loud enough for both of you to hear.

When the first dial rang you started to have second thoughts.

When the second dial rang you started to think about how Sunghoon would believe you were a total freak for wanting this, for wanting to be shared by Heeseung and him of all people, and you'd be ready to die on the spot when you next saw him.

When the third dial rang, you started to believe you were being overdramatic, and that it'd go to voicemail and you and Heeseung could have a big laugh and forget the whole thing ever happened. Maybe make it an inside joke between the two of you. What if he had picked up?

And then he picked up.

You were ready to scream when his deep voice came out of the speaker. "Yo."

"Yo, man, what you up to?" Heeseung sounded so casual, and he only smiled when he saw your look of worry and shock as you mouthed at him to hang up. 

Heeseung was so close to you that you could hear everything on Sunghoon's end without the phone even being on speaker. "Just got out of class. What's up?"

"Wanted to know if you're free to come over."

"Sure dude. What're you wanting to do?"

Heeseung's eyes locked with yours, his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Y/N."

There's a moment of silence on the line, and you wondered for a moment if Sunghoon hung up at the mere mention of your name.

Finally, he spoke.

"Tonight?" He didn't ask any further questions about what Heeseung means by that. He didn't sound shocked, only mildly curious. Amused. Not even repulsed the way you were anticipating.

"More like now." Heeseung was clearly loving watching you squirm, seeing you panic at the audacity he had to go through with the stupid bet. "How soon can you get here?"

He said it. He actually said it.

There's some noise on the receiver, but Sunghoon sounded calm. "She asked for this?"

"Directly," Heeseung confirmed. "Explicitly, in fact."

Your cheeks burned further with humiliation. There was silence again. "Is she there?"

Heeseung held out the phone, turning down the volume a bit, tilting his head as though with mock pity. Now whatever answer Sunghoon had to give would be right against your ear. "He wants to talk to you."

Your mouth is suddenly dry as he passed you the phone, and you licked your lips as though that'll do any good. "I'm— I'm here."

"Did you really ask for me and Heeseung to fuck you?"

The words almost felt like a caress in your ear, but you're sure you're mistaking a disgusted scowl as a purr of lust. Your mind clearly couldn't be trusted tonight.

You looked back at Heeseung, still close enough for him to pick up on what's being said. You realized you have a chance to deny it all, pretend it was a joke gone too far, a prank. Heeseung would be true to his word, pretend it never happened.

And then your mind raced with everything that could happen.

God, this could be such a bad idea...

"I did."

There was a pause on Sunghoon's end, and it felt as though everyone in the room was soaking in your small confession, like you were in a booth with a priest at church all over again.

"I'll be there in 30."

Sunghoon hung up, the line going dead.

Your head felt as though it were filled with static, absorbing what had just happened.

Heeseung, however, wasted no time, immediately throwing his phone away and focusing all of his attention on you.

You could barely wrap your head around the situation, still trying to comprehend multiple facts at once. Heeseung wanted to fuck you. Sunghoon wanted to fuck you. Heeseung and Sunghoon were both going to fuck you. Now. At the same time.

You rapidly blinked, not even noticing the fact that Heeseung was drawing in closer, crowding your space more than ever.

"Is this—ha, I mean, well— is this for real? This can't be real." You absentmindedly shook your head, as though trying to wake yourself up from a dream.

"It's real." Heeseung's eyes were intense, staring at you in a whole new light now, one you couldn't help but tremble under. "It's happening."

"But— This can't—"

"Yes, it can."

"No, you're just fucking with me with another one of your silly pranks. Was this planned?" You laughed, knowing the idea would be so Heeseung. If they were secretly recording this there's no doubt the look on your face is priceless. You'd kill him if he posted it. "Funny. Fun one. You got me."

"Y/N." He grabbed your wrists, pulling you in so your chest was against his, staring you in the eye. "Sunghoon's going to be here in half an hour."

You stilled in his hold, gulping at his words as you slowly comprehended the truth of them.

"So you're all mine until he gets here."

That made your heart stop.

You were barely able to make out words.

"I... you don't..."

"I do." Heeseung emphasized. "Do you?"

Your mind felt as though it fully shut down, the only thought in your brain being how Heeseung's lips are closer than ever. "What?"

Heeseung didn't get impatient with you, instead being very understanding of the fact that he already turned you brainless without even really touching you. He moved a centimeter closer, his lips barely brushing against yours, like the particles that made up both of you were just passing by. "Do you want this?"

Your mind was in static mode again as Heeseung pulled one of your hands up to his chest, letting you feel his heartbeat against your palm. 

"You want me and Hoonie?" Heeseung questioned further, clarifying. "I think we both made it very clear we want you."

Never in your life had you guessed your best friend would say that. You slowly came to terms that this very much wasn't a dream, and that Heeseung was actually saying this to you. "You want me?"

"I'll want you any way I can have you," Heeseung emphasized, a soft smile on his face. "Even with Hoon."

"I... I can't believe you'd both..."

"Hoon understands," he said, moving his lips closer to your pulse point below your ear. "He's wanted this longer than you'd think." His breath tickled your neck, and you shivered. "I'm more curious about how long you've wanted this."

You shuddered and found yourself pulling him closer, wanting to feel more than just his lips lightly brushing against you, teasing you when Sunghoon could be here in less than half an hour. How long had he known? Had he always been observant, and you just projected some oblivious facade onto him?

"You mean longer than the bathroom?"

Heeseung's gaze drifted down to your lips. "Did you?"

"I... maybe." You wanted to be flirtier, more enticing, but you were still somewhat in shock due to recent revelations. You were too stunned to even try to act sexy right now. "I feel like I'm suddenly discovering new things about you."

"There's a lot of things you're about to figure out. Just ask."

"How is it you know what I want?"

"Because, I know exactly how you feel about me," he purred in your ear, moving a lock of hair behind it. You held your breath when you felt the tip of his nose along your neck, so close, raising goosebumps. "I always have..." He dipped his head lower, pressing a small, soft kiss at the center of your neck. "I know how you feel about Sunghoon, too."

You knew there was no way he could miss the way you gulped at that.

"Constantly fighting with him, building up so much frustration... you wanna know he'd take it out on you, don't you?" He pressed his lips again at the base of your throat, sucking softly, whispering the dirty secret into your skin. "Wanna know how I'd tell him to do it?"

