oral (f receiving), rough sex, degradation, threesome, double penetration, hair pulling, mean dom!heeseung, kind of switch!jay, crying during sex, jealousy sex, handjobs, manipulation kink (implied), ass play, saliva for lube (lots of it), power play, coercion themes, sub!reader, possessive behavior, humiliation, slut shaming (not corrected), multiple partners, use of pet names, hand over mouth, spanking, forced positioning, reader cries but doesn’t stop. let me know if i missed any.

Jay's room always smells like wood smoke and something mixed with his cologne and boy musk, but you've grown way too used to it over the years. You're currently stretched out across his bed with your laptop propped against your thighs and your phone in your hand, hovering a finger over a barely there lace slip in your shopping cart. "Is it too much?" you ask, turning the screen toward him.

He barely glances up from where he's messing with his journal on his desk. "It's basically dental floss. You should get it." You snort, clicking to add it to your cart. "How supportive."

Jay turns then, walking back over with a bottle of water in hand, eyes flicking toward the screen like he's expecting more lingerie picks. He drops down beside you, one knee brushing yours, lazy and comfortable and way too familiar.

You scroll through another site, mindlessly showing him crop tops and overpriced boots. He makes stupid little comments until eventually, you lean across him to grab your charger from the nightstand beside him and your tank top slips. Just slightly thin straps sliding down your shoulder, fabric dipping lower than you meant to but it's enough for him to see them. The darkened, wine colored shadows blooming along the swell of your breasts, stark against your skin.

He goes still and you don't even notice at first, you’re too busy trying to untangle the cable, but Jay reaches without asking, curling his fingers under your strap and tugging it down a little more, his eyes sharpening. "You let him mark you up like that? Heeseung?"

You frown a little, brows raising as you glance down at where his hand is still lingering so close to your breast. Then you swat him away, annoyed. "No, Jay. The fucking tooth fairy. Who do you think?"

He doesn't laugh like you assumed he would. He leans back against the headboard, jaw tense, tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he's chewing on something he won't say. You can feel his stare, heavy and unreadable.

You roll your eyes defiantly and turn the screen back to yourself. "I didn't realize I needed to send you a memo every time I get fucked."

Jay scoffs out dry and humorless. "Guess not," he says, "just didn't think you'd still go back to him." He glances at you. "What? I didn't meet up to his standards?"

That makes you snap your head toward him. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing. Where you act like I owe you something."

Jay laughs low under his breath. "You don't owe me shit," he says, "but maybe you could admit you liked it."

You go quiet. Just long enough for him to know he's hit a nerve and now he looks smug, but not in a gloating way, it’s in that I know what gets under your skin and I'm going to sit there and rot it out kind of way. He shifts a little closer, gaze lingering too long on your collarbone.

"You're said we were just having fun," you say, stiff.

Jay grins. "I did."

You don't know what pisses you off more—his smile, or the fact that part of you wanted to hear something else.

You open your mouth to say something, maybe something catty but the buzzing of your phone on his bed interrupts you.

What shitty timing, you think as Heeseung's name flashes across your screen, loud and abrupt in the quiet lull after Jay's last comment. His lips curl in amusement, and he lets out this mocking laugh, like of course it's him. "Speak of the devil," he mutters.

You want to melt into the floor or throw your phone out the window, but instead you sit frozen, watching the screen pulse with Heeseung's name.

Then it goes silent—only for a text to flash up a second later.

Heeseung: you coming or not?

Jay hums, mean. "Such a romantic."

Your stomach drops as he reaches for your phone. "Jay—don't," you snap, lunging forward, but he catches your wrist easily, holding the phone up and out of reach with a bored flick of his hand. You try to grab it with your free hand, but he's quicker, suddenly twisting you around with too much ease, like he knows every way you move. In one slick move, he tosses your phone across the room and catches your arm behind your back, pinning you on the bed.

"Jay!" you gasp, twisting under him.

He leans over you, lips brushing your ear. "You were really about to go crawling back to him again?" His voice is soft but razor-sharp. "After everything he's done?"

His thigh slides between yours, pining you in place. His grip on your wrist tightens a little and you can feel his warm steady breath against your cheek. "Is that what you like?" His voice is rough now. "Being treated like a fucking afterthought."

You try to twist away from him, to say something, but he turns you over and kisses you before you can, with brute force and possession. You can feel the frustration radiating off him as he swallows the sound of your protest. Your heart rate increases and you hate how quickly your body turns against you, how familiar it feels, how much worse it makes it, the fact that it's Jay. The one person who's always known how to get under your skin.

"I just didn't think you were still that easy," he says lowly, right at your ear. "Still letting him fuck you like you mean nothing."

The words sting somewhere deep in you. You try to jerk away from him, but his hand doesn't move. "That's all he does, isn't it?" Jay adds, almost casual. "Fuck you and leave. And you run back like some good little pet."

Your heart's racing faster now and you’re trying to twist harder in his grip.

But he cuts you off by pressing in, his lips brushing your jaw in a cold and measured contact. "You let him treat you like that. But I'm the one you keep in your bed?" He asks. "Don't think that's fair."

