Tanned skin, broad shoulders and a criminally narrow waist that flashes beneath the flannel he wears over his tank top— all complimented by a face sculpted by the gods with clear love and care; a plump bottom lip that juts into a pout, tall nose and large eyes that scanned the room curiously— you first made eye contact after Kai let you in, your gaze instantly attracted to the makeshift halo given to him by the lamp he sat in front, his long black hair falling into his eyes. While you instantly looked away, intimidated by how attractive he was, you felt his gaze linger on you for a bit longer.

You let Kai take your hand and drag you to the couch across from this beautiful stranger; some random animated adult comedy show droned on in the background, the only light left after the lamp gets turned off, a few others already taking up space on the couches; you squeezed into the corner while Kai sat to your left, Soobin and Beomgyu taking up the rest of the space— they were nice and fun to talk to, but you only knew them through Kai; you learned it was more entertaining to watch them try to argue whilst high out of their minds.

Across from you, Kazuha and Yunjin wave at you— you were mutual friends through Kai, getting to know them through your econ class after you were paired together for a project; they introduce you to the friends they invited, Chaeryoung and Ryujin. Yeonjun has forfeited a seat on the couch in favor of sitting on the floor, hunched over the coffee table as he rolls up— when you greet him, he gives you a toothy grin, nodding behind him as he introduces you to his invited guest—

"Taehyun." Oh god, you have to try your best not to react too much as he greets you— a polite smile is all you can muster, because you fear anything more than that would give away the effect his mere voice already has on you. It's smooth and deep, with an unexpected gentleness in his tone despite the cool and standoffish front he has going on. You all fall silent, some paying attention to the television while you opt to watch Yeonjun finish rolling up the joint.

He works fast, his fingers nimble and clearly experienced; as much as you like to tease that his skill is concerning, you never turn down a smoke session when it's Yeonjun that's rolling up— you'd like to think that the extra care he puts in his joints add a little extra something that makes your high better. Not that you'd ever tell him that.

You're snapped out of your trance at the sound of Yeonjun calling your name; blinking owlishly, you find him holding out the finished joint and a lighter out to you, eyes tinted with an amused glint.

"Wanna start it off?" he asks— you suddenly feel everyone's eyes fall on you. "You look like you're dying for a hit."

"Am not," you scoff, yet take up the offer anyway; this earns a chuckle from Taehyun, who you can't help but become attuned to instantly. Placing the joint between your lips, you pray that you don't fumble lighting it up and make a fool of yourself in front of everyone.

Then again, it's hard to when you have Yeonjun's work in your hands— you quietly marvel at how quickly the joint lights up, taking a slow drag and watching the tip burn in response. You turn your head to the side to blow out the smoke before passing it over to Kai, settling back on the couch and turning your attention on the show that plays in the background.

As the joint makes its way back to you, a quiet conversation adds to the white noise; you talk about the semester and the finals that approach, listening to Yunjin rant animatedly about her cumulative calculus exam that's driving her up the wall, nodding along in sympathy. Beside you, Kai starts to complain about his job— hyping himself up by saying the same as always: "I'm gonna quit once this semester ends, I swear." The effects of the weed already seem to kick in as you can only muster a slightly slurred remark that he's a hypocrite that's been repeating the same thing for the past two years— when you stumble over your sentence one time too many, the group begins to laugh and you quietly scold yourself to shut the hell up.

It's been a while since you last smoked; you're definitely sure it's showing too, as you proceed to melt into the couch more while the others continue the conversation like nothing— at some point, the others start skipping you when passing the joint around.

Beomgyu and Soobin have started arguing again, something about League and their current rankings. While they have the world's most incomprehensible screaming match, Yunjin drags the girls up and to the kitchen, rambling off about how hungry she is— she turns to you to ask if you'd like to tag along, but when your bleary eyes meet hers and you give her a sluggish shake of your head, she leaves without a fight. Yeonjun trails after them at the reminder of food; beside you, Kai watches his friends fight with a small smile, taking a slow hit from the joint and leaning on your shoulder with a sigh. The two of you curl into each other, and while Kai laughs at the jabs the two throw at each other, you're left unsure of whether they're even speaking a language you know.

A chill runs through your body, and you instinctively turn to the couch across from you— your eyes meet with Taehyun's for the umpteenth time today, but in your high induced daze, you don't feel a panicked urge to look away. Instead, you allow yourself to hold his stare, tilting your head as your eyes begin to wander.

He's shed his flannel; he's left in nothing but a white tank, showing off his arms that are so defined with muscle you're able to pick it up under the low light of the TV. It's unbearable, having such perfect eye-candy on display— even more so when he places his hands behind his head and stretches back, his short tank riding up and exposing his stomach— rather, his fucking abs. You didn't think it was possible to find someone with actual defined abs in real life; Yeonjun always complains to you about how hard they are to maintain.

You're suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is, and you can't control the way you gulp as an attempt to relive the tension. You watch as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back, his back arching as he continues to stretch— a low groan escapes his lips, and before you can look away and feign nonchalance, he's melting back down into the couch and meeting your eyes again.

Your face feels like it's on fire, your eyes widening a fraction as you look away— but not before catching the way his lips quirked up in amusement.

"I don't give a fuck that you were at master tier— you're at emerald now and I'm at diamond. So I'm obviously better."

"When have you ever reached master?!" Soobin's yell cuts off your flustered line of thoughts, jumping closer to Kai from the shock his sudden increase in volume gave you. Kai merely laughs at you, grabbing your thighs to bring your legs up to rest on his lap; he absentmindedly rubs your thigh while watching the two continue to debate on who's better.

"And who had to carry you during last night's match?!" Beomgyu yells back; the two are heated, sitting up and trying to loom over each other, but they keep trying to one-up each other that you think they'll stand up any moment. "How many kills did you get again?!"

"Hey, did you want any more?" Kai is holding out the joint to you, leaning in so you can hear him over the screaming match happening next to you. You think about it for a minute— you still feel light and dreamy, but there's the unmistakable feeling of the fog clearing in your mind, able to keep a better grasp on your surroundings than before— and decide it's too early to let the feeling fade, nodding softly and going to reach for the joint.

Instead, Kai beats you to it. He's bringing the joint to your lips, smiling when you raise a brow in surprise but accept the gesture anyway; you follow his instructions to take a long hit, and when he finally pulls the joint away, you've filled your lungs with so much smoke that you end up having a small coughing fit.

"Shit, my bad— that was probably a little too much," he pushes your legs off his lap and hands you the joint, giving you a pat on your back before standing, "I'll go get you some water."

You're left trying to calm down your coughing fit with the smoking joint in your hand, Soobin and Beomgyu now speaking so fast you feel like you're going crazy— there isn't a single word you're able to pick up on, and all you can do is stare at the rug beneath your feet as the weed begins to course through your system once more.

The joint feels warm between your fingers, and you're suddenly itching to get rid of it; glancing to your left, you immediately rule out Soobin and Beomgyu who have now begun to point aggressively at each other. The only other person you can hand this to is sitting across from you, and already staring when you look at him. Taehyun sends you a small smile, reaching his hand out in a silent plea. He's too far from you, so you're resigned to stand on shaky legs and walk over to hand him the joint.

Maybe you should've paid a bit more attention to your surroundings— because then you would've been able to catch Yeonjun's bag on the floor next to the coffee table, your foot catching on it and sending you stumbling forward; you crash into the couch unceremoniously, able to turn your body at the last second to ensure you didn't crush the joint nor burn either you or Taehyun with it— instead, you almost fall on him, saved instead by his hands that shoot forward to steady you. Your head spins from the sudden movement, panting as your heart tries to calm down from the scare.

"Fuck, that's so embarrassing," you whine, covering your face with a hand in shame— Soobin and Beomgyu's argument is briefly cut off in favor of laughing at you, retreating to their own world in surrender after you send them a glare. You hear a low chuckle next to you, and your heart begins to panic once more as you remember who it is you almost fell on top of.

"I'm so sorry," you say through the gaps of your fingers— you don't have the guts to look at him, holding the joint out to his general direction instead. When he takes it, his fingers brush over yours; they're warm and a bit calloused, and you try to ignore the electricity that shoots through your fingertips into the rest of your body.

"No need to apologize," Taehyun says, "you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine," you say, trying to adjust yourself on the couch— you really don't think you can get back up, especially now that you're high again— you shift away from him, just so you don't have to feel like you're going to shut down every time your thighs press against each other, and frown, feeling a sudden tension in your right hand.

Taehyun takes another hit, and you try to watch from the corner of your eye—his plump lips that wrap around the joint, his brows that knit together while he inhales, looking away from you so he can exhale; you catch him doing a ghost, and you swear you've never seen anyone look so hot while smoking. You're quick to look away so he won't catch you ogling this time.

You're back to watching the TV absentmindedly, the tension in your hand coming back as you shift— frowning, you begin to massage your hand, flinching when your fingers push into the knuckle of your thumb; a stinging sensation shoots through you, and you can't hold back the sharp hiss you let out as you experimentally push in again. Taehyun's head snaps over, watching quietly as you continue to massage your thumb, fingers careful and hesitant as you press into the muscle.

Your eyes that were glued to the hands on your lap widen as Taehyun reaches for your sore hand, bringing it up to his face to examine it; your mouth feels dry as you observe the concern etched into his frown, lithe fingers wrapped around your wrist and turning your hand over in his— his lips clamp down on the joint so he can examine you with his other hand, leaning toward you as he does.

Slowly, his fingers smooth over your skin, fingertips stopping at the knuckle you were tending to earlier. His thumb and pointer fingers move to squeeze your joint experimentally, his eyes flickering up to your face when you grimace and your hand twitches in his hold.

"How bad does it hurt?" he murmurs, his face so close to yours it feels like you've been sucked into a whole different dimension. You can smell the weed that lingers with the joint, the flame beginning to die out, and the clean, calming scent of his cologne— serene and endless, like a cabin in the woods surrounded by the smell of cedar and nature. It's fresh, clean— his face is a mere inches away from yours, and when his eyes flicker up to meet yours, you feel as though you've been kicked in the gut and forced to answer.

"Not— not too bad, I'm sure it's nothing serious," he raises a brow, digging his fingers into your muscle once more— when you let out a choked yelp, the corners of his lips tick up. You let out a shaky breath as you try to be brave and hold his stare. "I think I just landed on it wrong."

"You're sure?" his eyes sparkle with an undeniable mischief, watching with a glint in his eyes as you immediately nod— he presses into your thumb again, just to watch you jolt and try to rip your hand from his; he tightens his hold on you before you can. "Still sure?"

"Okay, maybe it's a little sore," your courage has been snuffed out, your eyes falling to your lap dejectedly. Taehyun chuckles, plucking the joint from his lips before putting it down on the ash tray on the coffee table— his hand has yet to let yours go.

"Thought so," he murmurs; bringing your hand close, he caresses the sore spot slowly. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so rough with you."

Your mind goes blank— his fingers linger on your skin for a second, his eyes fluttering to look up at you once more. He's gently placing your hand back on your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze before he lets go. You're not sure what prompts you into saying the things you do, but the words tumble from your lips anyway.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind."

Beside you, Taehyun stiffens; he does nothing more than nod, letting out a thoughtful hum and leaning back into the couch. The air between you two feels undeniably charged, and you think you might blurt out something stupid again if this tension persists. Instead, you're saved by Kai who finally emerges from the kitchen— you send him a glare for taking so long, and he rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Yeonjun was telling us about his situationship again," he sits next to you, uncapping the water bottle before handing it to you, "I got distracted."

"You're lucky I love you," you murmur, gulping down water— Kai leans in, dropping his voice and whispering in your ear.

"Why'd you switch seats?"

You don't like the tone in his voice— teasing, as though you had ulterior motives. You narrow your eyes at him when you find a coy smile playing at his lips.

"I was passing the joint to him."

"And you just had to stay here?"

"Shut up," you raise your voice, smacking his shoulder to get him away from you— while Kai just laughs, you see Taehyun glance over at you from your peripheral. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."

"Yes ma'am," Kai gathers your legs in his lap again, pulling you closer instinctively, "Taehyun, could you pass the joint over here?"

"Sure," he leans forward, picking up the joint before frowning— he gives a testing tug, and when nothing comes out, he shakes his head. "It went out. Where's the lighter?"

"Oh— I have it," you're patting your pockets in search of it, finally fishing it out with a triumphant cheer— you're about to hand it over to Taehyun, but instead of taking it, he leans into you, the joint hanging between his lips.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his— his eyes are dark, and he's raising a brow at you as though your hesitation were odd— he nods his chin toward you, and you're bringing up the lighter, having to flick it a few times before the flame finally emerges. While his gaze is glued to the tip of the joint, you take this moment to get a closer look at him; his black hair that's lit up under the soft flame, stray hairs falling over his round eyes with thick lashes that flutter softly, his smooth skin and slim face, you take it all in like it's the last time you'll ever see him again; when he finally pulls away, you're quick to do the same, afraid to get caught staring for the millionth time tonight.

You face forward, trying to pretend that the moment that passed wasn't enough to startle your heart— when you look up, you're mortified to find Soobin and Beomgyu staring at you with wide, sleazy smiles. When you frown, their grins only widen— you shake your head softly when you see Beomgyu ready to speak, and to your surprise, he actually shuts his mouth with a coy chuckle; you think there might've been genuine fear flashing in your eyes with the way he obliged so easily.

From the corner of your eye, you see Taehyun taking another hit before passing it off to you; you don't hesitate to take it this time, more than ready to ease tonight's tension a bit, taking a long hit before passing it off to Kai— you and Taehyun don't interact much for the rest of the night, and while your heart is thankful for it, your brain quietly itches for a little more; a glance, a conversation, something— but Taehyun falls quiet without Yeonjun by his side, and the said man spends the rest of the night in the kitchen ranting to the girls about his recent heartache.

It isn't until everyone is leaving that you run into him again, standing idly in the kitchen and picking at the snacks that were left behind; it's two AM and you've cashed in your best friend privileges to sleep over at Kai's while everyone is saying their goodbyes after finally sobering up. Yeonjun is glued to your side, sneaking in a last few pieces from the candy bowl while you make him promise to catch you up on everything he was spilling to the rest of the girls.

"It's not my fault, you're the one that chose to stay on the couch the whole time."

"Well, you should've tried to come get me again!"

"Why would I do that?" he leans in closer, whispering in your ear with a coy grin, "when you and Taehyunie were getting along so well?"

"Whatever," you shove him off you with a scoff, but he only lets out an obnoxious laugh, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek before bidding you goodbye and running out the kitchen. Taehyun wanders in a few minutes later.

It's ridiculous, really— your heart begins to race the moment you make eye-contact with him, and you're turning to face the counter as a result, picking aimlessly at snacks and candy bowls in a weak attempt to seem busy. You think your heart might stop when you feel him looming over you, his shadow encasing yours as he softly clears his throat; you have to brace yourself before you finally turn around.

"Hey," his voice is deep and a bit raspy, and you get a whiff of mint as he speaks— sure enough, he's chewing on gum, and you realize with a pathetic skip of your heart that he has dimples, one so deep and etched into the side of his right cheek. "Do you have Yeonjun's lighter?"

Oh. That bastard.

"Oh! I do, yeah," you give a weak laugh, an attempt to ease your overactive nerves; sure enough, Yeonjun's lighter is still in your pocket, and you're fishing out the Zippo decorated with stickers and handing it out to him.

"Thanks," he shoves it in his front pocket, and you nod. He takes a step back, and lingers for a moment. "It was nice meeting you. I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," your response is a tad too swift and eager, and though it makes your skin crawl, the smile he gives you evens it out. "It was nice meeting you too."

He gives you a polite smile before turning on his heel and leaving for good— you watch him leave, quietly following up to the kitchen doorway just to keep him in your sight a little longer.

And thank god you do— because the image of his broad back and the subtle flex of his muscles is the last thing you get to ingrain in your mind before Kai shuts the door behind him. Your best friend is instantly turning to you, and you hide behind the wall and pretend you hadn't been caught.

His obnoxious cackle is enough to have your skin heating up with embarrassment, hiding your face behind your hands as you recount the way you acted tonight.

"Dude, you were like a cat in heat."

You can't even fight back, because he's undeniably right.

☆☆☆

You can't stop thinking about him. It's been a week, and he's still invading your thoughts; maybe it's because you're starting to notice him on Yeonjun's Instagram posts more, or because you actually pay attention to Kai's rants after finding out he works with him at the local record shop— he's everywhere. He's been everywhere, and you just never realized it. You're anxious to see him again, your heart trembling with every night you had to spend overthinking the few hours you spent together— the lingering gazes, his touch on your hand, the kind glint in his eyes— you're tired of recounting the same scenarios over and over. So when Kai invites you to be his plus one to a party Taehyun's friend is hosting, who are you to say no to your best friend?

"Oh my god, how many times are you gonna ask? I don't know, they look the same to me!"

"They're literally not!" you flip the denim skirts over to show him the back, "the pockets! And the color! One's darker."

"Well they look the same."

"Ugh, you're not helping," you throw the skirts off to the side, flopping on your desk chair with a sigh. From your bed, Kai pouts, hugging your bunny plush closer as he watches you massage your temples.

"What about that one dress you have?" you look up in confusion, and he nods over to your open closet, "the pink one you got for our beach trip."

Your face lights up— that pink dress. The one you found at the mall by sheer luck, flattering and short with a skirt that swayed with your movements and gave others a peek of what was underneath if you weren't too careful. You completely forgot you owned it.

"Kai, have I ever told you how much I love you?" you bat your lashes at him, skipping over to the closet— sure enough, the pretty pink material peeked out from the very back of the rack, begging to be taken out. Kai only hums absently, and you look over your shoulder to send him a smile. "Now can you please get out? I'm gonna change."

☆☆☆

You're smoothing the dress down your hips when Kai knocks. It's been half an hour and you've yet to let him back in again.

"Come in," you finally say, turning to the side in the mirror, checking if the halter straps of your dress are tied in that perfect bow you practiced. The fabric of the skirt moves with you, fluttering around your thighs like a blooming flower— you see Kai come into the frame behind you, wearing a tight shirt and jeans that sit just a tad bit low on his hips, skin coming into view when he raises his hand to ruffle his curled blond hair. You glance at your appearance one last time before turning to him.

"Do I look okay?"

"You look great," he smiles, taking you in, in all your glittery glory, "you'll have Taehyun drooling all over you tonight."

"Shut up," you scoff, turning your back to him and scampering to get your purse and heels— Kai's insufferable smirk won't leave his face as he leads you out and to the ride he ordered to take you two to the party.

Kai is graceful enough to drop the subject for the rest of the car ride, choosing to tell you about the actual host of tonight's party so you don't go in blind; contrary to what you previously thought, there's no special occasion for tonight's party— Keeho merely did it for the love of the game. Kai details how Keeho throws parties every month or so, because after having his twenty-first get called a "rager", he decided it'd be fun to keep the title up.

"It might be packed tonight," Kai says, "Taehyun was telling me all the shit he had to get for tonight— from the sounds of it, I wouldn't be surprised if there were like, over a hundred people in there."

"Jesus Christ," you're pulling in to a street, finding the neighborhood lined with cookie-cutter houses that look like it'd take you three jobs to maintain; you can already spot a house toward the end of the cul-de-sac bleeding music loud enough to disturb the neighbors and other cars dropping off people who are already stumbling inside— adrenaline licks up your spine, a smile breaking out on your face at the sight of a party actually living up to the hype. When you turn back to Kai with stars in your eyes, he laughs.

"See what I mean?" He thanks your driver before sliding out the car behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you inside, "He got the reputation for a reason."

"How the hell has this not gotten shut down yet?" you have to raise your voice as you slip inside, the air instantly switching to something foggy and hot— there isn't a single person in front of your that's sober, and Kai has to lean close to be able to hear you.

"I think his neighbors are usually out on business trips," Kai yells, "but I've also heard rumors that he keeps a "special" relationship with them, if you know what I mean."

You do not. And you're sure you really don't want to.

"That's him!" Kai is pointing at the elevated DJ booth, and when you ask who you're supposed to be looking at, he points at the DJ himself— your jaw drops as you take him in, platinum hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and his dark eyes narrowed as he focuses on his deck; he takes off one of headphones as someone approaches him, probably requesting a song stupid enough to warrant the way his face twists with disgust, waving the person away without a second thought.

"Wait!" something in your mind clicks when you see him look up, the confident grin on his face giving you flashbacks to a late night out, "Isn't he DJ K? From the rave we went to?!"

Kai's nod is reciprocated with a slap to his shoulder— when he gives you an offended look, you scoff.

"He's been throwing parties this whole time and you didn't bother telling me you knew him?"

"Taehyun knows him," the mere mention of his name is enough to bring a smug smile to Kai's face, "so if you're gonna be mad at anyone, get mad at him."

Kai's sporting that weird look on his face again, like he's scheming something and you're at his mercy— it's making you nervous, and it must show on your face because your friend is taking your hand and dragging you through the house with a suspicious familiarity that makes you wanna hit him again. Instead, you allow him to bring you to the mini-bar— bar!— they have, ordering a round of shots you gratefully accept. The tequila Kai ordered for you goes down smooth, though you can't stop yourself from making a face, scanning the crowd to try and play it off; you can see Kai laughing at you from the corner of your eye.

"You wanna go dance?" he asks, watching you continue to analyze the crowd before you, "or… are you looking for someone?"

Reluctantly, you look up at him— he sounds like he knows something you don't, so you give in and tell the truth. "Maybe."

"About time. C'mon," Kai offers his hand, lacing your fingers with his and pulling you close, weaving through bodies and venturing deeper into the house— again, with such effortlessness that has you irked. He's leading you to the basement, leaning close to your ear with a grin. "That clueless act was getting old."

His loud laugh and the booming music is enough to drown out the names you curse out, the smell of weed already reaching your senses as the air gets cloudier the more you descend— your heart begins to pound in anticipation at the thought of getting to see Taehyun again.

Right as you reach the last step, Kai lets go of your hand and snakes his arm around your waist instead— when you send him a confused look, he merely shrugs and pulls you in closer.

"Don't want any creeps to try and hit on you."

The basement is relatively dark, only lit up by a line of bulb string lights that go across the back wall— there are small rectangular windows high up that are left open, and a pool table off to the side where a few people crowd, but the real center of attention lies in the center of the room, people melted into the couches that circle a small coffee table, filled up with ashtrays and beer bottles— it's there that you spot Taehyun rolling up, finishing up a joint— not the first one, if the lingering smoke in the room is any indicator. His tongue darts out to lick along the paper, and like some freaky sixth sense, his eyes dart up to meet yours.

"Scary," Kai's hold on your waist tightens, "it's like he was waiting for you."

Your heart flips at the mere thought, but you act aloof as you allow your friend to lead you into the circle, finding a conveniently open spot next between Yeonjun and Taehyun— the former cheers at the sight of you two, opening his arms for a hug you happily initiate.

"Finally!" You're bending over to hug Yeonjun, who's practically one with the couch— Kai hovers behind you to cover your rising dress. "I almost thought you weren't gonna show up!"

"And who told you I was coming?" because it definitely wasn't you— pulling back, you catch Yeonjun's red eyes widen before glancing over your shoulder. You've barely spent five minutes with him, but Yeonjun's already managed to piss you off.

"You came at a good time," Yeonjun says instead, pulling you down by the wrist to sit next to down; Kai squeezes between you two instead of taking the open spot. "Those dumbass randoms took our joint, so Taehyunie's rolling us a new one."

Sure enough, Taehyun's cleared out a small space on the coffee table to make way for his setup; a thought lingers in your head that you wish you could've seen him rolling up, because as he's finishing up the surprisingly pearled joint, your eyes linger on his nimble hands, and your thoughts wander to an embarrassingly desperate place.

Taehyun is fishing something from his pocket, a simple black lighter with the letters K.TH written toward the bottom of one side; he goes to sit as he lights the joint, the action so indifferent that you're convinced to think nothing of the way he falls back next to you, pressed close despite having plenty of space to sit.

He's dressed in all black today; a simple black tee that hugs his body and ends just above the waistband to his jeans, earning you a peek of his navel as he leans back against the couch. The thin silver chain he wears glints under the low light of the flame, complimented by the small silver hoop earrings that decorate his ears. When he looks over at you, you play off your staring by pretending you were waiting patiently for him to pass the joint to you.

You quickly realize that Taehyun is a very quiet person— and it's frustrating. Kai and Yeonjun make idle conversation that you occasionally jump into, but your interest is more on the man next to you that's decided all he can do is nod along to what the others are saying. By the time the joint has been passed back to you for the umpteenth time, you're high to push yourself to try and talk to him— the last thing you want to do is stumble over your sentences trying to woo this man.

"I wouldn't pass it to her, I think she's already out of it," Yeonjun and Kai laugh to themselves, and your head rolls over to them to send a scathing glare. Your sluggish movements only serve to make them laugh harder. "She's a total lightweight."

"You liar!" you're sitting up, crossing your arms against your chest with a pout. "Just because I don't smoke every other day like you, doesn't mean I'm a lightweight!"

"Nah, if you take another hit you'll probably fall asleep," Kai is all in your face with that insufferable grin of his, refusing to stand down, "it's what you always do when we smoke at my place."

You're about to curse Kai out for airing out your business like this— the last thing you want Taehyun thinking is that you're a lame person to smoke with! You're fired up, brows knitting together and lips curling to a scowl when suddenly, Taehyun cuts into the conversation.

"Hey, don't do my girl like that," all heads are snapping over at him: Yeonjun and Kai because they're surprised to hear him join in, and you because you think you're hearing things.

He's leaned back against the couch, arms crossed and showing off his biceps— you have to rip your eyes away from his arms to take in the small, coy smile he dons, the lit joint hanging loosely between his lips. His eyes flicker over to you, his smile widening a tad when he catches the surprise on your face. "If she wants another hit then let her get another one."

"Someone's feeling brave," Kai put his arm around your shoulders, giving you a teasing shake that makes you whine in protest. "Acting like you weren't falling asleep earlier!"

Kai's teasing is persistent, cooing and pinching your cheeks as you try to shove him off and tell him that you'll be fine— your bickering goes on for a while, your foggy brain trying its best to keep up with Kai's childish arguments; it's a losing battle, but when you feel a warm hand land on your thigh, it's like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over you, sobering you instantly.

Taehyun has gotten close— very close, his shoulder brushing against yours as you feel Kai's hand slip from your shoulders; the world around you seems to fade away as he stares at you with low-lidded, dark eyes. His brows are set in a slight furrow and his jaw seems a bit tight, the hand on your thigh squeezing ever-so slightly— not enough to feel aggressive, but enough to make you squirm, breathless as your lips part in anticipation— for what exactly, you're not sure.

"Do you wanna take hit?" his voice is soft, but he makes up for it by leaning closer toward you. You can feel the callouses on his palms as he rubs your thigh slightly, fingertips brushing against the skirt of your dress that's ridden up. You nod, but it's only returned with a shake of Taehyun's head. "I need to hear you say it, or I won't give it to you."

His fingertips have ventured toward your inner thighs— your legs squeeze his hand on instinct, and you feel his grip tighten, nails digging in and making you swallow back a whimper.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out, "I can handle it."

Kai and Yeonjun scoot a bit away from you, looking at each other and pretending to gag— they're lucky you don't catch it, because if you did you might've beaten them up; they can't help themselves from glancing over at you two one last time before they head over to the pool table.

Taehyun takes one last, long hit, doing a french inhale that makes you call him a show-off. He merely chuckles, turning away to blow out the smoke before he's holding up the joint to your lips. Your eyes flutter up to meet his, glittering under the low lights as you part your glossed lips and take a hit— you find yourself a bit intimated by the intensity of his stare, pulling away far too soon and turning away in hopes of hiding your flustered face.

"C'mon, what was that?" Taehyun's hand is slipping from your thigh to cup your chin and pull you back toward him, huffing out a laugh at the pout you sport. He raises a brow at you, mocking. "Don't tell me you considered that a hit."

"I mean," with the way he's smiling at you, you're able to spot sharp canines that bite down on the tip of his tongue teasingly, a dangerous thrill shooting through your spine at the sight. "I guess."

He laughs, shaking his head as he squeezes your cheeks affectionately— you're positively dizzy with the sudden onslaught of attention, shifting on the couch and squeezing your thighs together; Taehyun's eyes flicker down, his brow twitching in amusement before he's bringing the joint back up to your lips. "You can take another hit, can't you?"

You don't hesitate to nod.

"Here. Take a bigger one," he's guiding your face forward to meet him halfway, placing the joint between your lips and watching the tip light up as you inhale. He keeps his hold on you the whole time. "Come on, keep going."

"Little more… there we go," he's practically purring the words out, plucking the joint from your lips and tucking it between his own. His smile is coy as he watches your brows twitch, exhaling the smoke and willing yourself to not fall into a fatal coughing fit. When you fall back against the couch in success, he gives your thigh a soft pat. "Took it like a champ."

You feel like you're losing your mind with the way his words are hitting you with a heat that festers in your core. Your limbs are tingling and you feel a small smile etching on your face, shifting so that you're leaning on your side to face him fully.

"Kinda hard not to when you were holding me down," you giggle, and he leans forward, successfully closing you two off in your own little bubble.

"Can you blame me?" he murmurs, "you were enjoying yourself."

"What, so you're a mind reader now?"

"Nah," Taehyun's eyes crinkle as he smiles, "but it's not hard to read you when you look at me like that."

"Oh yeah?" you reach forward to take the joint from his lips, taking a small hit to hide your smile. "And how exactly was I looking at you?"

"Like you've had enough for tonight," the joint is taken from you yet again, and you're frowning, getting ready to protest— he shakes his head, leaning to the coffee table to snuff out his joint; you're completely melted into the couch while he remains sitting up, hovering over you with low-lidded, red eyes and a gentle smile. His eyes run over your body, stopping at your hips and letting out a small sigh. Reaching up, he tugs your dress down, that familiar tick to his jaw coming back. "Do you realize how short this dress of yours is?"

The smile on your lips only widens, and there's a playful glint in your eyes as you push your hips up, right against his hand that continues to hold the fabric down. "Something wrong with that?"

"'Course not." his hold on the fabric slips, watching it bounce right back up to rest on the curve of your hips, dangerously high. His gaze is shameless as he continues to take you in, and it's enough to have adrenaline shooting through you, a quiet, dazed giggle escaping you and snapping his attention back to you. He watches you for a moment, and there's this soft look in his eyes that has you squirming in place, your boldness instantly quieting down under the weight of his stare.

"You feeling okay?" he eventually asks; you simply nod. "Tired?"

"No," you bite back, though it's true— whenever you smoke with Kai and Yeonjun, you always find yourself falling asleep. But with this strand, you're feeling… different. Instead of that lethargic, dreamy high that settles heavy into your bones and sings you to sleep, you're faced with something brighter, urgent— your body tingles with restlessness, and there's a heavy heat that settles deep in your stomach that you refuse to acknowledge. "It's definitely not that."

You gulp, feeling yourself take the backseat in your own body; you feel absentminded as you continue this back and forth with Taehyun, finding yourself preoccupied with the feeling that continues to build up inside you— you feel good. It feels like the type of high your friends always describe, where they're giggling to themselves, lost in euphoria while you fight back sleep; your mind races as you say something that makes Taehyun laugh, a full body action that you can't help but find endearing.

You're staring. You know you are, but you couldn't care less in this moment, because he looks good. Criminally good, and it's enough to make that heat in your stomach worse.

"Still doing okay?" he asks. When you respond you're just a bit tired, he nods. "Do you want me to get Kai so he can take care of you?"

 "What?" you raise a brow, caught off guard by the sudden mention of him. "Why?"

For the first time since you've met him, he looks embarrassed; under the low light, you swear you see his ears turn a bit red, and he's turning away to look at the pool table across the room. "I mean, it seems like he…"

His words hang heavy in the air. A minute passes before it finally clicks for you. 

"Oh my god, no!" you fall into a fit of laughter, and Taehyun simply watches, confused. It's enough to make you laugh harder. "No, we're just friends. I promise."

"Oh," Taehyun seems deep in thought, and when he shifts, he seems a lot less tense. "Sorry, it's just that you guys are… touchy."

"Hmm, I can see why you thought that," you glance over at Kai and Yeonjun, the two playing a round of pool against two strangers, "but he's also the type to kiss his friends when he's drunk."

He frowns.

You laugh, "his guy friends."

"Oh," his eyes widen, his ears getting a little redder. You're soaking it all in, welcoming the sight of him so discomposed, "somehow I haven't seen him do that before."

Shrugging, you send him a wink. "Maybe you're next."

The laugh he lets out is loud, a bit startled. Your words are lighthearted, but it's clear you both consider it a possibility; you think you might've scared him from being around Kai alone and drunk.

A loud cheer erupts from across the room, and you and Taehyun are looking over to catch Kai and Yeonjun celebrating, loud and shameless as Kai places a kiss on Yeonjun's cheek— Taehyun looks over at you, raising his brows, and you simply shrug as though to say 'see what I mean?'

Your small bubble is popped as Kai runs over to you, an excited puppy as he asks if you saw the way they defeated the guys they were up against. You pat his head and tell him he did great, and you swear you can see a tail wagging behind him— Yeonjun is then perking up as he hears a song he likes playing faintly upstairs, grabbing your hand and urging you to go dance with him— because according to him, it'd be a shame to not show off your cute outfit.

When you turn and ask the remaining two if they're tagging along, Taehyun shakes his head, much to your disappointment. "Not in the mood to dance right now, sorry."

Kai flops down next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and saying he'll stay behind to keep him company— when Taehyun's eyes widen and he looks at you for help, you merely laugh and wave him goodbye.

"Any progress with Taehyunie?" Yeonjun rests his hand on your hip, pulling you into him and whispering in your ear.

"Tons," you grin, glancing down at his hand that taps your hip to the beat. "What're you so touchy for?"

When you look up at him, Yeonjun's grin widens, sending you a wink (or whatever his rendition of a wink is called— a blink, more like.) before kissing your temple and pulling you even closer.

"He's a jealous guy."

Your heart skips, letting Yeonjun guide you up the stairs and looking over your shoulder for one last glance— and sure enough, his eyes are following you the whole way up, his brows furrowed and his tongue poking at his cheek as Kai talks his ear off. The look stays with you the whole night, even after you all reunite to say your goodbyes and go your separate ways— he's much better at hiding his irritation when you're watching, though you were still able to catch the annoyance in his eyes after Yeonjun hugged you close and complimented your appearance one last time, taking your hand and making you spin around for him. When you turn to say goodbye to Taehyun, Kai and Yeonjun suddenly become enraptured in their own conversation a few feet away from you.

"Did you get kissed tonight?"

Taehyun rolls his eyes and chuckles, "No, I didn't."

"Shame," you pout, "maybe next time then."

"Oh?" he cocks his head, raising a brow as he smiles slyly. "You offerin'?"

Taehyun seems to have a knack for catching you entirely off guard at the most random moments; your mouth is falling open and you're left speechless, feeling a heat rush up the back of your neck and flood your face— you can't hide the way he's flustered you, trying to recompose yourself while he watches with a satisfied smile.

"What, do you want me to?"

"I mean," he shrugs. "Who wouldn't want a kiss from a pretty girl?"

You'd like to blame your next action on your lingering high, your hands tingling as you reach to cup his cheek and bring him to you— his eyes widen, but before he can move, you're planting a gentle, glossy kiss against his jawline. When you pull away, you spot the imprint of your lips and smile.

"Goodnight, Taehyun," you say sweetly, "It was nice seeing you again."

You spin on your heels, feeling the skirt of your dress sway with your hips as you walk; you don't dare look back, because the mere heat of his stare is already enough to make your knees weak. This time, you've made sure to leave a lingering impression on him— hopefully it's enough to make him as crazy about you as you are about him.

☆☆☆

"Rough day?"

"Fuck, don't get me started."

You feel— and look— a mess. Finals week is fucking you over, the onslaught of work that's being piled on you convincing you that your professors are all in on a conspiracy to overwork you to death. You've just left your final class of the day, some random elective you chose to get the credits you needed to graduate, and your least favorite— because of course the professor would be insufferable and choose to call on you every other class. Even their voice is enough to make your skin prickle, and you've just escaped an hour of the most boring lecture of your life.

You've met up with Kai at your favorite cafe that's just off-campus; it's cozy and a better alternative to the library that's packed with students cramming for exams. You sip on your drink, some fancy latte you only gathered courage to order after Kai told you it was his treat.

"How are your finals going?" the question is more of a formality, because as you take a good look at your friend— clear skin, glowing eyes, hair perfectly styled, a gentle smile on his face— you scowl and shake your head. "Never mind. Don't tell me anything."

He laughs, smug and shameless despite the way your dull eyes glare at him.

"Seriously though, when was the last time you had a moment to relax?" he lets the question hang in the air, and frowns when you can't find an answer. "You wanna hang out this weekend? We could have a movie night and smoke. Get you some proper sleep for once."

"I dunno Kai," you say, "it just… hasn't been hitting the same."

Kai frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's just," you bite your lip, hesitant, "I dunno— when we smoked at the DJ K party, it felt a lot better. I think whatever strand you have leaves me feeling weird the next day, but I didn't feel it when I smoked then."

A small smile flickers on Kai's face— you roll your eyes. "I'm serious."

"No, I know," Kai says, "but that strand you like? I don't have it. You'd have to ask Taehyun about it."

Your stomach flips; despite the clear opening, you can't stop yourself from being stubborn. "What, you can't just ask him where he got it?"

"Think he got it when he went to a music festival," Kai leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. "But if you're so curious, I can call him for you."

"Seriously?" He nods, sporting an innocent smile that doesn't waver even as you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. "I mean, I guess you could."

"Cool," he's pulling out his phone and immediately dialing the said man— before you can scold him that you didn't mean call him now, Kai is sitting up and holding up his hand to tell you to hold on.

"Hello?" Kai's smile instantly switches from innocent to evil— your heart drops. "I have someone who wants to talk to you."

He's shoving the phone in your hands, scooting back and crossing his arms. You scramble, holding the phone in your hands like it's a bomb as you silently curse your friend out— Kai ignores the onslaught of names and insults, motioning to his phone and telling you that 'he's waiting!' The reminder is enough to have you pressing the phone against your ear, your voice shaky as you greet Taehyun and tell him who's speaking.

"Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask you something," despite your pounding heart and the blood rushing in your ears, you hold the phone tight and try to your voice steady— you're sure he can hear your efforts, because he's letting out a soft chuckle, his voice low and smooth as he tells you 'go for it.'

"Do you remember what we smoked at DJ K's party? I feel like nothing's been hitting the same… and I kinda need a bit of a stress reliever." You sigh. "Finals week has been kicking my ass."

"Shit, I'm sorry— I don't remember off the top of my head, and I'm not home right now to see," you're chewing your lip, wondering why Kai put you in this situation in the first place— what the hell are you supposed to get out of this? "And unless you're willing to travel a lot for it, I doubt you'd be able to get your hands on it."

"Oh," this conversation is a total dead end, and you're wilting back against the chair in disappointment. Kai on the other hand is on the edge of his seat, eyes widening in panic. "No worries then. Thanks anyway."

There's a pause on his end, and you're expecting him to end the call with a stiff goodbye— instead, he clears his throat, letting out a deep sigh.

"Tell you what," he sounds a bit hesitant, as though unsure of how to word his sentence. "How 'bout you just have some of my stash? We could smoke and you can tell me all about your finals. Maybe get something to eat."

You're heart flies up to your throat, and you're sitting up in surprise— Kai is leaning forward, mouthing a hasty 'what?!' that you ignore.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course I am," he chuckles, "sounds like you need it."

"I— yeah, I guess I do," you say— you pause, looking up at Kai in panic as you mouth 'he wants to hang out.'

Kai blanches. 'When?!'

You cover the phone speaker. 'I don't know!'

Kai has to hold himself from slamming his hands on the table, his eyes impossibly wide as he pretends to yell 'Saturday!' Even though you try to protest that it was supposed to be your hangout with him, he shakes his head with such fervor that you're caving in.

"Are you free this weekend?"

Kai is halfway across the table— you'd think he were trying to press his head to the phone with how eager he looks.

"I am. Just say when and I'll clear my schedule for you," it's pathetic, the way your stomach flips at that, "You can come to my place. If you're comfortable with it, of course."

"That's fine with me," you're breathless, your hands clammy and forcing you to tighten your grip on the phone, "Is Saturday okay?"

"Yeah, that works. I'll text you and we can plan the rest."

"Okay," you've become unexpectedly shy, your voice quieting at the prospect of this hangout. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

You say a brief goodbye before you're hanging up, placing the phone down delicately like it could dial Taehyun again if you brushed against it wrong. You let a minute pass before you let yourself react, lunging forward to pull Kai's head toward you, planting an exaggerated kiss on his forehead.

"Muah!" Kai protests and whines that you're getting your lip gloss all over his skin, but you truly couldn't care less as ruffle his hair affectionately. "Kai, you're the best. Seriously, what would my life be like without you?"

"You'd probably be single forever." Kai's grumble is met with a swift kick to his shin under the table, and he yelps so loud it has half the cafe turning to look at him. He mumbles a sheepish 'sorry', rubbing his shin and curling into himself.

"That's what you get," you scowl, digging in your bag for your phone before you're sliding it across the table to Kai. "Now, could you give me his number please?"

You can tell that Kai is getting ready to give you another snarky comment, but a single glare from you is enough to have him tucking his tail and typing Taehyun's number into your phone without further complaints. When he gives your phone back, you catch sight of the contact name and roll your eyes.

Future Boyfriend >3<

"Thanks." You roll your eyes and pocket your phone, not bothering to change something that's clearly true.

☆☆☆

Taehyun's place is way nicer than you expected for a man in his twenties that lives alone.

You wore your tiniest shorts and a baby tee that hugged your form just right, and he showed up at your doorstep at five PM on the dot— he insisted on picking you up and getting something to eat, stating that it was 'for your well-being'— you ended the day out by getting ice cream and driving back to his place, where he let you rant about your professors and your finals the whole time; he nodded along and pitched in every now and then, listening with a fond smile that made you trip over your words once or twice. When you stopped at a light, he turned to get a good look at your face, his eyes dropping down to your lips.

"You got ice cream on your face." His thumb is wiping just below your bottom lip before you can even utter out an 'I do?' your eyes widening comically as he brings his thumb to his mouth and lick it off, letting out a satisfied hum.

You'd felt a raging heat pool in your stomach then, and it hasn't gone away since.

You've made yourself comfortable on the floor, despite Taehyun's protests that you should just sit on the couch instead— you refused, finding the cool wooden floor comforting after spending the day out in the heat, finishing your ice cream while you watch Taehyun finish rolling the joint from his spot on the couch. When he passed the finished joint to you, insisting you have the first hit, you cooed out a sweet "oh, you shouldn't have."

Holding the joint between your lips, you lean toward Taehyun so he can light it for you— your eyes flutter up to meet his gaze, a small smile growing on your face.

"You do this often?" you can't help but ask, "invite girls over to share your special weed with?"

"Hell no," Taehyun's laughter is genuine, and he's pulling away the lighter once he sees the end is lit. You're propping your elbow against the couch, holding your head as you take a small hit before passing it to him. He grins, taking a hit before he speaks. "I'm not sharing my special weed with just anyone. It was hard to get— I gotta enjoy it as much as I can, y'know?"

"Yet you're sharing it with me?" you say, "I'm honored."

He shrugs, a bit sheepish— you pass the joint back and forth, making meaningless conversation and learning more about each other. He tells you he's also in uni, majoring in music production with a minor in business, he tells you stories about working with Kai at the local record shop— mostly stories where Kai was flirting with customers— and you listened with stars in your eyes, the joint hanging idly between your fingers as you watched the way he talked about soccer and his favorite sports team, his hands moving with such fervor it made you laugh— his rant about his favorite team's recent lapse in performance is cut short, and he's looking down at you in confusion.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing," you say, though another small chuckle slips out, "you're just so passionate. It's cute."

"I'm glad you think so," Taehyun smiles, leaning down a bit— somewhere along this conversation, you've made your way closer to Taehyun, your body pressing along his leg while you rest your head against the couch. "My friends would usually be zoning out by now."

You go to take another hit, but Taehyun is taking the joint from your hands before you can— you're pouting at him, but he simply scolds you for hogging the joint with a chuckle, leaning back against the couch and keeping the joint by his lips. You let your eyes trail from the smoke that blows in the air, down his chest, to the hem of his shirt that's ridden up again. The haze from your high clouds your judgment, and you don't bother to hide the way you drink in the smooth skin that peeks out.

"You always wear such short shirts?"

He raises a brow, playing innocent. "What d'you mean?"

"All the shirts I've seen you in are always a bit short. You're always flashing your stomach," reaching forward, you're go to play with the hem of his shirt, your fingertips threatening to skim over his skin. "Nice abs by the way."

"Thanks," he laughs, and you're utterly shameless as you watch his stomach ripple with laughter. "I didn't think they were visible."

"Barely," your heart pounds in your chest, fingers shakily running along the hem of his shirt. "Could I get a better look?"

The air is thick and suffocating, yet you still find a reckless courage to look up at Taehyun— you find he's already staring you down, his eyes low-lidded as he gulps. When he sees the unwavering resolve in your shining eyes, he nods.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

You're shifting so you're kneeling, able to get better access to Taehyun this way; beneath the recklessness of your foggy brain, you're nervous— your hands are cold as you gently push up his shirt, your freezing fingertips coming in contact with the heat of his skin, a small smile cracking your lips when he flinches. You push the material up until it rests just below his chest, and you're able to catch sight of a mole in the center.