"Fuck." You couldn't deny the wave of heat that flooded to your core with his words.

He chuckled, watching you fight back against the urge of curling in on yourself with how aroused you were. His hands gripped your waist tighter as he slowly got off the couch to move in front of you, lips ghosting over the center of your ribcage as he traveled down your body. "Want me to show you?"

"Where's all t-this coming from?" You breathlessly smiled, still trying to grasp the fact that this was all real, and not a serious maladaptive daydreaming episode. Heeseung was always so sweet, so respectful. How were you supposed to predict this side of him?

"From you telling me you want my best friend and I to fuck you," he hissed, giving a small nip now just to have you feel the sting of his teeth on your skin instead.

"You m-made me say it!"

"Yeah? I'll make you beg for it too." He rose up to your face, brushing your hair out of the way so he could look into your eyes properly. "Tell me what you want, pretty girl."

His hand slid up to your neck, not tight, but present, like he wanted to measure your heartbeat himself to make sure you wouldn't lie to him.

You licked your lips, trying to swallow down your doubts of courage. The feeling of being so vulnerable to him in this context was baffling.

"I want for both you and Sunghoon to fuck me. Happy?" You managed to spit out the words, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Heeseung let out a wicked grin, whistling at your attitude. "Oh? Talk back, don't we? Yeah, Hoonie will fucking love you."

He finally pressed his lips against yours, hand sliding up to the base of your head , fingers tangling into your roots and keeping you locked in place as he devoured you, making sure your head wouldn't hurt from being pressed against the back of the couch. He wasn't tender or sweet, the way you probably would've predicted and fantasized about when you first met him, and the small budding crush you had on his cute features hadn't warped into something darker, more lustful. No, he was sure of his movements, kissing you with purpose, actions deliberate as he moved with noticeable skill that could only come from practice. His tongue slid against yours with an ease that made your knees weak. 

Heeseung was infuriatingly good at kissing you. You supposed it was to be expected, with how much action he probably saw, face like that and all, but still. He had this way of kissing you that made the rest of the world disappear, with only his hands on your face and his lips on yours to ground you. 

You eyes were fluttering shut, and soon you were both moving in tandem, finding a tune that only you two knew. The soft sounds of his lips smacking against yours filled the room, and the grip he had on your roots, pulling your hair properly this time, was driving you crazy.

"Please," you gasped the word into his mouth. He groaned and kissed you some more, his hand tightening as he pressed you further against him. You gripped onto his shirt, the taste of him so irresistible you forgot completely that he was your best friend, and you shouldn't be doing what you're about to with his best friend too.

You subconsciously spread your legs, drawing Heeseung in so you could grind your core against his.

He chuckled into your mouth, one hand moving down to your hip to pin you down and deny you. "Needy little thing, aren't you? We're just getting started. Let me take my time with you."

You wanted to scream at him that you two didn't exactly have time, but found your brain back to mush the moment he began kissing you again, lowering his hips to yours to slowly press his heat against you. His hand stayed on your hip, halting movement from you so that he could control the gradual pace, teasing and torturous as you felt the warmth of his body against yours. It felt so good to be pinned beneath him already, in his arms, like you two were made to fit together.

You moaned against his lips when the fabric of his jeans hit your clit in a particularly delicious fashion. He growled in response, hand cupping your chin better to angle your face a little more to the side, deepening the kiss as he slid his tongue in, letting it coax your lips along with his. He licked his way into your mouth, greedily swallowing more of your moans as the hand on your hip drifted down to your thigh, hitching it over his own hip to grind more securely against you. 

He rolled his hips, pressing you further against the couch as you felt him get harder against you, his hand tightening against your thigh as he tried to pull you impossibly closer to him.

"So fucking good," he rasped against your lips, mind spinning at all the soft, weak little sounds that escaped you. "Can't believe I finally get to have you like this."

You kissed him harder, hands pressed against his face, wanting to memorize the feeling of his cheekbones against your fingertips. You gripped onto his hair, his shirt, anywhere you could reach, try to rock back against his hips and fully feel the bulge pressed against your pussy.

"Fuck, Heeseung..."

"Mmf, say that again." He bit your lip before pulling back.

He pressed up at an angle that hit the sweet spot against your clit, and you had no choice but to obey. "Heeseung!"

"Shit, you sound so whiny." He buried his head into the crook of your neck, sinking his teeth into the skin just to hear another pathetic sound leave your mouth. He sucked hard, and you knew it'd leave a mark. "Hoon's gonna lose his mind," he groaned into you.

You threw your head back, your hips quickening against him. "Hee, please, do something."

He snarled at your impatience, nipping at your neck again in punishment before smacking your thigh. "Be patient," he grit, blunt nails raking over where he slapped you. "You're mine right now, remember?"

You nodded, a shiver running up your spine as his fingers trailed further down your leg before going back up higher and higher, ghosting over the fabric of your underwear.

His thumb brushed over the lace of your panties, and he bit his lip in anticipation. "Shit, I don't think you even know what's coming."

You canted your hips to receive more of his touch. "M-Meaning?"

"Meaning I need to start getting you ready for when Hoon arrives," Hee said. He pulled on the waistband, dragging them down your legs and discarding them to the floor. "I need to make sure you're wet enough for both of us."

Hearing your best friend talk so dirty was enough to send your mind into a tizzy. You grabbed his hand and pressed him right against your sex, eager to not waste time and see how much he can offer you in twenty minutes. Heeseung took the hint, fingers sliding up and down, getting a feel for the glide and slick you've already produced.

"Shit, you're so wet already," Heeseung said in awe, lips parted as he admired the shine on his fingers from you. "Are you excited?"

"O-Obviously." You were barely able to contain the whine when he slides a digit inside, curling it up to search for your g-spot. "It's not every day a girl gets propositioned by a hot guy, let alone two."

He quirked a brow. "Oh? You think we're hot?"

Your cheeks shouldn't burn this much from stating the obvious. "I mean... you're not bad to look at. Don't let it get to your head."

Heeseung's grin only widened. "And Sunghoon?"

You glanced away, squirming a bit as you felt him find the sweet spot inside of you. "He's f-fine I guess."