Taehyun's mouth has gone dry— he gulps, watching you handle him like he were a fragile doll, your eyes scanning his body with such heat it makes him weak. There's pure concentration etched in your features as you're finally able to take him in— you don't register yourself reaching out until your hands come in contact with his skin, able to feel the muscle flex under your fingers and your palm that smooths over his stomach.

"Wow," is all you can say; your hands sweep from the top of his abs down to his navel, feeling the ridges of the muscle and watching him crack a smile at the ticklish feeling— impulse takes control of your mind, your fingers splaying out until you've grasped his sides. "Your waist is so small, too."

"Fuck, you're crazy," Taehyun groans, pushing his hair back, only for it to fall forward once more. When you look up at him through your lashes, he gulps. "You have any idea what you're doing right now?"

You shrug, smoothing your hands up his waist and sending him a coy smile. "Appreciating art."

"Yeah?" he drawls, his hips shifting up ever so slightly, an attempt to ease the tension forming, "and what're your thoughts?"

"I like what I see," you hum, bringing your hands down his waist, stopping at his waistband, fingers pulling at his belt, "but I think I'd like to see more."

"Oh god— you can't say shit like that to me." Scooting a little closer, you rest your head on Taehyun's thigh, pressing your cheek against the denim as you look up at him. "I don't think you realize what you're getting yourself into."

"I think I do," you pout, nuzzling your cheek against his thigh. Taehyun lets out a shaky sigh, his resolve beginning to crumble at the mere sight of you.

"You're sure?" he's cupping your face, guiding you to sit up and lean toward him— he's meeting you halfway, leaning down and tilting your chin up to look at him properly. "You think you can handle me like this?"

His thumb caresses your cheek bones, and your eyes glaze over as you nod— it's not the answer Taehyun wants, because he's tapping your cheek and mumbling for you focus.

"Words, baby." His voice is low, a smile growing on his lips. "Say it. I know you can."

"I want you," you stutter out— his smile turns cruel, fangs on display and ready to sink into you. "I can handle it."

"You really think so?" he coos, laughing fondly when you nod, dazed and desperate. "C'mere."

Guiding your face toward his, you're both equally desperate to seal the space between you— the sheer hunger in your kiss is enough to have you lightheaded. You've thought about this more than you'd like to admit— speculations on what Taehyun feels like is nothing compared to this reality, your kiss desperate and impossible to keep up with; his lips are so soft, and you're all but drooling when his tongue parts your lips and enters your mouth, the lingering taste of smoke and ice cream flooding your taste buds as you whimper into his mouth. He smiles, pulling you closer until your lungs burn.

When you part, a string of saliva connects you two before it breaks off— heat rushes to your face, but Taehyun doesn't seem to be phased by it; instead, he's sitting up, taking a long hit from the joint before he's swooping down, his hand on your cheek squeezing your face so you open your mouth.

His lips hover over yours, his mouth parting as he exhales the smoke right into you— you accept it, placing a hand on his thigh to steady yourself; he holds you in place until you can't resist turning away to exhale the constricting smoke, tears pricking at your eyes as your brain scrambles for oxygen. Taehyun merely watches, caressing your head as you let out a weak cough.

"'m sorry, pretty," he says, reaching down to snuff the joint out against the ashtray on the coffee table, "was I too rough?"

You scramble to shake your head and ease any hesitation.

"No. I mean, kinda," you decide it's better to throw your pride out the window and be honest— Taehyun nods, ready to apologize once more when you beat him to it. "But I like it."

"You do?" he's tense, his hand freezing atop of your head— you're nodding, looking up at him with watery eyes, and his hand is sliding down to hold the back of your neck. "My baby likes it rough?"

It should be ridiculous, the way you have to swallow back a whimper as you nod; your head is spinning as you rest your cheek against his thigh once more, fluttering your lashes up at him and rubbing your cheek back and forth on his thigh absentmindedly. He watches with bated breath, caressing your hair and watching your eyes begin to wander— down his face, down his chest, and straight to the bulge that strains against his jeans.

Any shame you had is dissolving from your system as you feel your mouth water and your cunt clench— your body feels as though it were made of little stars, crashing into each other and spreading heat into your heavy limbs, waves of bliss washing over you and bringing a lethargic smile to your face; your hand reaches up to rest on his other thigh, feeling the muscle flex under you as it begins to trail up.

"Mm-hmm— I like when…" you're dazed, unsure if you're even making sense, "I like when you hold me down."

"Is that right?" he drawls, watching your hand rest at the top of his thigh, massaging it softly. You nod, nuzzling your face against his thigh— Taehyun feels dizzy at the sight.

Slowly, your hand makes its way up the waistband of his jeans, lazy fingers fiddling with the buckle of his belt— not enough to undo it, but just enough to loosen it. You can see the deep rise and fall of his chest, your gaze coy as you smile up at him, giving the buckle another testing tug.

"Can I?"

Taehyun's breath hitches, his voice tense. "Yeah."

That's more than enough for you to spring into action— your actions are eager and a bit clumsy, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans; that alone is enough to have Taehyun sighing in relief, his hips unconsciously bucking toward your touch.

You don't try to tease; you can see the need that clouds his eyes, but you're just the same as you're tugging his underwear down to release his cock— he's already so hard, the length bobbing up to slap against his stomach, his flushed tip already sticky with precum. Your eyes drink it all in, your mouth watering; he's not just big, he's thick too, your hand that wraps around his length barely able to grasp him— he's letting out a low hiss at the contact, his jaw clenching as your thumb traces curiously along the vein that runs along the underside of his cock.

When you let go of his cock, his hips chase for your touch— his brows furrows and he opens his mouth to complain, but before he can get a word out, you're spitting in your hand and grabbing his length again, pumping him slowly as you gauge what he likes.

A choked groan leaves him at your touch— you squeeze him a little tighter, and his eyes flutter shut, his head falling back against the couch as your thumb swipes over his tip, gathering the precum that continues to leak out. Slowly, you gather the courage to move between his legs, already spread open in invitation, your pace picking up speed as you lean down to his aching cock.

"Oh fuck—!" Taehyun's bucking forward at the sudden feeling of your tongue, running flat along his balls all the way to the tip before you're closing your mouth around it— peeking up through your lashes, you catch him running a hand through his hair, his chest flushed a slight pink. You take it as your sign to continue, running your tongue along his tip and sucking harder, rewarded with sighs of your name and praises on how well you're doing.

"Fuck, that pretty mouth of yours is so good," he groans, his hand returning to the back of your head, adding just the slightest bit of pressure, "can you take a little more?"

Humming around his cock, he lets out a choked laugh, cursing under his breath before he's beginning to push down on your head— slowly, allowing you to keep up as your mouth widens, his cock heavy and pulsing on your tongue as you continue to take him in.

You're only halfway through before he's hitting the back of your throat— you're swallowing around him, hesitant to accept the intrusion with a whine, and he's pulling back just enough in response. You're not sure when, but your eyes began to water, and his free hand is coming up to swipe tears from the corners of your eyes, cooing at you as he does.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, pushing his hips up ever-so slightly, the tip of his cock teasing your throat, "is it too much?"

His smile widens when you try to hum out a 'no', refusing to pull away from his cock for even a second.

"No?" He echoes, "then why're you crying, baby?"

You don't answer— it's not like you can, anyway. Instead, you try your best to keep his gaze, taking more of his cock and fighting against your gag reflex. You focus on breathing through your nose instead, tears welling in your eyes once again.

"You want more?" he asks, and he's instantly given a 'yes' from you, biting at his lip at the way you hum around him. "Can you take it? You promise?"

Despite your eagerness and your need to take him whole and prove yourself, he holds you in place— he allows you to pull of his cock, eyes falling to the string of spit that connects your lips to his cock before he's looking up at you.

"Please," your voice is a bit hoarse, "use my mouth."

You have a knack for leaving him speechless— Taehyun's staring at you like you're the most precious thing in the world, his cock twitching in your hands as he takes a moment to think it through; you're about to beg and whine when he's guiding you forward once more, your mouth opening in anticipation.

"How did I get so lucky, finding a perfect girl like you?" he says. Your mouth wraps around his tip, sucking harshly just to hear him moan. "Gonna fuck that perfect face just like you asked, okay? Tap my thigh if it's too much for you baby."

When you don't acknowledge his words, attempting to take him deeper, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you off with such ease your mouth hangs open— he's leaning down, his face stern as he speaks.

"Did you hear what I said?" his voice is quiet and cold, his eyes narrowing when you meekly nod. "What'd I say?"

"Tap your thigh if it's too much."

His jaw clenches, and for a second, you wonder if you've made him angry— but he's leaning back once more, your head brought forward with such strength you don't have room to resist.

"Good."

Despite the ability to manipulate your head with ease, he's gentle to bring you down his length, testing the waters when his tip prods against the back of your throat and pulling back when you squeeze your eyes shut and whimper. Instead, he uses his grip on your head to guide you up and down his cock, letting out a groan of your name as you fall limp in his hold, only taking initiative to run your tongue against the underside of his cock and hollow out your cheeks.

You feel the head of his cock brushing against your throat, beginning to linger more and more— he's thrusting shallowly into your mouth, lips pressed tightly in concentration as he watches you take him.

"Such a good girl, letting me use you like this," he breathes out, "gonna make you take it all, okay?"

He's stopping his thrusts into your mouth to guide you to take more of him, his cock going deeper until he's met with the resistance of your throat tightening around him— slowly, he continues to push.

You feel like you might choke; your eyes are squeezed shut and your lungs burn, your hands on his thighs shifting so you can dig your nails into the denim as a way to ground yourself. More, more still, cock continues to push into your throat until your nose is snug against his pelvis and both his hands have found purchase on the back of your head. You remain still, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as you fight back the urge to gag.

"Breathe." He mumbles, and it's only then that you're reminded to do so, trying to breathe through your nose until you finally feel your throat relax— he's in so deep, and he's yet to move, your brain going haywire from the lack of oxygen. His hand moves from the back of your head to caress your cheek. "C'mon baby, stay with me."

His fingers trace gingerly along your jaw, trailing down until they feel along the front of your neck, groaning when he feels the pressure from his cock— he thrusts gently into your mouth, barely an inch, just to feel the way you swallow around him. He's pulling you off his cock shortly after.

You feel delirious as oxygen floods your brain, your eyes fluttering shut and drool slipping from your lips, strands of spit connected to his length as you sputter and cough. Your hands slip from his thighs and onto your lap, and you hear him chuckle as he caresses your head.

"You did such a good job. You're perfect," he says, enamored with your dazed eyes that flutter open and your swollen lips that are slick with spit. "You still with me, angel?"

"Yeah," you barely breathe out.

"Fuck, you're so cute," his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, guiding your face up to kiss him— he takes his time despite his cock that throbs against your hand that's taken him again, pumping his length and twisting your wrist until he's panting in your mouth. Your hold on him tightens and you massage your palm against his tip, and when your other hand comes up, your touch curious as you massage against his balls, he sinks his teeth into your lip, forcing you to pull away with a yelp.

"Don't do that— I'll cum," he pants into your mouth, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to stop your motions, "I don't wanna cum like this."

While you're giggling at his comment, you find he's completely serious— he's tucking himself in before pulling you up onto his lap, earning another laugh from you— you straddle his lap as the Taehyun pulls you in for another kiss, addicted to your lips and the way you pant into his mouth. He's coy, running his tongue along your lip before pushing in, feeling against your tongue before pulling out and nipping your lip just to hear you let out a choked mewl; his move moves to kiss the corner of your mouth, before moving along to your jaw, peppering kissing along it until he's gotten access to your neck.

It feels like he's trying to stake his claim; he's biting and sucking along your neck, aiming for spots that have your hands flying to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips in broken whimpers. You can't help the way your cunt aches from the feeling, your panties sticking to you and the need pulsing inside you until you're searching for relief; your hips bring you down against Taehyun, feeling the hardness of his cock against your thin shorts and grinding against him until his groaning into your skin.

"Taehyun," you whine, your hips careless and your rhythm sloppy as you search for pleasure— you feel him hum against your skin, his hands on your hips as he lets you do as you please. "Taehyun, fuck— please, I need you."

"I can see that," he muses, "pretty girl can't control herself, hmm?"

Shaking your head, you grind against his cock a little harder— his grip on your waist tightens, and he's letting out a low groan, burying his face into your neck.

"Shit," he huffs, "stop— I won't last like this."

Your head is fuzzy and you seem to be lost in a world of your own; his voice feels far away in contrast to the overwhelming pleasure you feel, only amplified more by your high— every grind of your soaked cunt against the length of his cock is enough to have sparks going off in your brain, tuning out the way his fingers dig into your skin dangerously.

"Baby," Taehyun's voice is stiff with tension, "stop it."

"No— I can't," you're petulant, digging your fingers in his shoulders as you chase your own pleasure; your vision is blurry as you meet his eyes, pouting when you're met with a cold, harsh expression from Taehyun, his brow raising at you in warning— it only serves to make you even more restless, and you tilt your head at him. "Don't wanna. Feels… too good like this."

Taehyun's hands grip onto your waist, and he's stopping all your movements with minimal efforts— any protests and whines you were about to let out die in your throat the moment you look at him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest.

He's looking at you just like he had the night of the party; his brows are furrowed, tongue poking at his cheek in annoyance— his eyes are dark and angry, and when he meets your panicked, doe gaze, he merely scoffs.

"You really don't listen, do you?" his voice is dark, laced with emotion you can't quite place— is he fed up with you? Annoyed? You whimper, feeling his fingers push under your shirt, his nails digging into the skin beneath. "Is that cute little brain of yours no good for thinking?"

You frown, ready to defend yourself, but he doesn't give you a chance.

"Come on," his hands slide down to your thighs, and before can catch on, he's hoisting you up and standing; you yelp, scrambling to hold on to him, but he doesn't seem to care about your apprehension as he leads you two into the hall and toward his room. "I'll make you feel as good as you want."

He's kicking the door shut behind him, leading you to his bed before dropping you down unceremoniously by the edge— you try to compose yourself, attempting to shift back on the bed, but Taehyun is caging you in before you can, a hand falling on your waist and the other landing on your hip to keep you still, swooping in to kiss you once more.

"Thought you were gonna be good for me," he murmurs against your lips, "but you're just a needy thing, aren't you?"

His hands come up to your shoulders, and your back meets the mattress with a single shove— your head is spinning from the sudden impact, unable recollect yourself as Taehyun falls to his knees, undoing your shorts and pulling them off with a swift movement; he pulls your hips toward him until they're hanging precariously off the bed, throwing your legs over his shoulder and locking his hands around your thighs— you're rendered immobile in a matter of seconds.

"Cute," he says, eyeing your soaked, pink panties with lace trim and a bow— his gaze zeroes in on the wet spot you've made, a cocky smile pulling at his lips as he looks up at you. "Did you pick these out just for me?"

"Maybe," a heat flushes through your whole body— because what was meant to be an arrogant remark is undeniably true, spending a ridiculous amount of time picking out a matching set, just in case; the way you shift under him is enough to answer, and he laughs.

"Thank you baby," he coos, and you cover your face in embarrassment— he bites teasingly at your inner thigh, just to chuckle at the way your hips jump in reaction; his fingers are hooking under the waistband before he's pulling them down, and you're lifting your hips to assist. He's placing kisses along your inner thigh as he goes, stopping at your inner knee before weaving your legs out. "So thoughtful."

His grip on your thighs tighten, and you're being dragged toward him until you can feel his breath on your skin, able to feel his stare on your dripping pussy; it feels vulnerable, having him stare at you like this, your hazy mind making you close your thighs in a weak attempt to hide away— it doesn't work, and you hear Taehyun let out a soft 'tsk'.

"Don't get shy on me now," he says, and you gasp as you feel him give your clit a soft kiss, "I thought you wanted this?"

"W-well, you're being a tease," looking down between your thighs, you find him already staring; your gaze jumps back up to the ceiling, the sight too intense for you to handle. "Stop staring and just get on with it."

He raises a brow in surprise, watching your hand come down to thread in his hair, tugging him closer to your cunt, your hips restless— he lets you lead him in closer, until his tongue licks a stripe along the seam of your folds, licking up the slick that dripped from your hole; you whine, pulling slightly at his hair and rolling your hips in search for more, and you feel his hand move from your thigh to your wrist, pulling it off his head.

"So bossy," he tongue darts out to prod at your entrance, feeling your legs twitch on his shoulders, "aren't you supposed to be all shy and cute?"

"Taehyun, please," you pant, feeling his tongue trace along your clit, lightly, the touch barely there— it drives you mad. "Just— give me more…"

He shakes his head, planting an open kiss on your clit, running his tongue all over your cunt before teasing the tip of it into your entrance. "I'll do what I want."

Your body feels like a live wire, desperate to feel more than the kitten licks and gentle kisses Taehyun continues to tease you with; he's lingering on your clit, running his tongue around it in circles and pulling back just to breath cool air onto your spit-slick skin— you're tense, grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets and squirming beneath him.

"Taehyun," you're on the verge of crying at this point— he's driving you mad, teasing you with the promise of pleasure but pulling away before you can really indulge, "c'mon…!"

You're bucking your hips up, pressing your cunt against his mouth desperately; Taehyun's nails dig into your thighs, and before you can pull away in shock, he's bringing you forward and attaching his mouth onto your dripping pussy. You're tensing, hands flying up to cover your mouth as Taehyun wraps his mouth around your clit and sucks the bud harshly, pressing his hot tongue against it and looking up at you through his lashes— his tongue slips beneath the hood of your clit, and he's breathing out a laugh against your clit as he hears you squeal.

"C'mon baby, I thought you knew better than that," he murmurs, refusing to fully part from your cunt— a mixture of spit and arousal drips down your cunt, but Taehyun is quick to lick it all up before it can fall to the floor; your thighs twitch around his head as he spits the slick back onto your clit, your head spinning from the impact. "You really think talking to me like that is gonna get you what you want?"

In the back of your mind, you know you're walking a fine line— the way Taehyun is looking at you feels cold and menacing, but you're too far gone to care; all you can pay any mind to is the need that makes your cunt throb and your dazed, hazy brain that tells you to keep pushing.

"I dunno," your words are a bit slurred, a shiver running through you as you feel Taehyun's spit dragging down your cunt, "seems to be working so far."

Taehyun's jaw clenches, his lips drawing tightly together. Before you can joke or apologize, he's bringing the palm of his hand against your cunt with a stinging slap!

"Ah!" A broken whine leaves you, the stinging sensation ebbing through your cunt. Taehyun massages his fingers along your slit in faux apology.

"Too much?" he asks— you remain silent, biting your lip to muffle a whimper. "You want me to stop?"

Through hot embarrassment that flushes through your skin, you screw your eyes shut and shake your head. Another slap lands on your cunt, a little harsher than the last— your back arches, the heels of your feet digging into Taehyun's back; he delivers another. Then another, and another, the final slap to your cunt ringing out into the air and bringing tears to your eyes.

"Fuck!" you sob, feeling Taehyun's fingers massage along your lips, landing another just to tease, "fuck… you…!"

Taehyun doesn't respond, but it's clear your outburst has pissed him off— his brows furrow and his lips close around your clit, sucking and licking at it until you're a shaking mess, yelping his name when you feel his teeth graze the sensitive bud teasingly. His tongue runs down your clit and to your entrance, prodding at your hole just to feel the way it flutters around the muscle— he's messy, drooling all over your skin and slurping up your juices, pushing his tongue past your tightening cunt and pressing into you as deep as he can, his nose digging into your clit as he fucks you with his mouth.

Your hands scramble to grab his head, the build up from his previous teasing making your heart pound against your chest and the coil tighten in your stomach— when you fingers scratch at his scalp and pull his hair, he moans, eyes closed in bliss as he shakes his head side to side against your cunt as if he could burrow deeper inside— you can feel the mixture of his spit and your arousal dripping down to your asshole and falling onto the floor, but it doesn't stop Taehyun from digging his fingers into your thighs and gluing his face to you, your orgasm building up so fast you have no way to warn him.

It feels like everything goes white for a second— it all crashes down at once, the tight coil in your stomach snapping and rendering you a puddle of bones, defenseless against Taehyun's continued assault on your cunt; his pace doesn't cease once, even as your thighs snap shut against his head and your body trembles, tears streaming from your eyes from the sheer intensity.

No, Taehyun doesn't falter for a second, prolonging your orgasm until it begins to twist to something nastier, something painful— the waves of pleasure that gently washed over you are now torrents, every brush of Taehyun's nose against your clit only making you wince and cry out from the sensitivity.

"Taehyun—" you gasp, watching as he slurps up your juices, pretending not to hear you, "Taehyun, it's too much! I just— fuck, I just came!"

"You'll take what I give you," he grumbles against your skin, biting your inner thigh, "it's what you wanted, no?"

"Not— not like this!" you're kicking at Taehyun's back as he returns to sucking and kissing at your clit, "I'm too sensitive!"

A particularly harsh suck against your clit has your body jumping, your heel landing against Taehyun's back a bit harder than you intended it to— hearing him grunt at the impact, you tense, about to apologize when Taehyun suddenly hooks his hands under your knees, pushing forward until you're folded in half, your cunt left on display for him— he's as much of a mess as you are, his lips and chin shining with your arousal, a soft blush coloring his face.

"Give me your hands." He doesn't give you a chance to comply, taking your hands in his, guiding them to the back of your knees and using them to pin your legs against your chest. You've been left completely helpless against him, and you barely have any energy left to protest the way he's latching onto your cunt once more.

He's eating you like a man starved— his tongue runs along your cunt as though trying to memorize you, massaging your clit and tracing along your slit before slipping back into your cunt, lapping at your entrance and fucking you with his tongue— he presses his face firmly against you, pining you into the mattress with his weight. You're a squirming, mewling mess, the painful sensitivity from your previous orgasm bleeding into pleasure. When he feels your hips beginning to buck against his face in search for more, he throws your legs over his shoulders once more, his mouth focusing solely on your clit while he teases two fingers against your entrance.

"Fuck, fuck— I'm close," you sob— it feels like your body has a mind of its own, chasing pleasure that only makes you dizzy; it's too much, it's overwhelming, but it's so, so good, and Taehyun is more than happy to bring you over the edge, inserting his fingers into your sopping cunt, groaning at the way you tighten around him— he curls his fingers, exploring your walls until he finds the spot that makes your moans break and your cunt drool, drilling into the same spot until you're crying for mercy and falling apart on his mouth for the second time.

"Taehyun, Taehyun please, slow down!" you're realizing with delayed mortification that Taehyun has yet to pull away— and at the sound of your pleas, he's going even harder, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you making you hot with shame— you try to plead for him to pull away, but it's all incoherent and broken, the overstimulation melting your brain.

"You cryin'? Again?" he coos, pulling away from your swollen clit just to laugh; his fingers curl inside you, and he licks at your cunt to clean up his mess. "Where's that mouthy brat I had here earlier?"

You try to bite back, say something that shows you still have some fight in you— but you can barely manage to blink away your tears, much less talk through your hiccuping moans.

"You look so pathetic," he says, "is this how you like it?"

Sniffling, you shake your head, attempting to mumble something about it being 'too much'— Taehyun doesn't care to listen, fitting in a third finger in your entrance instead; your eyes roll back at the stretch, feeling him slowly pump his fingers until you begin to adjust to him.

"No?" he's placing soft kisses on your clit, looking up at you from between your thighs, "you got yourself in this mess though. The least you could do is say sorry."

His fingers are precise and cruel as they thrust into you, your cunt begging for mercy as his mouth works perfectly together with his hands— while you try to squirm out of his grip, your nails digging into the back of his hand while your other hand slaps at his shoulder, Taehyun continues to pin you down against the mattress, slurping and licking your cunt's juices, running his tongue on your bruised clit and sucking it as though it were his favorite candy.

The pleasure that builds up inside you is something you've never felt before— it isn't the warm, addicting rise that crashes gently; it's a fire that runs through your body, it's violent, a surge of stimulation that makes you cry out for Taehyun to please, please slow down, this feels weird— all your words do is spur him on, as though he's attuned to your body better than you are.

His words echo in your mind— you vaguely recall your outbursts, all the things you did in search of a reaction— and you begin to say through broken sobs the last thing you think will make Taehyun go easy on you.

"I'm sorry! Fuck, fuck! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You wail, that raw, uncontrollable pleasure beginning to loom over you— there's a pressure building in your stomach, and you feel your muscles beginning to tense. "Please, please please, it's too much!"

"You gonna cum?" Is all he says in response, "I can feel it."

"I can't," you're panting, your hips trying to cant backward in an attempt to run away— but Taehyun won't let you, dead set on making the impossible happen. "I can't, I already— Taehyun!"

It hits you suddenly, your limbs locking up and the pressure in your stomach releasing— your cunt tightens around Taehyun's fingers, trying to push him out to no avail. His pace slows down and you swear you hear him whine— when your ears filter out the sounds of your own pathetic moans to pick up the wet, dripping sounds of liquid slapping against skin and onto the floor, your eyes fly open; sure enough, you've squirted all over Taehyun's face, the liquid continuing to gush out as he helps you ride out your orgasm.

You're melting back against his mattress, equally spent and mortified.

"I'm… I'm sorry," you cover your face with your hands, peeking through the cracks of your fingers as Taehyun begins to crawl over you, entirely drenched from the chin down. Embarrassment licks a hot stripe up your spine, and you're scooting back on the bed to run away from the sight— Taehyun just continues crawling toward you, stopping you with a hand on your hip when you've made it to the center of the bed.

"Really? Now you're sorry?" he says, his knees on the sides of your hips caging you in. Your fingertips dig into your face as you watch a droplet from your release fall from his chin and onto his already wet shirt— you whimper, ashamed, but Taehyun laughs, straightening up and pulling the shirt over his head.

"Oh my god," you mumble, partly because the sight of Taehyun looming over you like this and stripping is a look straight from your wettest dreams, but also because he then uses that same shirt to dry off his face before tossing it behind him. "Oh my god."

"Getting shy on me again?" he smiles coyly, taking off his pants next— his cock is still hard and clearly neglected, his length twitching at the mere sight of you, his tip flushed a deep red. Rubbing your thighs together, you can still feel your cunt throbbing, attempting to recover from the sensitivity. Taehyun runs his hands up your thighs, tracing along your waist before landing on your baby tee. "Take this off for me, angel."

Despite your trembling hands, you still manage to do as he asks— he watches you pull the shirt over your head and unclasp your bra, his brows furrowing and a sigh leaving him when he sees your breasts; he's leaning in to kiss, you, his hands that come up to massage your breasts and play with your nipples so gently you think he'll finally go easy on you.

"I don't accept your apology, by the way."

It feels like you've become a paper doll under Taehyun's grasp; you're flipped over like you're weightless, and Taehyun is quick to grab your wrists in his hand and pin them against the small of your back— his other hand grabbing your waist and pulling you up until you're on your knees and your face is pressed in the mattress, your back arched prettily from where he presses down.

The head of his cock swipes through your slit, and you flat out shiver, nuzzling your face into the mattress— he's only running the tip of his cock along your cunt, but it already feels too much, his thick cockhead parting your lips and lingering at your entrance so you can feel the stretch.

"If you're really sorry, you'll make it up to me, okay?" Taehyun leans down, pressing his chest against your back— the weight of him is grounding, and you can feel his breath fanning on your skin as he whispers in your ear. "You gonna be good and let me use you like a doll?

He's grinding his cock against your entrance as he's speaks to you, and the feeling of his length running along your pussy is driving you mad— burying your face into the comforter, you nod. But truly, you should know better at this point— Taehyun is grabbing your hair and pulling your face out, leaning forward so he can see you.

"Look at me." He says; your eyes flutter open, glassy eyes meeting his stern ones, "Now use your words."

"Yes," his stare is so intense, you can barely hold it. "I want you to use me. I'll be your doll."

Taehyun's cock that was dragging along your cunt is finally aligned with your entrance— he lets go of your hair, letting you slump back into the bed and bury your face with a muffled whine. He straightens up, watching the way your cunt resists his cock— you hear him let out a deep groan behind you once he finally pushes in, his tip already enough to stretch you out. You could barely fit him in your mouth— it's no surprise you're struggling to take him now, the girth of his length filling you up so good, feeling him sink into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass.

"So fucking tight— stretched you out for nothing," Taehyun gulps, his hold on your wrists tightening and drawing out a weak mewl from you, "you're squeezing around me like crazy."

You can't help the way your walls flutter around him— you just feel so incredibly good, your hips pushing back against him to feel his skin flush against yours, his balls pressing against your clit— your jaw is slack and you think you might be drooling against Taehyun's bedsheets once he starts moving, the slow slide of cock making you moan.

"Feels good?" he asks, letting out an airy laugh when you nod. "You feel good too baby."

He's picking up the pace gradually; what starts as slow, deep thrusts into your cunt, pulling all the way out just so he can feel you clench around his tip, is turning into something needier, something desperate— his hips begin to slam against your ass, his cock hammering into spots that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head; the sheer force of his thrusts is enough to have your body jolting forward, but he holds you in place, his grip on your wrists tight while he uses his other hand on your waist to bring you back into him.

"Perfect— pretty cunt, taking me so good," he groans, your cunt clenching down on him in response. He's so rough and deep, it feels like his cock is all the way in your stomach— you're breathless, gasping his name as he continues to use your body to fuck him back, your ass slamming against his hips and making your toes curl.

"S-so— deep—" you're turning your head to the side, your cheek pressed against the bed as you attempt to look over your shoulder; through the corner of your eye, you're able to see Taehyun, a sheen of sweat on his blushing skin, his teeth gritted together as he watches his cock disappear inside you— he catches you staring, raising a brow and leaning down to press his chest against your back.

"What'd you say baby?" he huffs, pressing kisses along your shoulders, sinking his teeth into your skin to hear the way you squeal— he's leaving bite marks all along your skin, licking up your neck and moaning directly in your ear.

"Taehyun— you're so big, m'so full..." your voice breaks, and Taehyun chuckles, planting a messy kiss on your cheek.

"Am I too big for you?" he asks, sitting up once more— his hand on your hip begins to wander, his fingers splaying out on your stomach. His hand is pressing down, and you jolt, the feeling of his cock slipping in and out much more intense. "Fuck, I can feel myself in that cute stomach."

His palm presses harder against your stomach, his hips snapping meanly into you— you're a sobbing, helpless mess, and when Taehyun is letting go of your wrists to play with your clit, pinching and slapping it teasingly, your hands fly up to push against his hips, a subconscious attempt to push him out of you— all he does in response is lean his weight against you more, his cock grinding so deep into you, you start to see white.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks, watching your hands slap on the mattress helplessly, grabbing onto the sheets and trying to crawl forward— he merely watches for a moment, but you barely move before he's grabbing your hips and dragging your body back, his cock bottoming out inside you in a single thrust— your ears burn at the filthy squelch that comes from your abused cunt.

Taehyun has caged you in— his hands come down next to your head, his body pressing yours down until your face is pressed into the bed and your ass is in the air; he doesn't let you adjust when he starts fucking you, his hips snapping violently into you and drawing out a long, high pitched cry from you. He's panting into your ear, placing a sloppy kiss on your temple.

"Stay still and take it," your hands that were holding onto the sheets find Taehyun's hands, one reaching to lace your fingers with his while the other trails up, grabbing at his bicep to stabilize yourself— it's a short-lived attempt, because he's shifting to wrap his arm around your throat, locking your body in place for his cock. "There we go, such a good girl for me."

His muscles flex against your throat, and your mouth falls open, beginning to feel lightheaded, your hand holding onto his forearm— turning your head, your teeth sink into his bicep, and you hear him moan in your ear in response.

"Fuck— look at you, biting me like a cute little puppy," he grins, feeling your teeth sinking into his muscle again from the sheer overstimulation your mind is going through. "Feels good?"

Pulling away, you can't even bring yourself to be embarrassed at the spit that you've left on his skin— not when you're getting fucked this good. "Mh-hmm… t-too…"

"Too much?" he coos, his tone gentle and sickeningly sweet— his hold around your throat tightens, and he's using it as leverage to hoist the two of you up so that you're kneeling; the change in angle has your eyes rolling back and your head falling against his shoulder, feeling as though his cock is somehow even deeper.

"I know, I'm sorry baby," he says, beginning to piston into you from this new angle, "'m almost there, I promise."

Fuck, your mind screams at you, how the fuck is he still going?

Taehyun's hand is coy as it travels to your navel, pushing against your stomach to feel his cock plunging in and out of you before sneaking down to play with your clit once more— your thighs are trembling and if Taehyun weren't holding you up, you would've fallen in a boneless puddle against his bed by now. Instead, you're scrambling to hold onto him, grabbing his arm around your neck and holding onto his hips, your back arching away from him— only to create the perfect angle for him to fuck into you, that same, molten pleasure beginning to creep up on you.

"Fuck fuck fuck, Taehyun, oh god, I'm so— 'm so—"

"Yeah, fuck— hold on—" he's flipping you onto your back before pushing back in, holding your calves by his shoulders as he pushes in, "need to see you… cum on my cock, fuck. You're so pretty, baby."

It really feels like he might break you with this angle— your legs twitch and tremble as his holds them up, rolling his hips deep into your cunt, his eyes flickering back and forth from where his cock disappears inside you to your face, drunk on the sounds you make every time the tip of his cock brushes against your sweet spot.

God, the view is already enough to make you cum— your eyes are hungry as you take in his body, his tanned skin dripping with sweat, carving lines down his chest and dripping into the crevices of his abs, his stomach clenching every time you squeeze around him; there's a blush that runs from his pecs to the tip of his ears, his brows furrowed with pleasure and his mouth parted as soft moans of your name leave him, canines digging into his bottom lip as he wills not to cum too soon. His eyes meet yours, dark and lustful, and you can't help yourself from hiding behind your hands, entirely overwhelmed.

"No— don't hide from me now," he throws your legs over his shoulders and closes in on you, folding you in half and continuing his cruel pace— he pries your hands from your face, lacing his fingers with yours and pinning them beside your head, his mouth inches away from yours. "I need to see you cum on my cock."

The air between you is charged and heated, and you're craning your head up to catch his lips, whining and moaning into his mouth as he brings you close to your climax; your nails dig into his hands, hips bucking up and chasing that peak that seems so overwhelmingly close— you're losing control of yourself, lost in the feeling of Taehyun— his warm body against yours, his hands that hold yours a little tighter, his thick cock that splits you open— and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Taehyun, I'm gonna— gonna cum."

"Do it angel, I've got you— lemme feel it, c'mon—" it feels like time has gone still for a moment; your body arches off the bed, your breasts pressing against Taehyun's chest as you cum with a soft cry of his name, your cunt sucking him in and begging for more.

"'Atta girl… so pretty when you cum," he helps you ride it out, rolling his hips against yours, reaching down to trace soft circles on your clit until you're a trembling mess. He's peppering kisses all over your face, thrusting shallowly into you, pouting when you begin to whine. "I know baby, I know— I'm— I'm so close, just hold on a little more okay?"

"M'kay…" you mumble, feeling him smile against your lips, "Taehyun— cum inside me."

He groans, tracing his lips along your jaw. "Fuck— you can't be serious."

"I am," you can feel him twitching inside you, his hips beginning to lose their rhythm, "I want you to."

"Y-yeah? Want my cum?" he's so close, you can feel him losing control as he fucks into you— you nod, tilting your head to give him better access, "say please."

"Can you cum inside me?" you whine, breathless, "please? Please, I want you to fill me up…"

"Fuck. Of course baby, so cute when you beg," his head falls to the crook of your neck, his hips stilling deep inside you— his cock twitches and his hips subtly rut into you as he cums, hot and thick and endless as he pumps it into you, a thick ring forming at the base— his weight sinks you into the mattress, and all you can do is lie there and let him use your body to ride it out, his teeth nipping at your neck as he nuzzles deeper into your shoulder; you're tilting your head to rest against his, the two of you a panting, sweaty mess.

His grip on your hands loosens, and you're slipping from his hold to snake your arms around him, your nails scratching along his back while your other hand tangles into his dark hair, scratching his scalp— you'd almost think he were about to purr with the way he leans into your touch, his hands sneaking under your back to pull you up and flush against him.

It's silent; your body is cooling down, and you're turning your head to the side to look out his window— it's gotten so late.

"Stay." He grumbles, "sleep here."

You let out a deep breath, nodding. "I will."

"Good…" he's trailing off, his voice softening as he nuzzles your skin. "I don't think i would've had the energy to drive you back."

You laugh softly, feeling Taehyun's hold on you tighten, as though afraid you'd slip away. But you remain still, dragging your nails along his scalp and feeling him melt against you. There's a calm bliss that washes over you, and you think what little high you had left is fading. Taehyun turns his head, kissing the crook of your neck to get your attention.

"You really are beautiful, you know that?" he says, and you roll your eyes and hum. "I don't want this to be a one time thing. I wanna get to know you better."

You can feel butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach, pressing your lips together to stop a giddy laugh from escaping you. You take a moment to ensure your voice is even before you speak.

"Take me on a date then."

He nods immediately. "Deal."

It's quiet again— your touch is gentle on Taehyun's skin as the two of you catch your breath; slowly, you feel his breath even out, his head burrowing deeper into your neck. He's falling asleep, you realize, tapping his shoulder and watching him flinch.

"Taehyun…"

"Hmm?"

"You're still inside me… I'm so sticky," you say, hearing him mumble a soft 'oh'. "And I squirted on your face."

Silence.

"Oh yeah." Taehyun doesn't seem to be nearly as bothered by that fact as you are. "I'll draw us a bath."

Instead of acting on his words, Taehyun lingers in your arms, nuzzling against your skin— you catch him dozing off once more before he's finally getting up with a reluctant groan, as though the thought of leaving your side pained him; you're happily resigned to follow him, allowing him to pamper you for the rest of the night.

You roll onto your side and stare at the slice of sky beyond the glass. Two weeks ago, the window had felt like a wound. A taunt. Proof of everything you’d lost and could no longer reach. Now it simply feels like part of the room, part of the life you’ve stumbled into without ever deciding to live it.

You squeeze your eyes shut and exhale slowly through your nose.

You’re already my choice.

The words still sit heavy on your tongue, bittersweet even now, as you force yourself out from the comfort of your bed and down the stairs.

The house is quiet this morning, devoid of its usual clatter. The only sounds that reach your ears are the muted scrape of cutlery against a plate and the soft creak of the stairs under your feet. By the time you reach the bottom step, there’s a flutter low in your stomach— a fizzing, traitorous sensation that climbs up into your chest and trips up your pulse before you can tamp it back down.

You can’t remember the last time a man put this particular feeling in you. Not in months, maybe longer. And it’s ridiculous, to feel sixteen again over someone holding you hostage. But your body doesn’t seem to be concerned with logistics.

You smooth down your hair and step into the kitchen.

Rindou is already at the table.

It stops you for half a second, because it’s wrong— off-pattern. He’s not fiddling with the coffee machine, hair still damp from the shower, moving through the motions of making breakfast for both of you. He’s dressed, in a charcoal pinstripe suit with the jacket hung over the back of the chair beside him and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. His lavender hair is dry and pushed back from his face, the mullet tamed into something presentable. There’s a plate in front of him, mostly empty, and a phone in his hand that he’s scrolling through with his thumb.

He’s been up for a while. Long before you. Long enough to shower and dress and eat and settle into that chair like he’s been waiting out the clock. The realization lands strangely. He got up early. To avoid you, a small voice in the back of your head supplies, and you hate how quickly your chest tightens at the thought.

You wait for him to acknowledge you. For a glance, a grunt, the bare minimum ‘morning’ you’ve grown accustomed to during your time here.

It doesn’t come.

His eyes stay fixed on his phone, his jaw set and the air between you charged. It’s thick with everything left unsaid last night— with his hand on your face and the space between you closing and then, devastatingly, reopening. But he gives you nothing. Not even the courtesy of looking at you.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

Forcing yourself to move, you cross the floor to the coffee maker. There’s a carafe still half full, and you pour yourself a cup. The ritual of it steadies you— cream from the fridge, two spoonfuls of sugar, the spoon clinking against ceramic as you stir. You’d hardly consider yourself spoiled, but the fact that he didn’t make it for you this morning stings, the absence of that gesture louder than anything he could have said to your face.

There’s a pan on the stove— eggs and bacon, gone lukewarm, and a serving spoon congealed in grease. He didn’t make you a plate either.

So, you serve yourself in silence, scraping the last of the eggs onto a plate with two strips of bacon, and carry it to the table. You could sit anywhere, and while the wise decision would probably be the island in the middle of the kitchen, you choose the seat directly across from him. You refuse to let him pretend you aren’t there.

He doesn’t look up.

You eat a few bites, chewing quietly. The eggs are good, even cold, fluffy and seasoned just right. When you take a sip of your coffee, you watch him over the rim of your mug, and the set of his shoulders is a wall you’re not stupid enough to think you can climb.

You break the silence anyway. You’ve never been good at leaving a wound alone.

“How’d you sleep?”

He doesn’t look up. “Fine.”

You wait for more, but more doesn’t come. “...Just fine?”

“Yeah.”

That’s it. That’s all he gives you— two words and an almost inaudible sigh. He sets his phone down, picks up his fork, and finishes the last bite of his breakfast, clearly having decided that the easiest way to handle whatever happened between you is to pretend it didn’t.

You open your mouth to push, but footsteps on the stairs cut you off. Ran appears a moment later, donning a similar suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the ink adorning his throat. His hair is swept back, but a few strands have escaped to frame his face, and he’s fastening a watch around his wrist as he walks, attention split between the clasp and the room.

“Good morning” he says to no one in particular. Then, to Rindou: “Is Sanzu still MIA?”

Rindou still doesn’t look up. “His bike’s still gone.”

Ran exhales through his teeth before dragging a hand down his face. “Mikey’s not going to be happy.”

“Mikey’s never happy,” Rindou responds flatly.

“You know what I mean.”

Rindou says nothing, which is its own kind of agreement.

You sit very still, the way you’ve learned to when the conversation turns to their work— quiet and unobtrusive, like a fly on the wall they tolerate but don’t quite trust.

Walking to the stove, Ran surveys the sad remains in the pan and makes a face. “You left me the dregs again. How charming.”

He pours what’s left onto a plate anyway and stands at the counter to eat, fork in one hand and his phone in the other. His eyes flick to you between bites, and his expression shifts.

“Don’t you look bright-eyed this morning,” he comments.

You don’t— you slept badly and you know it shows— but you don’t correct him.

“We’ll be out most of the day,” he continues around a mouthful of eggs. “Cleaning up after our wayward friend, among other things. Don’t expect us back until late.” His sets his fork down, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Which means you’ll have the place to yourself. Try not to throw any parties.”

“Who would I invite?” Your tone is dry.

His mouth curves. “Fair point. But remember, sweetheart— there are cameras. So be a good girl while we’re gone, hm? Don’t do anything you shouldn’t.”

Rindou scoffs.

It’s barely a sound— a derisive snort as he rises from the table and gathers his plate and utensils— but Ran catches it, and his head tilts with predatory interest, like a cat that’s heard a mouse in the wall.

“Have something to say, Rinnie?”

Rindou places his plate in the sink. “Just that you’re laying it on awfully thick this morning.”

Ran’s brow lifts. “Me?” He presses a ringed hand to his chest. “I’m being a gracious host. Forgive me for showing the lady a little warmth.” He pauses, and his smile sharpens. “Besides, I wasn’t the one who took her stargazing.”

Rindou goes still at the sink, and you feel your face go hot as a blush creeps up from your throat to your cheeks. You stare very intently at your coffee.

But Ran is enjoying himself far too much to stop. He saunters closer to you, nonchalantly picking a piece of lint off his sleeve. “Did he show you Cassiopeia? That’s his favor—”

“Ran.”

“What? I think it’s cute.”

Rindou’s glare isn’t even directed at you, and the hair on the back of your neck still rises. The muscle in his jaw pulses, and for a moment you think he might actually square up against his brother— but instead he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and shrugs it on, every movement tight.

“We’re going to be late,” he says coldly. “Move.”

Ran sighs, the picture of long-suffering patience, and fishes a set of keys from his pocket. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, but he heads for the door all the same. 

Rindou follows without sparing you a second glance, and you sit there at the table with your cold eggs and your hot face.

At the door, Ran pauses and looks back over his shoulder.

“Oh— and if Sanzu does show up, tell him to call me.”

Then they’re gone.

You hear the beep of the alarm being armed, the thunk of the deadbolt sliding home, and the muffled crunch of gravel as a car pulls out of the driveway. And then the house settles into silence around you, vast and empty and entirely yours.

Alone. For the rest of the day.

—

The silence of the house, once they’re gone, is a living thing. You stand in the kitchen for a while after the car disappears down the street, just listening to it— the tick of the clock, the hum of the refrigerator, the absence of voices and footsteps and that constant low-grade awareness of being watched. You’ve been alone in this house before, in stolen pockets of an afternoon. But never like this. Never with the whole day stretching empty ahead of you and no one due back for hours.

You decide to make the most of it.

You take a shower.

Not one of the quick, perfunctory rinses you’ve been allowing yourself, but a long, indulgent soak under water hot enough to turn your skin pink. The bathroom fills with steam until the mirror fogs over and the world narrows to heat and water and the slow loosening of the knot that lives permanently between your shoulder blades.

For the first time in two weeks, you let yourself relax.

The bathroom is stocked with toiletries Ran bought you— an impressive army of expensive products lined up along the edge of the tub, the kind you used to walk past in department stores and never let yourself splurge on. Shampoo that smells like lavender. A sugar scrub that smells like vanilla and leaves your skin impossibly soft. A razor that isn’t disposable, and a conditioner you’re pretty sure your hairdresser actually recommended once. 

You use all of it. 

You shave your legs carefully, the way you haven’t bothered to in weeks. You scrub yourself down until you’re silky and smooth and smell like a dessert.

It’s a small rebellion, this self-care. Or maybe it’s surrender. You can’t always tell the difference anymore. But standing under the spray with vanilla on your skin and lavender in your hair, you decide not to scrutinize it too closely. You’re allowed this. 

You’ve earned this much, haven’t you? A single morning of feeling human.

When you finally step out, wrapping yourself in a bright white towel that’s thick and plush, you almost feel like a functional person again.

You take your time in the bedroom, too. The clothes Ran bought you hang in the closet, and you pick through them with more attention than the act deserves before settling on a pleated skirt that falls just above your knees and a baby blue sweater. The cashmere is warm against your freshly-lotioned skin, and the fit is perfect.

There’s makeup as well, a tiny collection of essentials in a drawer you’ve barely touched. You sit on the counter in the bathroom and study your reflection. Twin bruises of bad sleep sit beneath your eyes, and you dab concealer over them, blending until they disappear. A little mascara. The lightest touch of something on your cheeks. And a chapstick that smells like cherries, slicked over your lips and leaving them faintly tinted and shining.

When you’re done, you stare at yourself for a long moment.

You look good. Rested, even, in a way you haven’t in weeks. The girl in the mirror could be anyone— someone with a normal life and a normal morning, getting ready for a normal day.

You wonder if Rindou would have looked at you longer this morning, if you’d been wearing this.

Shoving the thought away, you grab your book from your nightstand— the Camus novel you’ve slowly been working through— and descend the staircase, finding your way to the living room and making yourself comfortable on the couch. You curl up beneath a blanket with your soft clothes and soft skin, and you try to lose yourself in it the way you used to lose yourself in books, back when reading was an escape rather than a way to kill time.

Be a good girl, Ran had said.

And for about twenty minutes, you are.

But the silence of an empty house is a different kind of silence than the one you’re used to. It’s one filled with opportunity, buzzing beneath your skin and impossible to ignore. With every page you turn, it grows louder, refusing to leave:

You’re alone. Truly alone. For the first time in two weeks, no one is watching you.

Or— are they?

You glance around at the corners of the room.

Curiosity killed the cat. You know this, but you also know something else, something that’s been crystallizing in your mind ever since the rooftop, ever since you held a gun in your hands and didn’t use it, ever since you started waking up thinking about pretty purple eyes instead of escape routes: You cannot afford to lie dormant. 

You cannot simply close your eyes and hope this will all work out— hope that these men will decide to be kind and that being cooperative and good will keep you alive. That’s not survival; that’s just a slower kind of death.

You need knowledge. It’s the only currency you have in this house, and you’ve been letting it slip through your fingers, too frightened to reach for it.

But not today.

You close the book.

First, the cameras. If Ran was telling the truth— if there really are eyes hidden throughout the house— then you need to find them before you do anything else. 

You walk through the living room slowly, methodically, scanning the walls, the bookshelves, the light fixtures. You run your fingers along the underside of shelves and behind picture frames, pull books partway out and peer into the gaps behind them. You grab a chair from the kitchen and examine the smoke detector on the ceiling, the air vents, even the little decorative trinkets that dot the surfaces.

Nothing.

You move to the kitchen, checking the cabinets and repeating the process. You feel slightly insane doing it, paranoid and twitchy, but you keep going.

Still nothing.

You search the hallways next, scouring every nook and cranny, every seam in the molding. You check the entryway, the staircase, the little alcove with the coat hooks.

When you reach the front door, you stop. Your hand drifts to the handle without quite meaning to— the old instinct resurfacing, the one that used to scream at you every waking hour of those first few days. 

You try it, knowing it’s pointless. Locked. Deadbolted. The little keypad by the frame glows a steady, watchful red, and the thing that unsettles you isn’t that you can’t leave. It’s how faint the wanting has become— how the voice that used to scream now only murmurs, easy to ignore. 

You take your hand off the handle and go back to looking for cameras. You look until your neck aches from craning and your eyes blur from squinting. And you find nothing. Not a single camera. Not a single lens, or wire, or even a measly blinking light.

You stand in the hallway, hands on your hips, and frown.

Maybe Ran lied. It’s not out of the question. It could’ve been a bluff, a leash made of nothing but the suggestion of surveillance. A way to keep you in line without spending a yen on the hardware. It’s exactly the kind of psychological warefare he’d find amusing.

But even as you think it, you know it doesn’t matter. If you haven’t found the cameras by now, you’re not going to find them in the time you have left. You can keep tearing the house apart looking for something that may or may not exist, or you can use the remaining hours you’ve been given.

Fuck it.

You climb the stairs.

You’ve always kept to your room and the shared common spaces, a model prisoner moving through the parts of the house you’re permitted and never reaching for the parts you’re not. But today you reach.

You start with Rindou’s room, wrapping your hand around the doorknob and twisting only to find it locked.

Of course it is. Truly, you would’ve been flabbergasted if it wasn’t. 

You circle around to try the bathroom, since it connects your bedrooms, but it doesn’t budge either. The bastard locked that one too. Thorough, even in this.

Sanzu’s room is next, across the hall. You don’t expect much— and you don’t want to find Sanzu himself, who could theoretically reappear at any moment— but you try the knob anyway.

Locked again.

Then, Ran’s office— the room with the heavy wooden door you’ve never been allowed past, the room where his voice drops to that cold, clipped register through the walls. You don’t even bother getting your hopes up as you try it.

It’s locked, naturally.

You let out a frustrated breath, starting to think the whole expedition is a bust. Every door that matters is probably sealed against you, and you’ll have nothing to show for your nerve but a racing heart and a guilty conscience.

But there’s one more. Ran’s bedroom.

It’s tucked at the end of the hall beside his office, and you almost skip it, certain it’ll be locked like the rest. But you try the handle anyway, just for peace of mind.

It turns, and the door swings open.

Blinking rapidly, you stand in the doorway, hardly believing your luck.

Ran’s bedroom is larger than yours, and nicer, but it shares the same fundamental quality as the rest of the house: it’s beautiful yet impersonal, the bones of a luxury hotel suite dressed up to look lived-in. A safehouse, after all, is still a safehouse. 

The bed is enormous, made up in slate-gray linens. There’s a sitting area near the window, a leather armchair, and a small square table. Thankfully, the heavy, blackout curtains have been pulled back to let light in, and you glance over a dresser, a nightstand, a wardrobe that takes up most of one wall.

But where the bones are anonymous, the contents are pure Ran.

Because Ran, you’ve learned, is a man who likes things. 

The top of the dresser is cluttered with them— colorful bottles of cologne, a tray of silver rings and chains, a glass box with a dozen watches nestled in velvet. There’s a throw tossed over the armchair. There’s a pair of loafers by the door, butter-soft and clearly costly.

You step inside, easing the door shut behind you, and your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat.

You slide open his wardrobe first, and it’s exactly what you expected— a row of suits in dark, rich fabrics, organized by some system you can’t decipher. Saint Laurent. Tom Ford. Dolce & Gabbana. Names you recognize from the magazines you used to flip through on your lunch breaks. Silk shirts. A drawer of folded ties in jewel tones. Everything immaculate, everything worth a fortune.

You close it carefully and move to the dresser.

This feels more like trespassing, somehow. Opening the bottom drawer, there are socks and boxer briefs, neatly folded, and the second drawer is more of the same. The third one is filled with accessories— cufflinks, tie clips, and a small pouch of what look like very real diamonds. You don’t touch those.

The nightstand is next. You crouch beside it and slide the small drawer open. There’s a charging cable, a pair of reading glasses you’ve never seen him wear, and a bottle of lube. Nothing useful. You close it.

And then you notice the top of the nightstand.

There’s a stack of magazines there— glossy fashion ones, the kind with impossibly thin models and perfume samples tucked between the pages.

But it’s the thing sitting on top of the stack that catches your eye.

A folder. Plain and unlabeled. Manila, slightly worn at the corners, the kind of nondescript thing that could hold anything or nothing at all. It’s sitting there in the open, as if it were just another magazine— as if its owner never imagined anyone would be in this room to find it.

You stare at it as if it might lunge up and bite you.

This is it, you think. Everything up to now— the subtle snooping around, the trying of doors and windows— those are the sort of things they might expect, might even forgive with a roll of their eyes. 

But this is something else. This is the kind of curiosity that gets people killed.

You pick it up anyway.

The first page is a list. It takes you a moment to understand what you’re looking at. Names arranged in a column with job titles beside them and numbers beside those— large numbers, sums of money, with dates. As you read, the bottom drops out of your stomach.

Hideo Maruyama — City Council, Roppongi District. ¥10 million, 24/1/14. ¥15 million, 24/2/14. ¥10 million, 25/8/28.

Det. Supt. Kenji Aoki — Tokyo Metropolitan Police, Organized Crime Division. More figures. More dates. 

Yuna Ishikawa — Public Prosecutor's Office. 

Takeda — Customs, Tokyo Port.

Sato — Tax Bureau. 

On and on, a column that runs the length of the entire page and onto the next, name after name after name. Councilmen. Police officers. Prosecutors and customs officials. Bureaucrats whose titles you only vaguely recognize from news broadcasts. At least three dozen of them. A whole apparatus of supposedly respectable people, each one with numbers and dates beside their name.

A payroll.

You’re holding a payroll.

This is who they own. This is the machinery of Tokyo, bought and paid for and filed away in a manila folder on a nightstand. The customs official who waves their shipments through the port. The detective who loses the paperwork. The prosecutor who declines to press charges. The councilman who makes sure the right permits get approved and the wrong questions never get asked.

You understand, suddenly and completely, why no one has come for you. Why there’s been no rescue, no investigation. You understand why the men who took you move through the world with such confidence. It isn’t arrogance. It’s true: they are untouchable, in the most literal sense— they own the people whose job it is to touch them. The police you might have run to are on this list. The prosecutor who would charge them. There is no authority above them to appeal to, because they’ve already bought it out. 

The thought is so overwhelmingly suffocating that you have to set the page down for a second just to breathe.

Warily, you start to sift through the rest of the folder. Behind the payroll are files. One for each name, you realize— or for some of them, the important ones. And these are not payments. These are insurance.

The first is Detective Superintendent Aoki. There’s a photograph clipped to the inside, and you turn it over and immediately wish you hadn’t. It’s a crime scene— or the aftermath of one. A woman’s bloody body and a face you recognize from the photo on the page: Aoki himself, caught in the frame, a knife in his hands. You don’t understand the full story, and you don’t want to. 

The implication is enough: We have you. We can end you whenever we like. 

You turn it face down with shaking fingers.

The next file is for Maruyama, the councilman. He’s pictured in several photographs that were very clearly never meant to be seen, in compromising arrangements with people who are very clearly not his wife. You flip past them quickly, your face hot with rising nausea. 

Some of the files hold financial records, evidence of embezzlement, of accounts that don’t add up. Some hold photographs of things that turn your stomach— violence, captured and catalogued and saved for a rainy day. Leverage, all of it. A blackmail file for the officials on payroll, so that even if the money ever stopped flowing, the silence never would.

You read through all of it.

You don’t mean to— you mean to skim, to get the jist of things and put it away— but you can’t stop. It’s like watching a car accident. Page after page, file after file, the full and terrible intricacies of how this organization holds an entire city in its fist. By the time you reach the end, there’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.

This is what they are. Not just three men in a house. 

Not just Ran’s charismatic charm and Rindou’s cold shoulder and Sanzu’s unpredictable mania. This is a criminal organization with the city’s officials in its pocket.

And you are inside it— not adjacent to it, not a bystander peering in— inside. 

You’ve been eating breakfast with these men. Pouring their coffee and setting their table, cooking them dinner. You nearly let one of them kiss you last night. The sheer scale of what they are makes your own situation feel suddenly, vertiginously small— a single miniscule cog caught in a machine this large. 

They could make you disappear as easily as they made a prosecutor look the other way, and no one with the power to care would even know to ask.

You sit there on the edge of the bed for a while, the open folder in your lap and your heart hammering against your ribcage.

And then you do the only sensible thing you can. You close it.

You put it back— carefully, exactly as you found it. You stand and survey the room, retrace your steps in your mind. The wardrobe, closed. The drawers, shut. The nightstand drawer, pushed flush. You smooth the spot on the bed where you sat, erasing the impression of your weight from the covers. Standing in the doorway, you look back and check it against the picture in your memory, making sure everything is precisely where it was when you walked in.

Then, you ease the door shut behind you and let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for an hour.

In the living room, you take stock of yourself.

Your hands are mostly steady, the nausea has faded to a dull unease, and beneath it all, a startling sense of accomplishment.

You took a risk today, and it paid off. You’ve learned something tangible— something they don’t want you to know, something that matters, even if you don’t yet know how. You’re not just surviving. You’re playing the game.

The information sits in your chest like a coal, burning warm and dangerous. You don’t know what you’ll do with it, or if you’ll ever be able to do anything with it at all. The knowledge that the whole city is bought is hardly a comfort— if anything, it should crush whatever hope you had left. But it doesn’t feel like crushing. It feels like clarity. Like for the first time, you can see the actual shape of the cage you’re trapped inside, instead of just its shadow.

There’s wine in the kitchen, a small cabinet stocked with bottles you wouldn’t know how to choose between. They’ve offered you alcohol before— Ran, mostly, holding out a glass with that disarming smile, you look like you could use one— and you’ve declined every time, always deciding it’d be better to keep your wits about you. 

But you’re alone now, and you finally feel like you’ve earned the right to let go of the rope you’ve been white-knuckling.

You pick a bottle at random— a red with a label you don’t bother to read, and you pour yourself a sizable glass. The first sip is rich and tannic, warming you from the inside out. Content with your choice, you carry both the glass and the bottle to the living room and curl up on the couch with your book. 

The sunlight streaming in through the windows goes from white to gold to gray as afternoon fades into evening.

You finish your first glass of wine and pour a second somewhere along the way, the warmth of it loosening the remaining tension in your body until you’re just as soft on the inside as you are on the outside. A pleasant haze settles over you, and you sink into the couch with your book open against your knees. 

You don’t read much of it, mostly sitting with your thoughts, turning the day over and over— the folder, the names, the photographs, the unexpected thrill of having done something forbidden and gotten away with it.

You don’t notice how late it’s gotten until headlights sweep across the wall.

Twin beams slice through the dark before they die, the low purr of an engine cutting out in the driveway. There’s the chirp of the alarm disarming, the heavy clunk of the deadbolt, and the front door swings open on its hinges.

You instinctively straighten, setting your glass down on the coffee table. 

Rindou comes in first, and he looks weary in a way this morning’s crisp suit no longer disguises— his tie gone, collar open, jacket slung over his shoulder by a hooked finger.

His eyes find you on the couch, and for the first time since the rooftop, he actually looks. They rake over you, taking in the skirt and the sweater, the makeup, the loose, clean fall of your hair. Something flits across his face, there and gone before you get a good look, but a crack in the blankness he’s been wearing nonetheless.

His jaw tightens, and he drags his gaze away before climbing the stairs without a word. A moment later, you hear his door click shut.

“Don’t take it personally.” Ran’s voice draws your attention back to the doorway. He’s shrugging out of his suit jacket and draping it over the back of an armchair. “He’s been in a mood all day. Business always finds a way of souring it.” He loosens his tie next, dragging it free from his collar and flicking open the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Me? I find it invigorating.”

“Did Sanzu ever turn up?” you ask.

Ran shakes his head. “Still in the wind, but he’ll show up eventually. He always does.” He waves a hand dismissively, silver rings catching the lamplight. “Better not to dwell on it. He’s not nearly as interesting as my evening’s shaping up to be.”

His eyes drop to the empty glass of wine on the table. “Kenzo Estate, 2018. Good taste.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” you admit.

“Beginner’s luck.” He holds up a finger, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with another glass. “Most people assume the one with the flashiest label is the best. You, however, went for one that actually tastes good.”

Picking up the bottle, he proceeds to fill both glasses before sinking onto the couch beside you. Then, he hands you your glass and taps the rim of his against it with a soft clink. “Good instincts, doll.”

You hum, taking a sip to cover the warmth crawling up your neck.

“You look lovely tonight, by the way.” His gaze drifts over you, slow and appreciative. “Almost relaxed. It’s a good look on you.”

You raise a brow. “The wine?”

“The ease. For two weeks, I’ve watched you tiptoe around this house like you’re waiting for the floor to give out, shoulders up to your ears.” Two lithe fingers trace along the curve of your shoulder, feather-light, and you feel it everywhere. “All but flinching whenever someone walked past you. And now look at you. Glass of wine in hand, curled up on the couch like you own it. It suits you far better than the fear did.”

“Well… thank you,” you say, the words coming out softer than you intended. “I figured I’d earned it.”

“Oh?” He drapes his arm along the back of the couch, and his fingertips find a strand of hair at your temple, twirling it around. “And what exactly did you do to earn it?”

“Not much, really.” The lie comes easily, smoothed over by the alcohol. You take another sip to sell it. “Took a nice, long shower and gave myself some much needed TLC. It was quiet. Peaceful.” 

You glance up at him through your lashes, emboldened by the heat in your chest and the way his gaze is still fixed on you. “You should leave me unsupervised more often.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And here I was certain you couldn’t stand it here.”

“I can’t stand present company. The plumbing, though? Five stars.”

“Was that a joke?” Ran lifts a brow. “I didn’t think you had any in you.”

You continue to trade barbs, falling into easy conversation. After a few minutes, your glass has gone low again, and he reaches for the bottle, refilling it until the crimson liquid laps near the rim.

“You know,” you say, mock-serious. “A girl might start to think you’re trying to get her drunk.”

His mouth curves. “Absolutely not. Though, I am a little wounded.”

You blink. “Wounded?”

“Two weeks of me offering you a drink, and you turned your nose up every time.” He clicks his tongue. “Then the moment I’m out of the house, you help yourself to my cellar.”

“I did not,” you insist, and the corners of your mouth tip up despite yourself. “I was perfectly sober… until I wasn’t. If you want to get technical, it was past five o’clock. That has to count for something.”

“If we’re getting technical? You’re telling me you earned a drink because you took a seven-hour shower?”

“Oh my god, no! I told you— TLC. Tender. Loving. Care.”

“Which entails…?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would. Indulge me, doll.”

You roll your eyes. “For starters, I tried out all the skincare products you got me. Every single one. The scrub was heavenly. The shea butter too; it smells amazing.”

“It does,” he agrees readily, catching your wrist as you set your glass down on the table. He turns it gently to bring the inside of it to his nose and inhales deeply enough that you feel the brush of his breath against your skin. “Mmm. I’ve always loved vanilla.”

Your heart stutters. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm, cherry as well.” His eyes lower to your lips, and you have to consciously work not to bite at them. Can he smell your chapstick too?

“Your choice of products makes sense now.”

“It should.” Lilac hues lift back up to yours as he traces idle circles over your pulse point. “I merely chose the best. It’s what any excellent host would do.”

“You’re a kidnapper.”

“I’m an excellent host who happens to kidnap,” he corrects you. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

That earns him a laugh, as morbid as the joke is. “You’re trouble, that’s what you are.”

“I beg to differ. I’ve been on my best behavior, unlike someone else.”

“Now, that’s not true.” Your voice lacks conviction, too breathless to sound convincing. “I’ve been as good as gold. Practically a saint.”

His smile curves wider, and he leans in, closing the last of the distance only for your breath to catch in your throat, lashes dipping as every nerve in your body anticipates the press of his mouth against yours—

But he veers past your lips at the last second, his cheek grazing yours until his mouth comes to rest against the shell of your ear. When he speaks, his voice is as smooth as honey. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

It takes you a second to process what he’s said. The wine has dulled your edges, blurring the words together into jibberish— and then the meaning catches up to you all at once, cold and jarring, like ice water down your spine.

You go rigid.

“What?” The question comes out thin. You pull back enough to look at him properly, and his expression hasn’t changed— still that charming smile, his eyes warm and amused. 

It’s the warmth that frightens you. There’s no anger in them, no accusation. Just a knowing smile, like he’s letting you in on a secret the two of you already share.

“Come now, let’s not play dumb.” When you only stare at him, he sighs. “The cameras, darling. You spent such a long time looking for them, standing on chairs and running your hands along the walls. Truth be told, I found it incredibly endearing.”

You can feel the blood drain from your face, the wine curdling in your stomach.

“You didn’t find them because you weren’t meant to,” he continues, conversationally. “But I found you. Every room you tried. Every door you rattled. Every page you turned— and I’m not talking about that old Camus novel you’ve been pretending to read.”

The folder.

He knows. 

He watched. 

All of it. His bedroom, the drawers, the manila folder you’d been so careful to square back into place. The hours you’d spent congratulating yourself, pouring his wine, and basking in the satisfaction of a day well spent— and he’d been watching the entire time. Letting you believe you were clever. Letting you walk yourself, step by smug step, right into his lap.

“Ran—”

“Shh,” he presses a single finger to your lips, silencing you, and his smile doesn’t so much as flicker— sickly sweet and patient but utterly without mercy. The hand at your wrist slides up, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. “You had your fun today. Snooping around where you don’t belong. Touching what isn’t yours.”

His grip closes, and you gasp as your head is forced back, chin tilted up so you’re face-to-face. “So now, I’m going to touch what isn’t mine.”

“Wait—”

Again, he cuts you off, this time by pressing his thumb between your lips. His skin is salty when it hits your tongue, and saliva floods your mouth at the taste.

“You’re in no position to be giving orders, doll.”

Suddenly, the room feels too warm. The couch suddenly too soft beneath you. The wine in your system turns traitorous, leaving your thoughts slow and slippery as they struggle to catch up with the reality sitting in front of you.

“Me, on the other hand…” he hums, a low baritone that vibrates up from his chest as he watches panic flare in your eyes. “Spread your legs.”

You try to swallow, and he cants his head, regarding you with newfound interest— like he’s waiting to see which version of you will emerge first. The one that had spent the afternoon creeping around forbidden territory, emboldened by curiosity. Or the one sitting before him now, pulse fluttering wildly beneath delicate skin, finally understanding just how thoroughly she’s been outplayed.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Something hot and ugly unfurls beneath your ribs— a heady mix of humiliation and anger. The sharp sting of realizing he’d sat beside you for nearly half an hour with this tucked behind his teeth, waiting for the precise moment to pull the rug out from under your feet.

He’s expecting submission. That’s his mistake.

You let your lips part further around his thumb— and then, you bite down. Hard. Hard enough that the coppery tang of blood blooms across your tongue, hard enough that you feel the give of skin beneath your teeth.

His smile slips as he grunts out a curse, brow twitching and lavender eyes sharpening, startled and bright. For one suspended second, you’ve got him— caught off guard by his own pet. The taste of it is sweeter than the wine.

But it lasts exactly that long— one heartbeat, maybe two— before something shifts behind his eyes. The surprise morphs into delight, and his mouth curls again, his expression almost proud.

“There she is,” he breathes.

You don’t wait to hear the rest. You wrench back, twisting out from his hold and scrambling for the opposite end of the couch. You don’t get far.

An arm hooks around your waist, and the world spins, and then you’re down— chest pressed to the cushions, one cheek mashed against the armrest, the breath knocked clean out of your lungs. A large hand splays flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you with an infuriating ease, like your struggling is cute.

“Ran..!” His name comes out muffled, partly swallowed by the upholstery.

“Mm, keep wiggling. It’s not helping you the way you think it is.”

You feel his free hand drag a path down the curve of your spine, lower until his fingers catch the hem of your skirt and tug it up. The backs of your thighs and your ass are bared to the cool air of the room, and you go hot all over as the humiliation intensifies, burning alongside something darker— something you’d never admit to.

His thumb is still bleeding. You can feel it smear, warm where it presses into your hip.

“You quite literally bit the hand that feeds you.” His palm settles over the swell of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. “I should’ve expected nothing less. You never do learn the easy way, do you?”

“Don’t—”

The first strike lands before your plea can materialize, and the crack of it splits the quiet, loud and obscene. The sting registers a moment later— a blistering heat that rips a gasp straight from your throat. Your hands shoot out, fingers fisting the blanket.

Ran hums again, smoothing his palm over the place he just struck like he’s admiring his work.

“That’s one,” he says. “Go ahead. Count for me, darling.”

You don’t.

You press your lips together, and you stare at the seam of the couch cushion an inch from your nose, giving him nothing. It’s the only thing left that’s yours— the silence— and you clutch it like the blanket twisted in your fists.

“No? Stubborn thing.”

The second slap lands harder than the first. You jolt, a squeal tearing loose, but it’s not a number. A vicious sort of satisfaction spreads throughout your limbs.

You can take this.

Pain you understand. Pain has an edge, a place to brace against. So you brace.

The third comes, and then a fourth and a fifth. You breathe through your teeth as the sting stacks and burns, your knuckles white, your defiance the one thing you refuse to surrender.

“My, oh my. You really are determined to make this difficult.”

“Go to hell,” you manage.

A deep laugh sounds. “We’re already here, sweetheart.”

And then his tactic changes.

The next touch he doles out isn’t a strike. It’s a caress, the tips of the fingers grazing softly over the seat of your panties, and your whole body locks up— because this, you don’t have a brace for. This has no edge to push against. It slips past every defense you’d build against the pain, joining the wine and the heat simmering low in your belly.

“Sensitive there, are we?”

You don’t trust your voice, almost certain it will crack the moment you try to speak, so you start to struggle in earnest, thrashing around beneath the weight of him.

Some distant part of you knows it’s futile, but your body hasn’t gotten the message your pride already has, so you fight. You buck against him and dig your knees into the cushions for purchase that isn’t there.

And Ran lets you. That’s the worst part of it. He doesn’t tighten his grip or snap at you to hold still— he just lets you ride it out, patiently, with his hand pressed firmly against the small of your back while you wear yourself down against him.

“Atta girl,” he croons. “Get it all out of your system.”

And that’s exactly what happens.

You thrash until the fight drains out of you, until your limbs go heavy and your breath comes ragged. You feel the moment it leaves you— the defiance. It leaks out of you like air from a puncture, and your forehead drops to the armrest as you stop.

His hand strokes up your spine. “Was that so hard?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your voice is somewhere you can’t reach, lost beneath the hammering of your own heart.

“Good. Now, let’s see what we’re working with.”

A whimper escapes you as he pulls your panties to the side, the cool air causing you to jerk where it meets your heated folds. “Wait, please— I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have went through your things. It won’t happen again, I promise!”

“Oh, I know it won’t. Still, I don’t think you’re truly sorry. Not yet, at least.” He tuts at you. “In fact, I think you’re enjoying this.”

“No! Please, Ran!”

“Please, what? Please stop?” Condescension colors his tone. “You keep saying that, but this pretty little pussy is positively soaked.”

In the next instant, you feel him drag a finger between your folds, and when he holds it up to your face, you can’t help the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes. To your absolute horror, the digit is wet and shiny, covered in the silvery slick dripping from between your thighs.

“See? Look at that. You can lie to yourself all you want, but I won’t let you lie to me.”

Whatever retort you try to throw back dissolves into a moan as his finger drops back down, notching against your clit. He rubs over it, chuckling at the way it twitches under his attention. You try to clench your thighs together, but he plants a knee between your legs to keep them parted.

“There you go. Go ahead and give in to it. Let me hear all of those sweet, angelic sounds. I’m sure if you’re loud enough, Rin will too.”

Your head is scrambled, each swipe of his fingers over your clit sending delicious sparks of pleasure up your spine. It’s damning, the control he has over you in this moment. Your legs start to tremble around his knee, your hips twitching as your body chases the friction.

“O-Oh fuck,” you stammer out, burying your face completely in the cushion.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? You like it when I touch you here?” It’s a rhetorical question, not that you could answer if you wanted to. Instead, a choked cry bubbles up from your chest as he abandons your clit, leaving it throbbing. “Of course you do. But you know what? Something tells me you’ll like it even more if I touch you.. here.”

You aren’t prepared for the way his finger sinks into you— all the way to the knuckle. 

Your walls clamp down around the intrusion, lashes fluttering as he curls it. “I.. Shit, I can’t…”

“Use your words, pretty.”

But you’re panting now, writhing beneath him as a second finger joins the first. The stretch burns but only briefly, because he’s right— even with your long dry spell, you’re so wet that it slides in without much resistance. You don’t even have the energy to be mortified at how obscene the sounds are as he starts to fuck them into you, controlled and measured and so much better than you would have guessed. They scissor open, and your toes curl, another muffled mewl expelled from your lips into the couch. 

“I can’t hear you.” His hand cards into your hair only to yank your head back to the side, and he leans down so his lips are by your ear. “I said, do you like it when I touch you here?”

He’s working you, coaxing you, and it feels so good that your train of thought is reduced to a desperate, short-circuited refrain: More. Not enough. Too much.

“I— I—”

“You’re close, I can feel it.” There’s an amused lilt to his voice. “How long has it been since someone made you cum, sweet girl?”

You try to remember. It’s a question that should make you bristle with embarrassment, bristle with shame of being so easily unspooled, but the answer is a haze— a memory so faded and irrelevant compared to the pressure of his fingers crooking inside you.

It’s been months, you think. Maybe a year. The last guy you slept with was such a non-event you don’t remember his name, let alone how he made you feel.

But you will remember this. You’ll remember this for the rest of your life.

“Come on, sweetheart. Say it,” Ran coos, his thumb finding your clit and circling it. “Tell me how much you want it.”

He already knows. He must, with the way your walls pulse around his fingers, so tight it almost hurts. He’s making a mess of you— not just your body, but your mind, your dignity, your sanity. 

You don’t want to say it. You’d rather bite your tongue off than hand him another ounce of control. But the words claw their way up your throat anyway, prying your mouth open and spilling out in a pained confession. 

“I want it..!” You gasp, shuddering when he presses hard against that spot that makes your vision blur. “Fuck, Ran, I want you to— please, just—”

“Good girl.” 

You’re so close. It’s as if every atom in your body is gathering, bracing for that singular, shattering release—

He withdraws his fingers, and the emptiness is so abrupt that you sob, a raw, broken sound torn from the depths of your soul. It’s a betrayal so complete that for one dazed, breathless second, you simply don’t understand what’s happened.

“..W-what?” 

You can barely form words. The ache between your legs is hollow, the aftershocks of denied pleasure rolling through your body, like a tide dragged out too soon. You shift, reaching back for him mindlessly, but he’s already pulled away, his fingers slick and shining as he wipes them on the curve of your ass.

“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy, did you?” His voice is syrupy, sated. “You don’t get to misbehave and walk away with a prize. That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

You want to scream at him, curse him, beg him.

But every muscle in your body is spent and trembling. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel it between your legs, blood roaring through your veins as another wave of humiliation washes over you.

You think he might say something else— a taunt, a lecture, a threat. But instead, he just stands and retrieves his suit jacket from the chair. He doesn’t look back at you, striding toward the staircase. 

He takes the first step and pauses with his hand on the banister, glancing over his shoulder, violet eyes hooded and unreadable. “I wouldn’t stay there for too long, unless you want Rindou to see.”

your eyes widen at his request and heat rushes to your cheeks, much to leon’s amusement. you can’t help it though, knowing that he’s able to see right up your skirt at the flimsy panties you have on and the small damp spot that has definitely seeped into the fabric after you spent his entire lecture fantasising about him 

“how?” you whisper, feeling utterly filthy as your hand brushes up the inside of one of your thighs. tiny little bumps scatter over your skin with the soft touch and it sends a shiver right down your spine towards your already aching cunt, causing you squirm on the spot with anticipation

you know how to touch yourself but something tells you that it won't be as simple as he's letting on. leon touches you like you're his, like he owns you. he bruises you, marks you—always leaves you coming back for more—nothing is ever that simple with him and he confirms your suspicions straight away 

“slowly—i’m gonna talk you through it,” he grunts and he leans forwards to slide his hand under the hem of your skirt before he flips it upwards to properly expose your clothed pussy, “leave them on, wanna see 'em soaked,” he says, eyeing your already very wet panties with fervor

the material sticks to your body, contouring and outlining your cunt from your perky little clit right down to your steadily dripping hole but you’re not struggling on your own because leon is failing to hide the thick bulge that's straining against the zipper of his pants as he grinds the palm of his hand over it

your own hand—the one that isn’t disappearing high up between your thighs—presses into the surface of the desk allowing you to lean back as your fingertips begin to ghost over your clit, prompting a current to fizzle up your spine and bathe your body in the sweetest kind of pleasure 

“oh god,” you whisper, jaw slack and frowning slightly. your cunt clenches feebly around nothing while you go around in even circles that have a never ending wave of slick spilling from your hole, “l-like this, is this what you want?” you ask when you look up at leon, only to find him undoing his belt in a hurry

it’s wrong—so wrong—that you’re searching for praise from your professor. it’s addictive though, leon is addictive. he’s handsome and smart, much older than yourself and you can’t get enough of him and, well, he’s always so willing to praise you when you’re doing what he asks of you 

“yeah—good girl,” he groans and bucks his hips upwards to shove his slacks down his thick thighs. his cock frees itself of its confines in the blink of an eye, standing stiff and leaking profusely as he takes it into his fist and starts to jerk himself off lazily, “keep up with me,” 

you nod before you really realise that you’re doing it. you’re too busy ogling him and wishing that he would just lay you down and sink into your heat—fuck you well and good and take his frustrations out on you—but, you find yourself nodding and trying your best to do as he says anyway

leon makes no attempt to speed up or slow down his movements right away though, leaving the room to fill with the noise of your stuttered gasps and his rough grunts while it remains slow and drawn out. it’s not enough but too much all at the same time, the entire situation, his words, your fingers, everything makes you throb

more. you need more and until leon makes that decision for you, you’re stuck with less. you consider begging—he’d probably love that—but before you can blurt anything out, his fist shifts over his cock faster. it’s barely noticeable and maybe you’re just imagining it but you swirl your fingertips faster too

heat blossoms in the pit of your stomach and reaches right to the end of every single one of your nerves over the slight change. your eyes snap shut and the tip of your tongue gets trapped in a pinch between your lips all while your thighs twitch and stick together momentarily 

you’re soaked now, sticky over the soft skin of your thighs and you’re not sure that your panties could get any wetter if you tried. the fabric has darkened and the friction of it against your clit starts to become overwhelming, forcing scratchy whimpers from the back of your throat as you wince

“take ‘em off now,” leon hisses as he swipes the pad of his thumb over his slit. you don’t ask how he knows what you were about to ask or how he was able to pick up on your discomfort before you did, you just do as he says and store your questions away in the back of your mind for later 

hooking your thumbs under the straps of your panties, you shove them down your legs frantically. cool air rushes over your pussy and causes you to shiver as you kick your feet in an attempt to free your underwear from your ankles but in a flash, leon reaches out and snatches them up

he balls them up into his free hand, groaning internally when he feels how damp they are and then he drags open a drawer on his desk with a dull creak and drops your panties right into it before he slams it shut, “let me see that pretty little cunt, show her off to me,” he orders—as if he didn’t just steal your lingerie 

it takes a second for your brain to process what you just saw him do but when he grunts impatiently, you move. the sole of your shoe squeaks against the edge of his desk as you pull one of your legs up until your cheek is almost grazing your knee and you’re spread wide, just for his viewing pleasure 

you study him carefully, watching while his tongue darts across his bottom lip like he’s hungry for what he’s seeing. his cock tenses against his palm with want and blurts out a generous dribble of precome that slides down his length and over his knuckles, adding to the sheen that’s already there 

gently, you use two fingers to stretch yourself even wider. a singular wet sound fills the otherwise quiet room as your needy hole pulls taut and the pool of slick that was building just inside of you starts to spill over and gush until it’s dripping into a little puddle on the top of his desk

it’s not the first time you’ve made a mess there—and it probably won’t be the last—but it doesn’t feel any less dirty, even though you know that leon will reassure you later that it’s completely fine and it definitely won’t create a stain, right before he murmurs that he wouldn’t even mind if it did anyway

“fucking hell—tease her,” leon growls, still focused on the futile clench of your pussy and the shiny trails that paint across your skin, “don’t touch inside—not yet—tease her like i do,” he adds and unfortunately for you, you know exactly what he means by that and exactly what he wants to see

the same two fingers that were baring your cunt for him slip lower and trace around the outside of your entrance at a pace that matches the stroke of leon's fist over his cock. you moan wantonly at the contact to where you’ve been needing it most this entire time and that seems to spur leon on

“faster angel, rub it—uh huh—like that,” he groans and squeezes lightly at his heavy balls with his free hand when you don’t need to be told twice. your fingertips drag desperate circles around your glistening hole, making your muscles tense and your hips roll in search for more, “lemme see how wet your fingers are,”

once again, you don’t need to be told twice but you whimper at the loss of contact while you hold your hand up in the space between your bodies. strings of slick connect your two digits, hanging and snapping as you part your fingers and then press them back together over and over again 

“i want—no, need—more, sir,” you whisper and bat your lashes, knowing full well that calling him that will get you anything you want. leon is weak to it but only when it’s tumbling from the tip of your tongue and riddled with an innocence that you know he can’t ever say no to, “please,” you whine, for good measure

leon’s composure slips, just like you expected it to. his hips jerk and send his cock through his fist at a rate that makes his teeth audibly grind together, “shit—fuck—yeah, okay, just one finger though,” he grumbles the last half of his sentence when you giggle over getting the better of him and getting what you wanted out of it 

“thank you, sir,” you quip and earn yourself a quick glare for it before his eyes flicker to where your middle finger is already sinking into the tight clutch of your body, eliciting a whimper to scratch in your throat as your head tips back and your teeth sink into your bottom lip

your walls squeeze around you, wet and soft, sucking your finger deeper in a moment of greed. your chest rises and falls in whiny pants while you draw your finger out slowly and then slide it back in. truthfully, it doesn’t feel half as good as when leon does it but it does the job when you’re so wound up 

the spring in your stomach winds, pulling at your spine until it arches enough to press that soft little spot that’s deep inside of you into the pad of your finger, “oh my god,” you shudder and indulge yourself in the feeling, rubbing ever so gently over it in the way that leon taught you how to 

“feel good?” leon asks roughly. his chair starts to creak monotonously and it piques your interest, bringing your half lidded gaze to him. the noise is caused by his hips jackrabbiting upwards, fucking his cock through his own hold with reckless abandon while you nod at him, “yeah, i bet it does sweetheart,” 

his words make you gasp and before you know it, you’re plunging your finger into your body to keep up with him. it feels impossible to even try, his hand is flying over his length with filthy slick sounds that echo the ones coming from between your thighs but you’re moving on pure instinct and it feels just right

“fucking—god—prettiest little thing i’ve ever seen,” leon groans and maintains a level of eye contact that makes your face burn red. he’s not interested in watching you fuck yourself right now. no—he wants to see pleasure painting across your face, the twitch of your brows and the silent oh that your lips gets stuck in

it’s depraved in its purpose, meant to make you feel like you’re putting on a show for him and you are. the more you think about it, the more your pleasure seems to build with him watching and getting himself off to you—like he’s unable to fulfill that need when you’re not around to satiate it 

any words that you want to say, curses or begs for something you don’t even know that you want yet, die somewhere between the air in your lungs and your mouth. cotton wool fills the free space in your head, suffocating your brain so that there’s only leon and a sense of euphoria swimming through your veins

but, of course, leon knows that. he’s smart, academically and seemingly when it comes to you. it’s as if he can see your thoughts, your desires, and they must be enticing enough because within the space of a rather sluggish blink of your lashes, he goes from sitting in his chair to hovering right up over you 

his free hand winds around your throat, not pressing but just holding you while he forces you to look up at him. your eyes soften with him right there, you can feel it happen and you can’t find it in yourself to be even the slightest bit embarrassed about it as tears start to prick at your waterlines 

“my favourite angel,” leon sighs as he dips closer to lick along your bottom lip. he’s not kissing you, more just marking you than anything else, “gonna add another finger for me—give her what she wants before i do?” he hums, smirking something awful as you react to the fact that he’s going to fuck you afterwards

“yes—ohmyfuckinggod—yes,” you cry out and start to work a finger alongside your middle one before your body is prepared for it. the ache is welcomed though, the stretch is delicious, and if you weren’t struggling to think, you’d wonder how leon always knows when you’re ready for more 

however, more can’t come soon enough for you. under leon’s heavy gaze and with his fingers stroking softly over the sides of your neck, paired with you being able to fuck yourself properly—finally—your orgasm starts to simmer throughout every part of your body 

you’ve never been able to make yourself come like this, not this fast. leon can and he always does, whether it’s over his tongue, because of his fingers or around his cock. he can push you to the edge and right off of it before you can even realise it’s happening and now, he’s doing it without really touching you at all

somewhere distant it registers in your mind that he’s stopped touching himself too. he has a hand around your neck, his thumb brushing over your drooly chin, and his other hand slides over yours where it’s pressed into his desk, his fingers intertwine with yours and it’s because of that simple gesture that you’re done for 

tears slide down your cheeks and sobs rip through your body. you’re incapable of doing anything that isn’t ruining yourself for leon’s entertainment. you try to tell him that you need to come, that you’re going to come but nothing comes out that he can understand—or, so you think

“you’re gonna come, huh?” he asks, his voice dripping with warmth and honey but he doesn’t give you a chance to answer before he’s teasing, “oh my sweet girl, already?” he pauses to lean in and kiss the tip of your nose, “just needed it so badly—i know—you can come for me angel,” 

on the next thrust of your fingers, a fire unleashes in your stomach. white bursts behind your eyelids as you clench them shut and then fireworks explode to replace the white, hot, sensation. you’re choking on your moans, stuck halfway between crying and trying to scream, which leon fixes in an instant 

his lips slot over yours like he was made for you, swallowing your noises and coercing you to breathe whilst he mumbles soft praises that you can’t distinguish against your mouth. heaviness overtakes your limbs, your fingers practically fall out of your wrecked pussy with a wet pop before you sag in leon’s hold 

the coolness of his desk brings another chill to your skin as he lays you down carefully and slots himself between your thighs. his large hands grasp at the back of your thighs and his fingertips dimple into your sweat and slick damp skin as he pushes your knees towards your chest

he half smiles and half smirks down at you when you blink up at him through tear soaked lashes. he’s in a far better mood than he was when you started, which means that you’ve done your job perfectly and now, as the blunt head of his cock starts to split you open, it’s time for him to do his

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!

Leon knew you were a bit of a special case from the moment he met you. Where people would usually be shy, nervous, not confident enough to approach someone, you were... quite the opposite. You approached with a fire in your eyes and a buzz rushing through you and into him, and you weren't even drinking. The moment you approached him at that club, he knew you'd be a problem. And a problem you were. A good one. A problem he was lucky to have.

Until it came to things like intimacy. You'd managed to score a few dates, and eventually, you two ended up dating. The only problem? Once it was official, you became a little insistent on intimacy. Not forcing, but definitely making moves more often. Leon wanted to, he really did, but given the talks you'd had in the past about your lack of experience and how you didn't know what you could and couldn't take because you had never even felt the need for a sex toy on your own, Leon worried that it'd stunt your intimate moments as a couple.

Eventually, of course, Leon gave in, but only to an extent. He'd eaten you out, finger fucked you like his life depended on it, fucked your thighs, and yet, he refused to let you even suck him off, let alone take him into your impossibly achey and needy pussy. He always told you he was too big. He worried it'd hurt you, whether it was your mouth or your pussy. You knew he was big, and you still insisted.

You crawled into bed with him, just like normal, snuggling into his side as he read the book you'd recently recommended to him. He tugged you closer, leaning down to kiss your temple as he closed the book, seemingly ready for bed. It was approaching 9 o'clock, and he had an early meeting, you knew. The early meeting didn't stop you from snuggling up closer until you shuffled into his lap, straddling his hips and looking down at him with a grin. His hands rested at your hips.

"Really? We're doing this again?" He mused, low and laced with exhaustion.

"For real this time, because I'm tired of you giving me excuses." You huffed, hips already beginning to move in slow, easy motions back and forth.

"They're not excuses, they're honesty and protection. You think I haven't wanted so badly to bend you over and take you? Of course I have." He scoffed, hands soothing up your sides as he exhaled slowly.

"So why haven't you?"

"Because I'm too big for you. We'd need to take a lot of time to get you ready. You can barely take three of my fingers before you tell me it's too much." He explained simply, like it was a choice between what deal to go for in a grocery store.

"So what? The shapes are entirely different! How do we even know if I could take it if we don't try?" You frowned, hips wriggling incessantly.

"No, honey. I'm not gonna let your confidence get the better of you." He moved to lift you off his lap, but you grabbed his hands and pinned them beside his head. He raised a brow at you.

"Just the tip. That's all I wanna try." You insisted.

"You know, you holding me down has no change on my answer. It's sexy, but no." He laid his head back and hummed idly.