"Look at you, getting so flustered," Heeseung cooed, bending down to peck at the flush in your cheeks. "You can admit you want him, baby. It's ok."

Hearing your best friend call you "baby" in this context was something else entirely. Before it always felt so casual, something you couldn't read into. Now he was saying it like you were his. Suddenly your hips were bucking against his hand more, your body beginning to take control of your mind.

He was speeding up, and your mind was steadily beginning to melt. "I-I—"

You felt more pressure build up as Heeseung slid in another finger, the wet squelching sounds of your pussy starting to get louder.

"You can tell him when he gets here," Heeseung whispered against your lips, wanting a front row seat to all of your pathetic whimpers and moans while they were still just for him. "He'll be thrilled."

Another whine escaped your lips from Heeseung's ministrations.

"Fuck, why are you so good at this?" You muttered half to yourself, in disbelief that Heeseung was already making you feel better within five minutes than your ex did in five months.

He sucked against your neck, purposefully marking you, humming against the skin as he sloppily thrust his fingers inside. "Mm, you're just easy to ruin. You can't even hide how turned on you are."

You felt heat pool down into your abdomen, your tells showing. "Hee, I'm getting close."

To your dismay he pulled his fingers out of you, giving the side of your neck sweet kisses in apology. "Not yet. You'll need to wait."

He swallowed your whine of frustration, cradling your face in his hands and kissing you, the glide of his tongue against yours somewhat distracting you from the ache left between your legs. His kiss was wet, using just enough tongue for it to feel filthy, making sure you memorized the way he tasted.

Once your orgasm had surely died down he kissed his way down your jaw and your chest, getting on his knees, face all the way down to your now neglected pussy. He sighed with content when he saw how needy and wound up you already were, your body begging him to break it in properly. He couldn't help himself, giving your sex a sweet kiss as well, mouth trapping your clit and giving it the attention it was so desperate for.

Your back arched off the couch as Heeseung began eating you out, the wet muscle traveling between your folds and lapping at all you had to offer, his jaw widening so he could feel more of you. He moaned, and the vibrations made you buck against his mouth. He pinned you down firmly, throwing an arm over your hips, sucking on your clit reverently. Burying your hand in his hair, you let yourself get lost in the pleasure, his tongue dragging along you.

You looked down at him, his lashes long, kissing the apples of his cheeks as he focused on your taste, your breathy whimpers, the way your thighs twitched next to his head when he focused his tongue on the spot right beneath your clit.

"Fu-uck," you moaned, your nails scratching against his scalp as he got you close to the edge again. "Feels so good, Hee."

He moaned into you again in response, making you dig your heels into his back.

Pleasure pooled down to your abdomen, and you felt your abs begin to tighten. Before you could even think about hiding your orgasm from Heeseung, he's pulling away, making you shiver with the cold air against your hitting your bare cunt.

"No!" You whined, losing your grip on his hair as he rose up, rubbing your thighs in apology as he planted his lips to yours, replacing your complaints with the taste of yourself. His hand came up to your throat, not tight, but enough pressure for you to want to lean into it.

Heeseung didn't stop kissing you until your protests died and your muscles relaxed again, and you were just a desperate, breathless mess beneath him. 

When he finally let you have air, your eyes were glossy with the second lost orgasm. You slumped over and laid on the couch, panting with tear-brimmed eyes, frustrated beyond belief.

Heeseung gave an apologetic look, like if it were up to him, you'd be cumming your brains out by now.

"Poor baby." He pouted along with you, hand traveling down to gently caress at your folds, spreading them between his fingers and feeling how wet and denied you were. "Bet it hurts so bad, doesn't it?"

You nodded, squirming under his touch, wanting so badly to cum against his fingers.

He didn't give you hope yet, though, sliding his hand up to your lower belly. "It'll feel better soon," he promised, slowly pushing down and applying more pressure. "It'll feel really good once me and Hoon are right here."

You gasped, biting your lip at the thought of them that deep inside you.

As if on cue, the front door opened, revealing a panting Park Sunghoon.

"That couldn't have been thirty minutes," Heeseung laughed, rolling off you as Sunghoon strolled closer to you two, his eyes devouring the sight of you teary eyed, cunt exposed and swollen, ready to be taken. His chest rose and fell as he breathed heavily, nostrils flaring as he stared at you with hooded eyes. The lust was palpable, every muscle in his body appearing tight, tense at seeing you so vulnerable already. Heeseung moved behind you, propping you up so your back was against his chest, adding to Sunghoon's view.

"I may have sped a little," Sunghoon admitted, biting his lower lip. His eyes never left you, as though he were transfixed. "And used the stairs instead of the elevator."

Heeseung squeezed your face, grinning down at you, like he understood Sunghoon's obsession unquestionably. "Hear that baby? You're not the only desperate one."

Your eyes locked with Sunghoon, whose gaze was intense and made it impossible for you to look away.

Sunghoon cautiously raised a hand to your knee, slowly tracing upward as you shivered under his touch. "Has she cum yet?"

"Not yet. I've been edging her. Figured you wouldn't want to miss it." Heeseung moved your hair to the side to kiss your neck, pulling one of your thighs to the side to open you up more for Sunghoon. "She does this cute little whine whenever she's close."

Your cheeks flushed, and your thighs twitched in response. "J-Just hurry up and fucking touch me already."

Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, and before you knew it he landed a sharp slap right against your cunt.

"Fuck!" Your back arched, your hips bucking until Sunghoon roughly slammed them back down, planting another smack against your swollen folds.

"Is that how we ask for things?"

"It's how I—fuck!" You couldn't hold back the pornographic moan that tumbled out of your lips as Sunghoon did it again, though this time rubbing your clit after, as though to blur the pain into pleasure.

"Such a mouth on you still." Sunghoon clicked his tongue, as though disappointed. "Heeseung didn't teach you manners while I was on my way?"

"We didn't have much time for our lesson," Heeseung excused, pulling your shirt further up your torso to run his hand over your exposed skin, his touch gentle in contrast to Sunghoon's. "She's still learning."

"How many times did you edge her?" Sunghoon trapped your clit between two of his fingers, applying pressure on the tiny bud to watch you gasp.

"Twice." Heeseung raised the shirt over your tits now, trapping a nipple between his digits similar to Sunghoon.

"Wanna go for a third, princess?" Hoon slapped your cunt again, making you cry out and shake your head, desperate just the way Heeseung described. Still, your reaction every time he strikes your pussy was noticeable.

Sunghoon wasn't going to let you live it down.

"You like when I slap your little pussy don't you? Don't tell me we've got a painslut on our hands."

Your cheeks burned at the term, and your breath caught with embarrassment. Both could see it all over your face that you were getting hot and bothered by how he treated you.

Sunghoon chuckled a bit at that. "Then be a good girl for us, and maybe, just maybe, we'll let you cum."

Your eyes watered even more, but even then, you nodded in agreement, now under the mercy of two men.

Sunghoon smirked, victorious. "Atta girl."

"You should feel how tight she is," Heeseung suggested, giving a reassuring squeeze.

Sunghoon finally sank two fingers into you, making your breath hitch. Sunghoon's gaze darkened, already imagining how your walls would squeeze his cock. "Fuck, what a tight little slut."

Your thighs twitched at the name, and both men took a mental note your reaction to being degraded. 

Sunghoon started curling his fingers inside of you,  pressing against your g-spot, having the heel of his palm press deep against your clit. He licked his lips, eyes flickering between your pussy and your face, examining your open mouth and your small mewls as he started to work up what Heeseung started, the wet sounds of his digits inside of you filling the room.

"Fuck, you're so fucking wet. Hee must've really worked you up, huh?" Sunghoon purred, sliding in a third digit easily, not missing how your eyes started to roll back as he stretched you out. "Bet you've been dreaming of this since the party."

"S-Shut up," you stammered out. "Says the one who was forming a boner."

"Yeah?" Sunghoon started increasing the power of his thrusts, veins starting to pop out of his forearm as he did so. "Why don't you just shut up and let out more of those pretty moans?"

"Why don't you—" 

Your words were cut off by Heeseung pressing his two middle digits against your tongue, rendering you silent.

"Now now, play nice you two," Hee chastised, shaking his head. "I thought my baby agreed to be good, no?"

He slipped his fingers out of your mouth, earning a glare.

"Come here." Heeseung pulled your jaw to face him, kissing you and muffling any insults you had to throw at Sunghoon. His tongue glided against yours, quelling your anger and making you buck up needily against the younger man's hand.

When you broke apart, you weren't even given a second to breathe, Sunghoon's large hand being the one holding your face now, focusing your attention back onto him.

"What? No kiss for Hoonie?" He grinned at your scowl. "Or is Hee's baby too good for it?"

"Give him a kiss, baby," Heeseung encouraged. "Let me watch."

You licked your lips, only allowing for a moment of trepidation before leaning into Sunghoon. His lips met yours readily, hungry as he kissed you, the pace of his fingers quickening with every stroke. He growled when you moaned against his mouth, grinding his palm firmer against your clit in reward. He pressed his mouth against you like he was trying to brand you with his kiss, make you feel it even after he was gone.

He slipped his tongue inside your mouth, demanding, his other hand sliding into the roots at the back of your head, angling your face just how he liked so he could kiss you deeper. He groaned as you whimpered against him, trying to keep up a good fight. He made it look too easy, the effortless way his mouth dominated yours bringing you to shame. He sucked on your tongue a bit, the helpless sound you made in response only making him harder.

When he broke away you were both left staring at one another, gathering breath, analyzing the blown out pupils of one another.

This was Park Sunghoon. The man you were constantly fighting for Heeseung's attention. The one you couldn't spend five minutes with without starting an argument.

You weren't sure which one of you leaned in first, but suddenly you were both slamming your mouths against each other again, but this time hungrier. More desperate. There was a carnal desire in how Sunghoon kissed you now, like he wanted to eat you and make you cry for every bullshit fight you put up against him.

Heeseung was mesmerized, his eyes never leaving you and Sunghoon as you clung onto the younger, trying to bring him closer to you, clawing at his clothes as you expressed your pent up sexual frustration through the kiss. Heeseung's hand slid down between you and Sunghoon's, his digits playing with your clit. You whined against Sunghoon's mouth, your orgasm starting to approach.

You broke away from the kiss, whining just like promised. "Please let me cum this time, please!"

Sunghoon chuckled at how easy you were to break this time, purposefully slamming his fingers against the sweet spot inside of you repeatedly. "Aw, should I? But you were being such a brat earlier."

"Let her cum," Heeseung crooned, sympathizing with you. "She's got a lot ahead of her."

Sunghoon always did have a habit of going along with Heeseung's desires.

But he wasn't going to be nice about it.

"You hear that?" Sunghoon scoffed, grabbing your face and bringing you close to his, his eye contact intense as he studied your pitiful expression. "Congratulations, sweetheart. You get to cum until your brain fucking melts."

You arched against Heeseung as Sunghoon jackhammered his fingers into your cunt, right behind the spot where Heeseung was still toying with your clit. Hee doubled his efforts, pressing down harder, making sure to give attention to the spot right underneath that had your toes curling. Your thighs began to shake as your orgasm overtook you, and suddenly clear liquid was gushing all over both of their fingers.

Sunghoon's jaw dropped open, watching you squirt against both of their hands. He was completely enraptured, mouth dropping open in awe as he watched you shake like a leaf.

"Fuck, that's it, make a mess for me. Make a mess all over Hoonie's fingers," he muttered to himself.

You couldn't stop it, the pleasure coming over you like a tidal wave. You gripped onto both of them to steady yourself, droplets flying out of you as you shook. Neither man stopped, both continuing until you were drained of every last drop, eventually slumping over against Heeseung, the aftershocks of your orgasm riding it's course along your thighs until it was no more. 

Both men pulled their hands away, your legs giving residual twitches at the sensation.

"I... I think I ruined the couch.." Your voice had that breathless, cute little whine that made it impossible for anyone to be mad.

Not they would be in the first place.

"You did perfect baby." Heeseung kissed the corner of your mouth. "It's about to get a lot messier anyways."

You were limp and complaint as they both maneuvered you onto all fours, the dark stain forming on the couch mocking from beneath you. Heeseung yanked off his clothes behind you, shedding each article one by one.