"Leeooon!" You pouted, hips grinding harder. You could feel his cock stiffening in his sweats. "Please, Lee, just the tip, and if it doesn't fit first try, we can stop."

"Usually, the guy begs for 'just the tip'," he chuckled. "Poor thing, I've really ruined you, haven't I?" He clicked his tongue, feigning guilt.

"Not yet 'cause you won't fuck me right." You grumbled.

"Oh, is that so? I don't fuck you right? Then how come I've got you cumming on my fingers and my mouth and my fucking thighs every other night? Huh? Care to explain that, if I don't fuck you right?" He took his hands from your grasp, one hand grabbing your chin and making you whine, brows furrowing.

"You won't fuck me the right way 'cause you think I can't take it."

"I really don't think you can." He agreed.

"Please, baby!" You shifted, only for him to stop you. "Please, I promise, if it doesn't work, I won't ask again, not until you can prep me right."

"You," he exhaled, grabbing you by the waist, sitting up. "Are such a fucking brat." He cursed, rolling over so that you were flat on your back with his body pinning you down.

You looked up at him, biting at your lower lip. He watched you for a moment, squinting. "Please?" You barely whispered.

"Fine. But don't think you're not gonna get something in return for your behavior. I'm only stalling because I don't have time to fuck around."

"But you have time to fuck me? Good, I wasn't sure I'd be able to wait much longer." You grinned, giggling like a kid who'd just been told they won a million dollars.

"Fuckin' brat." He chuckled, leaning in for a kiss. You met eagerly, lips pressing into his while your arms came to wrap around his neck. Despite his rough words, his hand came to tenderly cup your cheek, deepening the kiss. His other hand worked its way downward to the hem of your night gown, pushing it upward to expose what he expected would be a lace pair of panties—tonight it was bare in two different ways. How did he not feel that through his sweats? Jesus, you knew he'd give in.

He didn't bother trailing his hands up and down, teasing, instead going straight in to press his hand against your mound. You shivered slightly, mouth falling agape at the feeling of his cold fingers pressing between your folds. Of course, he didn't take any time to prep you with his fingers, just simply using two fingers to spread your arousal and massage your clit to accumulate more to act as lube. He knew it probably wouldn't work too well at first, but it'd have to do.

Your hands reached down, pushing lazily at the waistband of his sweats. "It's unfair." You pouted.

"Unfair? Honey, you came to me like this. You came to me all shaven, no panties, not even shorts." He took your complaint, shifting to push down his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring free. He shimmied out of the clothes and kicked them aside before settling his cock against your lower belly, letting you see the size properly. You swallowed, biting your lip as you looked up at him. He had a cocky look, like he expected you to change your mind.

"What? I didn't say stop. Keep going." You huffed, but Leon could hear the faint waiver of your voice as you spread your legs wider.

"God, you really are a needy little brat." He pulled his hips back, sliding his cock between your folds to gather some of your wetness along his length, focusing on coating his tip thoroughly. "You can still back out." He looked back up at you as he lined up with your entrance, using two fingers to carefully hold your folds open for him.

"No. Now hurry up and put your dick in me before I fall asleep." You huffed up at him, hips wriggling eagerly.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he made the first move, careful as he pushed in, his tip nudging into you. His tip didn't even get inside before you gave a whimper, thighs shaking unexpectedly as your pussy twitched against his tip. He looked down at you, brow raised.

"Shut up. Try again." You demanded, teeth gritted slightly.

Despite that not being the original arrangement, he tried again, hissing as he nearly notched the tip inside, only for your hips to twitch away, overwhelmed at the way his tip tried to intrude so suddenly.

"What did I tell you?" He deadpanned down at you. "Come on, honey, let's just do it the normal way."

"Noo! No, this is the normal way!" You insisted. "'S not my fucking fault you've got a fucking monster cock."

"Mmh, you flatter me, sweetheart." He chuckled, leaning in to shut you up with a kiss. You expected him to pull away and call it a night, but his hand crept down again, thumb pressing to your clit and getting your walls to ease up ever so slightly, a soft mewl leaving you. With you melting into the pleasure, he took a selfish opportunity to push again. You gasped, a choked sound leaving you as his tip notched inside of you finally. You gave a stifled cry, hands flying to claw at his shoulders as your eyes squeezed shut.

"Fuck—okay, I-i don't know if I can do it anymore." You admitted, huffing with uneven breaths as you looked down where you two met. It really was just the tip, and you were already backing out.

"Oh, no," he pulled back, faux pity on his face. "Poor thing, you bit off too much, and now you can't chew? What a shocker." He watched you shiver and twitch, breath shaky as his tip stayed barely notched inside your impossibly tight, unadjusted cunt. "You told me I didn't fuck you right, so now I'm gonna show you just how well I can fuck."

"'M sorry, I thought I—"

"You thought you could take it? Yeah. And you didn't listen to my warning? Of course not. You never listen." You felt him push forward again, and another squeak left your lips, followed by a gasp. He didn't even push in another inch and you were pushing at his hips to get him to pull out.

"Fuck! I'm—haah—I'm sorry!" You looked up at him, brows furrowing.

"Admit it." He demanded, cock pushing its way in ever so slightly, but the burn was far from slight. You choked on something akin to a cry, and he swatted your thigh. "Admit that you've been nothing but a bratty little bitch and now you're whiney because you can't fucking take it."

Tears brimmed your lash line, lower lip falling and letting a small whine fall from your throat. "I-i can't take it, and I.." you paused with a gasp, walls squeezing around the first inch and a half of his length. Your head fell back, nails dragging down his front as your thighs trembled. "Fuck!"

"It's too late. If I stop now, all your progress will be lost. You don't want that, do you, honey?" He teased. You shook your head desperately. The stretch burned, his cock insistent as he felt you twitching and trying desperately to make room for him inside of you.

"Please," you whispered, eyes fluttering closed.

"Please, what?" He prodded for more from you. "I can't do what you want if you don't tell me. You were so eager earlier, now you can't talk? Typical." He scoffed.

"Please, just fuck me already!" You cried, breath hitching as his hips nudged back and pushed forward, allowing another inch to fit. He went through that cycle for a while—pulling back, pushing deeper, every push forcing a gasp or a stifled moan from you—until he was fully sheathed inside of you, your pussy impossibly stretched past every limit you didn't know about. His cockhead was snug against your cervix, barely fitting him all the way in. It was a good thing Leon knew how to properly get you going, or he'd be struggling to fit more than he already was.

By the time he was snug, fully pushed inside of you, your head had fallen limp, eyes closed, lips open with heavy breaths falling. He found it amusing, given he hadn't even tried to fuck you yet, and you were already beyond spent and shaky. He chuckled, watching you finally lift your head to look down where your bodies met.

"Holy fuck." You breathed. You could see a small bulge in your lower belly where he had somehow miraculously managed to fit inside of you, now bulging with his massive he was. Not only that, but you had never felt this full. Even when he was using his fingers to fuck you and you complained that his fingers were too thick and you felt 'sooo full'.

"You happy now? Now that you've got a proper cock inside of you?" He taunted quietly, bringing a hand to grasp your chin and tilt your head back and forth, he fingers lightly squishing your cheeks together.

"Uh-huh." You tried to nod in his grasp, dazed and, although embarrassingly, cock-drunk without even being properly fucked. He wasn't even grinding his hips, making no attempt to move, and he relished in the way your body responded to him. He thought it was the best thing ever when you'd cry and squirm, and this made things a whole lot better. He leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of you stretched out around his cock.

He dropped one hand, thumb finding your clit. You twitched, whining slightly as your walls clamped down around him. "What, you're already that fucking close? You're getting all twitchy and whiney so soon." He purred, hips pulling backward slowly, cock dragging out of you until his tip was all that was left. You looked down and watched, brows furrowed with need.

It burned with both pain and pleasure as he pushed back in faster than before. You moaned louder this time, back arching as your hands flew to grab his shoulders for support. Your eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape as he fucked his cock into you at a pace that overwhelmed your senses. Pain burned away and morphed into a new kind of pleasure that you didn't know you could achieve.

He angled his hips lower, his leaky cockhead pushing up against your g-spot as he thrusted into you, his thumb still focused on your clit. He meant it as a tease originally, but with how twitchy and shaky you'd become in just a minute or two of slow, rough, deep thrusts, he could feel that you were already close. His tease ended up being right. He growled slightly at the thought, brows knitted and nose scrunched in a focused manner as he looked down where your bodies met. You became oversensitive quick, your orgasm building. You tried to reach down to get his hand to slow down its abuse against your puffy clit, but he simply pushed your hand away and swatted at the throbbing bundle of nerves.

You cried out, hips bucking. "Lee—oh, fuck, please!" Your body locked for a moment, eyes rolling back as you bit your lip and fell into stifled whimpers and sobs, your orgasm quiet but intense, rippling through your body so fast you didn't even warn him. He fucked you through it, hips speeding up as your cunt clenched around him. Once your vision cleared, you looked up at him, dazed and mushy.

"And you think I cum too fast?" He chuckled. "Look at you—damn near squirting on my cock just because it's so, so big, and your poor little pussy can't take it." He purred deeply and reached with his other hand to your face, holding your head still by your chin so you couldn't look away as he pumped his cock back and forth, fucking you into overstimulation without even offering a breather. "I wonder—" He paused with a grunt, examining your face with a devilish look you didn't recognize. "You think I could make you squirt just from using my cock?"

Your cheeks flushed, eyes widening with tears that had spilled already. "Wait, n-no, no, 's too much, Lee!" You gasped, hands pushing at his lower torso, another sob ripping from your throat. "No—ooh!"

"C'mon, pretty girl, didn't you say I couldn't fuck you right? Isn't that what you wanted? To be fucked dumb on a fat cock?" He let go of your chin and brought a hand down just a little to wrap around your throat. You squeaked, pussy fluttering around him at the threat of him constricting your airway. He didn't, though. You got more than enough excitement from just the threat alone.

You couldn't be bothered with answering him. You simply laid there and took it—relishing in the sensitivity and the way he was absolutely ruining your pussy. Leon knew he was ruining you for anyone else, and that alone drove him crazy. He could feel his own orgasm building, cock twitching and balls drawing tight to his body. He denied himself the release, persisting in order to make sure he proved just how good he could make you feel.

He had a point to prove. His thumb resumed the previous ministrations on your clit, two fingers rapidly strumming with a firm pressure. You twitched, gasping as your eyes rolled back and fluttered. Your hands grabbed tightly at his forearm of the hand that was around your neck, looking up at him with an abrupt sob leaving your lips.

"Lee, please," you choked out, brows furrowing as you quivered beneath him, abdomen clenching as your body built up to the peak of the coil in your belly.

"Go on, take it. Take what you asked for and I'll make sure you're satisfied for fucking weeks." He slammed his hips harder, the skin slapping lewdly with the added sounds of your arousal coating his balls as they smacked against your ass. You tried to stifle it, but a scream of pleasure ripped from you as he subconsciously tightened his hand around your throat. Still not constricting, but it was enough to make you dizzy.

"Leon! Fuuuuck, fuckfuckfuck—'m cumming!" You sobbed, legs jolting outward as your hips tried to pull away, your orgasm rushing through you like never before. What you didn't process yet was the stream of clear liquid spurting from your sopping cunt, making an absolute mess out of his lower abdomen, your own abdomen, and the sheets below. He fucked you through it, both hands finally coming to grab your hips and properly use you like some kind of cock sleeve as he chased his high. Tears stained your cheeks, your moans becoming higher and longer as you squirmed and tried to run away from the pleasure.

"Stop fucking moving." He dug his nails into your hips. His demand was quickly followed by a growl, hips slamming and his thrusts becoming uneven as his balls twitched and his cock pulsed, his heavy load finally spilling into you. He had you so full that his cum seeped out around him as he bottomed out and let your pussy twitch and pulse, milking him of every last drop. Both of you were shaking. He stayed buried inside of you as he leaned down and mouthed as your neck. He lazily ground his hips, and you cried quietly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

"Lee," you sniffled, shaky hands searching desperately for his.

"Shh," he soothed, slowly pulling out of you as he grabbed your hands. You felt so empty, but so unbelievably satisfied. "Breathe, honey. I've got you." He mused softly, kissing along your collarbone until he found his way up to look at your face and assess the final product.

You were a mess. Tears down your cheeks, drool spilling down the right side of your face, hair messy and sticking to the sides of your face, lips kiss swollen and still wet. If he didn't know better, he'd try to start up round three, but given your sniffles and the way you shook your head, he didn't even try. He got more than what he thought.

He took his hands away only for a moment so he could brush your hair out of your face and gently wipe the tears and drool from your cheeks. When he sat back and guided you to follow into his lap, you curled into his hold, his arms wrapping around you delicately.

"You took me so well." He whispered, kissing the side of your head. "I know I got a little mean," he sighed, prepared to apologize for not listening to your cries.

"Can we do that more?" You asked, looking up at him as you shifted shakily in his lap. "The.. the whole.."

"Baby, we just did a lot." He chuckled. "But we'll talk more tomorrow." He scooted away from the mess and hoisted you into his hold, standing from the bed. "How about a shower?"

You nodded, falling into his hold as you closed your eyes. He really fucked the energy out of you. "Told you I could handle it. Might not be very experienced, but I can take what's given to me." You mumbled quietly.

Clearly, he didn't fuck the attitude out of your system yet.

"Brat." He lazily swatted your butt, only to lean in and kiss your nose with the utmost care.

"You like it."

"Only when it results in you shutting your mouth."

"Jerk."

He chuckled, setting you on the bathroom sink counter to start the shower.

well, truthfully, you’re not mad at him. you’re just mildly annoyed that you were practically begging for his attention all day long but he was—apparently—too busy with work research to deal with you and now, you’re just giving him the same treatment that he gave you

“c’mon sweetheart—fuck,” leon urges as his cock twitches in his palm, eliciting a rough groan to erupt from his lungs. his hips lurch forwards, seemingly against his will, and cause the head of his cock to bump against your mouth and smear pre over your lips and across your cheek 

on any normal day, you’d kitten lick over his slit to hear him moan but instead, you press your lips together tight and jerk your head away from him petulantly. except, leon grabs ahold of your jaw with his free hand and turns your attention back to him with his fingertips squeezing your cheeks 

a frown pulls at your eyebrows as he forces you to look up at him, watching as his head tips to one side and his eyes flit across your face whilst he finally figures out what you’re doing and—hopefully—why you're doing it because as enticing as he sounds and looks, you won't give in until he says that he’s sorry

“you’re angry with me?” he asks carefully and brushes his thumb over your shiny lips. the urge to kiss the pad of his thumb before you suck it into your mouth makes your stomach knot as you fight it and choose to simply shrug your shoulders in response, “because of earlier?” 

with all the sarcastic energy that you can muster up on a whim, you roll your eyes at him. you want to huff and say of course that’s why you’re in a mood, he put you in a mood by making you wait all day for anything more than a quick peck, but you don’t want to open your mouth, so  just glaring at him will have to do

“baby, i was workin’,” leon murmurs softly, which would sound a whole lot sweeter and far more sincere if you couldn’t see his hand sliding over the length of his cock a little bit faster than it was before—like he’s enjoying himself, “don’t be like that angel, open your mouth for me, please,” 

his plea is paired with him nudging your lips with the head of his cock again but this time you can’t turn away because he won’t let you. his fingertips dig into your cheeks, trying to slot between your teeth to prise your jaw open because he knows you want it—really, who wouldn’t want to suck him off 

in a last ditch effort to disobey him, you partially give him what he wants. your lips part, only slightly, and right when he moans with the pleasure of what he thinks is your defeat, you lean in and spit over the tip of his cock. strings of saliva hang from his length and drips splatter over his thighs and all leon can do is sigh

he steps away from you, looking down at the mess you’ve made and you’ve got him. he’s going to apologise for being so mean to you all day and then he’ll fuck you like he should’ve done hours ago, when you originally asked. he’ll go deep, it’ll be rough and it’ll last for every hour he made you wait and—

“be a fuckin’ brat then,” 

leon’s harsh tone makes your spine straighten, rigid. he mimics the way you shrugged at him moments ago as a sick smirk pulls at the corner of his lips and then your eyes dart downwards to where his fingers are spreading your spit over his cock in lazy, drawn out, strokes

your bottom lip juts out, leaving you pouting up at him when you realise that you aren’t going to get your own way, like you normally do. leon isn’t going to apologise and give in, just like you refused to, and now he has the upper hand whilst you haven’t got a leg to stand on, “but i—”

“but what?” leon cuts you off and raises his eyebrows, “you didn’t want it sweetheart, i gave you enough chances,” he explains with a lilt that feels condescending, “so, now you can be a brat and sit pretty and watch,” he finishes, sealing your fate with a low groan as he starts to jerk himself off properly

the thorough plan you had, and honestly thought would play out seamlessly, is useless to you now. any control you had over the situation slips away as your shoulders sag and your eyes soften before crocodile tears start to prick at your waterlines. you’re not upset or even annoyed anymore, maybe just a bit embarrassed 

“awh, don’t cry yet otherwise i’ll—fuck—come too fast,” leon coos when he notices the fat drips starting to slide down your cheeks, that are rapidly turning red with his taunting. his fist glides over his cock with ease now, aided by your spit and the steady stream of precome that is going to waste over his fingers when it should be dripping down your throat 

“that’s not fair,” you whisper and fiddle with your fingers in your lap whilst your pussy clenches feebly around nothing. you’re soaked, you’ve been soaked all day, and now you’re just dampening the lining of your panties pathetically as leon touches himself right in front of you 

“what’s not—what’s not fair?” he moans, dancing a thin line between trying to tease you without losing himself in the pleasure that you should be giving him, “tried t’give you what you wanted, i was being fair, wasn’t i?” his question is a trap and you know it.

if you say yes, you give in and if you say no, the proverbial hole you’re dug into gets deeper. so, you just whine instead. it catches in your throat and scratches a little bit but it falls on deaf ears because leon doesn’t push his question any further and you get immediately distracted by his cock

he’s flushed red and so hard, throbbing if you look close enough, and as his hips start to roll forwards in even thrusts, he begins to fuck his fist more than he jerks himself off. heat curls in your stomach uncontrollably and your tongue darts across your bottom lip while strings of pre start to hang from his tip 

your gaze snaps upwards, only to find that leon has been watching you intently the entire time, so he knows what you’re silently asking for without you having to say a single thing. you want him in your mouth now, you want to taste him and lick his cock clean—you just want him 

leon says no. his jaw clenches, his teeth grit together and his head shakes slowly from side to side, “should’ve thought about this before you started being a brat, huh,” he hisses and squeezes his cock lightly, like he does when he’s getting close to his orgasm

“please?” you try weakly, knowing that you’re quickly running out of time to have him before it’s all over. he’s never held out on you for so long, he’s always given in the second you’ve asked so softly but you can’t deny the fact that his attitude and teasing is making your cunt flood with slick 

somehow, leon knows what he’s doing to you or maybe it’s just the way your thighs are clenching while you fidget from side to side but either way, he ignores your quiet beg completely, “bet you’re soaked,” he grunts, causing your head to nod, “tell me how wet—oh god—you are,” he orders 

the shade of red that dusts your cheeks gets deeper by at least five shades, you can physically feel your skin burning but you’ll do virtually anything to please him now, “been wet all day, can feel it making my thighs sticky,” you mumble, “it’s all for you,” 

“good girl,” leon drawls and you know that no matter how this ends, whether you get his cock or not, he’ll praise you even more afterwards and tell you that he’s proud—he always does—but for now, he’s not done teasing, “it’s a shame though,” he pants, with his chest heaving 

“why?” you ask, probably too quickly because leon makes you wait for an answer. his cock fucks through his fist hard and fast, creating a slap of skin every time his hand collides with his tensing stomach and underneath it all, his balls are starting to tighten and draw upwards—he’s close 

“if you’d behaved, i would’a had you on the bed by now,” he huffs and you whimper, “yeah—fucking hell—face down, ass up, could’ve fucked you right, made you come on my cock over an’ over, until you cried—yeah, just like that,” he rambles

the tears that cling to your lashes now aren’t crocodile tears anymore. you’re desperate and needy and what he’s doing has gone past teasing, it’s torture and he’s getting off on it. to make matters worse, you’re getting off on it too, you can’t help it with how vocal he’s being and how dirty it all sounds

tentatively, you reach out and ghost your fingers over his leg, prompting him to inch forwards but not enough to be properly in reach, “please, i need it,” you sniffle pitifully and as your bottom lip wobbles, you see leon’s facade falter

“shit—beg for it,” he says, though it sounds almost like he’s begging you to finally do what he’s asking. his tone is thin and filled with every harsh breath that’s passing his lips, “quickly sweetheart, m’about to come” he stresses and grabs at your jaw again, softly this time 

“i want it—i want you, wanna taste you—please, i’ll be good,” you start to beg before your brain has even processed it, “i swear i’ll be good, please just let me—i need it,” you cry with tears streaming down your cheeks to where his fingertips are dimpling into your skin 

“open your—oh shit,”

leon’s cock jerks before he finishes his sentence, cutting him off and knocking the wind from his lungs while his orgasm takes hold. thick ropes of come shoot across your face, splattering up your cheek and across your forehead, making you jump before your jaw drops and your tongue lolls out for him 

you hum happily as the next wave, and every wave after that, drips across your tongue and slides down your throat with ease while leon groans deeply above you. his hand slips over his length slower but tighter, wringing every drop of come from his sensitive cock and into your mouth 

“kiss it,” leon pants when he has nothing left to give and he’s starting to soften against your lips, that gently press around the head of his cock in a delicate kiss, “now say thank you, i gave you what you wanted,” leon smirks lazily as he drawls his words 

his fingers glide over your cheeks, smearing his come across your skin before he carefully uses his knuckle to collect the drips that are stuck in your lashes so that they don’t get in your eye, “thank you,” you whisper and then giggle when he tickles down the bridge of your nose with wet fingertips 

“good girl, now behave until i’m hard again and i’ll fuck you,”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!

The facility is supposed to be abandoned. No bio signatures on the initial recon scan, no movement from hostiles after an extended stakeout, nothing. An abandoned underground lab for an experimental arm of Umbrella, potentially full of important documents on bioweapons research.

Your mission is to gather as much information as possible, should any of the viruses created there pop up on the black market or worse.

Easy, compared to the shit you're usually assigned.

Leon agrees.

Well, you think he agrees. He treats every mission as seriously as the last. You've grown to appreciate his consistency. It makes him easy to trust, which is essential in this line of work.

He's the best partner you've ever had. Thorough, direct, and smart. He never questions your abilities and relies on you just as much as you rely on him.

And, god. He's kind. Funny, too, when he wants to be. One time on a weeklong stakeout in the middle of nowhere, Argentina, he explained to you, in detail, the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo, all because you said you'd never read it. You hadn't even known he liked to read.

He's hard to crack, though. Professional to a fault, more dedicated to the cause than anyone you've ever met. And he's handsome.

How could you not fall in love with him?

You keep your ever-growing feelings to yourself. Asking him if he feels the same isn't worth ruining your partnership, isn't worth being someone else who wants something from him that he maybe can't give. Not when you can have him this way -- at your side with your life in his hands, his in yours.

In some ways, this is more intimate than any regular relationship you've ever had.

You'd spent the chopper ride here watching him as he looked out the window, even though you knew he felt your gaze. He's always doing that, always taking in everything around him with militant attention. You wonder what he sees that most people don't. Connections, patterns, maybe even beauty. You've never asked. Whatever it is has kept him alive this long. It's kept you alive, too.

And so, the mission.

You drop from a very long hatch into dark, stale air. The ladder leaves your hands aching and your shoulders tight, but there's no time for recovery.

Training takes over. Leon leads, with you at his right flank. Flashlights on, service weapon at the ready.

"Stay sharp," he says.

Sometimes you tease him about it, his constant readiness for a threat. But you feel it this time. Something's not right here, scans be damned.

Flecks of dust and grime float through your bright beams. The corridor ends maybe 15 meters in front of you in a set of metal doors, no windows. The security pad on the left side blinks a dull red.

"Emergency power," you say.

It was in the brief as a possibility but not a guarantee. Leon approaches, and you follow, digging into one of your belt pockets for the access card some other agent had to steal last week for this purpose.

"You want to do the honors?" you ask.

Leon shakes his head. "Be my guest."

The red light blinks green with a hover of your hand, and the unlocking mechanisms creak to life. The doors open slowly with a hiss. You're greeted with a dark lobby, dull yellowish lights lining the base of the walls.

"Must be on throughout," Leon says. Sometimes these places are zoned, or some other needlessly complicated system of power distribution. "Hopefully that means doors will keep opening."

He's still tense, arms outstretched to shine his light into the new space, shoulders taut. You feel it too, a prickle at the base of your neck.

"If not, I'm sure the power systems will be super easy to find with no issues," you say lightly.

He huffs, as close to a laugh as you can hope for at the start of a mission, but it's a win.

"Ready?" he asks.

You dip your chin. He glides into the room, clearing one side as you clear the other. There aren't any signs of disturbance, but that's how it goes with these places. The closer you get to the exit, the more normal it seems -- because all of the horrible things happen behind closed doors.

And no one makes it out.

"Clear," Leon calls. You echo it.

There are two single doors that reveal a bathroom hallway and the security office, as well as a set of double doors that resemble the locked entrance, another keypad glowing red at one side. Leon finds a map of the facility in the office and spreads it on the desk.

"That locked door will take us to an elevator that goes down to the labs," he says, tracing the path with a finger under the beam of his flashlight. "Three of them, all on different levels, connected by staircases instead of the elevator shaft, only accessible by keycard and on the other side of an anti-contamination corridor."

"Isolated," you observe. "In case of an outbreak?"

"It's bare bones compared to the other Umbrella stuff we've seen. This must be really out-there shit. Less resources, less of a footprint, less of an issue when it goes wrong."

You try to commit the map to memory. Leon will undoubtedly fold it into one of his pockets, but it's hard to consult a piece of paper when you're running from a B.O.W..

Level B1: MENIS, Level B2: KAMATOS, Level B3: PYRETOS

"Greek," Leon mutters. "More creative than T-virus, that's for sure."

This is just like him, surprising you after countless missions as your partner.

"Do you speak Greek, Leon?"

He shrugs.

"Not really." He tightens the strap on his glove, a cue that he's frustrated. You know most of his tells by now. "I don't know the last one. Fire, maybe?"

"Not really, he says," you tease. "What else are you hiding, Kennedy?"

He rolls his eyes at you, but if the lights were on, you're sure you'd see some pink in his cheeks. Battle-hardened agent he may be, Leon S. Kennedy still blushes for you.

If only...

No. You swallow the pang in your chest and roll your shoulders. "Start with B1 and go down, then loop back up?"

It wouldn't be out of the question to divide and conquer, but the slimy unease dripping down your spine prevents you from suggesting it.

He grunts his agreement, eyes still on the map, frowning.

As a pair, you work so well together because of your communication. It took practice, sure, but now you know each other across a crowded room, through the heat of a fight, in the dark. You don't let things go unsaid.

Well, most things, your traitorous heart says.

"Leon," you say. "It feels off, right? We're missing something."

Blue eyes meet yours. He sighs.

"Yeah," he says. "Guess we just have to find out what."

You can't help it -- you put your hand on his bicep and squeeze just a little, holding his gaze. His fringe hangs in his eyes. In another life, you'd push it back.

"Be careful, okay?" you ask him, faces so close you can feel his breath.

Leon got shot on your second ever mission together. It was a clean wound, through and through, except for the fact that he'd already been shot in that shoulder back in Raccoon City. The bullet fucked up the already fragile joint, so he needed surgery and was benched for six weeks (he was back at your side in four).

There was nothing you could have done. It was nobody's fault. But you felt responsible for waylaying your new partner, who was one of the most well-known agents in the whole damn place, so you went to see him in the hospital to alleviate your guilt.

"They have you with anyone while I'm out?" he asked you.

They did, actually, but hadn't told you who. Leon was troubled by it.

"Well, be careful," he said, as if he didn't trust anyone else to watch your back, even then.

"Only as careful as you," you replied, pointing at his shoulder.

That was the first time you made Leon Kennedy laugh.

Now, it's something you say to each other in the field. A mantra, a reminder, a promise.

Leon gives you a small smile.

"Only as careful as you," he replies, like he always does. We keep each other safe.

You release him and busy your hand at your belt immediately, god forbid you touch him more.

He rolls his shoulders back and checks the chamber of his sidearm.

"Into the depths, huh?"

"Into the depths."

--

Level B1: MENIS

The elevator opens to a dead contamination chamber. Nothing happens as you walk through the three zones where you'd expect to be scanned, doused, and dried. Another set of metal doors opens with a hiss when you tap the keycard. The smell of death hits your nose and makes your eyes water.

There are at least 10 bodies piled on the other side, most of them in pieces.

"Fuck," you curse, sidestepping a caved-in head.

"Looks like the party started without us," Leon says quietly.

"Great," you mutter. "God, that's nasty."

There aren't any claw marks or avid stains or other tell-tale signs of B.O.W.'s you see with this caliber of violence. One look at Leon and you know he's realized the same thing. You tilt your head down the hall. He nods, following your lead deeper into the floor.

Red emergency lights pulse along the base of the walls, illuminating the blood splattered pretty much everywhere. You pass the occasional corpse, most of them so horribly disfigured it's hard to tell if they were staff or test subjects or something else.

There are so many things you want to say, but you keep them to yourself until Leon leads you to the floor's main office. You slide in but don't relax.

"They look like they were torn apart," you say as soon as the door is closed. Leon frowns at you, since you didn't clear the room first, but it's a square office. You can see all the corners from where you're standing.

"I know," he replies. "But no sign of what did it."

You sigh. "So, are you going to tell Hunnigan the location survey was wrong, or should I?"

"I think I've run out of my 'bad news' calls for the year," he says. "That one's all yours once we get topside."

"How generous of you."

Leon smirks. "I'm a giver."

The office is small and the computers are dead. There are papers scattered around, so you divide and conquer.

You find an official logbook. Mostly in-the-weeds science stuff, but you skim until you find a change in handwriting.

LOG #57:

Development continues under new staff. Blood transmission remains the only method that carries enough sample to infect a host; airborne tests were unsuccessful. Vaccine/suppressant formulas abandoned for the time being after we were told that our subject supply would be steady. B2 wants to set one of theirs against one of ours, which seems pointless because any B1 subject will win that fight. B3 is a joke, but they're insistent that it'll work.

No vaccine...that's not good news. But what were they actually testing here? Infecting people with what?

You flip more pages until you find something that makes your blood run cold.

LOG #63:

We've finally gotten a host to survive. B2 and B3 are nowhere near this. We won't be sharing. Their subjects die within hours. B3 is practically useless, anyway. What use is controlling people if they die on you in an hour? But here, we've cracked it. I managed to figure out how to get the virus to work with the host's adrenaline production, stabilizing it into a constant state of fight or flight without short-circuiting the nervous system. If this batch survives the week, we'll ask permission to start on the suppressant. Once we have that, we'll be able to control the whole herd. The future of hostile takeover is here! Now, if only they'd let us out of this fucking dungeon more often…

Holy shit. They were making viruses to infect large populations, to control them. But using what? Changing their brain chemicals, making them reliant on suppressants? Leon told you about this kind of manipulation, how it infiltrated a military unit and even made its way to the White House a few years ago. Who knows how far they got this time?

"Leon," you call, turning with the folder in your hands. "You should look at this --"

You make eye contact and fall silent. He's got his finger over his lips and his gun at the ready. 

You toss the papers aside and take your place on the other side of the door.

That's when you hear it.

Groans, grunts, screams. Footsteps -- a lot of them.

He holds your gaze.

Clear the chokepoint, get into the lab rooms down the hall around the corner, make for the stairwell on the other side of the floor.

That's what you'd do, so you know it's what he's thinking, too. No confirmation needed.

The door bursts open. You duck, missing the arms reaching for your neck. It's dark in here, but you rely on muscle memory and gravity to sweep the zombie's legs out from under it and stomp on its head while you fire at the next one.

The attackers are -- well, they look mostly human. But their eyes are wild, blood running down their faces like tears, pink foam and spit dripping from their mouths.

Leon's movements are sharp and decisive. Headshot, parry, twist. Uppercut, knee sweep, headshot. He occupies the air around you like he's magnetized to your movements, always filling the space where you aren't, ceding room when you need it. After hours upon hours of mat practice between the two of you and hundreds of field opportunities to master it, you work together like a well-oiled machine.

It's exhilarating.

You're forced back from the door, but you keep firing, slicing, covering each other. It's essential that you get into the hall sooner rather than later to avoid being trapped in this room.

A zombie rips the arm off another in its attempt to get to you. That's new.

"What the fuck were they doing with this shit?" Leon grunts. He's splattered with blood now. No doubt you are too.

"That's what I was going to tell you before our party of two got crashed," you say between shots. 

"They wanted to control people."

"Yeah, this sure looks like control to me!"

"We have to clear it or we'll have to fight through on our way back up."

Leon grunts his agreement. "They're not biting." His aim is true, as always. He downs two, three, four infected. "They just want to rip us apart!"

"We need to go into the hall. Cover me," you say, dodging bloody fingers and sliding through the door. "Switching weapons!"

Your assault rifle is strapped to your back. You holster your pistol and reach around for it, but something catches your jacket and pulls.

The fabric tears. For a split second, you worry your flesh will be next, but then the tug disappears. Leon grunts and he breaks the neck of whatever had you.

You keep your gaze on the approaching pack, maybe 10 or 15 strong. Leon keeps taking them down while you holster your pistol and check the new cartridge.

"Gonna need to reload in a second here," he calls. "Six left. Five. Four --"

"Ready," you shout. Leon stabs a zombie in the neck and walks behind it, using it as a wall against reaching fingers until he's at your side again. He tears his knife free and slides beside you, solid, ready.

You open fire.

That's all it takes. The hallway is soon empty and bloodier than before. All you can hear is your combined panting.

Leon lowers his gun. "Nice job," he says.

You drop yours, too. "What was this floor called again? Menace?"

"Basically," he says, slamming in a new clip. "Divine wrath or anger."

"No shit." You look down at the tear in your jacket. "God damnit, this is my favorite."

Leon checks his chamber. "I'll get you a new one," he says.

You laugh. He almost smiles, like that was his goal all along.

The rest of the floor is mostly clear. A few stragglers here and there, but they're no match for the two of you. The containment chambers seem to be where the infected gathered in the months since this facility went dark -- the walls are covered in scratch marks.

"I can't believe they didn't kill each other," Leon says with mild disgust. "Not having control of yourself like that...I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

You've read the report from Spain. He knows how it feels.

"Do you think they're aware?" you wonder aloud.

He looks so sad for a moment that you almost reach for him. "I hope not."

--

Level B2: KAMATOS

The stairwell is a mess. The door to B2 is barricaded, but you manage to get through after slamming your shoulders against it over and over.

This floor is quiet, but in a different way than upstairs. Years of field-trained instincts tell you there's nothing left alive on this floor. That, and it made a hell of a lot of noise getting the door open, and nothing popped out.

It's dustier down here, like things have been still for longer.

"What's this one mean?" you ask. "This virus."

"Extreme fatigue," Leon tells you.

"So if they controlled adrenaline levels on the first floor to make them angry, they're depriving people of sleep on this floor?"

He shrugs. "Maybe they found a way to keep the brain awake without killing it."

They did not.

The documents you find suggest the virus was a failure. The bodies you find confirm it. Hosts died from heart failure, self-inflicted wounds, a number of things, no matter what the scientists did to keep the mind from giving up. All by depriving them of sleep.

Being so tired that you see no other way out…

The horror of it all rises in your throat. You leave Leon with the corpses so you can press your forehead to the cool hallway wall.

This job asks a lot of you. Your time, your well-being. Your security, your personal relationships, your hobbies. It's overwhelming and can bury a person. The things you see, the things you do -- it gets to you. It’s easy to shove it down, to pretend like you're untouchable, but that's no way to live, either.

Sometimes you just have to feel it.

These poor people.

Leon's hand is light on your shoulder. Not patronizing, not rushing, just there. Warm, solid.

You take a deep breath, then stand up straight.

"Let's take a quick break before the last floor," Leon says.

"I'm fine."

You turn to face him, but he's already crouching, back against the wall.

He grins, a real smile this time. It makes him look younger. "Who said it was for you?"

It's like he's giving you permission to put it all down for a second. To forget where you are, why you're there, what you're doing. Leon's guard is rarely fully down, and right now he's telling you that he's got you. Rest for a second, I'll take care of us.

He's proven to you over and over that he will.

So you smile back, shaky but genuine. "Getting old, Kennedy?"

"Something like that." He looks up at you, grin softening into something fond. "Do you remember Greece?"

You slide down the wall to his level. "Do I remember Greece? Be serious. How could I forget --"

"All those stairs," Leon finishes. "Exactly."

It was last year in the height of summer. A small, sleepy cliffside town, except for the fact that a scummy billionaire moved into the monastery and started developing B.O.W.'s in the catacombs.

The town was evacuated. You were sent in to apprehend the guy and secure whatever virus he was using. It turned into three days of running up and down stone staircases away from bats with tentacles and lizards with thousands of teeth where you wouldn't expect teeth to be.

Over the course of your partnership, you've seen each other in all states, but you've never seen Leon as exhausted as he was after that mission.

"I thought I was going to have to carry you to the rendezvous point," you remind him. "You fell down so many stairs."

Leon rubs his knees as if remembering the way they smacked stone over and over.

"And you would have," he says.

He catches your gaze and holds it. He's reminding you that you're in this together. That he trusts you, something you do not take lightly. It's hard to know who you can trust in this job, even your very own employer, but he never doubts you. You never doubt him.

The familiar ache of everything you feel for him sits warm and heavy on your chest. He's the best man you've ever known.

"I would have," you say.

Leon dips his chin, his mouth curling into a smaller smile than before, but this one is just as fond.

"We should go back," you say without meaning to.

It surprises him, but he hides it well.

"That would be nice," he muses. "I don't know the last time I took a vacation."

"We could go to the beach," you continue. It's scarily easy to imagine -- Leon in swim trunks, cheeks pink from the sun. "Stay at the bottom of the stairs and not walk up a single one."

"But you liked the monastery," he reminds you. "We'd have to go back up to see the windows."

Of course he remembers how you'd looked up in awe at the stained glass, gun in your hand and blood on your face.

"I'll climb up by myself. You can relax."

Leon sighs. "Relax," he says. "I don't even know if I know how to do that."

"You're good at everything," you say. "You'll pick it up in no time."

Whatever game this is, you're having too much fun playing it. Leon doesn't lie to you, so while he might be indulging you, there's a part of him that means all of this. He has to know that you mean it, too.

He stands and offers you his hand.

"One more floor," he says. "Then we can go to Greece."

--

Level B3: PYRETOS

The hit comes out of nowhere.

Maybe you're distracted by talk of vacation, or your guard is down after the silence of B2, but you don't see it coming. One second you're rounding the corner, the next you're flying backwards through glass, back slamming against a cabinet. You land heavily on the ground, more glass and something wet raining down on you.

Leon yells your name.

You try to catch your breath, but it's stuck in your chest. He's still calling for you in between gunshots.

"Fuck," you croak, finally finding air. You roll onto your side. Glass crunches under your weight as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.

Everything hurts, but you try to shake it off and push up to standing. Leon hauls himself through the broken window. He begins to clear the room after he sees you on your feet.

"Clear. That was one ugly son of a bitch," he says. "Must have gotten down here from upstairs."

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.

Something isn't right.

Your skin feels tight, like you already went on vacation and got burned to a crisp. Your pulse won't slow. Deep breaths feel impossible. Strangest of all, it's almost like –

Well, your core is buzzing. You press your legs together and try not to panic.

In the early days, after Leon got shot but well before Greece, you hid an injury from him.

You took a knife to the ribs during a fight. It wasn't too deep, but it was wide and bleeding steadily. Adrenaline allowed you to get through it. You figured you could patch yourself up the next time you slowed. But Leon pushed on ahead, and you followed without saying anything.

That is, until you left a bloody handprint on a door. He stopped immediately.

"Is that yours?" he said. "Where are you hurt?"

"It's nothing," you protested. But Leon S. Kennedy does not give up easily.

"Show me," he said, pulling out bandages from his hip pouch. "When did this happen?"

"I'm not compromised," you said, even as you lifted your jacket to show him.

"I know you aren't," he said. "I want to know when you're hurt so I can make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," you said weakly. He patched you up quickly and thoroughly.

"We're partners," he told you. "We have to help each other."

Here, now, you don’t hide from him.

"Leon," you croak. "Something's wrong. I think I --"

He's at your side in an instant, so close your breath hitches. Why are you so affected by him? Why are you so warm?

"The rip in your jacket," Leon says. "Your arm is bleeding."

"Liquid," you gasp. "It felt wet when I hit the cabinet."

The pieces come together. Shattered vials at your feet, an empty cabinet behind you. The dull red emergency lights make it hard to tell what color the puddle is, but you know it can't be good.

"They wouldn't keep a virus out in the open, would they?" you ask weakly. You're shaking now, shivering even though you don't feel cold.

"Fever," he breathes. "Pyretos. It means fever."

You've rarely seen Leon afraid. He's human, so it happens, but normally he faces things head-on without complaint.

Right now, he looks terrified. That scares you more than anything.

"Leon," you whisper. "What do we do?"

He snaps into action. He hands you a roll of bandages.

"Wrap it," he says. He presses a few buttons on his watch until it beeps. Setting a timer, no doubt. Just in case. "How do you feel? Describe it to me."

"Feverish," you say. "But not dizzy. I can think clearly."

Leon starts to dig around the lab, tearing open drawers and rifling through what he finds. The office on this floor wasn't in the same place as the other two, so any information must be in here, right?

"What else?"

You follow his lead, desperately searching for anything helpful. How do you explain the fact that your entire body is pulsing with a very specific kind of need? It scares you, feeling this out of control physically while also being in your right mind.

You land on achey. The buzzing under your skin gets worse every minute you spend looking and finding fuck all.

"There's nothing here," he says, frustrated. "Shit."

You're thinking the same thing: no vaccines. Any hope for you is in this lab.

But then -- your eye catches on a cabinet sitting on deep grooves in the floor.

"There's a door," you tell him, already heading for it. A wave of need hits you so suddenly that you have to brace yourself on the wall to catch your breath. Leon brushes by you. The slight contact has you swallowing a moan.

Jesus Christ.

He shoves the cabinet aside. Behind it is a door that opens into the lab office, as dark as the others.

You follow him in and start searching the shelves. Leon drags a table into the perfect place to effectively barricade you in.

"We don't have time to be interrupted right now," he says. He starts searching the desk.

You're sweating now. If this thing is going to turn you, Leon can't be here for it. You don't want him to see it. "Maybe you should go back to the surface --"

"I'm not leaving you," he interrupts. It's sharp, final.

"But if I turn--"

Leon whirls around. "I'm not leaving you," he says again.

Your nose stings. It's not the rational choice, but it's the Leon Kennedy choice. You can't help but be grateful for it.

He returns to the papers. Everywhere your clothing touches your skin feels heavy, almost painful. Your skin is sensitive, your throat dry, breath still fast.

You're so turned on, you think you might explode. It's all you can do to just stand there and try to keep it together.

"I found something," Leon says. He says nothing else. It's hard to see his expression in the dark without being close to him. You don't know if you can handle that right now.

"Bad news, doc?"

He swallows and begins to read.

"In an effort to bend the subject to commands, a fever is introduced via the bloodstream that increases testosterone and dopamine to near-unbearable levels of arousal. We have successfully altered the balance to allow the mind to be unaffected, making the reaction purely physical. The fever, if detected and combated within 1 hour, can be reduced by repeated bursts of oxytocin until the subject's internal temperature returns to normal. Required oxytocin levels seem to vary by subject; no pattern discernible at this time."

"What the fuck does that mean?" you pant. Your skin feels too tight. You still can't take a full breath. Control is becoming a missed opportunity. "Do I have a sex fever?"

No answer.

"Leon."

He exhales sharply.

"I think you need to be touched," he says. "To release the chemical that will help you fight this on your own."

Your responding laugh edges on hysterical.

"I do have a sex fever. So, what, you're going to hug me and hope I don't die?"

"I could," he says. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "I just don't think it'll be enough. This says bursts, and a lot of them. The best way to trigger that kind of response is --"

It clicks in your mind.

"Orgasm," you whisper. "Oh, god."

Leon closes his eyes for a second too long.

"I don't know what to do," he admits. He looks at his watch. "It's been 10 minutes. I don't know what--"

"I'm so sorry," you breathe. The gravity of your situation is like a bucket of cold water. If only it actually made you feel cold. You have to fuck your partner or die. What kind of sick joke is this? "Leon, I'm so sorry. You don't have to do anything, this is my fault --"

He tosses the file onto the table.

"I'm not going to let you die," he says with all his usual conviction. He really believes it, and it makes it easier for you to believe it, too. "Not when there's something I can do about it."

"But not like this," you croak. "This is --"

"I know."

God, you wish the lights were on. You want to see every detail of his face to discern what he's feeling. Can you ask him to do this? Will it ruin everything forever?

A tremor wracks through you. You have to brace yourself on the desk.

He yanks open drawers until he finds a thermometer. It beeps alive, somehow, and he holds it up to your forehead.

"Shit," he mutters.

"What?"

Leon flips the device to show you the screen. 103.2.

"Shit," you echo.

Your brain is going to cook in your skull sooner rather than later. You swallow frustrated tears along with your pride.

"I'm so wet," you whisper. It's the lewdest thing you've ever said to him. "I can feel it."

Leon inhales sharply, standing ever-so-still just next to you, just out of reach.

The pain radiates through you, molten lava in your veins. It's strange to be able to think so clearly. You want Leon as badly as you always do. That's bearable. But the pain. The heat. It's something else, something all-consuming.

You need him to touch you.

"Please don't make me beg," you whimper, turning towards him.

"Jesus," he mutters, filling the space you make for him. His hands find your face. You groan. The contact is like a balm, even through his gloves.

"Oh god."

You nuzzle into his palms. It's like you can feel the battle in your blood, the virus doing its best to cook you from the inside out, but Leon's touch is giving you a foothold, a reprieve.

If it wasn't so awful, you'd laugh at the idea that you're so horny you might die.

"Whatever you need, I'll do," he says. His voice is already hoarse. "But just -- you have to tell me if it's not okay. And I'll stop. We'll figure something else out."

You lean back on the desk and grab his elbows. You've touched plenty, but never like this. Never loaded with all of the unspoken things between you, never with such desperation.

"It's okay," you tell him. "Whatever it takes, it's okay. I trust you."

His thigh slides between your legs.

"Can you forgive me? If I do this?" he whispers, lips so close to yours. You lean forward on instinct, pulled to him by more than just the fire in your core.

"There's nothing to forgive," you say, and then you're kissing.

What you need is an orgasm, but this is something you've wondered about for a long time. Something you've wanted. It almost feels selfish to take it now.

But, fuck, it's good.

He's not shy. You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue. He opens for you immediately, licking into your mouth as he pulls you forward and onto his thigh.

His kisses are desperate, exposing his worry, but also tender, exposing his care. You're in good hands, hands you love.

Even through your pants, the pressure of your cunt on his thigh is enough to steal your breath.

"God," you gasp.

"Not quite," Leon says, kissing a path from your mouth down your neck. "Does that help?"

You grind down on him in reply. His palms have made their way to your hips, aiding you in your quest for pressure on your core.

It's too much. It's not enough. But still, the coil tightens. "Sorry, I just need --"

You chase it, grinding down on his thigh even harder, panting into his neck. You're close, you can feel it. You're chasing it, that snap, that reward. Leon just lets you take and take and take.

You thread your fingers through his hair, panting into his neck. When you tug just a little, he bounces his leg and you keen.

"More, please."

It only takes three more bounces before you're coming, shudders ripping through you, his name on your lips.

When you return to your body, Leon is dragging his palm up and down your back.

"Did you just--"

You're becoming very familiar with the fabric of his shoulder, his leather harness pressing into your cheek.

"Mhm," you manage.

There's a world where you're embarrassed. In that world, you asked Leon out for dinner and then up to your place after. In that world, you made out on the couch and ground down on his thigh until you came. In that world, he laughed with you, utterly charmed, and it was the beginning of something wonderful.

In this one, he gently tilts you back so he can check your temperature with the thermometer.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "102.1. It worked."

You don't feel that different, but the number doesn't lie.

Leon is panting, too. "More?"

You nod. Your cunt aches like you didn't have an orgasm at all.

He tugs off a glove with his teeth, dropping it god knows where.

"Don't know how clean my hands are," he says.

A laugh bursts out of you, but it sounds close to a sob.

Two fingers go in his mouth faster than you can open yours. He doesn't waste too much time wetting them, given how turned on you already are, but he gives them a good suck. A trail of spit hangs from his lip when he finishes.

You work at the buttons of your pants, unbuckling your tactical belt. It clangs onto the desk behind you. Leon slides his hand down under the waistband of your panties. You collapse into him with a guttural moan.

"Leon," you gasp. He holds you up, no problem, even as you go utterly boneless at just his fingers in your folds.

"You weren't kidding," he says, breathy. "You are wet."

"I'm sorry," you pant into his shoulder.

"Please don't say sorry again," he groans. "I can't take it."

"Can I say thank you?"

"That's worse," he says, sliding two fingers into you at the same time. "I just wish it wasn't like this, is all."

The absurdity of the whole thing makes it hard to keep your emotional walls high. What's the point? You're having sex with your partner to save your life in an underground Umbrella laboratory. You're way past keeping your emotions from him.

So you hear his words for what they are. For what he's not saying.

"Oh, yeah?" He curls his fingers and you groan, arching into him. "You have something you want to tell me, Kennedy?"

"Little late for that."

He presses his lips to your jaw, but you pull back so you can see his eyes. He's flushed, his pupils taking over almost all of the blue you love so dearly.

"I always want to know how you feel," you tell him. It's honest, raw, perhaps out of place when he's knuckle deep in your cunt.

"Fuck," he breathes, like eye contact is enough to undo him.

"I just want to help you," he says. "I always want to help you when you need it." He picks up the pace with his fingers. "I like being the guy who has your back."

His thumb circles your clit. It’s all you can do to hang onto his shoulders and ride it out as he keeps talking.

"I want to give you everything you've ever wanted," he says. "I miss you when you leave the room. I trust you more than anyone I've ever met."

"Oh, Leon," you gasp, grinding down onto his hand. "Me too. Me too."

He scrapes his teeth along your neck. "Yeah?"

"Yes, yes, yes --"

The orgasm washes over you. You clench around him over and over. He carefully pulls his hand from your panties and licks his fingers. Good god.

Something has shifted between you. It's still about the mission, about breaking your fever, but now it's more. It's more, because you both want it.

Leon leans in for a kiss. You meet him halfway, tasting yourself on his lips.

Beep.

"101.3," he says.

You push his hair back from his forehead. "Is that low enough?"

This time, you do feel a bit different. Maybe it's the confirmation that Leon has feelings for you, but your muscles feel more relaxed, your skin less taut. The need still burns, though.

"There's no way to say this without sounding like a creep," he says wryly. "But I think you should have a few more."

You drag your hands up and down his torso, but your gaze lands on his makeshift barricade.

"Do we think we have time?"

Even as you ask, you're toeing off your boots and shoving your pants down. Leon is quick to help you.

"If anything comes through that door," he says, fingers hooked in your underwear, "I can kill it with my eyes closed."

He hooks his hand under your thighs and helps you up onto the desk fully, sweeping everything onto the ground.

"So could you," he adds. You hum in agreement. Your hand returns to his torso, trailing it down to the front of his pants.

He's hard.

It's not entirely a surprise, but you're pleased.

"I know, I'm sorry, it's kind of fucked up --" he tries. You don't let it get very far.

"Don't you apologize," you say. "You're allowed to want, Leon. I promise you, whatever you want, you can have. You already do."

His answer to that is a kiss, not searing and heated like before, but soft and slow. Like he's memorizing you, learning every inch of your mouth just because he can.

A wave of heat rolls through you, so intense and unexpected that you have to close your eyes and grit your teeth against the pain.

Leon rubs your back and tells you to breathe, it's okay, you're going to be okay.

The heat dulls. "How long has it been?" you ask through gritted teeth, eyes still shut.

"26 minutes."

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, helping you come back to yourself.

"Are you okay to keep going?" he asks. "I'll do whatever you want."

You reach for his belt with shaking hands. Not because you don't want him, or because you're scared, but because you need him. You need him to survive. This was just as true before you got infected as it is now. And you have him.

He has you.

Leon lets you unbuckle his pants as he undoes his harness and his tactical pouches. They both fall to the ground.

You take him in hand and he hisses. His cock is warm, another layer of heat against your already burning skin. His hips jerk when you stroke him root to tip.

His fingers circle your wrist to stop you.

"Another time," he says. He kisses your chin. "Okay?"

There will be another time. Leon doesn't say things he doesn't mean, so you take it to heart. This will happen again.

It's not exactly romantic, the way you lean back on some long-dead bioterrorist's desk naked from the waist down, Leon's pants shoved down his thighs and his cock in his hand. But it's what you've got, and it's what you'll take.

You spread your legs for him. He sucks in air like a man just saved from drowning.

"Ready?" he asks. You feel his tip at your entrance and can't swallow the moan that rips from your throat in the shape of his name. He wastes no more time sinking into you in one stroke.

You come immediately, legs wrapped around his hips. You might scream, it's hard to tell. But you're so full and it finally feels right. Like you've been missing something all along and finally found it.

Leon says your name over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer.

"I wish I could see you properly," he says, voice breaking. "I wish –

His hips jerk forward even though he's bottomed out. He leans forward until he's bracing his forearms on either side of your head, brushing your nose with his. He's right. It's hard to see him fully in the red-washed office.

"You know what I look like," you tell him.

"Not like this," he shakes his head. "Not like this."

"You're doing so good," you say, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Leon, it feels so good --"

It's a strange sensation to feel your blood cooling while he's inside you, to regain control of your body just as you surrender your heart.

Leon starts to move his hips, a slow drag at first, but it quickly becomes a snap. You dig your fingers into his biceps and hold on. You can hear how wet you are as he fucks you.

The coil in your core tightens again. "Leon," you moan. "I'm gonna--"

He kisses you, hips slowing to a grind. He reaches between you with one hand to find your clit and give it some messy circles.

"Go ahead," he says against your mouth. "I can take it."

Your cunt clenches around him. Tears prick in your eyes not from overstimulation but from everything else -- the heat in your veins, the tenderness of his hold, the way he's kissing you as you fall apart, swallowing your gasps.

"So beautiful," he says. And god, it sounds like he means it. Half-dressed, sweaty and bandaged, he means it.

Leon goes back to shallow thrusts, but they're becoming more erratic.

"How many is that?"

"Four," Leon says.

"Are you..."

He nods. "I'm close."

His forehead is damp from the effort. You wipe it with the heel of your hand.

"It's okay," you tell him. "It's okay, Leon. You can --"

You tighten your legs around him to hold him inside.

His breath hitches, but he picks up the pace without argument.

The smack of your flesh fills the room. The only thing on your mind is Leon Leon Leon.

The noise he makes just before he comes inside you is a punched-out whine of your name. He stills above you entirely, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

"So beautiful," you echo. "So beautiful, Leon."

He keeps his weight off you but presses his face into your neck as he catches his breath.

"Fuck," he says. "How do you feel?"

You need to check your temperature, but remarkably better. The heat in your veins is an expected one. You can feel sweat cooling on your skin. The incessant need in your cunt has dulled to a satiated ache.

"Still alive." You kiss him chastely, considering he's still inside you.

"Let me check -- where the hell did that thing go?"

He pulls out. You both hiss just a bit, but he finds the thermometer on the ground.

Beep.

"98.3," Leon says. "That's normal."

You feel boneless and make no move to get up from the desk. If you did, you'd surely make a mess.

"Finally, something normal about today."

Leon tucks his cock back into his briefs, buttons his pants. He drags his hands up and down your thighs.

"Can I clean you up?" he asks.

Even though you now know how he feels, know that he wants you just as much as you want him, he's done so much for you today. Your temperature is back to normal. You still need to make it back to the surface.

"You don't need to," you say. "Just...give me a clean bandage, or something --"

"Let me do this for you," he interrupts. Begs, really, already getting on his knees between your legs. "One more. Just to be safe."

The heat that builds is nothing like the wild, uncontrollable fire of before. This is all you, all Leon. 

The fact that he wants his mouth on you, wants to lick his own come from your cunt.

"Okay," you breathe. You thread your fingers through his hair. He preens.

He kisses the inside of your thigh and pushes your legs wider.

Maybe you should feel exposed, but you don't. You feel wanted. You feel safe.

Leon pulls your folds open with his thumbs. He starts with long licks with the flat of his tongue along your seam, flicking your clit when he reaches the top. But your entrance quickly becomes his focus, and suddenly he's a man possessed.

He laps up his own release as it drips from you, humming when you tug on his hair. He hardly comes up for air, but you know he's paying attention to your reactions based on the way he moves his mouth. He sucks on your clit. Your hips buck, so he does it again.

"Leon," you gasp. How is it possible that you're going to come again? But you feel it, the rising tide in your core. All it takes is a glance down to find him watching you, soaking in whatever he can see in the dim light.

He keeps his mouth on you through your final orgasm. This time, a few tears leak from your eyes. Your breath evens out and your heartbeat actually slows the way you expect it to. The fever is broken, you're certain of it.

"Just to be safe," you say to the ceiling. "You just wanted to show me how good you were at that."

Leon wipes his face with the back of his hand.

"I like to be thorough," he replies. He stands, drags your underwear and pants up with him. 

"Are you okay? How are the symptoms?"

"I think so." You scoot forward on the table so he can pull your clothes over your hips. "It doesn't feel like a fever anymore."

"What does it feel like?"

Your legs are a little shaky, but you stand and wrap your arms around him. You've just had sex to save your life, but you don't know if you've ever hugged Leon before.

"It feels like you," you tell him, cheek pressed to his shoulder.

Leon stills, but you can hear his heartbeat pick up. He envelops you in his embrace, lips pressed against your temple, his inhale shaky.

"I'm glad," he whispers. "I'm so fucking glad."

He's hidden his fear from you so well this whole time, but you saw the look on his face when he realized you were infected. You hug him tighter, willing the fear to leave him. You're okay. You're here, in his arms. He saved you.

"What now?" you ask. You turn in his arms. He releases you so you can reach for your tactical belt.

"We get out of here in one piece," he says. "We get you to medical."

"Fucking medical," you mutter. You shove your foot back in your discarded boot.

"I won't leave you there," Leon says. They could keep you for days, but you know he means it. "Then I'll take you home. And we'll sleep for days."

You almost forget that you don't have to keep your feelings from him. You let the joy take over your face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says, a little sheepish. "If you want to."

"I want to," you assure him. "I want to."

You'll have to talk about this, surely. The way it changes your partnership, how to navigate field work. There is so much to learn about him. What he's like on a quiet morning at home instead of a stakeout. The noises you can pull from him in a real bedroom. His face when you tell him you love him.

The future is bright.

Leon buckles his harness. He laughs to himself, tearing you from your thoughts.

"What?"

He straightens your belt and grins crookedly, boyish and lovely.

every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.

he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.

then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.

nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.

your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.

you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.

you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.

“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.

nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.

you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.

his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.

fuck.

he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.

“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.

he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.

every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.

he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.

he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.

he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.

“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.

his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.

“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.

“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.

he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.

he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.

nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.

the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.

he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.

you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.

your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.

“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.

“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.

nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.

and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.

+

a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.

nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.

it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.

it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.

he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.

you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.

each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.

he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.

tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.

the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.

nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.

you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.

“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”

he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.

he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.

you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.

the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.

nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.

he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.

“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”

you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.

your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.

the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.

his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.

you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.

he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.

you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.

nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.

he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.

you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”

“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”

you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”

caught him red handed. fuck you.

he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”

the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”

his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.

“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”

you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”

the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.

he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.

nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.

he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.

his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.

his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.

he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.

the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.

nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.

he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.

he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.

he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.

the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.

he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.

only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.

he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.

nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.

when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.

your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.

he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.

you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.

the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.

“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.

he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.

you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.

nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.

his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.

the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.

he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.

“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.

your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.

his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.

now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.

he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.

you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.

nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.

but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.

with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.

your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.

he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.

the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.

your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”

the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.

nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.

“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.

nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.

his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.

the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.

nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.

for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.

nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.

your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.

finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.

a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.

the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.

he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.

“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”

the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.

he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.

“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”

the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.

Looking back, this might've been a bad idea.

Your Tinder date didn't really have an extensive bio. Or many pictures. Consciously, you know those would be some big red flags. But her face, God, her face. Her beauty had absolutely floored you in the two photos added to her profile. Enough to lead you to take this risk.

Emily Prentiss, her name stated, 53. Her biography simply said My friend made me get this. Two pictures: one of herself, clearly taken by someone else, across a table — maybe said friend? —, her smile small but enticing, her eyes dark and big, pulling you in even through the screen; the other, her next to two women, both blonde and, apparently, a little younger, all grinning. You had clicked on her instagram handle, noticing the profile was almost bare, save for the number indicating three posts. Her profile picture was of a black cat, green eyes looking straight into the camera, but the account was private, a shame, really.

For safety, you told yourself, you let yourself google her, maybe looking for a Facebook page or even a professional Instagram profile. What you found, though, were many articles regarding recent FBI closed cases, most with pictures of her speaking to the press, or working alongside one of the women in her account photos. Digging deeper, you found out Emily Prentiss was the Unit Chief of one Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, an impressive job, really, although it did ring alarm bells in your head for the veracity of her Tinder profile. Surely, this high profile woman wouldn't be looking for dates on a dating app? But, then again, who would bother making a fake account and using this specific woman's pictures for it? And some candid looking pictures, nonetheless.

Well, bad idea or not, there's nothing to do but wait.

Sitting at the restaurant she picked, you think back on your recent conversations. Emily had taken long to reply almost every time, but she'd been witty, dryly funny and had explained how her job took too much of her time, rendering her unable to text much during the day. You had suggested dinner, in the end, figuring a public place would be safe enough, and if Emily looked nothing like her pictures, or was someone else entirely, you'd be surrounded by people, easy to make an escape by taking an Uber.

Looking up at the glass doors, you catch a glimpse of silver hair as she walks in, accompanied by the maître d', and, fuck, does she look even better in person. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, softly waved and, somehow, perfect in the low light. Her outfit looks expensive, a dark blue sleeveless jumpsuit and high heels, contrasting with her pale skin and golden jewelry. When she reaches the table, you stand, lips already parting in a delighted smile even without your own permission. She places her coat on the back of her chair, then leans over and places a kiss on your cheek.

“Sorry I'm late,” she speaks, her voice deeper and smoother than you expected. As you're both sitting down, you swallow dry at the velvetiness of it. “I got caught up at work. Have you been here long?”

“No, not long,” you wave her off. “You look beautiful, are you sure you worked all day?”

Emily smiles amusedly, “flattery will get you everywhere.” She takes a sip of the water already on the table, “you're gorgeous, even more in person.” Tilting her head, she reaches for the menu, “have you been here before?”

Still dazed by her, you take a while to respond, “no. But the waiter gave me some recommendations, I'm still deciding on which pasta dish to get.”

Emily discusses the menu with you like a person who's intimately familiar with it, then you wonder if she's brought other dates here. Finally, you both decide what to get and the waiter leaves you to it, but not before taking note of the specific wine Emily requested. She orders it only after she's inquired you extensively about your taste in wine, if you like sweet or dry, red or white, and asks if you're okay with her choice.

“I was curious about your bio,” you say, after the waiter has left with your orders.

Emily stares blankly, “what's a bio?”

Amused, you bite your lip to contain a smile. “Your biography.”

She continues to frown, “I don't know what you mean.”

“On the app, I mean,” you clarify, watching closely as realization dawns on her face. “Why did your friend make you get an account?”

“Oh, of course,” she chuckles, and you're glad she's not embarrassed. “Penelope, my friend- I even think she put a picture of us on there.” You nod, remembering the photo of her and two blonde women. “I don't know, she did all of it after I'd complained too many times of being bored on the weekends, I guess.”

“And she didn't think to add that you're an FBI agent?”

Emily only shrugs, “she added a lot of stuff. I deleted everything.”

“A dangerous game you were playing,” you explain, all too familiar with fake, blank profiles. “People tend to assume you're a fake account when there's nothing on there.”

“Oh?” She asks, genuinely surprised. “I guess that's why people kept asking for my Instagram- another one of Penelope's doings.”

You smile, “I think it's sweet she wants to connect with you online.”

She waves a hand, “we work together practically everyday, no need for more connection.”

Chuckling, you notice your waiter arriving with the wine. After being served and taking a sip, you widen your eyes, knowing just from the taste how expensive it must be.

“Good, huh?” She asks, seemingly impressed with herself, and you can't help but nod.

After a beat, you clear your throat. “Can you tell me about your work? Or is it, like, classified?”

She smiles, causing your insides to warm up at the brightness of it, “nothing like that. We analyze behavior to try and catch criminals, pretty straightforward stuff, but it can take time. Sometimes I'm away for more than a week.”

“Oh, so there's a lot of field work?” You ask, suddenly even more curious with her description of it.

She shakes her head side to side, considering it, “ever since I became chief, there's been less for me. I tend to stay behind to work people and politics- pretty boring, I guess.”

You frown, “not at all!” Taking another sip of wine, you remember some things she talked about over text, about how one day she was exhausted from so many meetings. “I figure people are the most important part of the job.”

Emily nods, something like understanding flashing in her eyes. “What about you? You said you've been taking some time off?”

Nodding, you begin to explain. “Yes, um, I… have a son. He's two.” Surprisingly, she doesn't seem put off by it like most people you go out with, it makes you comfortable enough to go on. “His name is Oliver and he got sick at the beginning of the year.” Her forehead creases, but it doesn't look like pity in her eyes, only concern. “He's all good now! Seriously, he's been running laps around me for over a month. But seeing him like that, in the hospital, I don't know…” You sigh, wondering why you're even opening up this much, but Emily seems interested, kind, so you continue, “it made me want to be around him even more. I know I'm gonna have to go back to work at some point, but now I'm just… soaking up time with my baby.”

“Of course,” she says, softly. “It sounds like he's very lucky to have you.” Her words make you smile, drinking more wine to settle your racing heart, the way it always gets when you talk about Ollie's time in the hospital. “I don't have kids, but I think I'd do the same thing you did after what you both went through.”

You smile wider at her, glad she has seemed to understand. Not for the first time in the evening, you wonder why a woman like Emily is still single, and worry maybe there's something fundamentally wrong with her, because there's no way someone would ever have her and let her go.

It's not just her looks, although those help immensely. She's beautiful, of course, her eyes are always wide, gorgeous pools of rich cocoa, her nose has the most perfect slope you've ever seen, her lips plump and painted a dark nude like they are right now. Her hair. So shiny, it looks like it'd feel like silk through your fingers. But it's not only that. Even from your brief text messages, you could tell she cared about what you had to say. She had been curious, though not invasive, and had known how to ask without making it sound like an interrogation. In person, she's been even more considerate, talking about her own life without trampling over your voice, inquiring you like she actually, really wanted to know what you had to say.

Suddenly, you're struck with the thought that you, as it may be, honestly want her to take you home.

Dinner is surprisingly easy. You didn't think you'd have so much in common, but you do — music taste and food you enjoy, coupled with hobbies or weekend pastimes. She tells you about her team, her friends, who sound more like a family than anything else, and she asks about Oliver, his interests and if he might go to school soon. You show her the polaroid of him you keep in your phone case, his eyes wide with excitement on the most recent Christmas day. She beams when she sees him, tells you how cute and sweet he looks, a genuine emotion on her face.

Emily tells you about the cat on her Instagram profile, not even weirded out that you had looked (although she hadn't known Penelope had added it to her profile at all). “His name is Sergio.” And you coo at the pictures she has on her phone. “Penelope insisted I have him back, but I didn't want to separate them. We sort of share custody, now.” You laugh at their arrangement, saying it sounds more like a marriage than a friendship. She smiles, unconcerned, saying she's a very good friend, closer to a sister than a coworker.

Before you can order dessert, she mentions there's a place close by with decadent gelato, and if you're interested in moving over there.

When you arrive, you feel like an outsider in your fancy clothes, but Emily grins at you when you ask about her favorite flavor, extensively describing the butter-pecan one they have as an option. You guess it looks funny, both of you clearly dressed for a specific event, eating ice cream on a bench outside the store, but you don't really care.

“Want a taste?” She asks, and your mind immediately wonders what it'd be like to taste straight from her lips. You only nod, and she brings the cone close to your face. She was right, it is absolutely heavenly.

Startled, you let out the smallest gasp when her thumb makes contact with your bottom lip. She brings it to her own lips, licking the drop of sweetness off of it.

“Can't waste it.”

You hum, smiling amusedly at her moves. “Smooth.”

Emily shrugs, going back to her ice cream. “Next time, we're getting Belgian chocolate with strawberries. It's so good.”

Grinning, you lift an eyebrow, “next time?”

For the first time in the entire night, she blushes. “I mean- if you want.”

You beam, “I'd like that.”

She smiles at you, finishing her cone and taking your empty cup and napkins to the trash. When she comes back, she sits facing you. “It's been a while since I've had such a good time,” she says, almost… shyly? It's sweet.

Instead of responding, you place a hand on her cheek and lean in, giving her enough time to pull back if she wants to. She doesn't, so you close the gap, finally tasting her. It's slow at first, her lips cold like you figure yours must be as well, just a press, but when you start moving away, she comes back in for more. Delighted, you press your tongue into her mouth, swallowing her surprised gasp.

She tastes like her ice cream, and yet it's much, much better than having it from her cone. Her lips move fervently under yours and she melts into you, completely relenting control. Judging from everything she's told you, you guess it's no easy fit for her to let go, but she does, resting both hands around your neck, arms completely wrapped around you.

When you pull back for a breath, she makes the tiniest disgruntled sound in the back of her throat, making you laugh. Quickly appeased by a quick peck, she's back to smiling, opening her eyes to stare into yours.

“I've also had a great time,” you say, unnecessarily, but you don't want her to have any doubts.

“Do you…” Emily starts, licking her lips absentmindedly, but so enticingly you want to grab her face and kiss her again. “Need to get home soon?”

“Ollie's having a sleepover with my parents.”

Emily, honest to God, grins as if you told her she just won the lottery. “So, do you want to turn dinner into breakfast tomorrow?”

Airport glass stretches high above you, light bleeding through in soft streaks. It’s late, or maybe too early, but the city is already moving.

You step outside and there he is.

Leaning against the hood of his Nissan Silvia S15, head tilted down, arms crossed. The car looks the same – of course it does. White paint, matte purple hood and the faded sticker you once slapped onto the passenger door is still clinging on.

He glances up when he sees you approach.

“I didn’t expect… you,” you say.

“I know,” he exhales. “You think I’d let Yeonjun pick you up? Not a chance.”

You roll your eyes. Of course – nothing’s changed.

“Nice to see you too…” you murmur dry.

Taehyun walks over, grabs your suitcases and loads them into the car. You open the passenger door and toss your bag into the – somewhat – backseat without asking because you know how this works or at least you used to.

The car smells exactly the same: old leather, burnt rubber and that cologne he always wore. You could be blindfolded and still know this is Taehyun’s car.

The door creaks open and he slides into the driver’s seat. He pulls out slowly, heading for the highway. It’s quiet, only the low growl of the engine fills the space.

For the last thirty minutes, you’ve just stared out the window, watching the lights go by, watching your hometown creep closer after two long years. Two years spent trying to find yourself. Of trying to outrun a version of yourself you weren’t ready to face. Trying to leave behind the underground. But here you are again. Over time you realized you were just trying to deny who you are. Deny your passion. Deny the love of your life.

The air is heavy, full of things left unsaid. Then you break the silence.

“Yeonjun knows that I…?”

“He does,” Taehyun says, cutting you off.

You nod. Silence again.

Most people would call it awkward but not you and Taehyun. This is just how it’s always been. You know when he doesn’t feel like talking and he knows the same about you. You both got used to that rhythm.

But you expected more, maybe questions, updates, something after two years of nearly no contact. But there’s nothing.

•••

“Here we are,” Taehyun says as he parks and shuts off the engine.

You just stare at the house in front of you – the place that held most of your life. The door on the left with the little fence. The pink neon light on the wall, still flickering after all these years, even though no one ever came to fix it. The garage door covered in graffiti. It all looks the same.

You don’t even notice the tears running down your cheeks – not until a warm thumb gently wipes them away. Startled by the unexpected touch you turn your head toward Taehyun.

“It’s okay. Welcome home, little deer…” he says softly.

He gives you a small, quiet smile before opening his door and stepping out of the car. You follow.

It‘s cold. Around 4 AM. Taehyun places your suitcases next to the car before he speaks up.

“I’ve got to go. Something I need to take care of. See you later. Sleep well, deer.”

“Stay safe, Tae,” you reply in a whisper. He nods, slides back into the driver’s seat and drives off.

You turn around, take a deep breath and walk up to the doorbell in front of the big garage door. You just know he’s there.

A few seconds after ringing the bell, you hear the familiar sound of the door unlocking. You slip inside, suitcases in tow.

Only your footsteps and the soft hum of the suitcase wheels echo through the hallway. You walk until you reach the door you’ve been looking for.

It’s not fully closed. You give it a gentle nudge and it swings open, revealing the chaotic but familiar garage of your best friend. It looks exactly the same.

The massive workbench beside the car lift, the cozy seating area with a couch and a few comfy chairs, a tiny kitchen in the corner and in the back the king-size bed that holds too many memories to count.

“Done scanning my place?”

The voice snaps you out of your thoughts. There he is, standing in the middle of it all.

You meet his eyes as he smiles and whispers, “Hey.”

Your chest tightens. Your eyes burn. You can’t hold it in anymore.

“Hey,” you whisper back, voice cracked. Then you walk toward Yeonjun and fall into his arms. He’s warm. Smells like petrol, engine oil, and that same cologne. His chin rests gently on your head as he holds you tight.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.”

You don’t answer. You just breathe him in. The arms you missed. The voice you only heard once a month for the past two years.

“I missed you.”

You feel him smile. “I missed you too. But… do you know who else missed you?”

He slowly breaks the hug and you look up at him, eyes sparkling.

“She’s here,” he says, pointing at the familiar shape under a cloth nearby. “Right over there.”

You’d recognize that silhouette from hundreds of meters away, even covered. You walk slowly toward it.

“Did you treat her well?” you ask.

Yeonjun chuckles. “Of course I did. I didn’t modify anything you wouldn’t have done yourself. Just took her out for short drives now and then – kept her in good shape. Maintenance, the usual. And your usb-stick… Taehyun still has it, I think.”

You nod. You didn’t expect anything less from Yeonjun – a mechanic who loves what he does and who knows exactly how much you love your White Queen.

You walk up to the hood, grip the cloth and pull it down. There she is. Just as stunning as the day you left.

A Toyota Supra MK4. White with beautiful pink cherry blossoms.

„Wanna go for a ride?” Yeonjun asks, spinning the keys around his finger. You nod, excitement lighting up your face.

“Of course.”

You catch the keys as he tosses them over, open the door and slide into the driver’s seat. Yeonjun hops in beside you.

The engine purrs to life. The tires hum against the asphalt as you ease the Supra out onto the road, Seoul’s night lights painting soft streaks across the windshield. Neon signs blink by, flickering across Yeonjun’s face as he leans back in the passenger seat, one arm resting casually on the door.

“You’ve still got it,” he says, eyes half on the road, half on you. “You didn’t even stall it this time.”

You smirk, giving him a sideways glance.

“That was once. And it was raining.”

“You were crying.”

“You were being an ass.”

“Still am,” he grins.

The laughter fades into a comfortable silence. For a while, it stays that way until Yeonjun breaks it, his voice quiet, almost careful. “Why did you leave us?”

You sigh. You knew that question would come up. The longer you stay silent, the heavier the air becomes.

You pull into the next possible stop near the Han River – a place you all used to come to, back in the days.

Yeonjun looks at you but he doesn’t rush. He just waits like he’s been waiting ever.

You inhale deeply. “The Hangang Run,” you say. Just that.

From the corner of your eye you see him sink back into the seat, hands dragging down his face. “Shit…” he mutters.

The Hangang Run – a race you organized with two scouts from another crew. The chosen route, Hangang Riverside Road, was risky. Too risky for that many drivers. You weren’t sure about it, not really, but you went through with it anyway. On race night your crew was in top form. The engines roared, adrenaline high and for a while it was good. Then everything blurred. You only remember fragments.

Jaehyun – the rookie in your crew – close behind you, way too fast on Mapo Bridge. Taehyun was overtaking you aggressively on the inside. You hit the breakes – too late. Jaehyun swerved to avoid you and lost control. Everything collided at once. A loud crash. Smoke. Screams. The next clear memory: you standing on the roadside, staring at the wreck. Taehyun and Yeonjun shouting at each other, voices cracked and furious. Taehyun turned and stormed off into the night. But Yeonjun stayed with you. By the time the police arrived you already knew … Jaehyun was dead. Because you approved that route. Because Taehyun let his ego make the call. You never told Yeonjun what really happened that night. After Jaehyun’s death, the crew fell apart. The others left without a word. You left too. But not without telling one person. Yeonjun. Taehyun knew why. He knew he was the reason Jaehyun died because he broke the first rule: No ego when it’s about crewmates and their safety. And Yeonjun? He still thinks it was your fault. Maybe he’s not entirely wrong. Jaehyun was his friend. Your friend. Even now, Yeonjun still wears the crew’s signature bandana.

You turn your face away from him, eyes burning and wet.

“I’m sorry about what happened that night, Yeonjun… I had to leave it all behind.“ You whisper, barely louder than the wind.

His reply is sharp but not cold. “You didn’t just leave the crew. You left your best friends without a word. Taehyun still hasn’t forgiven you for disappearing. We were all disappointed when you chose Osaka over us. We could have gone through it together.”

You nod. He is right. You shouldn’t have left them behind like this.

„Not to mention,” he says, quieter now, “we thought we meant more to you than just best friends. We even talked about it, just days before … and then you left.”

He lets out a long breath – not angry but tired.

His hands clench slightly in his lap then loosen again. He doesn’t look at you at first, just stares out at the river, lips pressed tight but then he turns. Not with rage but with something that feels worse. Disappointment.

His eyes are softer than his words but they hold something raw.

More like: Why wasn’t I enough for you to stay?

You don’t answer right away. How could you? Because again – he’s right. You had something going on with both of them. At first they didn’t know but as if best friends wouldn’t eventually talk. And of course they did.

It led to a fight but in the end they made a deal: leave things as they are. No drama. No claims. No promises.

None of you were lovers, not really. Just fun. All of you agreed but then you suddenly left. And that made it feel like it had never been just fun at all.

“Jun…” you whisper, tears sliding quietly down your cheek. “It was never meant to hurt either of you. I just… I couldn’t handle all of it. I didn’t know how to live with that kind of burdon, you know?”

Your face falls into your hands, crying in silence until you feel a warm hand gently touching your thigh.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he says softly. “You could’ve talked to me. Or Taehyun. I’d never be mad at you for this. I just thought … maybe we weren’t enough for you to stay.“

„We’re happy you’re back,” he murmurs against your hair, “Even if Taehyun doesn’t always show it. But you know him better than anyone else.” A soft chuckle follows. “He wouldn’t have picked you up from the airport if he didn’t still care.”

Silence settles in the car again – this time not cold. Heavy, yes. But no longer hollow. After a few long minutes, you look up at him, still wrapped in his arms. “I missed you, Jun.”

He smiles – that soft, knowing smile that used to undo you. Instead of replying, he leans in for a kiss. It‘s feels soft and calming.

“Let’s go home,” he says gently after the kiss, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You need sleep.” You nod, slowly pulling back.

•••

You open the door to your old apartment. It still looks exactly like it did back then as if time had paused the moment you left. A little dusty but untouched.

Yeonjun helped carry your luggage upstairs. Your place is just one floor above his. At the door, he gave you a soft smile and a quiet “Good night.”

You nodded, too tired to say much. And before your head even touched the pillow, you were already asleep.

•••

Your eyes flutter open, blinded by bright sunlight streaming straight into your face. A blanket you don’t remember pulling over you rests warm and heavy on your body. As your vision clears, you notice someone standing in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. That silhouette – you know it way too well.

You shove the blanket aside, sit up and make your way to the bathroom. You look like absolute crap. After a quick shower and feeling somewhat human again, you head back to the kitchen.

There’s Taehyun, sitting at your tiny table, a mug in front of him and another waiting on the other side.

“Good morning,” you say, sliding into the seat and taking a sip of the fresh coffee. For a moment, you forgot he has keys to your apartment.

He says nothing, just watches you, cozy in a black hoodie, hair messy and undone, his usual dog tag necklace hanging around his neck, the small USB stick dangling beside it.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you add, waiting for any kind of response. He smiles, nodding slowly.

“Sure… I’ve got something for you,” Taehyun finally says.

You look at him, eyebrows raised, curiosity written all over your face. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a pink USB stick with a tiny charm attached.

Your eyes light up as he places it gently on the table. “You really kept it?” you ask, disbelief coloring your voice. “Of course,” he replies quietly. “I figured you’d come back one day.”

You reach out, fingers trembling slightly as you take the stick. It holds all your personal racing data: from nitro settings to tuning profiles, maps and videos no one is ever supposed to see. That’s why you entrusted it to Taehyun. It even contains the dashcam footage from the Hangang Run – a secret you both vowed to keep.

The charm on the stick is pink too, engraved with six tiny letters, each one representing the initials of the three of you.

This stick is a driver’s everything. That’s why Taehyun wears his around his neck. Only God knows what secrets lie in this small thing. These sticks aren’t meant to be used by anyone else, only by the driver themselves.

“Thank you, Tae,” you say softly, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’ll need it,” he replies. “We’re invited to a race in Gangnam tonight. You feeling ready?”

A race right after your arrival and after two years off? Risky. But you’ve never been one to shy away from risks. Not since the last time though, so you choose to be honest.

“I don’t know…” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. „Jae is still on my mind every time I think about racing. I am not sure if I am ready yet.“

Taehyun nods, understanding exactly what you’re talking about, maybe more than you’d like him to.

“It’s okay. Come,” he says, opening his arms to invite you for a deep hug.

You get up from your chair, slowly walk around the table and let yourself fall into his embrace.

For a moment, there’s only silence. Just warmth. Just the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then he speaks, voice low near your ear.

“You don’t have to drive tonight. Ride with me, if you want. Let’s at least show them you’re back.”

Your throat tightens. “Okay.”

Your voice cracks slightly under the weight of it all, the accident, the fear, the idea of stepping back into the world that once shattered you.

Taehyun looks up at you, arms still wrapped around your waist. He sees the glint of tears forming in your eyes.

“What’s wrong, deer?”

You look down and meet his gaze. That old nickname hits somewhere deep.

“I…” you hesitate, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry I left without a word. Especially to you. I just… I hope you can forgive me someday.”

His expression shifts. Softer now. Still hurt, but not bitter.

“It’ll take time,” he says honestly. “But the fact that you’re here now… that’s something. That’s a start. Don’t worry about me too much. I’m okay.”

For a long breath, neither of you says a word.

Then he leans in and kisses you. His hands slide up your sides as he pulls you closer, guiding you onto his lap and the kiss deepens. A soft moan escapes his throat. “I missed this.” he whispers.

You don’t answer because you don’t need to. Actions speak louder than a thousand words. Your hands are already tangled in his hair, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. He can feel your answer in the way you lean into him.

Taehyun heats up fast. You can feel it – the way his body presses against yours and the tension that builds between you. You know exactly how this goes. It’s always been like this with him. Intense and wordless.

His hands drift lower, slipping over the curve of your hips, gripping you tighter and pulling you in even more. Then he gives the first subtle impulse – a soft push downward invites you to move.

And so you do. Slowly and rhythmically your body starts to move against his hardness. His breath catches.

His fingers move to your core, barely touching you, tracing slow, lazy circles over the damp fabric of your sweats. The heat of your body is impossible to miss. You’re so wet it’s soaked through and he’s not even inside yet or even did anything other than kissing. The wet stain on your pants is telling everything aswell.

He watches you, eyes full of hunger. “You feel that?” he asks softly, pressing just a little with his thumb on your clit. Taehyun definitely feels your slick soaking through the fabric. “That’s all for me, isn’t it?” He grins.

He leans in for another kiss, lips brushing yours. “I want to feel all of you,” he whispers. “It‘s been too long.“

His other hand moves up under your shirt cupping your breast. His thumb moves over your nipple and your breath hitches. Then he pulls your shirt higher to replace his finger with his mouth. Putting hot, wet kisses all over your skin. You moan in ecstasy, arching toward him and he groans against your chest. “You’re perfect. So freaking responsive.”

His hand slides back down and this time he slips under your panties without hesitation. Two fingers stroke slowly through your folds and a small whimper escapes your lips.

“God, I love how your body talks to me,” he says, breathless. “I can feel how badly you want this.“

Your hips roll into his hand searching for more. His fingers stroke you slowly, just enough to keep you on edge. Then suddenly he stops and your breath catches. You look down at him, confused. „Don’t move,” he says commanding.

His fingers leave your cunt and he pulls back just slightly, enough to make you feel the loss. Then he brings his wet fingers to your lips. “Taste yourself,” he orders.

You hesitate, but his eyes tell you this is not a request. So you part your lips and he slips his fingers in. You close around them and taste yourself with burning cheeks. He groans softly. “Good girl.”

His mouth crashes into yours right after. One hand grips the back of your neck, holding you there, while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you tightly against him. You can feel how hard he is.

“Take your clothes off,” he growls against your lips. “Slowly. Let me watch.”

You obey. As you stand up and start undressing, his eyes follow every movement. There’s no hiding. Not from him. When you’re finally bare, he leans back just enough to look at your full body.

„on your knees”

You drop down slowly, never breaking eye contact – he smiles. Not sweet but hungry. “You’re better going to be a good girl for me,” he says. “And then I’m going reward you for being good, I promise.”

As you move closer your fingers begin to trace slowly over the bulge in his black sweats. A little squeeze here, a gentle rub there. His hungry eyes follow every move. Then you hook your fingers into the waistband and pull his pants down just enough to free his member which is pretty flushed pink and veiny thick. It’s been a long time since you last saw it and the memory doesn’t do it justice.

You wrap your fingers around him, giving him a few slow, deliberate strokes. Then you bring the tip to your lips. Soft kisses first, tasting him. Then you part your lips and take the tip into your mouth, keeping your eyes locked on Taehyun the whole time. His breath hitches the moment your lips close around him and the muscles in his thighs tighten. One of his hands moves to your hair. You take him a little deeper, tongue moving slowly along his shaft. Meanwhile your hand wraps around the base, stroking perfectly timed with your mouth. He groans low and deep, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“Fuck…,” he mutters. “You still know exactly how to use that sweet mouth, don’t you?”

You hum in response and the vibration makes him hiss through his teeth. His grip on your hair tightens slightly.

“Eyes on me,” he says firmly when he saw you weren’t watching him anymore. You obey, looking up at him again while you slide deeper, letting him feel how much you can take. The sight of you pulls a curse from his throat.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he growls. “Mouth full of me.“

He pulls back slightly, hand tugging at your hair until you release him with a wet pop. A string of saliva connects you to his tip. He watches it for a beat before spitting out the next command. “Hands behind your back,” he says quietly.

His words make your thighs clench and you do as you were told, letting your arms fall behind you, completely open to him. And then he pushes his dick past your lips again, slow at first, giving you time. He moans deeply as your throat tightens around him. “Just like that, little deer.“

A few more thrusts until he says „Relax your throat, you can take more.” He pushes in even deeper this time. Your eyes water just a little, gagging softly around him, but you stay there, holding still, letting him use you just the way he wants. That only makes him growl. „Good girl… fuck, you’re perfect like this.”

He sets a rhythm with deep, hard thrusts, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in. His breathing gets heavier and you can feel the tension building in his body.

Every time he hits the back of your throat, his fingers tighten in your hair. You can tell he’s close but not ready to finish yet. Suddenly, he pulls out completely, leaving you gasping for air, saliva dripping down your chin. He watches you and smiles. Right after he grabs your wrist, pulls you up and guides you to your bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he says, voice calm but full of command. “On your hands and knees. Ass up.”

You scramble up without hesitation, climbing onto the bed, positioning yourself just as he asked. You hear him behind you, pants hitting the floor a few moments later the mattress shifts under his weight. He runs a hand down your back until it rests on your hip. Then a hard slap lands on your ass and making you cry out.

“That’s for teasing me earlier,” he says. Another slap, just as sharp as before. „And that’s for taking two years to give me this perfect view again.” A squeaky moan leaves your mouth and your ass cheeks already feel gloomy.

He slides the head of his cock along your folds, slicking himself with your arousal. Then, with one thrust he is inside of you. The stretch is intense but exactly what you needed.

„Fuck,” he groans. “You feel even tighter than I remember.”

He starts to move and the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room, mixing with your moans and his low curses. He drives into you even harder now, each thrust deep, his hands gripping your hips so tightly they might leave marks. Your moans turning into helpless cries with every stroke.

“You hear that?” he growls, referring the echos in the room, leaning over you, his chest brushing your back. “That sound is your body begging for me.”

You try to speak but he cuts you off with a sharp thrust that makes your arms shake beneath you.

„You’re mine right now,” he hisses into your ear. “This pussy belongs to me. Would Yeonjun satisfy you this good, deer?”

His hand slides around your throat. He pulls your upper body up, pressing you against him as he fucks into you from behind, the new angle making your legs tremble causing your walls to tighten around him.

“Oh… you’re close, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “Clenching around me like you’re about to break.” But he doesn’t let you – not yet. He pulls out suddenly, leaving you empty.

“No,” he says simply. “You come when I tell you to. Not before.”

A hand comes down on your ass again then trails between your legs, fingers sliding through the mess he’s made of you.

“You’re dripping,” he murmurs. “Completely ruined. And I’ve barely started.”

He pushes you flat onto your stomach, one hand between your shoulder blades holding you down. His cock rubs against your entrance again.

“You’re going to take all of me,” he says. “Until you’re crying for it. Until you forget your own name.” And then he thrusts back into you, fucking you into the mattress with no more restraint.