The tip of Hee's cock nudged along your entrance, sliding up and down your folds and catching at your clit every time he wanted to watch you cringe from sensitivity. Soon the small shocks would stop, and when you stopped tensing he focused more on your hole, slowly breaching it. It gave way, letting him push inside the first inch.

You held your breath as he started to get the entire tip inside, your walls stretching despite Hoon's thick fingers. Sunghoon cradled your face in his hands, observing your struggle.

"Poor thing. You look like you're about to cry any second."

He leaned in, kissing you when Heeseung got past the tip, now slipping another inch inside you. Hoon's lips were a good distraction, letting you focus on the natural instinct to follow his flow instead of the overwhelming sensation of Heeseung filling you up. Sunghoon slipped a hand down your body, gently twirling his fingers around your clit, coaxing you to let more of Hee in.

"That's it. Let him in. Let him stretch you out so I can have my turn. I'm not allowed to fuck you until after. "

You moaned against his lips. "Mmf— who says?"

You could feel him smile, like you had been let in on a shared secret.

 "We made a deal after the party." Heeseung hissed from behind as he sank further into you. "But we had been thinking about it for a while." 

You furrowed your brows, trying to form a coherent sentence and not focus on how good Heeseung was stretching you out right now. "W-What deal?"

Heeseung smirked at the expression you wore as he pushed in more, now over halfway inside. "That if we did this..." Both of you let out a strangled noise of pleasure when he bottomed out inside you, his balls now flush against your cunt. "I get first dibs."

Sunghoon laughed, patting your cheek condescendingly. "Bro code."

That's when it dawned on you that you had fallen into Hee's trap, just as he planned. The moment you asked the question, it was game over for you.

Heeseung pulled back some, giving a few experimental, shallow thrusts, letting you get used to the feeling of him. Eventually you stopped tensing up, loosening as you became accustomed to the sensation, your nerves coming alight as he started to go deeper.

"How's that dick feel, baby?" Sunghoon mocked you with the pet name, combing his fingers through your hair in faux comfort, keeping your face angled up so he could drink in every expression you couldn't hide. "Is it just like you've always imagined?"

"Fu-uck you." Your jab lacked it's usual venom, instead becoming breathy at the end as Heeseung hit a sweet spot.

"Ask nicely," Sunghoon bit back.

You were about to respond when Heeseung's hand jotted out in front of you, grabbing Sunghoon by the nape and pressing his mouth against yours, forcing the two of you to kiss to stop your bickering.

"Behave, both of you," Heeseung scolded, gritting it out as he started using longer strokes, letting you feel how long and deep he was every time he pulled out to the tip to thrust back in to the hilt. 

Sunghoon seemed to melt against your mouth, not even arguing with Heeseung as he moved his lips against yours. Every moan that escaped your mouth and into his he took greedily, tilting his head to the right to kiss you thoroughly as each of Heeseung's thrusts pressed you closer together.

Heeseung really was such a good mediator.

You broke away for a breath of air, glaring at Sunghoon and his swollen, pouty lips. He glared back, though it seemed to be because you pulled away when he didn't get his fill of kissing you.

"I still hate you," you said, though the words have no bite. Not when each one comes out breathless and weak along with Heeseung's strokes. Not when you give Sunghoon that stare that lets him know that even if you did hate him, you wanted him in equal measure.

"C'mere. You don't need to talk anymore." Sunghoon grabbed your face, making you arch your back further as he started kissing you again, unashamed with the wet, sloppy sounds of your lips smacking together or the low growls that emanated from his chest.

You two stayed making out for a moment, your lips repeatedly crashing against his as Heeseung rocked you back and forth on his cock. Neither of you seemed to mind, though, both breathless and panting into each other's mouths in a mess of tongue and teeth, and you desperately grasped onto Hoon for stability. Hoon sucked on your tongue, moaning when he felt you melt in his arms.

He finally let you go, pulling off his shirt, hands moving to his pants and pulling his flushed, aching cock out with little finesse. He's about the same size as Heeseung, and your jaw already began to ache as you examined the challenging girth.

Sunghoon tapped the tip of his cock against your pouty lips. "C'mon, open that bratty mouth. There's a good girl."

You gave a gentle kiss to the head, and then another, opening your mouth more with each one as you started using your tongue, slowly making out with it the way you would either of them. You closed your eyes, suckling on it a bit, the same way he did on the tip of your tongue earlier.

Sunghoon seemed to be enamored with the sight, jaw dropping open as you slowly progressed to kitten licks, peering up with them with the faux innocent look that only got him harder.

He muttered under his breath, curling his fingers into the roots of your hair and slowly pressing you down further.

You complied as he pushed your head down, opening your mouth greater as the full head was suctioned by your lips. 

Sunghoon hissed when you flicked your tongue on the underside of his cock where the head met the shaft, and he slowly sank you down further, the gradual slide of your throat down on him making his toes curl.

Sunghoon tossed his head back, feeling your throat suction around him as he start to fuck it properly. "Oh shit. Don't stop, just like that baby. Fuck, you're so good at this. Your mouth feels so fucking good."

He was decent enough to give a slow pace, following along with Heeseung who did the same in order for you to get used to being filled from both ends. Sunghoon did his best not to buck into your mouth or push too far into the back of your throat. It started to get harder when Heeseung started fucking you faster, though, your body naturally being pushed forward again and again, making you gag further and further down Sunghoon's cock until his eyes were rolling to the back of his throat.

"Holy shit," Heeseung moaned, slapping your ass thrice in quick succession. "My baby's being such a good whore for us, isn't she? Fuck, yes, take it. Suck that dick baby, c'mon."

Fuck, hearing Hee of all people start moaning that you're a whore was spurring Sunghoon on. Slowly his concerns and restraint of getting you used to two cocks melted away. You seemed to be a natural already, and Hoon was always the type to tease and bully what he was secretly fond of. Heeseung was well aware. How else do you break in a toy?

"Look at me. You want both of us? You want to be a greedy little slut for one night?" Sunghoon moaned, hand cradling your throat to feel how he moved inside of it. "'Course you do."

Heeseung slapped your ass again, your yelp muffled around Sunghoon's cock. Heeseung's hooded gaze stayed glued on how your ass would ripple against his hips with every snap. Every time he looked up he'd see Sunghoon's bottom lip trapped between his teeth, the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, the way his eyes never left your face as he tangled his digits into roots.