You’re lost in foggy clouds and each thrust sending sparks through your body, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your voice broken and breathless. And still, he doesn’t let up. Your body is no longer yours, it’s his. You cry out his name with every stroke, unable to hold anything back anymore.

“So close,” he growls, his hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back. His free hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles in perfect time with his thrusts.

“Now,” he commands, voice rough. “Come for me. Let go.”

And you do.

A wave that rolls through you. Your whole body tightens around him, a raw, desperate moan ripping from your throat as the orgasm crashes over you. Taehyun groans behind you, thrusting into your pulsing, soaked pussy a few more times before he follows you over the edge, cursing your name as he buries himself deep and spills inside you. He stays there, breathing heavy against your back, his hands still gripping your waist like he’s afraid to let go. For a long moment, there’s nothing but your breaths.

Then he pulls out and you can feel the warmth of him dripping from between your thighs as your body sags into the sheets. He leans down, placing a kiss between your shoulder blades.

„You were perfect,” he whispers, voice quieter now. “Every fucking second of it.”

You smile and then suddenly drift off into foggy clouds.

•••

After cleaning up the mess, you put on some fresh clothes and got ready to leave the house. As you step out of the bathroom, Taehyun is already waiting for you on your little couch, ready to go.

“Done?” he asks. You nod and walk over to the door.

He said the two of you would meet Yeonjun and get your cars ready for today’s race. Even if you’re not joining as a driver this time, you’ll be there. You’ll always be there.

You leave the apartment, Taehyun following close behind. Your footsteps echo down the long hallway. Before you even reach the stairs, the man behind you grabs your wrist and pulls you toward him, trapping you between the wall and his arms.

“Haven’t you gotten enough this morning already?” you ask with a laugh.

“Just one last kiss,” he murmurs. “And don’t forget me, or what we did, when you’re talking to Jun.”

You sigh, about to reply, but he steals your words with a kiss. Just one. Then he smiles, lets you go and steps back.

Men… you think, rolling your eyes slightly as you head down the stairs. Two minutes later, you’re in the garage. Yeonjun is already there, lounging on his couch with a mug of coffee in hand.

“Finally you’re here. Thought you’d never show up after what I had to witness this morning,” Yeonjun says, nonchalantly sipping his coffee. “Thanks for that, by the way. I bet the whole house woke up because of you two.”

Taehyun and you walk over to the lounge area where he’s sitting, settling in as well.

“Jealous, Jun?” Taehyun teases, raising an eyebrow. Yeonjun shoots him a death glare. “Not even a little, you dumbass.”

Taehyun bursts out laughing. You can’t help but laugh too. For a second, it feels like old times again, the three of you and them tangled in this weird rivalry over you but still completely inseparable.

„Let‘s get to work then, we got a race to win today“ Yeonjun says after finishing his coffee.

The hours pass as the three of you go over possible modifications for each car, debating new setups, color changes or maybe even a fresh wrap design. Yeonjun does his best to make every wish technically possible, already calculating how to make everything work flawlessly.

Meanwhile, you take care of the basics: checking oil levels, inspecting tires, making sure every bolt is in place.

Taehyun is working on his USB stick, uploading the latest tuning profile he’s adjusted specifically for the new track in Gangnam. He’s determined to squeeze every last bit of performance out of the car and you can tell by how serious his expression is. He barely speaks while the progress bar loads, eyes glued to the screen.

After a few more hours, all the preparations are finally done and you collapse onto the couch, completely exhausted. You exhale deeply.

“Damn, I forgot how tiring all this prep work is.”

Yeonjun laughs. “Welcome back, Sweetie. You better take a nap before we leave – tonight’s going to be a long one.”

“Mhm,” Taehyun agrees. “You’ve got about two hours before we need to get ready. Better get some rest.”

You nod silently, pushing yourself up from the couch, ready to head back to your apartment upstairs. But then Yeonjun speaks up behind you: “You can sleep here if you want. No need to go back up. We’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

As said, you head to Yeonjun’s bed. The sheets still smell faintly like him – coffee, motor oil and something warm and familiar. You lie down, feeling your body sinking into the mattress, with a quiet sigh.

Your eyes close almost instantly, the weight of the day finally catching up to you. Between waking and sleep you hear soft footsteps moving across the garage then the faint sound of a door opening. Taehyun.

You don’t open your eyes but you listen. Then the gentle click of the door closing behind him.

•••

“Wake up, you lovebirds.” A voice cuts through your sleep. “Wake up!!” Louder this time.

Your eyes flutter open and the first thing you see is Taehyun, fully dressed and looking way too good at this hour. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, clearly amused.

Then you turn to your right. Yeonjun. Still asleep. Eyes closed, breathing slow. Didn’t he say he was going to wake you? You sigh. Of course. At least Taehyun did his job.

You sit up in the bed, blinking into the light. It’s way too bright. Your brain hasn’t caught up yet.

“Jun, wake up,” you mutter, reaching over to shake his shoulder. All you get is a low noise from his throat. Not even a full word.

“Tae, please take care of that. I need to get ready. Shit.”

You know he doesn’t like being ordered around but right now, you have no time for games.

You throw the blanket off you and hurry toward the door, leaving them behind without waiting for an answer. In a rush you head back upstairs to your apartment to get ready.

•••

at the race

Taehyun hits the brake and you rock back and forth from the force of gravity. Thank God his car has good brakes otherwise, you and he would have hit Yeonjun while trying to regain control in a really dangerous attempt at a drift.

“What’s wrong with him today?” you ask Taehyun, flustered, knowing full well this isn’t the right moment for this kind of conversation – you have to win a race.

Today you chose to take a seat beside Taehyun; you don’t feel ready to drive on your own yet. Seems like Yeonjun didn’t like the idea of you riding with his best friend.

“He does it for you,” Taehyun replies shortly, taking the next turn in a smooth drift, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

The other competitors are a little behind. Yeonjun seems determined to win the race for the crew’s sake. All you can hear are loud engine noises and the hissing of nitro injections at perfectly timed moments. You can tell Taehyun maxed everything out for this race.

The neon lights of Gangnam blur past as you race through the streets. Just a few people are outside at this hour and those who are, simply stare at the cars speeding through the city. You need to finish this race before the cops show up. Two kilometers left.

You don’t talk, just hang in there, hoping everyone will stay safe. Some motions bring you back to the past when your friend Jaehyun died. The guilt wants to creep in but you can’t lose your mind now – you need to stay focused.

“The finish line! Over there! Someone behind us is close, go go go!” you shout at Taehyun. He pulls his last ace and pushes everything to the max, not letting the other guy win. A few seconds later, you shoot past the finish line – second place.

Taehyun parks his car right beside Yeonjun’s. The two of you get out. Yeonjun is leaning on his hood casually, smiling wide. He must’ve already gotten congratulations for the win. But his smile doesn’t last long when Taehyun speaks up.

“Dude, what was that?? Did you want to kill us or yourself? Everyone knows you just don’t drift in that curve. You just don’t!”

Yeonjun shrugs his shoulders. “Sometimes you have to risk something to win, I guess.”

Taehyun grumbles, “Did you want to impress her?”

“Maybe. Since she’s back, you haven’t given me much time with her. If this is the only way to get her attention…” Yeonjun replies.

You’re just standing there, eyes flickering from one to the other and back. Are they really arguing again over this?

“You could have just asked, dude. Not me, but her,” Taehyun says.

“Well…” Yeonjun looks at you, then at Taehyun. He just shakes his head, motioning to get in the cars.

“This time, you’ll ride with me,” Yeonjun says.

You smile, giving Taehyun a glance. He understands.

You slide into the passenger seat of Yeonjun’s car. The air still smells burned. When he starts the engine of his Skyline R34, you feel kind of nostalgic. When was the last time you sat in his car? Next to him? Must have been a while.

The ride to Taehyun’s apartment – where you used to stay a lot after races – is a quiet one until he whispers carefully, “Have you been worried?”

You nod. “I just don’t want to lose another friend. So yes, I was worried.”

He sighs, holding the steering wheel tightly while focusing on the street. The adrenaline is slowly leaving his body.

“A friend, huh?” Yeonjun finally says.

You fall back in your seat, hand sliding over your face. “Jun… we already talked about it. You know the situation pretty well. You know that you mean more to me than just a friend. But so does Taehyun and he knows it as well as you do. Let’s talk about all of this soon, okay? But for now… let’s just enjoy the night. Alright, Jun?”

You turn your head to look at him. “Okay,” he says without meeting your gaze.

A few minutes later he parks his car in the next parking lot and the two of you jump into Taehyun’s. Yeonjun first, then you on his lap. Yup, his car is not made for more than two people.

“Don’t make out in my car,” Taehyun murmurs while driving into the underground car park of his penthouse. When he’s at his usual parking spot, Yeonjun and you leave the car and the three of you walk toward the elevator until you reach Taehyun’s apartment.

As you enter you realize: nothing changed. It’s still very Taehyun – clean and classy, just like you know him. You get rid of your shoes and head into the living room.

“May I take a shower?” you kindly ask him.

He nods, “Your clothes are still where you left them.”

•••

Taehyun is the last one to shower. In the meantime, you and Yeonjun have settled on the huge couch. Your head rests on his stomach, his hand strokes through your hair, fingers gently crawling across your scalp.

When you look up at him your eyes meet. His lips curl into that cute, loving smile you know so well. You can’t help but smile back.

“I missed you…” he whispers.

You giggle. “You already said that.”

“I know, but I just got reminded again how much I actually missed you, Sweetie.”

You can’t resist anymore. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss. His arms slide around you, lifting you up a little to make it more comfortable.

He tastes like honey and smells like fresh cotton. The kiss deepens quickly, making up for all the time and touches you’ve missed.

He’s the first to break it, only to make it better. With one smooth move he shifts positions and a second later he’s hovering above you, gently pushing you down into the dark couch cushions. Then his lips are back on yours, diving into deep, hungry kisses.

You can feel his hardness growing through his sweatpants and your mind starts to spiral. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing more of him.

A moan escapes your throat at the friction, your soaked panties pressed tightly against his hard cock.

“Fuck, you don’t know how often I’ve dreamed about this since you were gone,” Yeonjun growls.

He starts moving down, trailing slow, sweet kisses along your neck. As he slides lower, you tug at his white tank top. He gets the hint, chuckles low in his throat, and pulls it over his head.

“Happy?” he asks.

You nod, eyes hungry. He’s gotten more defined over time – broader chest, thicker arms and that same aura that always made your stomach twist.

Yeonjun keeps going, pushing up your hoodie – well, Taehyun’s hoodie – until your stomach and chest are exposed. He leaves soft, lazy kisses on your skin, taking his time like he’s rediscovering every part of you.

Then he glances up signals you with a small nod. You lift your hips and he slides your panties down with one smooth motion. A low groan escapes him.

“Fuck, she’s soaked,” he growls and a dark chuckle echoes from somewhere behind.

Taehyun.

You don’t know when he came in or how long he’s been watching.

“Don’t think about him,” Yeonjun whispers against your ear, voice low and teasing. “Relax… and let’s give him a nice little show, Sweetie.”

He moves back down between your thighs. You feel a light, playful slap, followed by the warm tongue licking through your folds.

The friction hits you instantly, you’ve missed this. The way his mouth moves, the way he knows exactly how to push you to the edge. You missed him. You missed them.

You can feel Taehyun’s gaze on you from somewhere across the room, and it only fuels the fire. You’re burning up from the inside out.

But Yeonjun doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down pouring everything into it like he’s trying to make up for every second you were gone.

When he slides a finger into you and your whole body reacts. Your back arches, your eyes roll back.

The moans that leave your mouth don’t sound like you anymore. It’s filthy. Like some cheap porn – except it’s not.

As Yeonjun keeps changing speed and rhythm, the pressure builds. You slowly feel the familiar warm feeling in your stomach. „I- I am close, Jun“ you stutter.

He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t let up. He just adds another finger, curling it deep. And that’s it. You explode.

The high crashes over you like fireworks behind your eyelids. Your moans echo through the room, shameless and raw. You grab at his hair, pulling him closer into you, chasing every last wave of pleasure, grinding into his mouth for just a little more.

When you finally come down, chest rising and falling, legs still shaking, Yeonjun looks up at you with that stupid soft smile. Like he’s in love. Like you’re everything.

“That was hot,” he says with a wrecked voice.

You just laugh because yeah – it was hot.

But the moment gets interrupted by Yeonjun adding: “Don’t think I’m done with you yet.” You freeze. And then Taehyun adds “…not at all.”

He stands up from the chair in the corner, eyes fixed on you. You hadn’t even noticed how quiet he’d been while watching and waiting for his turn. Your gaze drops lower. The bulge in his grey sweatpants is impossible to miss. You swallow hard as he starts moving toward you.

“Don’t be shy, we already know every part of your body, sweetheart,” Yeonjun murmurs as he gently lifts your chin, pressing a slow kiss to your lips.

You can taste yourself on him but it doesn’t matter. You pull him right back in kissing him deeper. A few moments later he breaks the kiss just long enough to stand up and slide his pants down. Your breath hitches. And the moment he hovers over you again, you feel it – his tip, hot and hard, pressing right at your entrance.

“Be good, deer.” A low growl comes from the side.

Your head turns to the voice. Eyes meet his just as Yeonjun begins to push in slow meanwhile Taehyun is watching you as you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered. Like you’re the most desirable thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

His gaze and the feeling of your pussy getting pounded make you let out the most pornographic moan you’ve ever heard from yourself. You close your eyes and the only thing you can hear is the slapping of skin on skin and, here and there, a low moan from Yeonjun.

„Open your mouth,“ Taehyun growls. As you obey you instantly feel the warmth and weight of his dick on your lips. As he shoves in deeper, you close your lips around it sucking it all in. When Taehyun starts thrusting, you lose your mind. How could you wait this long to have sex with both of them again?

At each thrust you taste the salty precum on your tongue. Every time Taehyun’s tip hits the back of your throat, your eyes tear up a little more until one or two roll down your cheek. When your eyes meet, you know by his gaze that he likes to see you cry – it’s never been different.

„Good girl, deer, good girl… Do you like to be used like this?“ You whimper in reply. Your tears and whines are his fire, while Yeonjun is his perfect other half by just being soft and caring.

Taehyun pulls out and a string of saliva hangs between your lips and his tip.

„Sit on Jun’s lap.“

Yeonjun moves you into the new position with a smooth, swift motion, still buried deep inside your cunt.

„You remember how this works, right?“ he asks kindly, removing the tear from your cheek.

„I do,“ you reply softly.

He nods and starts to move you up and down again. His head falls back on the neckrest of the couch, moans leaving his throat over and over again as you bounce back on him. You lean forward to kiss him deep and passionately.

Meanwhile, you can feel a warm, strong hand stroking down your spine – it’s not Yeonjun’s. Taehyun’s hand leaves a trail of tingling skin as it moves deeper until it parts your butt cheeks. A wet finger presses against your other hole, slowly sliding inside right after. The feeling is unusual but you remember how all of this felt back then.

As he moves his finger slowly in and out, Yeonjun takes over, pounding into you with a slow rhythm. After a while Taehyun adds another finger, making the stretch feel even more intense. Both men give you time to adjust but the pain fades as quickly as it came. They keep going with their movements, low moans escaping your throat again and again. The stretch already feels insane and it’s not even Taehyun’s dick. Not yet, at least.

You didn’t even realize his fingers leaving your hole when a new pressure pushes against it, thicker and warm. He grabs your shoulder with one hand to stabilize you, the other guiding his cock the right way. As he starts pushing in you whimper. Yeonjun pauses for a moment to give you time to get used to the feeling of both of them.

Taehyun groans at the tight feeling around his dick. „Are you okay?“ he asks.

„Y-yes… go on,“ you stutter.

He pushes further then pulls out slightly, setting a slow rhythm. Yeonjun joins in with the same slow pace. After a few deep breaths, you feel the pain fade and they slowly start going faster. While keeping the rhythm, Taehyun leans forward, his chest pressing against your back.

„Did you miss this, little deer?“ -„mmmhhh-" is the only thing you‘re able to say in reply.

With one hand he turns your head to the side, falling into a deep kiss. Wrapped in a haze you hear Yeonjun curse a few times and the moans that leave your mouth melt straight into Taehyun’s. Your lips part but he keeps you close, his hand wandering to your throat, where he adds a light choke that sends you straight to heaven.

„Look who can’t even answer a simple question. Fucked so dumb by our dicks that words aren’t even possible to form, huh?“ Taehyun pants low.

Being filled by two cocks at the same time – both from your closest friends – feels insane. The room is full of the sound of sex, groans, moans and your high-pitched whimpers mixed in between.

„I want you to fill me up. Both. P-please…“ you beg.

After one last thrust, they pull out to switch places. Now, Yeonjun is behind you, Taehyun in front. This time, you take Taehyun deep in your cunt; he moans at the feeling of your wet pussy. Right after you feel Yeonjun pushing into the same hole as Taehyun. His cock slips in easier than expected, but the completely different feeling throws you off.

„Fuck fuck fuck…“ you whine.

Yeonjun gives you some time to adjust. The moment he’s fully inside they start moving together. Both let out deep moans, overwhelmed by the unusual feeling of feeling the other’s dick as well.

The pace gets faster with each thrust until you’re a screaming mess. The warmth in your stomach builds quickly and you don’t even get to warn them you’re close – it’s already happened.

The orgasm crashes over you like a wave, releasing sounds from deep inside you that you never knew you could make. It almost feels like your soul is leaving your body as both of them cum, pumping their entire load into your ruined cunt. You can’t even hear their cries of pleasure. Your mind is foggy, lost in clouds, barely aware they’re moving, gently laying you down on the couch, kissing you and cleaning the mess.

•••

You take a sip of your coffee, a fresh croissant in hand. Taehyun stands nearby with his own mug, while Yeonjun’s sits untouched on the table. Both of them are watching you, waiting for your answer.

“A triangle relationship?”

They nod.

“…I mean, that’s kind of what we already have anyway.” You pause. “I’m fine with it.”

You smile. They smile.

Maybe the whole rivals forever thing will finally come to an end.

Part 2 published!!

Pushing his buttons had always been dangerous, but the thrill of it made her reckless because jealousy stripped away every bit of restraint he normally kept in place around her and left only this version of him behind. No patience, no mercy and certainly no holding back.

Ran had always been the easiest way to provoke him, especially when the older Haitani leaned into it with that effortless teasing charm, brushing close and murmuring things in her ear while pretending it was all harmless. Rindou never bought the act. Not once.

Rindou’s hand suddenly tangled in her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her spine into a deep arch that left her gasping as his other arm slid around her throat, holding her firmly in place while he continued to drive into her with a rhythm that left her shaking.

“And…” he grunted. His mouth hovered close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin while the rough edge in his voice carried a warning that made her pulse race. “What happens when you don’t listen to me?”

She could barely think. Every movement of his hips struck a spot that made stars burst behind her eyes, and the pressure building deep inside her climbed higher with every second until the question he asked barely registered through the haze.

He did not let her ignore it. His free hand cracked lightly against her cheek, the sting snapping her attention back as his voice hardened. “Answer,” he barked. “I didn’t fuck you that stupid yet.”

Her body clenched around him. If his arm had not been locked around her neck she would have collapsed forward onto the counter completely, her breath coming in uneven gasps as pleasure and tension tangled inside her.

“I get…” she faltered. Another thrust forced a helpless sound from her throat as her words dissolved into a gasp before she forced them out. “Ah… I get punished.” Another slap followed.

The sharp contact sent a jolt through her that pushed her even closer to the edge, her body tightening as the familiar wave of release rushed toward her faster than she could stop it. Rindou noticed immediately. By now he knew her reactions too well to miss the way her muscles tensed around him or the subtle change in the sounds she made when she was about to fall apart. She was an open book to him. And he had no intention of letting her finish.

His arm loosened around her neck without warning, and a second later the heat filling her vanished completely as he pulled out of her all at once, leaving her body clenching helplessly around nothing.

Rindou grabbed her hair again. It wasn't hard enough to truly hurt her, but the sharp pull still stung as he guided her across the room and bent her over the armrest of the sofa before letting go, leaving her draped awkwardly across the furniture with her completely at his mercy.

“Stay,” he ordered.

Rindou turned away without another word and crossed the room to grab something from a nearby table, and even though she could not see it yet she already had a strong suspicion of what he was reaching for. Her heartbeat sped up immediately. Fear and anticipation tangled together inside her chest.

By the time he returned, her pulse was loud in her ears and her thoughts had turned hazy with the strange mixture of nerves and excitement that always came when he looked at her like this.

Rindou suddenly dropped to his knees in front of her. His hand closed in her hair again and he tugged her head upward, forcing her to look directly at him as her glossy eyes searched his face and took in every small detail. His hair was slightly disheveled from earlier, and the hard set of his expression made his features look almost unfairly beautiful. God, he looked good like this.

She noticed that he was still fully dressed from whatever job they had returned from earlier, his tie loosened just enough to suggest impatience while his gloves remained firmly in place and a faint speck of blood decorated the sleeve of his jacket. The sight made heat coil low in her stomach. This situation was completely messed up, and yet the rush of it all only pulled her deeper into the moment. She felt the familiar warmth of arousal spreading through her abdomen. “Please,” she started softly.

Her voice wavered as memories of the last time she had pushed him too far flashed through her mind, recalling the dull ache that had lingered for days afterward and the way sitting down had become a careful, miserable process. “Please be gentle.” She knew it was a long shot.

The last time she had crossed the line like that, her normally attentive boyfriend had taken a clear and almost devious satisfaction in watching her deal with the consequences of her own stubbornness, especially every time she winced while trying to sit down afterward. He had looked delighted. The growing bulge in his pants had refused to hide how much he enjoyed the situation.

“You know I can’t do that,” Rindou replied calmly. His tone was steady and almost patient, though there was a rough edge underneath it that told her he meant every word he was about to say. “I would be letting you down if I did.”

Fuck.

He released her hair then and let her head fall back against the couch cushion, her cheek pressing into the expensive fabric while her hair spilled loosely around her face. Rindou stood again. He moved with slow, deliberate steps until he was positioned behind her once more, the quiet sound of his shoes against the floor stretching the tension until it felt unbearable.

She instinctively tried to shift away. Though she knew the attempt was useless, since the angle she was bent over the armrest and the tight restraints holding her wrists made even the smallest movement difficult. A shiver ran through her.

Rindou’s gloved hand found her ass and began kneading slowly, testing the softness of the skin before giving it a light experimental slap that made her inhale sharply. 

“This will hurt,” he said plainly. Despite the bluntness of the warning, she could hear the slight hitch in his voice that betrayed how much the moment affected him too.

“Fifteen,” Rindou continued. His tone sharpened with quiet authority as he added the rule that always made her stomach flutter with nervous excitement. “I want you to count every one of them.”

“And if you miss one,” he finished, “we start over.”

She was already trembling. Warmth pooled between her legs as the anticipation built higher and higher, leaving her breath shallow while her fingers curled uselessly against the restraints holding her wrists together.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Time seemed to stretch into something slow, and she swore she could hear the faint rush of air as the paddle was lifted before it came down sharply against her backside with a sting so sudden and intense that it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. He had not been bluffing.

“O... one,” she gasped weakly. Her voice barely made it past her lips as the lingering sting spread across her skin.

“And?” he prompted. His fingers brushed against her clit for a brief teasing moment, circling once before pulling away again as if the contact had only been meant to remind her how vulnerable she was right now.

“Thank you, sir,” she added quickly. The correction came out breathless but clear.

Rindou hummed in approval. “Good girl.” 

Another strike followed. “Two… t-thank you,” she stammered, her voice shaky as the sting spread across her skin and settled into a warm burn that made her toes curl against the couch. Then came another. And another after that, each strike landing with the same unforgiving force as the last while Rindou showed no sign of easing up, the steady rhythm leaving her body trembling and her thoughts slowly dissolving into something blissfully empty.

The heat in her ass had grown intense by now, every nerve buzzing as the sting mixed with the slick warmth between her thighs and the constant awareness that her merciless boyfriend was standing just behind her, towering over her while he delivered every strike with careful precision. Nothing else mattered.

The world had narrowed to the sharp smack of the paddle, the pounding of her pulse in her ears, and the overwhelming heat pooling low in her body as pleasure and pain twisted together in a way that made her dizzy. If heaven existed, she was pretty sure it looked something like this.

“Last one, angel,” Rindou’s strained voice came from behind her.

The nickname was familiar but rarely used, and hearing it now sent a shiver racing down her spine while the tiny hairs along the back of her neck stood up instantly. She almost moaned just from that.

The final strike came down a second later, landing harder than any of the others and jolting her body forward as the sharp sting exploded across her skin. He had absolutely saved the worst for last. Even through the haze clouding her thoughts she swore she could practically hear the faint smirk on his lips, the kind of smug satisfaction he always carried when he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

Her hair was still pooled around her face. Her chest pressed firmly into the soft fabric of the couch while her watery eyes stared unfocused at nothing in particular, her breathing uneven as the sting pulsed across her skin. Then she felt his hand on her back.

His gloved fingers traced slow circles along her lower spine, soothing and gentle in a way that contrasted sharply with the punishment he had just delivered before he stepped into view and pressed a soft kiss against the top of her hair.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently. 

“Amazing…” she answered honestly. Her eyes drifted up toward him, glassy and unfocused while her flushed face and slack expression made it obvious she was still floating somewhere far away. A tiny strand of saliva slipped from the corner of her mouth and stained the sofa. She looked completely wrecked and absolutely stunning.

“Good,” Rindou said. His tone sharpened again almost instantly as his expression shifted, his gaze turning colder while he looked down at her with that familiar intensity that always made her stomach twist.

“Because we’re not done here.” He was going to drive her insane tonight, she was certain of it.

She felt his hands move to her arms as he lifted her carefully off the armrest, steadying her when her shaky legs threatened to buckle before guiding her into a different position on the couch. Her back pressed against the cushions now and her legs were spread apart on either side of her while he positioned her exactly where he wanted, leaving her body open and vulnerable beneath his gaze.

Rindou slid his arms under her thighs to pull her slightly forward until her hips rested near the edge of the couch, leaving her ass barely supported while the position forced her legs further apart. Then he slapped her pussy.

The sudden contact drew a startled moan from her lips as the sharp sensation pulsed through her body, her hips jerking slightly before he lowered himself to his knees in front of her. A second later his tongue dragged slowly along her entrance. Her back arched immediately against the couch while the rope binding her wrists dug deep into her skin, the unexpected pleasure sending a wave of heat rushing through her entire body.

“Fuck,” he breathed. His voice was rough as he lingered there for a moment, his grip tightening on her thighs while he looked up at her through half lidded eyes. “You taste so fucking good.”

And just like that he was back on her. His tongue moved expertly against her clit, shifting between slow teasing circles and firmer pressure while he paid close attention to every reaction she gave until he heard her breath hitch and felt her body tense beneath his hands. He had her figured out.

Rindou devoured her like a starving man, occasionally lifting his gaze to meet hers with an intensity that made her pulse race even faster than the sensation of his mouth alone. “God, Rindou,” she moaned. Her bound hands tightened around her own arm behind her back as she tried to steady herself against the overwhelming rush building inside her. “Feels s’good.”

He hummed softly against her, the vibration of it sending a shiver through her while his tongue continued its relentless work against her clit. The sound alone made her hips twitch as the pressure inside her tightened again, that familiar wave of pleasure building faster and faster until it felt impossible to hold back.

“Yes… n’ah,” she moaned breathlessly. Her voice cracked as she tilted her hips upward, chasing the exact spot that had her nerves sparking. “Yes, right there… haah…” She ground herself against his mouth without shame. Her hips rocked against his tongue as she chased the release that had been dangling just out of reach all night, her body moving on instinct while every nerve in her skin felt painfully alive.

Rindou stopped. For the second time that night he pulled away before she could finish, leaving her body suspended right at the edge while the pleasure that had been about to break suddenly vanished. The frustration hit immediately. A shaky breath escaped her as tears welled in her eyes and began sliding down her flushed cheeks, the overwhelming tension left behind making her entire body tremble. She needed to come so badly. Her skin felt like it was burning from the inside out while her pussy clenched helplessly around nothing, aching with the absence of the pressure she had been chasing.

If her hands had not been tied, she would have grabbed him. She would have dragged him back down between her legs and buried her fingers in his hair just to force him to keep going until she shattered. But the restraints allowed none of it. Her wrists were pinned uselessly behind her, leaving her completely at his mercy while the younger Haitani rose to his feet and towered over her.

His expression was calm, yet the look in his eyes made it obvious how much he was enjoying every second of this, especially when paired with the angry red tip of his erection and the way his cock stood painfully erect.

“You come on my dick,” he said sharply. His voice carried a rough edge as his hand returned to her body, gripping her thigh as he shifted her again with deliberate control. “Or you don’t come at all.”

A second later he moved her onto the floor. 

She ended up on her back, staring up at the ceiling above while she tried to steady her breathing and gather the scattered pieces of her thoughts. At least the lighting was dim. The soft glow from the corner of the room was far kinder than the harsh brightness of the ceiling light that would have made the moment feel far too exposed.

She felt him before she saw him. Rindou’s hands settled on her thighs and squeezed firmly before pressing them upward toward her chest, folding her into a position that left her completely open beneath him. The pose was shameless. It left nothing hidden from his gaze and everything fully on display for him to look at, something he clearly took advantage of as he leaned over her, his hair framing his face.

The shadows from the dim lighting framed his features while the hungry curve of his lips made it clear exactly what was running through his mind. His pants had come partially undone by now. Both the fabric and his boxers had slipped down to the middle of his thighs, giving him more freedom to move while revealing just enough of his body to make her stare. And stare she did.

Her eyes dragged slowly up and down his body as she took in the sight of him towering above her, his tattoos adorning toned muscles, clearly appreciating the view in a way she did not even try to hide. Rindou noticed. The subtle tightening of her pussy was impossible to miss.

“Desperate whore,” he muttered. The words sounded far more like praise than an insult.

Finally, Rindou lined himself up with her entrance.

There was no need for any more prep with how soaked she already was, and he pushed inside her in one smooth motion that buried him impossibly deep. A low, guttural moan slipped from his throat. He stayed there for a moment, savoring the tight heat wrapped around his cock before slowly pulling out again and thrusting back in as he began to set a rhythm.

His arms braced on either side of her. Strong and toned, they caged her body between him and the floor while his gaze pinned her in place just as firmly as his weight did, leaving her nowhere to go and no desire to escape. Their bodies were tightly connected. Her legs were draped over Rindou’s shoulders, forcing her thighs up against her chest and locking her into a deep mating press that left him reaching inside her again and again with every thrust.

The position strained her arms behind her back. The rope dug painfully into her wrists as the tension pulled at her shoulders, yet the pressure of his body and the way he held her there made her feel completely powerless beneath him.

“Ah…” she breathed. Her voice was shaky as her chest rose and fell while she struggled to keep up with the sensations rushing through her body. “Harder, Rin… please. I… I need you.”

Her eyes rolled back and her head tipped to the side as her gaze drifted unfocused across the room, unable to settle on anything while the only clear sensation in her mind was the feeling of him buried deep inside her. Rindou did not need to be told twice. He picked up the pace almost immediately, his thrusts turning rough and quick as he drove himself into her over and over again.  

He bucked into her like an animal in heat, chasing his own release without even noticing the strain beginning to build in his muscles as the intensity of his movements increased. One of his hands reached for her face. He hooked his thumb into her mouth and pressed down just enough to force her attention back onto him when her dazed eyes tried to drift away again.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

When her gaze finally locked onto his, his fingers slid from her jaw to her throat, wrapping loosely around her neck before tightening slightly in the way he knew she liked. The pressure stole a little of her breath. Her lungs struggled to pull in air as the squeeze made her head feel lighter, the lack of oxygen mixing with the pleasure rushing through her body until her thoughts blurred together completely.

“I’m close,” he said.

The words came out strained as he punctuated them with a rough thrust that broke the rhythm for a moment before he pushed deep again. “Want you to come with me.”

His grip around her throat tightened a little more before he leaned down and kissed her. The kiss was deep and hungry as he swallowed the moan trying to escape her throat, his tongue searching for hers while the muscles moved against each other in frantic, desperate strokes that said far more than words ever could.

Rindou felt her tighten around him. The sudden, intense squeeze told him that she was close, and he kept his pace steady as he rocked into her with deep, controlled thrusts while chasing the release building in his own body.

She bucked beneath him. Her legs lifted higher and closed behind his head, locking him firmly in place as her body instinctively tried to pull him deeper, even though the position already left almost no room for movement. Even with the limited space he did not slow down and instead continued driving into her, his hips rolling forward with determination until two more strokes pushed her over the edge completely. Her body clenched around him again.

Her legs trembled violently while the sound that escaped her throat was so raw and helpless that it sent a fresh surge of heat through him despite the exhaustion already creeping into his muscles. His release filled her while he held himself there for a moment longer, breathing heavily as the last tremors of pleasure moved through both of them.

Slowly he pulled out. A small trail of his release slipped from her cunt as he withdrew, leaving him staring down at the mess they had made while he tried to catch his breath. Her expression was dazed and sinful, her flushed face and unfocused eyes making it obvious that she was still floating somewhere deep in the afterglow. He never got tired of that sight.

It was one of his favorite moments, the quiet seconds after everything when the tension had finally broken and she looked completely undone. Her hair was messy from where his hands had been earlier, her cheeks still flushed and her lips slightly parted as she tried to catch her breath, and the sight of her like that always stirred something deep and possessive inside his chest. All because of him.

Rindou let himself look for a moment longer before he finally reached out, his fingers brushing gently along her cheek. There was no trace of the roughness from earlier in the way he touched her now.

“C’mere,” he murmured quietly. His voice had lost the sharp edge it carried before as he helped her sit up, supporting her carefully while he reached for the rope still looped around her wrists. When it fell away his eyes turned to the marks it had left behind, angry red lines wrapped around her wrists where the fibers had pressed against her skin. The contrast against her otherwise smooth skin made his chest tighten and hiis thumb brushed across one of the marks. She watched him.

Her eyes were softer now, the earlier haze of pleasure slowly fading while she studied his face with that familiar warmth that always seemed to see right through him.

Before he could even move away to put the rope aside, her arms slid around him and pulled him closer in the way she had clearly wanted to do all night.

“I love you, Rin,” she whispered. Her voice was gentle as she leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to his lips, the kind of kiss that carried nothing but affection and reassurance. It caught him off guard. Not because the words were unexpected, but because she always seemed to say them at the exact moment he needed to hear them the most.

Despite the dangerous work he did and the cold demeanor he showed the rest of the world, she had always been able to see the quiet insecurities he kept buried underneath it all. She rarely pushed those places. But whenever she did, she made sure to follow it with something that reminded him he was still loved beyond all of it.

Rindou’s arms slid around her waist and pulled her firmly against him while he buried his face into the curve of her neck, holding her a little tighter than he normally would as he breathed in slowly. The steady warmth of her body against his chest grounded him far more than he would ever admit out loud.

A groan escapes you when the memory comes back to mind, and you pat your cheek in an attempt to self-soothe. The booking deposit was non-refundable much to your dismay, and whilst you didn’t exactly want to be here, you’d been too busy wallowing in self-pity to badger an unassuming customer service rep who probably didn’t give a shit about all your woes. 

So you’d shoved a few clothes into a duffel bag, along with a few other necessities and made the trip out here, into the freezing – and somewhat beautiful, you could at least admit – wilderness. 

Your gaze flits back towards the couple, now entangled in a kiss, the thought of throwing a frozen rock at their heads briefly crossing your mind. Another white puff escapes. You really were pathetic. 

You grumble to yourself as you haul your duffel bag to the large, warm-looking wood lodging situated a little way past the cabins, pushing through the doors to find yourself engulfed by heat. It soothes you a little as you poke your head around, examining the large space. There's a cozy fire going, a few tables set out in an open area, a kitchen set off to one side with staff milling around, most probably preparing for the dinner service. 

“Hi,” you say tiredly as you trudge up to the receptionist, giving her a wane smile in an attempt to at least appear polite. “I’m here to check in.”

“Sure,” she chirps happily, clicking across the keyboard rapidly, “could I please get your name?”

You tell her, watching with slight bewilderment as her fingers fly over the keyboard again. She glances up at you, her head tilting to look behind you, her brows furrowed. 

“I know it’s been booked for two people,” you interrupt. “But he won’t be making it today.” You glance towards a window, taking in the foggy darkness that was beginning to settle in. “Snowstorm,” you explain breezily, forcing a brighter smile onto your face, unsure of why you were trying to explain yourself. “He’s uh– stuck in a snowstorm.”

“Oh, that’s too–”

She’s interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls, and you glance behind you to find a man trudging his way through the doors, an axe in hand. Serial killer, your tired, wretched mind conjures dramatically as you stand there, rooted to the spot. 

“Leon!” the receptionist greets cheerily, smiling at the man as he rounds the reception desk.

He murmurs something you can’t quite catch, and you find yourself leaning forward, curiosity sparking through your veins as you let your gaze trail over his brown hair and broad shoulders.

When he turns to face you, you feel your breath catch. He’s older than you – you figure by the few streaks of graying hair – but he’s… handsome. His hair is a little long, hanging over an eye and you swallow when you spy the stubble covering his jaw. You would keep staring if you could, but he clears his throat and you snap out of your trance, thrusting your hand forward awkwardly.

Leon glances down at your hand, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement before he takes your trembling hand in his.

Warm, you think dazedly as you introduce yourself, feeling his calloused skin against yours. 

Warm, warm, warm–

You manage to let go before you latch on, watching with barely disguised curiosity as he disappears back out the doors. 

“That’s Leon,” the receptionist explains as she hands the keys to your cabin. “He owns the place.”

“The entire place?” you ask, brows raising incredulously.

The receptionist nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! The forest is huge, a couple of acres, actually. He opened up the cabins after he stopped working for the government!” She winces when she realizes what she’s said, giving you a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have told you that. I’m… technically not meant to know either.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you reassure her.

She draws a path on a small map to your cabin and you give her a small smile before you leave, following the path. 

The cabin is nice. The fireplace is already lit up, spare wood tucked neatly into a corner nearby. You hum to yourself as you unpack, pulling your jacket off once the warmth in the cabin becomes too much. Exhaustion pulls at your weary limbs, guiding you towards the large bed.

You realize it’s meant for two people when you lay down, curling onto your side to find the space next to you empty. You’re unable to stop yourself from wallowing in self-pity and sniffling, the sleeve of your shirt brushing across your cheeks to wipe your tears. You were meant to be over him, meant to have forgotten about the aching memories, but all it had taken was the size of the stupid bed to send you spiralling. 

Wallowing a little more, you eventually drag yourself out of bed for dinner. To your disappointment, the man from earlier – Leon, is missing. You wouldn’t have minded staring at him a little more to ease your sadness, to let your gaze travel over him and figure out what secrets he was hiding. 

When the night grows colder, you return to your cabin, shedding your worn clothes. A hot bath later, you burrow under the heap of blankets you’d been wise enough to bring with you, sprawling over the entirety of the bed. 

It’s warm and cozy, and in the haze of sleep, you think of Leon’s hand.

–

The next morning – against better judgement – you decide to explore the forest.

Drowning in self-pity wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend your days here, and you’d figured that the fresh air would do you some good. Your nose scrunches as you walk along the marked trail on the map, fingers tugging at your scarf to ward off the cold. 

It was still misty when you had set out, the unforgiving chill biting at your skin. Your eyes squint as you stare down at the map, not quite sure which turn you had taken on the trail. Blinking confusedly, you play with the map, glancing around at the surrounding forest, the cabins and main lodging nowhere in sight. 

You spin on your feet, sweat beginning to bead across your forehead. Fingers trembling, you glance up towards the sky only to see that it’s covered by the dense forest canopy. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling your stomach churn. “Fuck, fuck, fuck–” you frantically yank your scarf from around your neck when your body blisters with heat. 

You were lost.

And it was all his fault. 

“I hope you’re happy!” you snap at the sky. “While you’re too busy fucking her, I’m lost in a fucking forest!” Another irritated shriek escapes. “I hate you! Fuck you, you cheating, vile excuse for a–”

Something crunches in the distance. 

You stiffen, clamping your mouth shut. You’d seen one too many true crime documentaries to meet an untimely end in a forest in the middle of nowhere. The leaves crunch against the forest floor once more and you stumble backwards, bumping into something firm.

Head tilting back, all you need is a glimpse of shaggy hair for a scream to tear its way out of your throat. The man behind you sighs heavily, as though you’ve managed to inconvenience him somehow, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you still as you thrash wildly like a fish out of water.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, “stop screaming.”

“Fat fucking chance,” you screech, trying to claw at his arms. “I’m not fucking dying today, you creep!” Your voice is so shrill that it hurts your own ears. “Help! Let go of me, you fucking– Help!”

He grunts irritatedly, clamping his gloved hand over your mouth. Your eyes widen in panic, a muffled squeak escaping you when he turns you around to face him. Your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment when you see who it is.

Leon. 

“You gonna stop screaming?” he asks, his grip on you loosening.

You nod rapidly, sucking in a sharp breath of crisp air when he removes his hand. Leon stares down at you, his brows raising and you clear your throat awkwardly, giving him an equally awkward smile.

“Just– um– just testing out the ol’ vocal cords.” You rub your throat.

“Right,” Leon says skeptically, his gaze flitting over you with mild interest. “The uh– not so dulcet tones of you being lost, is that right?”

You blink up at him, eyes narrowing when you spy a smile playing on his lips. “I have a nice voice!” you protest, stumbling after him when he starts walking back through the forest.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he rumbles, “you nearly took out my hearing with all that screeching.”

“That’s because I thought you were a serial killer,” you chirp, glancing around when he stops in a clearing, several wooden logs stacked into an orderly pile. 

Leon glances at you, his brows raising. “Serial killer?” he echoes, reaching down to grasp the axe you had seen him with the day earlier.

“Case in point,” you say pointedly, gesturing towards him. “You have an axe and you own a huge forest, Leon. That’s like, textbook serial killer.”

You flinch when he brings his axe down, stepping back when stray pieces of wood fling about. Leon doesn’t say anything more, instead moving the wood unceremoniously. You decide not to interrupt, squirming on your feet as you watch him, strangely enamoured by the swing of his arms, the flex of his shoulders.

It’s hot, you decide, to watch Leon chop wood. There’s hair falling over his eyes messily, but he doesn’t push it away, instead bringing down the axe over and over again methodically. You bite back an indecent noise when he sheds his heavy jacket, the map in your hand crinkling as you ogle the outline of his broad shoulders and thick biceps through the fabric of his black shirt. 

Leon grunts sporadically and you force yourself to look away towards the dark trees, squirming a little more when you feel how sticky your panties are.

“Remind me why you’re out here again?” Leon asks, drawing your attention back towards him as the axe comes down against the log, the wood splintering.

“Character building,” you reply vaguely, shrugging.

Leon lets out a low laugh – the kind that warms you – propping his axe up to run his hand through his hair. You swallow at the action, refusing to let your eyes drop anywhere lower than his stupidly handsome face.

“There are better places to do that,” he muses, his head tilting.

“Sure,” you shrug, kicking at a rock, “but maybe I like the great outdoors.”

Leon hums, stepping closer. “In the middle of winter?” he drawls, a smile pulling at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling. The sight is boyish enough to have your heart kicking up in a wild flutter. 

“Especially in the middle of winter,” you shoot back, faltering under his line of questioning.

He smiles knowingly and you frown, distracted by the motion of him removing his gloves. You think you can see a few scars littered over his skin, your eyes finding his when you catch him staring down at you intently.

You decide to hold your tongue, lips pursing instead as you rock on your feet awkwardly. 

“You’re nervous.”

“For good reason,” you scoff, “you might chop me up to bits with that axe of yours.”

“If I wanted to kill you, you would’ve already been dead, sweetheart,” Leon replies drily, his fingers flexing. 

“Well, you–”

He interrupts you with a hush, Leon’s arm curling around your waist to pull you into him. You open your mouth to protest, but his hand is sliding over your mouth once more, his gaze directed towards the forest.

“Shhh,” he soothes, nodding towards a flash of gray. “Look.”

You have half a mind to ask him whether he’s insane, but the gray thing seems to grow larger until it finally appears through the thick foliage. Your breath catches when you see that it’s a wolf, its ears pricked up as it turns to look at you.

Leon hushes you once more when you whimper, his grip on you tightening. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping in through all the layers you’re wearing, lashes fluttering when his chin rests on your shoulder lightly. It’s difficult to keep your eyes on the wolf when all you can think about how nicely he fits against you, how nice it would to feel his weight against yours, his hips settling between your thighs–

You dispel the thoughts as quickly as they come, stumbling against him when the wolf pads closer, its head tilting in curiosity. The overwhelming and entirely stupid urge to reach out flares up inside of you, to coax it closer and let your fingers run through its soft fur.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Leon murmurs, his hand stroking over your hip soothingly. 

You manage a slow nod, sulkily wishing that he was talking about instead. Leon holds you against him for a few moments longer while the wolf examines its surroundings before it’s gone, padding back into the trees leisurely. 

“You okay?” he breathes out, turning you to face him, his hands still on your hips. 

“I– yes,” you sputter out, peering up at him. “You have wolves?”

Leon runs his hand through his hair. “They usually don’t get so close. You must’ve startled her earlier.”

“What?” you hiss, throwing your hands up. “It– it could’ve eaten me!”

“I highly doubt that,” he laughs softly, letting go of you to pull his jacket back on, his fingers wrapping around the handle of the axe. “Well… unless you taste good.”

You stare at him blankly, following the line of his broad shoulders when he starts to walk away. Not wanting to get lost for the second time today, you follow after him closely.

“Do you?” he asks, offering you his hand to help you climb over a large log. 

“Do I what?” 

“Taste good?”

Your breath catches in your throat, fingers tightening around his hand. His words leave your brain scrambled, so much so that you lose your footing, yelping as you lurch towards him. Leon grunts as you fall onto him, trying to grab ahold of you. It only causes you to flail more, both of you crashing down onto the fallen leaves covering the forest floor.

You blink down at him dazedly when you realize you’ve landed on top of him, fingers sliding over the back of his head when he groans.

“Sorry,” you wince, shifting in his lap as he sits up, your fingers rubbing at his scalp gently.

“It’s okay,” Leon rasps, his eyes squeezing shut in pain. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I thought you uh–” he trails off, letting out a soft laugh, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “I thought you might be into me,” Leon finishes, his eyes fluttering open to peer up at you, “guess I just read into it too much.”

“Oh,” you say, sounding shrill. “Oh! No– I mean–” you stumble over your words, feeling hot with embarrassment. “You didn’t read it into it,” you say finally when you get your brain back in working order. 

Leon stares up at you, his brows raising. “I didn’t?”

“No,” you murmur, feeling shy under his intent gaze. “I– I am into you. It’s just… I’ve never been with someone that’s older.”

He nods, his fingers tracing over the curve of your cheek gently. You tremble when he leans in closer, his lips pressing against your cheek gently.

“That’s fair,” he whispers, “it’s a first for me too, being with someone younger.”

You give him a small smile, hands slipping up over his firm chest, arms wrapping around his neck. Leon leans closer, his fingers sliding over your jaw to gently grip your chin. You swallow nervously, gaze flitting from his eyes to his lips.

“You should probably know,” you whisper, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “My boyfriend cheated on me. It’s why I’m out here in the first place.”

“Not for character building?”

You laugh, shaking your head. 

“Too bad,” Leon murmurs, cupping your cheek. “I was looking forward to your transformation.”

“Really?” you whisper when he draws you closer, breath hitching when his nose nudges against yours playfully.

“No,” he muses, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

Your lips part, a retort sitting on the tip of your tongue, but Leon is surging forward, slotting his lips over yours. A soft gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering shut in surprise before your fingers tighten, drawing Leon closer.

He groans, the sound rumbling against your lips, his hands smoothing over your waist and along the length of your back. You’ve never been kissed in the way Leon does. It’s soft, insistent and wanting, his lips working against yours feverishly as though the next moment might be the last.

The scratch of his stubble against your chin and cheeks has you shivering and mewling, fingers slipping into his hair to tug at the soft strands. Leon jostles you in his lap, shifting you closer until he’s able to kiss you more firmly, his hand cupping your jaw to hold you in place.

You’re dazedly concerned about the fact that you’re making out with Leon with wolves around, but your concerns are soon forgotten as he licks into your mouth, tongue stroking against yours. Whining, you squirm closer, twitching in his lap when he sucks on your tongue lazily. Leon lets out a low, rasping laugh when he hears you, and you whine louder, toes curling in your socks as you pull at his hair harder, desperately wanting more.

He grins up at you when you pull away, eyes lit up with mirth. You let out a petulant huff, pulling his hand towards you again, making him cup your cheek. Nuzzling into the warmth of his calloused palm, you sigh, peering over at him.

“Did–” you sound embarrassingly breathless, “did you want to do more?”

Leon raises his brows, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulls you into another soft, slow kiss.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “is that okay?”

You nod, trying not to look too eager, but Leon must see the glint in your eyes because he’s standing up, pulling you to your feet. He says something about his cabin not being too far away, but you’re too busy lacing your fingers together, heart fluttering happily when you see how easily your hand fits against his.

Leon’s cabin is tucked away, past a line of heavily shrouded trees. The main lodging is visible when you step up onto the porch, leaning against the wooden railing as you rock up onto your toes to observe the sprawling expanse of land. 

There’s a warmth pressing against your back from behind, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You sigh, head tilting as you bare your neck to Leon, your fingers tracing over his knuckles when he kisses your neck.

It’s hard to keep your eyes open when he pants into your ear softly, his stubble brushing against your skin as he drags his lips over the length of your neck.

“You like it?” he asks quietly, his chin settling on your shoulder as he looks out at the sweeping trees and dark, misty sky.

“It’s nice,” you murmur, reaching back to play with his hair, “a little dark, but… nice.”

“You flatter me,” Leon says drily, his teeth scraping over your neck in retaliation.

You gasp, fingers tightening around his forearms before he’s pulling you inside his cabin, letting you kick off your boots. He grunts when you push him against the closed door, going willingly when you yank him down using his jacket, moaning into your mouth as you kiss him eagerly.

He’s grabbing at every part of you he can, smiling against your lips when you whine as he grabs your ass, squeezing gently. You paw at his chest, arms slipping around his neck as he hefts you up into his arms, pressing you against a nearby wall as he kisses you. 

“I– I wanna–” you whisper, squirming in his arms in an attempt to get him to put you down.

“Wanna do what, baby?” Leon murmurs, pressing closer, capturing your lips in another deep kiss, his hands squeezing at your thighs greedily.

Baby. You nearly swoon right then and there in his arms, the deep, rasping timbre of his voice almost enough to send you over the edge. You squirm a little more, returning his kisses with equal fervor until you manage to pull away with a whimper.

You blink up at him, swallowing harshly. “I wanna suck your cock,” you demand stubbornly.

“I–” Leon trails off, looking a little dazed. “I uh– wasn’t expecting that.”

But his grip on you falters all the same, his mouth opening and closing as he watches you settle onto your feet before you sink down onto your knees.

“Baby,” he tries again, his hand reaching out hesitantly, settling on the top of your head gently. “Are you sure? You don’t have to–”

“Leon,” you say, shifting on your knees to get a little more comfortable on the rug underneath you, “I want to.”

“Okay,” he breathes out, noddily jerkily. “Okay, sweetheart. It’s– fuck, it’s been a while so–”

You smile up at him, biting your lip. “I’ll be gentle, old man.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Leon rolls his eyes, his fingers running through your hair before they splay out over your scalp.

Your eyes slip shut at the motion, leaning up into it as he strokes your hair lazily. It’s gentle, sweet, and you hazily realize that no one’s ever treated you like this – like you’re soft, like you matter. 

Leon’s belt buckle clinks, and you lean forward unconsciously, eyes fluttering open lazily to watch him pull his trousers down. The outline of his half-hard cock sits prettily on his dark boxers, Leon’s hand drifting over it to squeeze gently before his hand settles back into your hair again.

You hum when Leon gasps, nuzzling into his clothed cock contentedly, rubbing your cheek along the thick length. It’s big, you can tell that much just from the outline, drool pooling on your tongue. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, his hips bucking when you mouth at his boxers, sucking lazily through the fabric. “Baby, fuck–”

“Can I take it out?” you ask sweetly, your own hand slipping past the waistband of your pants and into your panties to stroke at your sticky folds. You’ve never felt so empty, the ache between your thighs making you rock your hips needily as you mouth at his hardening cock.

“Yeah,” Leon rasps, his darkened eyes watching you, “yeah, sweetheart, go ‘head. Take my cock out.”

You tug his boxers down, throat drying when you see his cock. It’s pretty, flushed dark at the tip, several veins running along the length. You bite back a moan when you see the pre-cum beading at the tip, tongue lolling just in time to catch a glob that falls. Leon mutters a low curse, his hand pressing against the back of your head.

“‘s pretty…,” you whisper, your hand wrapping around his cock, delighted by its thickness and heat, eyes dropping to take in his heavy balls. “‘s really pretty, Leon.”

“Hah– Thank– Thank you, baby.”

His politeness has heat flaring in your stomach, lips pressing against the head of his cock in a fleeting kiss. Leon groans as you kiss along the length of his cock, his fingers flexing against the wall, curling into a fist before long. You take him into your mouth, unable to hold off for much longer, moaning when you feel the weight of his cock on your tongue.

He tastes intoxicating, the silky skin of his cock sliding over your tongue as you wrap your lips around him daintily, letting your lashes flutter up at him.

“Fuck,” Leon says, his brows furrowing in need when you swirl your tongue around his cock, beginning to slurp. “Sweetheart, fuck– look so pretty down there taking my fat cock.”

You preen, batting your lashes up at him a little more, your fingers curling around his thighs greedily, nails digging into his skin. Leon’s hips rock forward when you suck, a hoarse moan escaping him as he watches you hollow your cheeks with wanton intent, his hand slamming against the wall when you begin to bob your head.

“Takin’ me so fuckin’ good,” he snarls, his head tipping forward, eyes squeezing shut.

You watch through the misty haze of lust, your fingers working against your aching clit, rubbing at the swollen bud rapidly as slick pools into your panties. The fabric is probably ruined by now, with how wet you are, a muffled mewl escaping you as you use your other hand to play with his balls. You massage them gently, squeezing and letting your thumb brush over his skin, gagging when Leon’s hips buck too far forward, burying his cock down your throat.

“Shit!” Leon gasps when he hears you, pulling back, pushing his hair out his eyes. “Baby, I’m sorry, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, cheeks flushed and eyes drooping. You lick your lips. “I– I can take it, Leon,” you say petulantly, leaning forward to nuzzle into his warm thigh, biting into him needily.

He huffs out a hoarse laugh, his fingers cupping your jaw to tilt your head before he’s lowering his head, kissing you sweetly. You whine, hugging his leg tighter with an arm while your fingers slip into your needy cunt, hips rising and falling as you fuck yourself on your hand.

“So pretty,” he whispers, his nose nudging against yours as he wraps his hand around his cock, stroking the length as he watches you writhe on the rug, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Can I try something, sweetheart?”

You nod, desperate for attention, for his touch. Leon’s thumb is sliding over your tongue, pressing down as you open your mouth wider, eager for his fat cock back in your mouth. But he doesn’t give you his cock. Instead, Leon’s lips purse, a soft noise leaving him as he spits down into your mouth.

It’s filthy, so terribly obscene and yet it makes your cunt throb harder, thighs squeezing together as violent need unravels through the crevices of your brain until you’re moaning and swallowing, tongue sticking out for more.

“Please,” you gasp, holding your mouth open, staring up into his eyes. “Please, Leon.”

“You’re driving me crazy,” he mutters, shaking his head as he watches you bounce on your knees, his thumb pressing down on the soft wetness of your tongue, hissing when your lips latch on unforgivingly, slurping at the digit. “Didn’t think you’d get me this fucking insane.”

You whine louder, a sliver of brattiness breaking through as you let go of his thumb in favor of lurching towards his thick cock again. You manage to get your lips around it, squirming closer until it’s half-way into your mouth, feeling the tip of it nudge against the back of your throat. You’d never taken it so deep, but you’re feeling stubborn and the uncharacteristic need to please has infiltrated your mind, setting your nerves alight.

“Sweetheart,” Leon grunts, muttering out a low curse when he watches you shift, settling on his boot. “Needy fuckin’ girl, huh? Okay, I’ll give you what you want, greedy little thing.”

His hand finds the back of your head, pressing gently as he urges you forward. You moan around him, hips rocking against his boot, holding him closer as it presses up right between your legs, giving you the friction you need, the relief you need.

“Good girl,” he whispers, letting his hips inch forward slowly. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You whimper, hollowing your cheeks, trying to relax your throat as he strokes your hair. It’s a little uncomfortable, but Leon taps your nose and you mewl, managing to suck in a deep breath before letting you go lax as he pushes in deeper, just enough to feel your throat convulse around him.

Leon moans hoarsely, holding you there for a brief moment before he pulls his cock out of your mouth, brushing his thumb over your messy, spit-covered lips.

You blink up at him tearily, reaching for him when he leans down to kiss you, panting into his mouth. 

“Leon,” you whimper, tears threatening to fall over your lash line at how good it feels to be here with him. 

“I know, baby,” he croons, dipping his head to kiss your tears, trailing his lips over your cheeks. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, slow and gentle, letting his nose nudge against yours. “You wanna cum? Hm? Go ‘head and rub that needy little pussy all over my boot, baby, go on.”

You nod rapidly, kissing him eagerly as he cups your jaw, letting your hips roll once more, your fingers worming back into your panties to press against your swollen clit, circling the aching bud desperately. The coil in your stomach grows tighter with every kiss Leon gives you, every brush of his lips against your skin.

Through your hazy gaze, you can see him stroking his cock, pre-cum wetting his hands, the slick sounds emanating through the quiet, dark cabin. It’s a little difficult to get your fingers inside of you with how you’re settled on his boot, so you stick to rubbing your clit, grinding against his boot.

“Gonna cum,” you whisper dazedly, rocking harder, eyes rolling back when Leon’s hand slides over your throat, gently squeezing before he’s tipping your chin up so you can watch him fist his cock.

“Yeah?” Leon rasps, “just from grinding on my boot? You’re so dirty, baby.”

“‘m– ‘m not!” you protest, arching into him. “‘m not dirty!”

“No?” he coos condescendingly, licking into your mouth feverishly until he’s devouring your needy sounds, letting his tongue tangle with yours momentarily before he’s pulling back and spitting into your mouth. “But you’re gonna cum, sweetheart.”

It’s all too much for you. Leon’s hand on your hair, the low, rasping laugh that leaves him when you nuzzle into his thigh, the soft kiss that lands on your cheek.

You cum with a cry, shaking and shuddering and wanting, squirming towards his cock despite the violent twitches that rack through your body. Leon’s laugh is broken by a guttural groan when you suck his balls into your mouth, slurping and letting your tongue run over the hot skin. 

“Fuck,” Leon snarls, his voice trembling as he strokes his cock faster, “fuck, baby– fuck!”

He grunts as he cums, hips jerking forward unevenly when you wrap your lips around the spurting head of his cock to swallow his cum down. You lap at the head, letting his heady cum pool on your tongue before you show him, batting your lashes up at him in a way you hope is pretty.

He sinks his teeth into his fist as he watches you swallow it down, fingers coming down to stroke over your throat gently before he kisses you, pulling you up onto shaky feet. You flush when Leon cups your cheeks, fingers trembling against his chest.

He smiles down at you, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. You smile back, unable to help yourself, leaning into him as he lets his head drop forward, resting on your shoulder.

“That was fun,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his hair. 

“Fun,” Leon echoes, letting out a snort. “Sure, baby. Think you might’ve sucked my soul outta my cock.”

“Shut up!” you laugh, hitting his chest.

“What?” he grins, holding you in place as he peppers kisses all over your face making you laugh and squirm, his stubble scratching across your skin. “Gorgeous,” Leon whispers, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “You’re so gorgeous. My pretty baby.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, beginning to thud so violently you think it might somehow tear its way out of your chest and find its rightful home in Leon’s scarred hands. He kisses the tip of your nose and you shiver, voice soft when you speak. 

“Thank you, daddy.”

You pause when you realize what you’ve said, eyes widening in mortification as Leon’s brows shoot up in surprise. Your mouth opens to apologize, to back-track, to say something to explain why the fucking word daddy has slipped out of all things, but your mind is utterly devoid of thoughts.

All you can manage is an incoherent gargle, the noise making you sound choked. 

You’re half-expecting him to turn and pull away from you, but all Leon does is just… stare at you.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, “I don’t know where that came from.” You throw your hands up, growing panicked. “I mean, you were just kissing me and stroking my hair and I felt wanted and so fucking safe and I don’t fucking know why I–”

“Hey,” Leon’s voice is soft when he catches your hands, lacing his fingers through yours tightly. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“It is?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, lifting your hands to brush his lips over your knuckles. “It’s just…,” his brows furrow, “not what I was expecting.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses you, his hands slipping over your sides until he’s pulling you impossibly closer, deepening the kiss. You think there might be some sort of magic laced into the kisses with how they’re easing the tension in your shoulders, the anxiousness in you bleeding out with every press of his lips and stroke of his tongue.

Leon pulls away with a chaste peck, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath is hot as it fans across your face, and you lurch forward to steal another kiss from him. Leon catches you before you can, his thumb pressing against your lips.

“You want daddy to take care of you, baby?”

You blink up at him owlishly. The way he’s speaking to you – soft, low and deep – is rewiring the synapses in your brain, carving out a place just for Leon. 

“Yes,” you whisper, head tilting to let Leon kiss your cheek. “Yes– yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your thighs as he lifts you up into your arms.

You’re too distracted by his mouth to notice that he’s carrying you to his bed, lashes fluttering as he lays you down. He leans back to shrug his jacket off and you’re doing the same, pulling at all the layers you’re wearing, discarding them hurriedly until you’re moving to tug your socks off.

“Leave ‘em on,” Leon says, pulling his shirt over his head. “They’re cute, baby.”

You’d disagree if you weren’t so distracted by his chest and abdomen. There’s a dusting of hair on his chest and you swallow, letting your gaze travel down over his muscled abdomen spattered with scars. You bite your lip, following the trail of coarse hair that lies below his navel, whimpering when you see his cock hard again.

Leon’s crawling over you, capturing your lips in another deep kiss, his hands brushing over your bare skin. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, staring down at you, “so fucking pretty for me, sweetheart.”

You mewl, fingers sliding through his hair as he mouths at your breasts, back arching when he sucks one into his mouth, his tongue swirling over your areola and flicking at your hardened nipples. If his cabin is cold, you don’t notice, not with the way he’s rubbing against you, the hot heat of his mouth making your eyes roll back as he tugs your nipple with his teeth.

“Daddy,” you whisper, bucking your hips, “daddy, please.”

“Use your words, baby,” Leon murmurs, switching breasts, kissing over the soft skin reverently, his hands squeezing at your thighs. “What do you want from daddy?”

“You!” you gasp desperately, tugging at his hair as he laves over your breast, sucking it into his mouth lazily before he’s letting it slip out of his mouth with a muted pop. “Want– want you to fuck me, daddy.”

“Yeah?” he says, hand sliding between your thighs to cup your pussy, his thumb sliding through your puffy folds to press against your aching clit. “Want daddy deep inside this pretty, little pussy?”

“Yes– ah– yes,” you whine, voice hoarse and broken, hands pawing at his broad shoulders as he slinks lower, head settling between your thighs. 

A sharp squeal escapes you when Leon’s mouth latches onto you suddenly, his tongue gliding through your folds, lips sealing around your clit as he sucks it into his mouth. Your legs kick out, hands pushing at his head at the overwhelming sensation, but Leon doesn’t let up, wrapping his arms around your thighs, palms resting on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You wail, toes curling as you thrash, back arching involuntarily when he fucks his tongue into your aching cunt. The motion has his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin – scratchy and rough. 

“Daddy!” you squeal, “‘s too nghh– much!”

“You can take it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice muffled by your pussy as he laps at your cunt, working his tongue into every now and then until you’re shaking and yanking at his hair desperately. “Be good for daddy.”

You whimper, nodding to yourself as you reach for his hand, heart fluttering when he gives it to you, letting you hold his hand tightly. Broken moans and gasps fill the air as he laps at your pussy, over the slick folds, drinking down the taste of you greedily. He groans into your pussy, the sound travelling through your sensitive flesh, making you twitch.

Leon’s tongue swirls over your clit, flicking against the sensitive bud until you’re squealing louder, your feet slipping over his broad back in an attempt for purchase, only to find none. 

“Fuck me,” you say dazedly, pulling at his hair, pouting down at him. “I said– hah– I wanted you to fuck me, daddy.”

He huffs out a laugh, peppering your clit with soft kisses until you whine and squirm again.

“You’re being bratty, sweetheart,” Leon muses, letting his hips roll between your thighs, his fat, heavy cock dragging against your slick pussy. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning when you slip your hand between your bodies, guiding his cock against your pussy.

“Sorry, daddy,” you mumble, not sounding very sorry at all as you let your thumb brush over the head of his cock, mewling happily when Leon whimpers, pre-cum dribbling from the tip of his cock and onto your clit, coating the swollen bud.

“I– fuck– I don’t have a condom on me,” he says, kissing your neck. 

“You can pull out,” you offer, peering up at him when he reappears, an arm wrapping around his neck as you roll your hips, feeling the head of his cock nudge against your empty cunt. “Just want you inside, daddy. It aches.” You pout a little more. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, pushing your hand aside to grasp his cock, stroking it once before he presses it against your aching hole. “Okay, baby, take my fat fuckin’ cock then.”

Your eyes widen when his cock starts to push forward, scrabbling at his shoulders when you feel the stretch of his cock pressing inside.

“‘s big,” you whisper, staring up at him, gaze flitting about his face. “Daddy, ‘s too big.”

Leon smiles, his cheeks flushed prettily. “Thought you wanted me to fuck this sweet little cunt, sweetheart. Hm? Should daddy pull out and kiss you instead?”

“No!”

The refusal slips out of you quickly and Leon laughs when he sees the flare of panic in your eyes.

“Sorry, baby,” he says, kissing your cheek. “Daddy’s being mean.”

You pout, pulling him down for a bratty, sloppy kiss as Leon lets his cock sink into you deeper, feeding inch after inch into your until your pussy flutters around him, desperately trying to accommodate his size.

Leon lets you adjust for a moment before he’s drawing his hips back and snapping them forward. You gasp, the sharp noise ripped out of your throat as he watches you, brows knitted together as he fucks his cock into you, setting a pace that has you seeing stars already. He brushes your messy hair out of your face, hand settling on your hand as he drops his weight down onto you, pushing your legs up so that they wrap around him, your ankles locking together tightly.

There’s drool leaking from the side of your mouth, Leon’s tongue catching it as he feeds it back to you, spitting into your mouth filthily as you babble incoherently, eyes rolling back.

“Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” Leon growls, his hands squeezing your hips, so hard that you can feel the bruises beginning to bloom. “Good fucking girl, taking daddy’s cock like a goddamn champ.”

You preen at the praise, managing to draw a gasp out of Leon this time when your pussy clenches around his fat cock, his hips jerking forward when you claw down his back in delirium. 

“Daddy– love daddy’s cock,” you slur, feeling his chest press against your breasts, the weight of him so comforting that you coo, legs tightening around him to hold him closer to feel his cock pounding into you with abandon, balls slapping against your ass. “Daddy– ah! daddy, daddy!”

“Daddy’s got you, baby. Doing so fucking good for me,” he snarls, mouth slotting over yours messily, his fingers moving to grip your ass to hike your hips up a little higher. 

The new angle has him hitting deeper and you’re squealing, so loud that you think it might be enough to scare off the wolves outside. Leon groans and grunts, shifting his hips until he’s able to hit exactly where you need him, his fat, girthy cock carving its way through your pussy. 

You can vaguely hear his bed creaking with every thrust, head tilting as Leon whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his fingers finding your clit. Every brush of his skin against yours has you crying out, the heat of your bodies becoming blistering.

“My perfect girl,” Leon whispers, his fingers splaying over your jaw as he watches your wanton expressions. “My pretty, perfect girl. All for me, hm? Tell me, baby, is this all for me? All for daddy?”

“Y– nghh– yes,” you whisper dazedly, feeling your body rock as he thrusts into you, driving his hips deeper and deeper. “All for you, daddy,” you tremble underneath him, “no one’s– ahh– no one’s ever made me feel this way.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Leon says, his brows furrowing as he watches you pucker up your lips for a kiss. He gives you what you want, letting his lips brush over yours, his hand tangling into your hair. “Tell me what you are then, pretty baby. Tell daddy what you are.”

You blink up at him, lower lip trembling for a moment before Leon kisses you again gently, his nose brushing against yours in silent encouragement.

“‘m daddy’s pretty, perfect girl,” you mumble out shyly, smiling faintly when he kisses your cheek. 

“That’s right,” he soothes, brushing his fingers over your clit, beginning to rub faster, in tight, little circles. “Such a good girl for daddy, hm?”

You nod, giggling dazedly when he peppers your cheek with kisses, toes beginning to curl when he grinds his cock into you briefly before he’s fucking you again with long, deep strokes.

He’s moaning into your skin and you whine back, heels digging into his ass when he buries himself to the hilt in your fluttering pussy. 

“Gonna cum, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, trying to pull back, his hands settling on your waist as he tries to detach from you. “C’mon baby, you gotta let daddy go.”

“N– no!” you protest, shaking your head at the thought of him wasting his cum when he could cum inside you. “Want it inside, daddy… want your cum inside,” you sound embarrassingly desperate. “Fill me up?” you try, “please?”

“Fuck,” he breathes out, running his hand through his hair as he glances down to where his cock is still buried inside of you.

You blink up at him, arching your back a little, squeezing your breasts before letting your hand drift between your thighs to rub at your clit.

“Please?” you whisper, your other hand reaching to scratch at his abdomen, grazing the coarse, dark hair below his navel. “Fill me up, daddy. ‘m so– so empty.”

“You’re a bad fucking influence,” Leon rumbles, grabbing your chin. “If you want daddy’s cum, you’re gonna have to take every fuckin’ drop.”

You smile at him hazily, lolling your tongue out playfully. Leon’s groaning and rolling his eyes, but he gives you what you want, spitting down into your mouth, letting his tongue glide over yours before he’s moving his hips again. 

He seems to be close with the way he’s groaning into your ear, his movements stuttering with each consecutive thrust, fingers digging into your skin tightly. You kiss him sweetly.

“Cum, daddy,” you mewl, peering up into his eyes. “Wanna watch you cum, daddy.”

“Too fuckin’ good to me,” he rasps, his fingers playing with your clit.

Leon’s hips stutter forward one final time, a low whine leaving him as he cums, inching forward to bury his cock into you. You keen when you feel his cock throb, eyes rolling back when his hot, thick cum spills into you, your own thighs twitching as Leon rubs at your clit a little harder.

“Let go, baby,” he manages through rough pants, “cum on daddy’s cock, pretty girl.”

You cry out when he thrusts into you once more, clinging to him as your orgasm hits you, thighs shaking and body twitching as you cum. Leon kisses you lazily through it, his hands stroking over your sides as you ride it out, sagging against the sheets limply.

Leon pulls you into his side after he pulls out and you frown when you feel his cum beginning to leak out of you, pressing your thighs together stubbornly until the heady fog of lust fades and you realize that you’d let Leon cum inside of you.

You watch him when he leaves the bed, silently appreciating his broad back as he stokes the fire before disappearing through a door. He reappears, a warm, damp cloth in hand and clad in a pair of sweatpants and hoodie. 

A yawn escapes you as he sits down on the bed, letting him clean you up with a kind of reverence that has your gaze clouding over again. Leon helps you get dressed, forgoing your panties as he helps you into a pair of his boxers, dressing you in his warm clothes, pulling you into his arms soon after.

“You okay?” he murmurs, kissing your cheek. “That was pretty intense.”

“Yeah,” you say, curling into him as he pulls the blankets up over you both. “But it felt good,” you flush a little, burying your face into his chest. “It felt good with you, Leon.”

He laughs, kissing your forehead, rubbing his hands over your back soothingly until you relax against him a little more and come out from where you’ve been hiding. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, leaning into his palm when he cups your cheek. “I’m sorry if I was too much–”

“You weren’t,” Leon interrupts, tracing the curve of your cheek. “I told you, you’re perfect, baby. And yeah, I’m okay,” he grins down at you, “think you left a little ache in my joints though.”

You huff out a breath, trying to feign annoyance but he looks so boyish when he grins that you can’t help smiling back. You squirm closer, kissing his cheek before pecking his lips, nuzzling back into his warmth.

“So,” you begin, letting your hands slip under his hoodie to feel his bare skin, “what’s the story with the scars?”

“There’s a few,” he murmurs, nosing into your cheek, “all bad, I’m afraid.”

“Worse than serial killers?”

He snorts, hugging you closer. “Yeah baby, worse than serial killers.”

You bite your lip, eyes softened with affection. You kiss him again, your lips lingering against his like a promise.

“At least you’re here,” you murmur when you see the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “Alive and warm and um… in the middle of a forest with a pack of wolves?”

Leon lets out a low laugh, his eyes boring into yours intently. 

“And with you,” he adds quietly, holding you tighter.

You waited for a moment, relaxing your body, offering it up to the sensation. Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. The tension didn't break; it just... dissolved, seeping away like smoke. The frantic buzz against your now-overstimulated nerves just felt irritating.

"Fuck!" You groaned to the empty room.

Frustrated, you hurled the still-buzzing vibrator across the room. It thudded against the wall, then hit the floor with a pathetic clatter-bzzzt. Every time. Every. Single. Time. Just when you were on the precipice of reaching an orgasm, it ghosted you. It was like a curse had been put upon you, condemning you to forever hike the base of the great mountain but never plant your flag at the summit.

It was getting so bad that your irritability was through the roof. Yesterday, you dropped your phone and cried yourself to sleep over the cracked screen protector. Last week, during ovulation, you'd craved the very feeling you couldn't have so intensely, you'd thrown a full-blown, foot-stomping fit in your kitchen over an empty box of cereal. It was embarrassing. Humiliating, even. Your own body was a troll.

You've tried everything. Toys, sex, fingers, even medication. Nothing worked; you were at a complete loss. Another failed hookup was your final straw. The guy claimed he could do it, and for one shining, delusional moment, you'd believed him. But like every other time, the smoke disappeared, and you were left overstimulated and some random lapping desperately at your clit.

"The doctor will see you now."

The nurse led you to an office that smelled of antiseptic and vanilla. Behind the desk sat a woman with long, messy brown hair and dark circles under her eyes that looked like they hadn't seen a full night's sleep since the first iPhone came out.

She glanced up, offering a faint, professional smile that didn't quite reach her exhausted eyes. "Have a seat. I'm Dr. Ieiri." She seemed to be reading your file, or possibly the takeout menu buried beneath it. "So, tell me a little about what's going on."

You'd heard of Dr. Ieiri. Online forums, friends of friends spoke her name in hopeful tones. She was apparently a "magic" doctor who could fix the unfixable. It had taken months of spiraling to finally book this consultation. Maybe it was stubborn hope, or maybe it was the last pathetic shred of your pride finally waving a white flag.

You explained your "issue," giving a clinical and slightly tragic summary of your sexual history. You sounded like a malfunctioning appliance. Unit fails to complete cycle. Error code: Bliss Not Found.

Dr. Ieiri listened, nodding slowly, her pen tapping against the desk. When you finished, she leaned back. "Based on what you've described, persistent difficulty achieving orgasm despite adequate stimulation. It sounds pretty textbook, possibly a severe case of Anorgasmia. Situational, likely psychogenic in origin, given your history of near success."

You felt your shoulders slump. Another label. Great…

"It is treatable, though," she continued, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. "We can start a conventional treatment plan. Cognitive behavioral therapy, sensate focus exercises, and possibly adjusting any medications you're on. It's effective, but it takes time and consistent effort."

A long road. You'd been on a long road. It was paved with disappointment and dead-end vibrators.

She paused, her eyes drifting past you to a brightly colored flyer pinned to a corkboard on the wall. It was at odds with the sterile environment. She looked... hesitant. "Or... we could pursue a different treatment modality. It's rather... extreme. Not my first recommendation. But the efficacy rates are...remarkable. Some patients report success in a matter of hours. Even minutes."

Your spine straightened so fast you almost heard a crack. Minutes? After years? Your internal skeptic screamed that this was where they sold you magic beans, but the desperate, orgasm-starved part of you perked up. "Is it like... surgery?" You weren't opposed. At this point, you'd let them wire you up to a car battery if it promised results.

"No, no surgery," Dr. Ieiri said. She let out a small, dry chuckle. It wasn't a funny-haha sound; it was the sound of professional embarrassment. With a sigh, she reached over, unpinned the flyer, and slid it across the desk to you. It was glossy. Too glossy for a medical office.

'Orgasm Inc.’

‘Ignite your match today!'

Beneath the headline was a stock photo of a ridiculously attractive, diverse group of people laughing while holding sparklers. The design was sleek, modern, and infuriatingly vague.

"What... is this?" you asked, turning the flyer over as if the back would have a disclaimer like ‘This is a joke, please seek real help!'

"It's an adjunct program I run through the clinic," Dr. Ieiri explained, her tone carefully neutral. "For patients with treatment-resistant anorgasmia or erectile dysfunction. The philosophy is... direct intervention." She ran a finger down to the bottom, to the microscopic fine print you needed a magnifying glass to read. "We facilitate highly curated matches based on bio-compatibility and psychosexual profiling. Essentially, we find your ideal... catalyst."

So that was the 'but.' Not as scary as you'd imagined, but it just sounds like a very fancy, medicalized hook-up service. As if reading your mind— a terrifying skill for a doctor to have— she continued.

"It's not Tinder," she said bluntly. "We screen up to twenty candidates who fit your stated preferences. Then we run a full panel: genetic compatibility screenings to assess pheromonal response, comprehensive bloodwork to rule out physiological barriers, and a battery of psychometric tests to gauge temperament and... stylistic alignment." She sorted through some papers on her desk, finding a flowchart that looked like it was for launching a satellite, not getting someone off. "We consider everything from vaginal pH compatibility to neurotransmitter profiles. The goal is to guarantee a match on a biological and psychological level before you're ever in the same room."

She finally met your gaze, her tired eyes serious. "It is, for lack of a better term, a targeted, therapeutic intervention with a very high success rate for breaking the cycle."

You stared at the smiling sparkler-holders on the flyer. 'Ignite Your Match.’ It was ridiculous. It was humiliating. It was the most clinical proposition for sex you'd ever heard. And after a lifetime of failure, it was also the most hopeful thing you'd seen. A slow, slightly unhinged smile spread across your face. "So," you said, tapping the glossy paper. "What's the copay?"

—

This was your absolute last resort; if this didn't work, you would be an orgasmless woman for the rest of your sad, frustrating life. The paperwork alone was insane—a small novel of disclaimers, psychological evaluations, and physical consents. They took full-body scans, vials of blood, swabs from places you'd rather forget. You signed your name until your hand cramped. Then, the waiting. A full month, they said, to track your cycle with precision and to gather suitable participants.

A month of lying awake, aching, wondering if your body was even capable of the release everyone else seemed to take for granted.

The day arrived with clinical sterility. You were instructed to shower with their specially formulated, scentless soap, then smooth their hypoallergenic lotion over every inch of your skin. A nurse administered a sharp, cold shot to your hip. "It suppresses ovulation and neutralizes any known STDs for forty-eight hours," she explained briskly. Not FDA-approved, but revolutionary. Consider it a technological condom.

The thought was dizzying. That such a thing existed and wasn't public knowledge... but then, Orgasm Inc. wasn't a typical service. It was a medical-grade glory hole service. A last-chance salon for the pleasureless like you. The price was staggering, but your insurance, convinced it was a "therapeutic treatment for anorgasmia," covered most. The remainder was a sobering chunk of your savings.

Another nurse, her smile kind but detached, led you down a softly lit hallway to a room that felt like a cross between a spa and a laboratory.

The centerpiece was a plush, queen-sized bed, but it was pushed flush against the wall, which held a generous, padded opening-a hole just large enough for the lower half of a body to slip through. It was cozy, nice sheets, thankfully, the gown they gave you wasn't like the thin hospital ones, but similar to a cotton gown you had at home, aside from the open back side.

She placed a small, smooth remote in your palm. "Your control. This silver button," she said, guiding your thumb to a cool, metallic circle, "is your emergency stop. Hold it for three seconds, and the session terminates immediately. All participants are removed, and incoming ones are halted. You are in charge." Her finger moved to a bright orange button. "This requests additional lubrication. Use it freely."

Finally, she tapped a pink button. "This one extends a participant's time. Each session is five minutes. If you feel you are close to climax and need more time with that specific partner, press the pink button. It grants one five-minute extension, per participant, per session." A few more nurses walked into the room with a blindfold and water in hand, along with a few snacks. You were instructed to lie on the bed, sliding your lower half through the hole. It cut off right below your waist as nurses adjusted the bed to fit your height to be comfortable, as your feet dangled on the bed on the outside.

"Initial lubrication," a nurse announced. You flinched as a cool, slick gel cascaded over your folds and your rear hole. Expert, gloved fingers spread it, massaging it into your inner lips, circling your clit, pushing a generous amount inside your entrance. The clinical touch was jarring, but the lube was warming quickly.

"Remember, orange for more," she reminded you.

As they finished, you asked, "The pink button... what if I want to extend more than once?"

"The system allows for one extension per participant. It encourages... decisiveness." With that, they retreated. The last nurse fitted the plush blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into a velvety, absolute black. "This enhances tactile sensitivity and removes visual distraction. Focus on the feeling." The door clicked shut, leaving you in silence, your heartbeat loud in your ears, the remote a lifeline in your clenched fist.

The first sound was the subtle swoosh of a door opening on the other side of the wall. A presence. Guy #1.

His touch was hesitant. A soft, dry thumb stroked once, twice over your clit. His fingers were smooth, manicured. He traced your outer lips, dipping just inside to gather wetness before circling your entrance. He seemed to be studying you. For a better angle, he hitched your thigh up, his grip polite. One finger, then two, slid inside you, curling gently. They were... adequate. A medium length, a timid exploration. It felt nice in a distant way, like a polite massage, but it lit no fire.

Hearing a soft, stuttered breath, you felt the blunt, semi-soft head of his cock nudge against you. He squeezed your thigh—a warning?—and pushed in with a shallow thrust. He was fully hard now, but only just. A comfortable, unremarkable size.

He stayed still, letting you adjust, though the clock was ticking. The faint crinkle of pubic hair against your skin. The blindfold made every sensation hyper-real. The slight throb of his pulse inside you, the minute tremble in his thighs. He began to move, a shallow, polite rocking, his thumb returning to your clit in timid circles. His pace quickened, becoming earnest but clumsy. There was no rhythm, no building tension, just the frantic, instinctual pistoning of a man chasing his own finish.

Was he a virgin?

The thought was depressingly clinical. His breathing hitched, his movements turned jagged, and with a choked-off grunt, he slammed deep, his sweaty palms slipping on your thigh. You felt the hot, internal pulse of his release, the quick, diminishing twitches of his oversensitive cock before he slid out, leaving you empty and vaguely wet. A soft chime signaled his time was up. Thank god.

You were given a 10-minute break in between each participant for your body to readjust and for the nurses to reapply more lube. You definitely needed it after Guy #1.

The next man walked in, and you were already prepped from last time, so he would have more time actually inside of you. You knew immediately he was different. No tentative touch. Large, rough hands grabbed your ass, kneading the flesh, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

He lifted both your legs as if you weighed nothing, hooking your knees over his forearms, jerking your hips forward to meet him. You scrambled for purchase on the sheets. You felt him, the heavy, thick drag of his cock along your drenched slit. He was huge. A broad, mushroomed head pressed insistently against your entrance, and then he sheathed himself in one brutal, unforgiving thrust.

You cried out, your body bowing, unprepared for the sudden, burning stretch. He held still for a shuddering second, letting your walls flutter wildly around the invasion, before pulling out almost completely. Your hole clenched around nothing, aching. He muttered something, a low, blurred rumble lost to the soundproofing.

SMACK. A sharp, stinging pain bloomed on your ass cheek. You'd listed "impact play" as a mild interest on your form, but you didn't expect any of the participants to actually do it.

He drove back into you, setting a ruthless, pounding pace. The blindfold grew damp with involuntary tears. Your moans were raw, echoing in your private room. You wrapped your legs around his waist, seeking an anchor, but his grip on your hips was iron, controlling every jolt and drive. It hurt, a deep, radiating ache, but beneath it, a coil of pure, shocking pleasure tightened. He was hammering against a spot inside you that made stars burst behind the blindfold. Your pussy grew obscenely wet, each thrust producing a filthy, squelching sound.

That precious, unfamiliar precipice began to build again, higher and sharper than before.

When his thick fingers found your clit, rubbing rough, tight circles, you instinctively tried to buck away. He only hauled you back, impaling you deeper, your hips meeting his with punishing force. Tears soaked the mask. You were babbling, begging into the void.

The alarm chimed. He didn't stop. He didn't even slow. He held you on his cock, a silent, demanding question. With a trembling hand, you found the remote and mashed the pink button.

A gratifying squeeze on your ass. He used the bonus time mercilessly, flipping you onto your stomach with a grunt. Your legs gave out, but he held your hips up, his thrusts now a wild, animalistic pounding. The slap of his balls against your oversensitive clit was relentless, pushing you to a mindless brink. You stuffed a fist in your mouth to muffle your screams, drool slicking your chin. He was destroying you, rearranging you, hitting that glorious spot with brutal precision.

Your body began to lock up, a tidal wave gathering in your core—so close, so close-and with a final, brutal slam, his rhythm fractured.

You felt him swell, pulse, and then he was pulling out, his hot release striping your back and thighs in thick ropes. The final chime sounded. He gave your throbbing pussy two patronizing, sticky taps before the door swooshed shut. He was gone. You were left shattered, trembling, and so agonizingly unfinished. #2 really knew how to show up and show out.

The break was a blur of gentle cleaning, a new blindfold, and cool water sipped through a straw.

The next several participants blurred into a montage of mediocrity. #3 was efficient but detached. #4 had a terrible rhythm. #5 was forgettably average. Guy #6 was a nightmare, fumbling, half-soft, actually prodding at your urethra before correcting himself.

You missed #1's nervousness and knowing what the right hole was. You craved #2's brutal competence. None of them brought you back to that cliff's edge.

Participant #10 was anatomically shocking. The stretch was beyond full; it was a burning, pressure-filled intrusion. He spent four of his five minutes just trying to seat himself fully inside you, and the sensation was less of pleasure and more of being split open. You saw white behind your eyes, but from pain, not passion. You were so close to pressing the metallic button until time ended. The chime was a rescue.

Participant #14 was a surprise. No immediate penetration. Instead, you felt hot breath, then the flat, wet stroke of a tongue from your ass to your clit. He ate you with slow, languorous devotion, lapping up the mixed juices, circling your entrance, sucking your clit into his mouth until your thighs shook. He made you writhe, made you sob with need, and just as the coil threatened to snap, he slid inside a smooth, thick length.

He fucked you with deep, grinding rolls of his hips, but the shift from oral to penetration disrupted the fragile build-up. The chime sounded with you hovering frustratingly near, but not over. He kissed your inner thigh and was gone.

Hope was a dying ember. You were sore, overstimulated, and despairing. Only three left. You shifted onto your back, tired of the faceless anonymity, your body feeling used and no closer to its goal.

The door opened. Guy #17.

He didn't try to get inside of you immediately. His hands, warm and sure, smoothed up your inner thighs. His touch was gentle, like #11, but there was an authority to it, a knowing pressure that made your spine arch off the bed.

You spread your legs wider. You felt him lean close, the heat of his body, the scent of clean skin and warm musk. The thick, silken head of his cock tapped your clit, then dragged slowly down through your slick folds, coating himself.

He took his time, exploring. A hand patted your calf, guiding it up over his shoulder. His grip was firm, possessive. The blunt tip pressed against your swollen entrance and just... stayed. Teasing. Circling. Your breath hitched; impatience warred with a sudden, thrilling anticipation.

As if sensing your frustration, he finally pushed forward—not with a thrust, but with an inexorable, slow invasion. An inch, then a retreat. Another inch, deeper this time. He was stretching you with a perfect, delicious pressure, filling you with a thick, curved length that seemed designed for you. It was overwhelming in the best way, the stretch walking the perfect line between pleasure and pain, the curve rubbing against walls that had been ignored all day. A broken moan fell from your lips.

He established a rhythm-deep, rolling strokes that grew steadily in power. His hand slid under your hips, angling you, and every thrust now rubbed that glorious inner spot with unerring accuracy. This wasn't just fucking; it was a conversation. Your body spoke in hitches and clenches, and he answered with deeper pressure, a faster pace. Fluids leaked from you, making a wet patch beneath your ass. You were babbling again, nails scrabbling at the sheets.

And then, as his thumb found your clit, applying just the right amount of friction, the universe detonated. It started as a tight, fluttering deep in your core, a spark that became a wildfire. Your vision whited out behind the blindfold. Your back arched violently, a raw, guttural scream tearing from your throat as your pussy clenched around him in rapid, agonizingly sweet spasms.

It was endless, wracking you with waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain. You were cumming. Finally, finally, finally. You sobbed through it, your body convulsing, milking his cock as the ecstasy slowly, slowly ebbed. He paused, buried to the hilt, letting you ride the seismic aftershocks. But as you trembled, spent, you felt him begin to move again, chasing his own end. The chime sounded. You didn't hesitate. Your thumb, slick with sweat, found and held the pink button.

A low groan from the other side of the wall. His movements became more urgent, more possessive. You were overstimulated, raw, but the sensitivity was a new kind of torture. With a few more deep, grinding thrusts, another orgasm was ripped from you—a surprising, gushing release that soaked his pelvis and the sheets beneath you. You squirted, body seizing, a weak scream catching in your throat.

Before you could even go limp, he flipped you onto your back. His mouth was on you, hot and demanding, licking up your own release from your stomach, sucking marks onto your hips.

You were a quivering, oversensitive mess, and he was everywhere. You felt him swell, throb, and with a final, deep plunge, he came inside you, his pulsing heat triggering a third, smaller, shockwave of clenching pleasure that left you seeing stars. He collapsed over you for a second, his weight a delicious anchor, before carefully pulling out. A gentle, almost reverent kiss was placed on your pubic bone. Then silence. He was gone.