His grip tightened on your hair as he bobbed your head up and down, Heeseung's thrusts pushing you further down on both of them from either end.

"Fuck, you're both so fucking hot," Heeseung growled. "Such a good slut, taking our cocks like this. You're such a good girl."

 Sunghoon grinned, looking down at your pathetic form, forced to take everything they had to offer. Your face was so flushed, your eyes trying to look up at Sunghoon's without rolling back. When he looked up at his best friend he saw his his hands digging into your waist to pull you closer, how his dark stare devoured the view, how his eyes kept meeting Sunghoon's to see if he was also losing his mind. He was. "How does his dick feel? Is he hitting the spot you need?"

You moaned in response, unable to give a clearer answer due to how thoroughly he was using your mouth.

Sunghoon pulled you off for a moment, letting you moan out loud now in tune with Heeseung's thrusts. He tightened the fist in your roots, angling your head to look up at his cocky grin from above.

"You want me to hit it too?"

You bit your lower lip and grinned in confirmation, finally smiling along with him for once. It melted away though into a face of pleasure as Heeseung's hand came around to your front, toying with your clit as his staccato thrusts picked up rhythm.

"Fuck, I'm fucking close," he moaned. "Need to feel you cum around me. Need to feel everything. Need—"

Heeseung's words were cut off by Sunghoon's free hand grabbing his nape and pulling him in, slamming their lips above you. Sunghoon slipped his tongue inside, eyes closed as he angled his head to deepen the kiss, swallowing Heeseung's moans.

Heeseung grunted in Sunghoon's mouth, panting as his thrusts got sloppier and his digits rubbed harder against your clit. Sunghoon's hold on your roots was firm, keeping your neck craned, forcing you to watch how their tongues tangled together and listen to their lips smack, Heeseung's groans turning into whines as he got closer to the edge, all being devoured by Sunghoon. 

It was too much, and before you knew it your cunt was spasming around Heeseung's cock, cries muffled around Sunghoon's. 

Heeseung couldn't last much longer, hips stuttering as he felt you cum around him, his whimper against Sunghoon's tongue delicious as he buried himself as deep as he could, cumming inside you.

The two men finally broke apart, a spit of string still connecting them before snapping, leaving both breathless with parted, swollen lips.

Heeseung tried to recollect himself, garner his breath, try to regain some semblance of self. Slowly he pulled out of you, both of you winching at the sensation. You collapsed down onto the couch, a boneless heap. Slowly, white appeared at your entrance, Heeseung's cum beginning to slowly trickle out of you.

"Fuck... look at that." Sunghoon reached over and spread your folds, more cum dribbling out. He put a finger in, coating it in Heeseung and you, pumping it in and out, watching you shiver with sensitivity. "Can you take more?"

"Mmfuck," you whined in response, hips wiggling. Whether you were chasing Sunghoon's digit or running from it, you couldn't tell.

"C'mon, baby. Let Hoonie fuck you good. It's about time you both start getting along," Heeseung cooed, running a comforting hand up and down your thigh to ground you.

Sunghoon added another digit again, watching your face contort in pleasure as you squeezed your eyes shut. "Don't you want to make it up to me? All those times you were an annoying brat?"

Heeseung smiled, hand going up to comb your hair out of your face, his deceiptively sweet face reassuring you. "It's time for you two to fuck it out."

You nodded, and soon Sunghoon was repositioning you onto your back, spreading your legs wider, pushing one of your legs up and over his arm, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. Slowly, he pushed in, with both of you sucking in a deep breath. You grabbed onto the arm holding up your leg, biting your lip as he buried in hilt deep. Despite how open Heeseung fucked you, you still felt tight as ever around Sunghoon, and you could feel him right up in your guts the way Heeseung promised.

Sunghoon bit his lip hard, trying (and failing) to contain his grunt as he sank into your heat. 

"Holy shit. You feel better than I dreamed."

He gave a small, experimental thrust of his hips, examining how your breath hitched and your thighs clenched. Here you were, fucking the man who annoyed you most, who you were always fighting for Hee's attention. You supposed this was a good way for both of you to get it at the same time, Heeseung utterly entranced as he watched Sunghoon's first few strokes inside of you.

More of Heeseung's cum spilled out of you as Sunghoon pushed further in, the first slide going much smoother due to how much Heeseung filled you up.

Sunghoon's pumps were shallow at first, noticing your small winces from overstimulation and possible soreness. Judging by the slight rasp in your voice that's already started to appear, you were going to need a bit of a recovery period after tonight.

Heeseung was growing impatient, however, believing Sunghoon should've came in you closer to yesterday. He was eager to see you filled to the brim with both him and Sunghoon, to see Sunghoon's cock limp and drained because of you. And here the two of you were, wasting time like always when you could be fucking each other's brains out.

"What, don't tell me you're scared of her now Hoon? After all that talk?" Heeseung laughed, clapping Sunghoon on the back of his nape, pulling him close. "Thought you wanted to fuck her?"

That got Sunghoon going a bit, his next thrust sharper than the sloppy, slow rolls he was giving before. Your breath hitched, the sensitive spot inside you slowly drawing in heat. 

"Just—" Sunghoon bit his lip, trying to control himself despite the devil at his shoulder. "Don't want it to hurt."

The laugh Heeseung barked out made him feel silly.

The grin Hee gave you bordered on menacing, like he was reaching his wits end. "Did you forget already?" The sharp smack he delivered to your swollen folds had you curl into on yourself, clamping down on Sunghoon and causing him to rut harder into you, trying to sink deeper in. "She likes it."

Hee's words woke Sunghoon up from his worrisome daze, and he drinks in your expression from Heeseung's action. The way your eyes watered and your lower lip trembled, but also the way you opened your legs further, as though asking for more.

The word pops up in Sunghoon's head again.

"Painslut," he growled.

Heeseung grinned wickedly as Sunghoon began to properly pull his hips back, no longer restraining himself and delivering sharp, heavy thrusts that had his balls clapping against your cheeks. The plap plap plap accompanied by the wet gush of your pussy repeatedly swallowing his cock, as well as the pornographic noises you were both omitting, was music to Hee's hears.