He had broken the dam. The last three participants were a blur of delirious, easy climax. #17 had you shuddering with two deep thrusts. #19 merely pressed the head inside, and you came with a shattered cry, your body now a hair-trigger. By the time #20 entered, you were floating in a hypersensitive haze, cumming almost continuously, barely aware of his departure. Sleep overcame you as you drifted into a long-awaited slumber.

You awoke in a soft, private recovery room, your body clean, swaddled in a fresh gown. A gentle ache hummed between your legs, a satisfied, full feeling. A nurse checked your vitals, beaming. "Congratulations. A remarkably successful outcome." almost made it sound like you were pregnant.

Dr. Ieiri entered, clipboard in hand, a genuine smile on her face. "Hello. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty great," you murmured, voice hoarse.

"Still a little tired."

"That's the shot. Its effects include mild lethargy. It will pass." She reviewed your chart. "I must say, your physiological responses were our most pronounced to date. You've effectively recalibrated your system."

She went over aftercare, hydration, rest, and a follow-up in two weeks. Then, she leaned forward. "As per your contract, the reconnection offer stands. If you wish to meet with any of the participants again, through our secured channels, you may."

Your mind, still foggy, flashed with immediate, vivid sense-memory. You met her gaze. "Is there a limit to how many I can revisit?"

Her eyebrow arched, a flicker of amusement in her professional demeanor. "Most select one. But no, there is no technical limit."

A slow, tired, but deeply satisfied smile spread across your lips. "Then yes, I would." Why pick one when you could pick two!

—

"Aren't you eager..." he mused, the voice a low, raspy vibration against the humid air of the room. The scar at the corner of his lips—a pale, ragged slash-stretched with his smirk as his thumb and forefinger pinched your damp cheek, forcing your lips into a tighter, more desperate 'O' around his girth. You answered with a hum, a deliberate, throaty sound that traveled directly down the shaft buried in your mouth, making the thick vein along its underside pulse against your tongue.

Your eyes, blurry and wet, weren't just watering from the strain. They were swimming, tears tracking through the sweat at your temples from the overwhelming, glorious stretch of your jaw and the relentless, wet heat between your thighs where another mouth worked you over. It was hard to focus, hard to even remember your own name, not that you were allowed to use it here anyway. The rules were clear: masks on, no names.

Anonymity was the price for the kind of soul-shattering pleasure they'd dangled before you. You resorted to using their numbers from last time, assuming who was who. The black-haired man above you #2, you mentally labeled him, tightened his grip in your hair. He guided your head down, sinking himself deeper until your nose pressed into the coarse, dark curls at his base.

Your throat bulged obscenely around him, a visible lump working as you fought your gag reflex, surrendering to the sheer size of him. In the flickering of candlelight, his body was a landscape of muscle, the shadow of old scars crisscrossing his ribs and shoulders.

Beneath you, the white-haired man #17 was a study in contrasts. Just as tall, those plump, sinfully soft lips were sealed around your clit, sucking with rhythmic, devastating precision, while his fingers, long, curled inside you, finding that spongy spot with accuracy. His chuckle against your most sensitive flesh was a low tremor that made your entire body convulse, a silent scream trapped around the cock in your mouth.

You sucked in earnest then, your cheeks hollowing sharply, drawing a ragged groan from #2. You felt it rumble through his pelvis. You braced your palms on his rock-hard thighs, nails biting into skin, lowering your head further in silent, begging submission.

He obliged. With a grunt that was half curse, half prayer, his hand fisted in your hair, holding you immobile as his hips gave a short, sharp jerk. Hot, salty spurts hit the back of your throat. #2, sensing the climax above, doubled his efforts, his tongue a frantic, circling brand as his fingers pistoned. Your own orgasm ripped through you, which made your knees buckle, and your walls clamp viscously around his thrusting fingers.

You moaned around the pulsing cock, the vibrations milking him for more as you tried desperately to swallow, cum and saliva escaping the corners of your stretched lips to drip onto his still-hard shaft, gleaming in the low light. "Good girl," #2 breathed, his voice wrecked, as he finally pulled you off with a soft, wet pop.

He swiped his thumb through the mess on your chin, pushing the collected release back past your lips. "I couldn't wait to get another taste of this," #17 said, his face glistening with your arousal as he licked a broad stripe up your inner thigh, not wasting a drop. "Can't believe they only give us ten minutes in the rounds. That was a fucking tease," he pouted.

You gasped for air, your body humming, nerve endings screaming. "That's why we're here, isn't it?" you managed to rasp, voice starting to go raw, turning your head to press a soft, filthy kiss to the head of #2's cock where it lay, heavy and semi-soft, against his thigh. He hissed in pleasure.

"You're right," #17 agreed, but he parted from your cunt with obvious reluctance, his breath hot on your flesh.

Before you could orient yourself, #17 was there, his hand capturing your chin, his mouth crashing onto yours. His tongue plunged in, tasting of you and salt, a distracting invasion. You moaned into the kiss just as you felt the broad, blunt head of #2's cock, already iron-hard again, nudge against your dripping, well-used entrance.

You missed that stretch, that glorious, burning fullness. Your body recognized it, welcomed it, sucking him in greedily as he sheathed himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust.

The air left your lungs in a punched-out sob against #17's mouth. He pulled back, a silver string of saliva connecting your swollen lips. His smirk was pure wickedness. He leaned back on his elbows, spreading his legs in a vulgar, inviting display, his own cock lying thick and eager against his stomach. Following an instinct you didn't know you possessed, you slid from #2's lap, pulling #17's thighs toward you. You left a trail of darkening bruises along his inner muscles, your jaw protesting, but the desperate need to taste him. You took one of his heavy balls into your mouth, rolling the weight on your tongue, while your hand massaged the other.

A soft, approving whistle came from above. #17 watched, his blue eyes dark behind his mask, as you licked a long, slow stripe up #17's shaft before swallowing just the plush head. It was the opportunity he needed. His hands landed on your hips, and he drove back into your cunt, the force making you sink deeper onto #2's cock, taking him fully into your throat.

#2 set a punishing, piston-like pace, his balls slapping against your ass with wet, sharp cracks. "Nuh uh, don't lose focus, baby," #17 growled, his own hand tangling in your hair, fucking upward into your mouth in a perfect, synchronized counter-rhythm to the man pounding into you from behind. He pushed a hand into the small of your back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch.

You tried to keep up, to suck and clench and take, but it was a losing battle. A coil was winding tight in your belly again, a pressure building under the dual assault. #2's relentless slaps on your ass, the skin burning, flowering into a hot, red map of his possession. It was him, you were very sure now.

You snaked a trembling hand down between your own legs, your fingers finding your swollen, slippery clit. You circled it once. "Fuck- you should see the way she's sucking me in," #2 groaned above you, his head thrown back. He used his free hand to spread your ass cheeks wide, using your own flesh to bury himself deeper. "Wanna get to see what she looks like cumming around my cock."

"B-best thing ever," #17 stuttered, his rhythm faltering for a second, lost in the memory. Holding your head up, watching your face contort. He pushed your head down now, until his cock was a solid in your throat, and held you there until stars burst behind your eyelids before pulling back just enough for you to gasp.

#2's slap on your cheek was the final spark. It landed with a crack that echoed in the room, a bright, shocking pain that detonated the pleasure coiled inside you. Your cunt clamped down on #17 in a series of brutal, milking spasms, sucking him deeper as you shook. "Just like that!" he groaned, and his own control shattered.

He held you down, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself in hot, pulsing ropes down your throat. You swallowed desperately, around him.

But #2 didn't stop. His thrusts into your mouth remained brutal, even as you came down from your high. He dug his thumbs into the dimples of your lower back, a silent warning not to retreat. You would be bruised tomorrow, inside and out, a walking testament to this night.

Blinking through the haze, you fondled #17's balls with your free hand; he was still miraculously hard in your mouth. With a final, guttural moan, #2 climaxed, his release painted your already-ravaged cunt with a fresh, searing heat. He leaned back to watch it leak out of you. Your nails, which had been clutching #17's thighs, left deep, red crescents in their wake, companions to the hickies blooming there. As #2 finally pulled out, you lifted your head, showing #17 your tongue, clean of his spend.

"Swallowed it all," you slurred.

A wide, breathtaking grin split his face behind the mask. "That's my girl."

Your body was a boneless, trembling. #2, still buried inside you, wrapped a strong arm around your stomach and lifted you from the bed. #17 wasted not a second. The moment #2's cock slipped free with a wet, obscene sound, #17 was there, sheathing himself in your soaking, cum-slicked cunt.

The stretch was still breathtaking, still a delicious, burning fullness. You slumped against #17's chest, only to feel the blunt pressure of a tip once more at your entrance, now slick and loose. There was no way. They couldn't both...

Before you could even form the thought, #2 pushed. Low, broken sound tore from your throat as he breached you, his cock sliding in alongside #17's, stretching you to an impossible, mind-bending degree. You felt them both, every inch, rubbing against each other inside you.

"Oh my god—" It was a sob. They moved. Not in sync at first, a disorienting, overwhelming push-pull that made you see white. Then they found a rhythm—#17 pulling out as #2 pushed in, a continuous, rolling wave of penetration that hit that perfect, spongy spot with every single stroke. Your hands flew to #17's chest, finding it surprisingly full and soft under the hard muscle, holding on for dear life.

"I knew you could do it, baby," #17 breathed against your ear, his voice thick with awe. "Just like that." He captured your mouth again, swallowing your ragged, continuous moans.

Your pussy was stretched beyond anything you'd ever imagined, a sweet, dizzying ache that tipped into ecstasy. You began to move your own hips, fucking back onto them, chasing that feeling again.

You'd pay triple.

Your climax, when it came, wasn't a sharp peak but a flood. Your cunt gushed, a hot rush of fluids that soaked their cocks and thighs, your body convulsing in an endless wave of pleasure. "To think you could get any tighter-" #2 gasped, his hand snapping to the back of your neck.

His release followed instantly, triggered by your spasms, filling you with a fresh, scalding rush. #17 wasn't far behind; your clenching walls were too much. With a loud cry, he joined him, his cock twitching violently against its counterpart as he painted your already-overflowing pussy.

You were utterly spent, a ragdoll panting between them, your senses drowned in the smell of sex, sweat, and lust.

#2 pushed his hips flush against your ass, sealing his cum inside with a filthy, wet squelch. "Can't let any fall out, ya know," he chuckled, his voice a low rumble against your spine. His thumb hooked at your stretched entrance, feeling the mix of their releases seep out despite his efforts.

"How do you think they'll let us stay in here?" you mumbled, consciousness fading at the edges.

"No idea," #2 murmured. "Probably 'til we drop."

#17's eyebrow rose above his mask. You felt his smirk. "Loser is a rotten egg," he taunted, his voice regaining its playful edge.

Not one to back down, #2 laughed, the sound vibrating through you. "You're on."

—

This time, you didn't awake in a sterile recovery room. You awoke to warmth, and weight, and the slow, steady rhythm of two sets of breathing. Were squished in a tangle of limbs in the center of the ruined bed. One man, #17, his shock of black hair tickling your cheek, had an arm thrown possessively across your waist, his face buried in your neck. The other, #2, was spooned behind you, one heavy thigh hooked over yours, pinning you in place. The masks were gone, discarded somewhere on the floor, a clear violation of the contract.

You tried to shift, to lift your head, but the iron-bar arms around you only tightened, pulling you deeper into their sweaty embrace. And you felt the insistent, hardening press against your thigh. It was disgustingly icky.

A slow, sated smile spread across your face as you closed your eyes again. This was truly your best decision ever!

Forcing yourself out of bed, your feet hit the cold hardwood, and the temperature change jolts you further into wakefulness, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. Your reflection catches in the mirror across the room, and for a moment, you barely recognize yourself.

The girl who walked into that bank a week and a half ago wouldn't recognize you either. She had a routine, a job, a life that was small but predictable. Safe. Boring, maybe, but it was hers.

This girl staring back at you? You don't know who she is anymore.

Trudging down the stairs, the kitchen is brighter than your room, with late morning sunlight streaming through the windows. There's breakfast laid out on the counter— eggs kept warm under foil, toast stacked on a plate, and coffee in the pot still hot. You pour yourself a cup, and steam curls up into the cool air. They haven't been gone long, then. Or at least one of them hasn't.

You're adding sugar to your coffee when you hear footsteps on the stairs, heavy and uneven. Not Ran's measured tread or Rindou's purposeful stride.

Sanzu.

He appears in the doorway looking like death personified. His pink hair is a disaster, sticking up in every direction, and the tank top he's wearing is on backwards, the tag visible at his throat. But it's his eyes that stop you cold— pupils contracted to pinpricks, the blue around them almost colorless in the harsh morning light. His skin has a grayish cast, and there's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cool air circulating through the house.

He's coming down. Hard.

You've seen him high before, seen him manic and energized and moving at twice the speed of a normal person. But you've never seen the aftermath like this— the crash when the chemicals run out and his body starts demanding payment for all that borrowed energy.

“Morning,” you venture carefully, keeping your voice soft and non-threatening.

He doesn't respond, doesn't even acknowledge that you spoke. He just moves past you to the coffee pot with jerky movements that remind you of a wounded animal. His hands shake as he pours, liquid sloshing over the rim of the mug and onto the counter, but he doesn't seem to notice, lifting the mug to his lips before grimacing at the heat or the taste or both.

You retreat to the kitchen island with your own mug, perching on one of the tall chairs as the silence stretches out between you. You can feel the volatility coming off him in waves, like heat shimmering on summer asphalt.

“I can make you a plate if you're hungry,” you offer, gesturing to the food Rindou left out.

“Not hungry.” His voice is hoarse, scraped raw. He still hasn’t looked at you, continuing to stare down into his coffee.

You sip your own coffee and say nothing else. Sometimes the best thing to do with Sanzu is to be quiet and let him work through whatever's happening in his head without external interference.

The silence continues for several more minutes. You can hear the kitchen clock ticking, marking time in a way that feels oppressive as Sanzu drinks his coffee in small sips. His hands are still shaking slightly, knuckles white where they grip the mug.

“Where's Ran?” The question comes out before you can stop it, your voice sounding too loud in the silence.

Now Sanzu looks at you, pale eyes focusing with an intensity that makes you want to lean back. “Why?” There's something cruel in his tone. “You miss him already?”

You don't answer, taking another sip of coffee to avoid having to respond.

“He had business,” Sanzu continues, circling around the island toward you. “Rindou too. Went for a run first— very disciplined, our Rindou— then business.” He takes another sip of coffee before his mouth twists. “So it's just you and me this morning, princess.”

The endearment sounds wrong in his current state— less playful and more poisonous. Like he's turned the word into a weapon.

“Sanzu—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Don't.” He sets his mug down hard enough that coffee sloshes out again, adding to the puddle already on the counter. “Don't do that. Don’t use that soft voice like I'm a bomb you're trying to defuse. I'm not gonna fuckin’ explode.”

“I wasn't—”

“You were.” He's still approaching, backing you into the counter without touching you, using his presence alone to trap you. “You do it with all of us. Learned what makes us tick and figured out how to manage us.” His smile is all teeth. “You’re a smart girl, but y’know what? I'm not feelin’ very manageable today.”

Your heart is hammering against your ribs so hard it hurts. This is different from his usual demeanor— that has an element of play to it, a sense that despite the unpredictability, he's in control. This is rawer, more jagged around the edges.

“Where's your breakfast?” he asks suddenly, his gaze dropping to your empty hands. “We have all this food and you're not eatin’. Rindou made it special, and you're not even touchin’ it.”

“I wasn't very hungry either.”

He reaches past you and grabs a piece of toast from the plate. “Eat.”

You take the toast, acutely aware of how close he is. The edge of the counter presses into your back, but you force yourself to take a bite. It tastes like sawdust in your dry mouth, but you swallow it down.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the words make your skin crawl because they sound nothing like when Ran says them. “See? You're so good at followin’ orders now. Bet you didn't even think about it, did ya? Just did what you were told like a pretty lil’ pet.”

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel.

Something flickers across his face. “Doin’ what?”

“Being cruel.”

The words hang between you, stark and accusatory, and Sanzu laughs, the sound making the hair on the back of your neck rise to attention. “Cruel? Oh baby, this isn't cruel.” But there's something almost vulnerable underneath the venom, something that looks like pain if you squint hard enough. “You want to know what's cruel? Ran crawlin’ into your bed at night like you're his fuckin’ girlfriend. Rindou lookin’ at you like you're—”

He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard enough that you can see the muscle pulse.

“You're gettin’ too comfortable here,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “And that's dangerous. For all of us.”

“What do you want from me?” The question bursts out as frustration overrides fear. “You took me. You’re keeping me here. You’re making me live with you. What the fuck do you want from me? To stay terrified forever? To spend every day crying and begging to go home?”

His eyes widen slightly. You haven’t sworn at him since the first night in the house. You've been careful, trying to survive by being accommodating, but something inside you has snapped.

“There she is,” he says, and there's something almost reverent in his voice. “I wondered where that girl went. The one who pounded on the window and cried to go home.” He leans in closer, close enough that you can see your reflection in his eyes. “Where'd she go, huh? What'd we do to her?”

You don't have an answer. The girl he's describing feels like a stranger, someone you used to know but can't quite remember anymore. That girl thought she had something to go back to. That girl believed rescue was coming.

Sanzu stares at you for another long moment, then he steps back abruptly, releasing you from the invisible cage of his presence. “Finish your breakfast,” he says, his voice flat now, emptied of the cruel edge. “I'm going back to bed.”

He leaves the kitchen without another word, taking his coffee with him. You hear his footsteps on the stairs, the creak of his door opening and closing, and the loud thump of music starting up moments later.

You're left alone in the kitchen with a piece of half-eaten toast in your hand and your heart still racing.

Your coffee has gone cold.

—

The afternoon passes in tense, uncomfortable silence.

Sanzu doesn't come back downstairs. His music plays on a loop— aggressive and angry, the kind that's meant to drown out thoughts rather than accompany them. You try to read, curling up in the living room with the same Camus novel you've been working through, but the words blur together. You can't sink into the narrative when your own reality feels so unstable.

Around four, you hear Ran's voice in the entryway and Rindou's lower rumble in response. They're back. The relief that washes over you is immediate and damning— you shouldn't be this happy to see them, but you are.

You stay in the living room, giving them space to decompress while you listen to the sounds of them moving through the house. Water running and doors closing, the low murmur of conversation you can't quite make out. Normal sounds that shouldn't feel as comforting as they do.

Around six, you make a decision. You're not sure what possesses you to do it— maybe it's the need to feel useful again. Maybe it's because you're tired of feeling like a ghost haunting their space, taking up room but barely contributing anything.

Or maybe— and this is the thought that makes your hands shake as you pull ingredients from the fridge— maybe you're trying to prove Sanzu wrong. To prove that you can exist here and participate in their life without it meaning what he thinks it means.

You find chicken in the freezer and vegetables in the fridge. There's rice in the pantry, soy sauce, fresh ginger, and sesame oil. You can make something with this.

You set to work, losing yourself in the familiar rhythm of cooking. Dicing the chicken into uniform pieces. Slicing the vegetables thin and even. Measuring the rice, rinsing it until the water runs clear, and setting it to cook. The mundane tasks quiet your racing thoughts, giving your hands something to do.

Ran finds you first, drawn by the sounds and smells of cooking. He appears in the doorway, suit jacket already discarded somewhere, tie loosened with the top button of his shirt undone. 

“Well, well, well,” he says, and you can hear him smiling. “What's all this?”

You glance over your shoulder, offering a small shrug. “I got bored. Thought I'd make myself useful.”

“Mmm.” He moves into the kitchen, coming to stand beside you at the stove. “Smells amazing. What are we having?”

“Teriyaki chicken and stir-fried vegetables with rice.”

“Impressive.” His hand comes to rest on the small of your back, and the touch sends heat radiating through your body that has nothing to do with the stove. “Where'd you learn to cook like this?”

“My mom.” The answer comes automatically, and then you freeze, because you haven't talked about your life before. You haven't allowed yourself to think about your apartment standing empty, or your job that’s probably been filled by someone new, or your mother who's definitely called your phone dozens of times only to find a voicemail box that's been full for days—

“Hey.” Ran's voice slices through the spiral, his hand pressing more firmly against your back. “Stay here with me. Don't go there.”

You focus on stirring the vegetables, on the sizzle and pop of oil, on the way the colors brighten as they cook. “I'm here.”

“You know what I mean.”

You do. He's asking you not to disappear into your head. Not to dwell on the life you can't get back to. Not to succumb to the guilt and grief of everything you've lost. He's asking you to stay in this moment, in this kitchen, with his hand on your back and dinner cooking on the stove.

You're saved from having to respond by Rindou's entrance. He's showered since you saw him last and changed into clean clothes— soft gray sweatpants and a black V-neck. His hair is still damp, pushed back from his face, and his eyes track from you to the stove to Ran's hand on your back.

“She's making dinner,” Ran explains, unnecessarily.

Rindou grunts, moving to the fridge. “You don't have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” It's true, you realize as you say it.

Pulling a bottle of water from the fridge, Rindou drinks it in silence as he leans against the counter, watching you work. It should feel uncomfortable, being observed like this, but it doesn't. It feels almost normal— like you're just roommates sharing space.

You're plating the food when Sanzu comes downstairs. You hear him before you see him— his footsteps heavier than usual, that telltale unevenness that means he's still not quite right. When he appears in the kitchen doorway, he's changed clothes too, looking marginally more human than he did this morning, but his eyes still have that brittle quality that makes you nervous.

He stops in the doorway, taking in the scene— the three of you gathered around the counter, the home-cooked meal laid out on plates, the easy way Ran's still touching you while Rindou sets out silverware.

Something dark crosses his face.

“How adorable,” he says, his voice dripping with an acidity that burns. “Playin’ house again, are we?”

The temperature in the room drops twenty degrees. Ran's hand falls away from your back, and Rindou goes still, water bottle halfway to his mouth.

“Sanzu,” Ran says quietly, his voice carrying a clear note of warning.

But Sanzu's already moving into the kitchen, that neurotic energy back in his movements despite the obvious exhaustion weighing him down. “No, this is good. This is great, actually. Our pretty little hostage is makin’ us dinner like the good housewife she is." He picks up one of the plates you've prepared and examines it with exaggerated interest. “You put a lot of effort into this, didn't ya? So thoughtful.”

“Sanzu.” Rindou now, his voice harder than Ran's. “Drop it.”

“Drop what?” Sanzu's smile is sharp enough to draw blood. “I'm just appreciating the way she's settlin’ in so nicely.” His eyes find yours and hold your gaze. “Tell me somethin’, princess. What do you think’s happenin’ here?”

You don't answer. You can't find any words that won't make this worse.

“You think you're one of us now?” He takes a step closer, and Ran and Rindou both tense but don't intervene— not yet. They're giving him rope, waiting to see if he'll hang himself with it. “You think ‘cause you cook our dinners and sleep in our beds and learn our little quirks, that makes you part of this? Part of us?”

“That's enough,” Ran says, pushing off the counter, but Sanzu talks over him.

“You're a fuckin’ hostage!” The words crack through the kitchen like a gunshot. “That's all you are. All you'll ever be!”

The silence that follows is absolute. You can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears, feel the sting of tears you absolutely refuse to let fall. Not here. Not in front of him. Not when he's looking at you like this, like he's trying to break something inside you just to prove he can.

Sanzu reaches behind him and pulls out the gun he always carries tucked into his waistband. Your body locks up instantly, but he doesn't point it at you. Instead, he sets it on the counter between you with a heavy thunk that echoes through the kitchen.

“You know what usually happens to hostages?” His voice has gone quiet now, almost conversational. “Want me to tell you?”

“I swear to god—” Rindou starts, taking a step forward, but Sanzu cuts him off with a scowl.

“Stay out of this, Rin. This doesn't concern you.”

“The fuck it doesn't—”

But Sanzu's already picking up the gun again. He checks the chamber, and when he finds it empty, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single bullet, holding it up to the light so you can see it clearly. 

“They get used up. Wrung out for whatever information or leverage they're worth.” He loads the bullet. “And then, when they're not useful anymore…” He snaps the chamber shut. “They disappear.”

You can't breathe. You can’t move. You can’t bring yourself to look away as he holds the gun loosely in his hand, his finger nowhere near the trigger, but the threat implicit in every line of his body.

“One bullet,” he says, almost gently. Almost tenderly. Like he's explaining something to a child. Then he does something that stops your heart— he holds the gun out to you, handle first. “Go ahead. Take it.”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Ran moves toward you.

“Shut the fuck up, Ran.” Sanzu barks, holding up his other hand to motion him to stop. “She's a big girl. She can make her own decisions. Can't you, princess? Take the gun.”

Your hands are shaking so badly that you almost drop it when he presses it into your palm. The weight is familiar now— he taught you to shoot in the basement, stood behind you with his hands over yours and his breath hot on your neck as he murmured instructions. But this is different. This isn't target practice. This is real.

“Point it at me,” Sanzu instructs, backing up a step and spreading his arms wide. “Right here.” He taps his chest, over his heart. “C’mon.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Rindou's voice has gone sharp with something that might be panic.

“Provin’ a point.” Sanzu's eyes never leave yours, bright and feverish. “Do it. Point the gun at me.”

The gun wavers in your grip. You can barely hold it, your arms shaking so badly that the barrel dips and rises erratically.

“Is it because you can't?” Sanzu continues, taking a step closer even though you're pointing a loaded weapon at him. “Or is it because you won't?” Another step, and now he's close enough that you'd have to be deliberately trying to miss. “Which is it? Are you too weak to pull the trigger, or are you too comfortable here to want to leave?”

“Stop,” you whisper, and you hate how your voice breaks.

“Make me.” He's close enough now that the gun barrel is pressed directly against his chest, right over his heart. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it more firmly against his chest. “Do it. Pull the trigger. Prove you're still that girl who got taken, not the girl who decided to stay.”

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

Before you can process what's happening, Rindou is across the kitchen in three strides. He rips Sanzu away from you with such force that Sanzu stumbles backward. The gun drops from your hand, clattering to the floor and spinning on the tile between you. 

The first punch lands before Sanzu can get his guard up— Rindou's fist connecting with his jaw in a crack that makes you flinch. Sanzu's head snaps to the side, blood immediately springing from his split lip, and then Rindou hits him again. And again.

“She's not—” Punch. “—yours—” Punch. “—to break.”

It's quick and brutal and completely one-sided. Sanzu doesn't fight back, taking the hits and letting blood dribble down his chin. There’s a wild look in his eyes like this is what he wanted all along. Like he needed this, needed the violence to match what's happening inside his head.

Ran finally moves, grabbing Rindou's arm before he can land another punch. “Enough, Rin.”

Rindou shakes him off but steps back, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His knuckles are split open, blood dripping onto the pristine kitchen floor. Sanzu straightens slowly, touching his mouth and examining the blood on his fingers with detached curiosity.

“Feel better?” he asks, and he's smiling. Actually smiling, even though it makes his split lip bleed harder. Laughing, even though it comes out wet and thick.

“Get out,” Rindou snaps. “Get the fuck out of here before I actually hurt you.”

Sanzu looks from Rindou to you, then down at the gun on the floor between you. He laughs again— an eerie, broken sound that makes something inside your chest ache.

“She didn't shoot me,” he mutters as he wipes the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. “She had the gun.. I gave her permission— practically begged her to do it.” His eyes find yours, and he holds your gaze with an uncomfortable intensity. “And she didn't.”

Then he's gone, shouldering past Ran and heading up the stairs. A door slams shut somewhere above, hard enough that you feel it in your bones.

The kitchen is silent except for Rindou's harsh breathing and the drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor. You're still staring at the gun lying there on the white tile, black and deadly against the smooth surface.

“Are you hurt?” Ran asks, moving toward you carefully.

You shake your head, unable to form words yet.

“Look at me.” He steps in front of you, his hand catching your chin, fingers firm but not painful. He tilts your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Are. You. Hurt.”

“No.” The word comes out hoarse, and you have to swallow twice before you can speak again. “I'm not hurt.”

Ran's eyes flick to Rindou, and then Rindou is turning away, his bloodied knuckles still clenched into white-knuckled fists as he stalks toward the door.

“Where are you going?” you ask, brows pinching together.

He pauses in the doorway, but he doesn't turn around. His shoulders are rigid, every muscle in his body pulled taut. “Roof. Need to cool off before I go back up there and finish what I started.”

“Rindou—”

“I'm fine.” He cuts you off, his jaw working. “Just need some air.”

Then he's gone too, and you're left alone with Ran in a kitchen that smells like dinner and blood.

Almost immediately, Ran guides you away from the kitchen— away from the gun and the metallic scent of copper and the ruined dinner still sitting on the stove. He sits you down on the couch in the living room and presses a glass of water into your shaking hands. “Drink.”

You obey mechanically, the cold water helping anchor you back in your body.

“He's not wrong, you know,” Ran says quietly, sitting beside you on the couch. “About you getting comfortable here. About things changing.”

You turn to look at him, searching his face for— what? Condemnation? Agreement with Sanzu's assessment? But his expression is softer than you expected.

“But he's wrong about why that scares him,” Ran continues. “Do you know why Sanzu breaks the things he cares about?”

You shake your head.

“Because that's the only way he knows how to interact with them. Breaking things is safe— you know what's going to happen, you're in control of the destruction. But caring about something that might leave, that might be taken away?” Ran's smile is sad. “That terrifies him.”

The explanation sits heavy in your chest, settling alongside all the other complicated truths you've accumulated about these men. You think about Sanzu's face when he walked into the kitchen and saw you cooking, the barely concealed panic underneath the cruelty.

“I should have stopped him sooner,” Ran says, and now there's regret in his voice. “Before it went that far. Before he put a gun in your hands. I'm sorry.”

“You're apologizing to me?” The absurdity of it makes you laugh, borderline hysterical. “You kidnapped me, Ran. You held a gun to my head and drugged me and now you're apologizing because your friend had a breakdown in the kitchen?”

“I did all those things,” Ran agrees, not flinching from it. “Doesn't mean I want you traumatized in my kitchen. There's a difference between necessary cruelty and pointless harm.”

You laugh again, and this time it doesn't stop. It bubbles up from somewhere deep in your chest, and you can't make it quit. You're laughing or crying or both, and Ran just pulls you against his chest and lets you shake apart, one hand moving in slow circles on the small of your back while you come undone.

—

You sit on the couch for over an hour after Ran leaves you— he had phone calls to make, damage control for whatever business they'd been handling today. The house feels too quiet around you, and the kitchen is still a disaster zone. The dinner you'd made sits abandoned on the stove, probably cold now, congealing in its dishes.

You keep thinking about the weight of the gun in your hands. About how Sanzu was right— you could have done it. You could have pulled the trigger and watched him fall, made a run for it while Ran and Rindou were too shocked to react. The math was simple: one of them injured or dead, two others caught off guard, and you with a head start.

But the thought never even crossed your mind. Not in any serious, actionable way.

That's what scares you most— not that you had the opportunity and didn't take it, but that taking it never felt like a real option. Like somewhere along the way, escaping stopped being the goal.

When did that happen? When did you stop wanting to leave?

The question circles your mind like a vulture, and you don't have an answer you're willing to examine too closely.

Eventually, you can't sit still anymore. The walls of the living room feel like they're closing in, the air too thick to breathe properly. You need to move. Need to see the sky and feel air that hasn't been circulated through the house's ventilation system.

You find the entrance to the roof in the hallway outside Rindou's room— a hatch in the ceiling with a pull-down ladder attached. You've never been up there before, but you heard him mention it a few times, talking to Ran about needing air when the house got too claustrophobic.

The ladder creaks under your weight as you climb, each rung protesting your presence. Cool night air hits your face as you push through the hatch, and then you're out, standing on the flat roof under an open sky studded with stars.

Rindou is sitting near the edge with his back against a raised lip, one knee drawn up with his arm resting on it. He's smoking— you can see the cherry glowing orange in the darkness, the tang of tobacco carried on the breeze.

“You shouldn't be up here,” he says without turning around. His voice is clipped, but he doesn't tell you to leave.

You cross the roof carefully, and when you reach him, you hesitate for just a moment before sitting down a few feet away, leaving space between you that feels both necessary and insufficient.

“I wanted to thank you,” you say, looking out at the Shibuya skyline rather than at him. “For earlier.”

“Don't.” He takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales, lazy tendrils of smoke curling up into the air. “Don't thank me for basic human decency. That's a really low bar.”

“Is that what it was?” You risk a glance at him. “Basic human decency?”

He finally looks at you, and in the moonlight, his lavender eyes are shadowed. “What else would it be?”

You don't answer. You don't know how to put it into words— the barely controlled fury you saw in every punch, the way he'd looked at you afterward like he was checking for cracks in your foundation.

“Why did you stop him?” you ask instead, the same question from downstairs, but it means something different up here.

Rindou is quiet for a long time. He finishes his cigarette, stubbing it out beside him. “Because you're not a toy,” he says. “And he needs to remember that.”

“He was right, though,” you continue, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “About me getting comfortable. About…” You pause, choosing your words carefully. “I didn't pull the trigger.”

“Of course you didn't. You're not a killer.”

“Maybe not,” you admit. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I had the chance and I didn’t take it.” You press your forehead to your knees, voice muffled against your legs. “What does that make me?”

Rindou shifts beside you, and you can feel his eyes on you. “Human. It makes you human.”

You lift your head. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“It’s honest.” He shrugs, taking another drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly. “Do you think pulling that trigger would have made you something better?”

“No! I just… I just know that when Sanzu put that gun in my hands, the only thing I could think about was how much it would hurt to use it.” The confession spills out before you can stop it. “How wrong it felt to even consider it.”

Rindou doesn’t speak for a long moment— so long that you think maybe you’ve said too much, revealed something that’s changed everything irrevocably. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you wait for his response.

Then, unexpectedly, he stubs out his cigarette and stands, offering you his hand.

“Come on.”

You stare at his extended hand, your brows dipping into a slight furrow. “Where are we going?”

“Just trust me.” His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and you blink up at him before laying your hand in his, allowing him to help you up and lead you to a different section of the roof. Here, the view is less obstructed— the stars scattered across the darkness like diamond dust. 

He sits, tugging you down beside him, and points upward. “Look.” 

The sky stretches above you, vast and infinite and beautiful in a way that steals your breath. You've lived in Tokyo your whole life, and you've forgotten what it's like to really see the stars— to feel small beneath their endless expanse.

“That's Cassiopeia,” Rindou says, tracing the distinctive W shape with his finger. “The queen who was so vain she claimed to be more beautiful than the gods, so they put her in the sky as punishment. And there—” He shifts slightly, his shoulder brushing yours as he points to another constellation. “Cygnus. The swan. In Greek mythology, it's Zeus hoping to woo another conquest.”

“How do you know all this?” Wonder colors your voice. Of all the things you've learned about Rindou thus far, this wasn't something you would have guessed. He seems too practical for something as abstract as astronomy.

His hand drops, and for a moment, you think he won't answer. When he does, the words come out rough, like they cost him something to say. “My mom taught me. Before everything went to shit.” 

He pulls out another cigarette but doesn't light it, rolling it between his fingers in a nervous gesture you've never seen from him before. “She used to take me and Ran out on the balcony and point them out. Said that no matter how bad things got down here, the stars stayed the same. That they'd been there for thousands of years and they'd be there for thousands more.”

He's never talked about his past before. None of them have, not in detail. They've dropped little hints here and there— references to a life before this one, mentions of choices and circumstances— but nothing concrete. Nothing this personal.

“What happened?” you ask softly, afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. “To make everything go to shit?”

“She got sick.” He finally lights the cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the harsh lines of his face. “Cancer ate her up from the inside.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and although sincere, the words feel painfully inadequate.

“Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you. Neither did Ran. You were just kids.”

“Well, kids don't stay kids for long in our world.” His smile is bitter. “You grow up fast, or you don't grow up at all. And we had to grow up real fuckin’ fast.” 

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just sit with him in silence for a few moments. The stars continue to sparkle overhead, indifferent to the small tragedies playing out beneath them.

It's only when Rindou lifts his cigarette to his mouth that you notice the state of his hands. The movement draws your attention, and your breath catches when you see his knuckles properly for the first time since coming up here.

The skin is split across two of them, angry red edges crusted with dried blood. The surrounding flesh has already started to bruise, mottled purple and blue spreading across his hand. It looks painful— it has to be painful— but he hasn't mentioned it once.

“Your hands,” you say, reaching out instinctively before stopping yourself. “I didn't realize they were that bad.”

Rindou glances down at them like he's only just remembering they exist. He flexes his fingers experimentally, and you wince at the way the split skin pulls. “I've had worse.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It's the only answer I've got.” But there's the ghost of a smile on his lips now, barely visible in the darkness. He takes another drag from his cigarette, then adds, “I heal real fast. Ran says I'm part cockroach.”

The unexpected comparison catches you completely off guard. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in your chest— genuine and unguarded, spilling out before you can stop it. You clap a hand over your mouth, but the laughter keeps coming, bright and surprised in the quiet night air.

Rindou's watching you with something close to wonder, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers.

“What?” you ask when you finally catch your breath, suddenly self-conscious under his stare.

“Nothing. Just…” He shakes his head. “That's the first time I've heard you laugh. Really laugh, not just that polite thing you do when Ran makes a joke.”

Heat creeps up your neck. “You noticed that?”

“I notice a lot about you.” He says it simply, like it's not a confession of how closely he's been watching. “More than I should, probably.”

The admission hangs in the air between you, charged with implications neither of you seems ready to fully explore. You look away, back up at the stars, trying to find your composure.

“You know what the fucked up thing is?” The words come out unbidden, riding the wave of boldness that the laughter created. You take a shaky breath before continuing. “I'm not even sure I'd go back. If you opened that door right now and told me I could leave, that it was safe, that Mikey wouldn't come after me…”

“Stockholm syndrome,” Rindou says, but there's no conviction in it. Just rote repetition of a diagnosis that doesn't quite fit anymore.

“Maybe.” You turn your head to look at him, and find he's already looking at you. His lavender eyes are shadowed in the darkness, unreadable as ever. “Or maybe I just didn't have anything worth going back to. Maybe I didn't even before you took me.”

“Don't say that.” There's an edge to his voice now, something almost like anger tightening his jaw.

“Why not? It's true. I went to work and sold overpriced bags to rich people and came home to an empty apartment and told myself it was enough. That I was fine. That this was what life was supposed to be.” Your voice cracks slightly. “But I wasn't fine. I was barely existing.”

“That doesn't mean you deserved this—”

“I'm not saying I deserved it!” The words burst out louder than you intended, and you're suddenly on your feet without consciously deciding to stand. “I'm saying that maybe... maybe you breaking me out of that life was the only way I was ever going to break free of it myself. Maybe I needed to lose everything to figure out that what I had wasn't worth keeping.”

Rindou stands too, and suddenly the space between you feels too small and too large all at once. “You're traumatized. You're rationalizing your captivity because it's easier than accepting what we've done to you.”

“Stop telling me what I'm feeling! Stop trying to make this simple when it's not. You think I don't know how fucked up this is?” Your hands clench into fists at your sides. “I know exactly how messed up it is that I care about you. All of you. But knowing it doesn't make it stop.”

“You don't care about us. You're just—”

“I do!” The words ring out across the rooftop, raw and desperate. “I care about Ran even though he held a gun to my head. I care about Sanzu even though he's unstable and dangerous and nearly made me shoot him tonight. And I care about you, Rindou. Even though you're standing here trying to convince me that what I feel isn't real.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You're both breathing hard, the space between you electric with tension. Rindou's hands are clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, and he's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

“Don't,” he says finally, but his voice has gone rough again. “Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I'm something other than your captor.” He takes a step closer despite his words, like his body is moving independent of his mind. “Like this could be something other than what it is.”

“What if I want it to be something else?” The question comes out barely above a whisper, but it might as well be a shout for how it lands between you.

“It doesn't matter what you want.” But even as he says it, he's closing the distance between you in slow increments like he's fighting himself with every step. “It doesn't matter what any of us want. You're here because we took you. Because Sanzu made a stupid decision, and now we're all paying for it. There's no version of this that ends well.”

“Then why are you still here?” You stand your ground even as he gets closer, tilting your head back to maintain eye contact. “Why didn't you go downstairs? Why did you bring me over here and show me the stars your mother taught you?”

He doesn't have an answer. Or maybe he does, but he's not willing to say it out loud. You're close enough now that you can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his pupils have dilated in the darkness, the tension in every line of his body.

His hand comes up slowly, giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted to. Calloused fingers brush your jaw before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so tender, so at odds with the violence you witnessed earlier, that you feel tears prick at your eyes.

“You're not thinking clearly,” he says, but his hand doesn't move away. It stays cradling your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. “Tonight was fucked up. You're in shock, you're processing, you're—”

“I'm thinking more clearly than I have in weeks,” you interrupt. Your hand comes up to cover his where it rests against your face, holding it there. “And I know what I want.”

His eyes drop to your mouth before flicking back up to meet your gaze. “What do you want?”

The air between you is charged, crackling with possibility. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. You could close the distance between you so easily— just lean forward and rise up on your toes—

But Rindou pulls away abruptly, his hand falling from your face as if you've burned him. He takes two steps back, then another, putting a sizable distance between you.

“We can't. Not like this. Not when you're…” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fuck.”

The rejection stings even though you understand it. Even though part of you knows he's probably right. Your hand is still raised where his face had been, fingers curled around empty air.

“When, then? When will it be the right time? When will this situation be less fucked up?”

“I don't know.” His hands are shaking slightly, you notice. He shoves them in his pockets, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle pulse. “Maybe never. Maybe there is no right time for this.”

“Or maybe you're just scared.” Your voice takes on an accusatory, almost plaintive tone. “Is that it?”

Something flashes across his face. “Yeah, I'm scared. You want me to admit it? I'm fucking terrified. Because this—” He gestures between you, the movement sharp and frustrated. “—wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to be temporary. You weren’t supposed to matter.”

“But I do.”

“Yeah.” He sounds angry about it. “You do. And that’s the problem.”

The concession should feel like victory, but instead, it just makes your chest ache. You're both trapped in this impossible situation— wanting something that can't be, or shouldn't be, or maybe is already happening, whether either of you wants to admit it or not.

“Come on,” Rindou says after a moment, his voice tired. “It's late. You should get some sleep.”

You want to argue, want to push this conversation toward some kind of resolution. But you're exhausted too— emotionally wrung out by the events of the night. So you nod, wrapping your arms around yourself against the sudden chill, and follow him back across the roof to the hatch.

The climb down is quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When you reach the hallway, you pause outside your door, and Rindou stops with you.

The silence between you is different now— heavier, weighted with everything that almost happened. The hallway is dim, lit only by a small nightlight plugged into an outlet near the bathroom. It casts long shadows across Rindou's face, making it hard to read his expression.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For tonight. For defending me. For showing me the stars. For all of it.”

“Don't thank me.” But there's less edge to his voice now, the frustration from the roof already fading. “I should have stopped Sanzu sooner. Before it went that far.”

“Maybe. But you stopped him when it mattered.” You hesitate, then add, “That matters to me.”

He looks at you for a long moment, and in the dim hallway light, you can see the conflict written across his face. Before you can second-guess yourself, you reach out and squeeze his hand— brief and chaste. His knuckles are rough under your palm, the split skin catching slightly against your fingers.

“Goodnight, Rindou.”

His fingers tighten around yours for just a second before he lets go. “Goodnight.”

You're reaching for your doorknob when the question bursts out of you, unable to be contained any longer. Your hand freezes on the metal, and you turn back to face him.

“When will it be the right time?”

You need to know. Need some kind of timeline, some indication that this thing between you might someday become something real. That tonight wasn't just a moment born of trauma and proximity, destined to be forgotten in the morning light.

Rindou turns back to face you fully, his eyes searching your face, looking for something you're not sure you can give him.

“When you stop looking at us like we're your only options,” he says slowly, each word carefully chosen, “and start looking at us like we're your choice.”

Then he's gone, disappearing down the hallway to his own room before you can respond, leaving you standing in your doorway with his words echoing in your head.

The distinction feels impossible. How do you separate those things when they've become so tangled together? When does necessity become want? When does adaptation become desire?

You slip into your room and close the door, leaning against it as you try to process everything that just happened. The conversation. The vulnerability. The almost-kiss that somehow feels more intimate than if you'd actually done it.

Your room is dark and familiar— the bed you've slept in for nearly two weeks now, the dresser with new clothes, the window that won't open. This prison that's starting to feel less like captivity and more like something else entirely.

You change into sleep clothes mechanically, brushing your teeth and going through all the motions of your nighttime routine on autopilot. But when you finally climb into bed, sleep feels impossibly far away.

You lie there in the darkness, staring at the sky you can't see, replaying every moment. The gun in your hands and the weight of Sanzu's eyes. Rindou's fist connecting with his face. The taste of your own fear. The stars overhead and the gentleness in Rindou's voice as he named them. His hand on your face. The space between you closing and then, devastatingly, reopening.

When you stop looking at us like we're your only options and start looking at us like we're your choice.

You roll onto your side, pulling your pillow closer, and something inside you cracks. Because you know the answer. You've known it for days now. You've just been too scared to admit it, even to yourself.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whisper the answer into the darkness— the answer he never let you give:

“You're already my choice.”