Both of you were staring at each other with such intensity, eyes never leaving one another's as Sunghoon drilled into you, mouth dropping open with yours as you both experienced mind-numbing pleasure with each other for the first time when you were supposed to hate each other.

Heeseung could practically taste the mixed emotions from both of you in the air, and he lived off of it.

"Fuck her open." Heeseung bit his lip, watching Sunghoon pull back and roughly slam into you again. "Harder. Make sure she feels it."

Sunghoon furrowed his brows, delivering a harder thrust, savoring the moan that escaped you as he reached in deeper, tip hitting right against the spot that had you feeling weak.

Heeseung sucked in a breath. "That's it. Now you're doing it. Just look how wet she is for you."

You felt Sunghoon twitch inside you at that. Heeseung's commentary was doing wonders for both you and Sunghoon, both of you getting seemingly more flushed. Hoon's thrusts quickened, his enthusiasm showing as he repeatedly hit that spot that had you gasping again and again and again.

"Fuck." Sunghoon grunted, his grip on your waist tightening as he pumped inside. "Feel that? Feel how deep I am?"

He emphasized his question with a brutal thrust that had you scrambling for purchase, grabbing onto Heeseung as your body began to move with Sunghoon's. "Yes, H-Hoon!"

"Fuck yeah you do. You love this, don't you? Love letting me use you like a little slut." Sunghoon groaned, watching the bulge protruding from your lower abdomen. "Still hate me?"

"Yes," you spat out bitterly, your pride still clinging on in some semblance as Hoon started pounding into you.

Both Heeseung and Sunghoon laughed, and it only made your cheeks burn hotter.

"No you don't." Sunghoon landed a smack against your pussy, feeling you clench around him in response. "Holy shit, you got so tight. C'mon, squeeze me baby. Show me how much this pussy loves me."

The cry you let out was pathetic, unwittingly obeying his command as your walls contracted around him.

"There we go. That's a good girl. So you can listen."

Heeseung hummed, enjoying the sight before him, watching both of you slowly unravel in each other. He saw it coming a mile away. He was just glad he got to see it finally happen first hand.

"I'm just so glad to see my best friends finally getting along." He pressed a kiss against your cheek, the action surprisingly tender given the filth of the situation. He pulled back, moving behind Sunghoon so he could watch the view from his friend's perspective.

Both men watched how coated Sunghoon's cock was in Hee's cum, the white glistening along his shaft every time he pulled back. Heeseung's cum helped make the glide easier, extra lubricant added on top of your already dripping wet pussy. You could feel the wetness coating your inner thighs, and wouldn't be surprised if the surface area only grew as Sunghoon continued using you like this.

"Fuck, that's so hot," Sunghoon moaned, tossing his head back and drilling into you with more fervor, veins popping along his forearms as he slammed his hips against yours. "You're so hot. 'Course a pretty girl like you likes being fucked like a slut."

"So pretty," Heeseung agreed, biting his lip, eyes glued to where both of you were joined. "You're both so fucking hot."

He tilted Sunghoon's chin, turning him to face him as he planted his lips against the younger. Sunghoon was responsive to say the least, pressing against Heeseung harder, his hips stuttering for a moment as his brain tried to keep up. Heeseung's other hand slid down Sunghoon's abs, raking his nails along them to make Sunghoon shiver and open his mouth wider.

Sunghoon panted, his thrusts getting sloppier as he moaned into Heeseung's mouth. You could see glimpses of their tongues dancing together with every part of their lips, the whimpers that Heeseung swallowed only driving you closer to the edge. Hearing Hoon's soft pants and moans, muffled against Hee's lips as he held his face tight in his hand, not letting him free for even a second even as he grew breathless and his whines turned needy, was enough masturbation material for a lifetime.

"Fuck fuck fuck, I'm close," Sunghoon moaned against Heeseung's mouth, the words barely decipherable with how Heeseung was devouring him. He whimpered, the sounds getting cut off or replaced with the sound of smacking lips, Heeseung’s grip firm and unrelenting.

Heeseung finally let Sunghoon go, letting the younger man moan and suck in deep, greedy breaths of air. Heeseung's lips were shiny and swollen, and he stared down at where Sunghoon was absolutely destroying you, his thrusts starting to get sloppier with every pump. "Cum inside."

Sunghoon's eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck—"

Heeseung looked down at you, where your eyes nearly crossed with Sunghoon abusing your g-spot, the prospect of being filled up by your biggest annoyance making your back arch against the cushions.

"You want it, right?" Heeseung reached up and pressed his hand down on your lower abdomen, feeling his best friend through the barrier. "I can feel how deep Hoon is inside you. You want it right here, right? Right where I'm pressing."

He pushed harder, making both you and Sunghoon cry out. "Yes! Please, please Hoon. Cum in me. I'm so close."

Sunghoon's hand moved down to your clit, pressing demanding circles against it to drive you to insanity. "Cum for me then. Make your pussy beg for it."

Before you knew it you were doing exactly that.

"Fuck, that's it," Heeseung hissed. He leaned more of his weight on the hand pressing down on you, his grin mischievous and wicked. "Good girl."

The combined stimulation from both of them had you spasming around Hoon, your walls involuntarily quaking and squeezing his girth as promised. Sunghoon let out a guttural groan, your orgasm triggering his own as he hunched over you, his hips stuttering as he began to coat your insides.

You felt the warmth as he starts to fill you up, some gushing out of you already and between your cheeks. Heeseung stopped pressing down on your stomach and grabbed Sunghoon's ass, having him gasp and rut deeper, cockhead firmly pressed against the deepest spot inside of you.

"Keep fucking her," Hee commanded, his tone leaving no room for question.

Sunghoon did as he was told, continuing to pump into you as you started to cringe from the overstimulation. Sunghoon was too, his groans morphing into weak little whines as he let out every drop into you, fucking you still. You could see the mix of pain and pleasure in his face, his thrusts slowing down as his cock began to soften.

Heeseung squeezed. "Don't stop," he ordered. "Keep fucking her. Don't you dare stop."

Hoon, the loyal, pathetic friend he was, obeyed. His weak, stuttering thrusts continued, overstimulating you both as his pelvis rocked against your clit. His pumps were shallower now, lacking the power from before, as though every thrust now took something out of him. Both of you were left breathless, staring into each other's eyes, tears brimming them as you both broke further under Heeseung's command. The man watched with a shit eating grin, clearly pleased watching your glassy gazes.

Sunghoon's head dipped down, and it took every ounce of strength not to collapse on top of you, humping you slightly with what he had left to give, his hips stuttering and sloppy. You felt a tear fall on your collarbone as he whined, not stopping his movements until Heeseung gently pushed him back. 

Both you and Sunghoon cringed as he finally pulled out, the white appearing immediately and trickling down on the sheets. Sunghoon slumped over you, breathing heavily, burying his face in the crook of your neck as both of you finally got to come down from your highs.

It turned out, however, that Heeseung was the hardest to satisfy.

He sneered, pulling Sunghoon off of you and scoffing at how he broke before you. 

"What are you doing? Clean her up since she's been so nice to you."

Heeseung gripped Sunghoon by the roots, lifting his head and planting him face first into your used pussy.

Sunghoon obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut as he opened his jaw wider, letting you melt in his mouth. He lapped up Hee's and his own cum readily, humming with satisfaction, his ministrations becoming greedy. You cringed from the sensitivity, but Heeseung didn’t let you run from it, using a hand to pin you down as he leaned over you and kissed the pain away. You tried to focus on how his lips moved against yours, but still found yourself bucking against Hoon's mouth and whining into Heeseung’s.

Heeseung smiled, tightening his grip against Sunghoon's scalp as he pushed him harder against you, chuckling at the tears in your eyes.

"See baby? I'm having him make up for being so mean to you," Heeseung cooed. "What do we say?"

"T-thank you," you weakly stammered out, feeling the coil tighten for the last time.

"There we go. I'll even help."

He shoved your legs further apart to make room for himself, pushing Sunghoon's head lower so he could slide his tongue inside. You gasped when Heeseung's mouth joined, the dual sensation of two tongues against you bringing you closer to an orgasm no matter how much your body screamed.

Sunghoon rose his head up higher, tongue meshing against Heeseungs as both slid over your clit, trapping it beneath the pressure of the two muscles. Neither man seemed to shy away from each other, and you could hear the wet smack of their lips against each other as they made out, your cunt acting as a third.

Your thighs trembled, the feeling of both of them at the same time, and the visual stimulus of their eyes peaking up at you from between your legs, made the final orgasm of the night especially satisfying. You gave what was left of yourself, seeing white and feeling as though you were floating for a moment. Slowly, you came back down, feeling their hands rub soothingly along your legs and waist.

Both were panting just as hard as you, their pink, swollen lips an enviable shade, glossed with orgasm who-even-knows. Heeseung had a smug, calm smile on his face, whereas Hoon had heavy lids, exhaustion starting to set in his bones with how spent he now was.

Heeseung patted your head gently, a stark juxtaposition to his rough demeanor prior. "Back to Earth?" He quipped.

You nodded, post-millionth-nut clarity settling in as you realized your best friend and his just gave you the best sex of your life.

"I guess now I have a better answer for all of those people asking if we've fucked," you joked.

That earned a laugh from Heeseung, and even a grin from Sunghoon, who was usually impervious to your quips.

"You're so cute." Whether or not Sunghoon meant to say that out loud was unclear, and you weren't given enough time to think about it because soon he was having you taste yourself on his lips. And him. And Heeseung.

Heeseung was absolutely thrilled watching his two best friends make out, fucking pervert that he is. Everything went just according to plan, even better than predicted, and now he could finally reap the rewards of all his hard work.

Tears streamed from your eyes for the nth time that day, rolling down in a torturous promenade to join the half dried rivulets staining your cheeks.

The symphony of waves crashing against rocks by the shore complemented by brids chirping while continuing their daily course failed to calm. On the contrary it felt rather mocking—the way everyone and everything could go back to the way it was before as if nothing had happened.

As if you weren’t missing 5,000 men—including your husband.

Your fists clenched on the sand beneath your skin, absurdly hoping it would somehow bring him back. As if he would surge right through the earth and return to your arms.

After all, desperation birthed delusion.

Even the sound of a ship carrying a whole army hitting the dock couldn't wake you up from your agony induced slumber. You'd completely passed out on the beach partially in hopes you'd rise to meet Jungwon.

"Is she okay?"

"Why is she here all alone?"

"I think that's Yang's woman."

"Y/n is it?"

The call of your name stuck out from within the clamor. Jungwon had learned to remain on his toes at any second, even in his sleep. But he didn't need any kind of training when it came to you.

Pushing and shoving past the men he'd just shared months of trauma with just to find out if you were really there.

His face melted into one of concern and adoration at the sight of you looking so peaceful. You'd pulled him into to a trance just by being there—unconscious too. At that moment it was just him and you, not considering the 100 other men surrounding you.

"Sweetheart" Jungwon shook your body slightly, watching your brows twitch as his voice slowly pulled you back into sensibility. Your eyes fluttered open languidly, Jungwon's visage gradually coming together like a puzzle you'd solved before.

"J–" a sharp gasp left your throat while you attempted to sit up and regain your composure, "Jungwon?"

Your hands flew to his face touching every part you could ensuring he was real and not a figment of your imagination.

"I'm here darling" Tears bordered the ducts of his eyes, a cry threatening to capture wrap itself around his speech. "I'mnot going anywhere anymore—we won, we made it."

You couldn't care less about your legs wobbling beneath you as you struggle to stand on your feet. He met you halfway though, scooping you in his arms and helping you up.

You threw him slightly off guard whe your lips suddenly connected with his in a kiss that tasted of tears, the seashore and pure unadulterated yearning.

You managed to stand on your feet but bent your knees and arched into him feeling engulfed in his embrace.

He held you as close as humanly possible and you gripped him from behind his shoulders. The unfavorable position had you sinking back into your prior position but neither of you cared. Jungwon chased your lips resulting in the both of you falling downwards into the sand.

A round of cheers erupted from the men who watched the interaction from start to finish. A few snickers were heard here and there but the two of uou were far from embarrassed. The relief of being reunited overshadowed any kind of shame.

You lay next to your lover, resting your head on his chest and listening to the pattern of his heartbeat.

Jungwon planted a chaste kiss on your head and swore to you, "I'mnot going to leave you my love, ever again."