You're too stunned to respond and he knows it. Jay releases you just as suddenly as he grabbed you, pulling away like it didn't mean anything, like he hadn't just shifted the air in the room.

He doesn't even apologize, he just watches you with that stoic look in his eyes, waiting to see what you'll do next. His eyes never leaving yours, even as he stands up from the bed.

You're panting, chest rising and falling as you sit back up on the bed, glaring at his retreating figure. He's already halfway across the room, calm like nothing happened, when he says, too offhandedly, "Your mom called me."

You frown, confused. "What?"

He looks at you. "Said you haven't been eating."

Your stomach twists and you shoot up to your feet, face hot with frustration. "You bring that up now?" you snap, breath catching in your throat. "Seriously?"

Jay just shrugs like he doesn't see why you're upset, like it's just another data point he's sliding across the table. "I'm just trying to show you what he does to you," he says simply.

Your jaw clenches. "Don't blame Heeseung for that," you bite out, angrier now. "I had issues with food way before him. You know that."

There's a pause and the air in the room feels way too heavy for how quiet it is.

He doesn't argue this time, he just flops on the bed again and says, "Come here."

You don't move at first, you shouldn't move—in fact you should get your shit and leave his apartment. But his voice is soft and smooth and too familiar, like a trigger your body's been unfortunately conditioned to obey.

You go, as if something tugs you forward, your legs moving even without your consent.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed by the time you reach him, and without asking or saying a word, he takes your wrists and pulls you into his lap, guiding your thighs to straddle him.

You settle there, shaky and annoyed, but too used to the way this goes to resist. His hands settle on your hips, holding you there. "I’m not the problem." he says, looking up at you. "I'm the one who cares, baby."

You stare back at him. At his straight face. At the boy who always knows exactly when to twist the knife.

You don't answer him right away.

Because all you can think of is how this whole fucked up thing between you and Jay didn't even start with care. Not really.

It started with rage.

Two nights after your third breakup with Heeseung.

You'd shown up to Jay's apartment with mascara bleeding under your eyes, your hoodie sleeves pulled over trembling fingers, and that look you always wore when you were ready to swear Heeseung off for good.

Jay didn't say a word when he opened the door. Just stepped aside and let you in. You stormed past him, fuming, fists clenched like you wanted to punch something.

"I'm done," you'd said. "This time I mean it. He can fuck himself—he can rot."

Jay had nodded, slow. "So he said it again."

You broke. Right there on his couch. Hot, angry tears spilled down your cheeks, your voice cracking with how bitter it all tasted. You told Jay everything. What Heeseung said, even what he didn't say and how he always knew just how to keep you hooked.

Jay sat there the whole time—legs spread, arms resting over the back of the couch, like he was soaking it in.

And then he leaned forward, pressing a hand to your thigh. "Let me help." His voice was quiet, measured even. "I could make you feel better? Or…forget?"

You didn't really know what he meant until he dropped to his knees. You definitely didn’t expect the way he grabbed you by the hips, dragged you down until your back hit the cushions of his couch. You didn't expect how gentle he was when he peeled your sweats down, your underwear off. How he kissed the insides of your thighs like they were bruises only he could soothe.

How he said—"Just let me do this. You don't have to think."

And you didn't think, in fact you couldn’t. His mouth was too good—hot, slow and sinful, tongue fucking into your soaked pussy like he was trying to reclaim every inch of you Heeseung had tainted. He moaned when you gripped his hair, when you cried out, "Jay—Jay, I'm—"

You came with your fists in his hair and your mouth slack from the shock of it, thighs shuddering where he’d placed them over his shoulders. You'd never cum like that before, not even with Heeseung.

He just looked up at you, lips wet, expressionless. "Feel better?" he'd asked.

You could barely nod.

But that was how it started and how it didn't stop.

After that night, you kept coming back. You told yourself it was casual, just a physical thing to get your mind off your ex. Jay never made a big deal about any of it, never even asked for more.

Until he found out you'd gone back to Heeseung.

He didn't yell or sulk that day. He just looked at you one morning while you were still naked in his sheets, and said, "So you let him fuck you again?"

You froze, mind scrambling for a lie to give him, but nothing came out.

He didn't press further or accuse you of anything. He stared at the ceiling and muttered, almost to himself,

"I didn't realize you liked crawling back to someone who doesn't even pretend to care about you."

And then he got out of bed.

He didn't touch you for two weeks after that. Not until you caved and showed up at his door at 1am, asking if he hated you. He just gave you that same look and pulled you into his lap like always.

Jay never needed to yell, he only needed you to come back. And somehow you always did.

The memories fade, but Jay's mattress is still beneath your knees and his hands are still coasting lazily over the backs of your thighs, because to him he's always had the right to touch you. He's moved up against the headboard now, taking you with him, dark hair messy from where you yanked it earlier. His eyes pin you in place with calm surface to them but cold calculations rippling underneath.

His thumbs press just above the curve of your hips.

"Promise me you're done with him."

It isn't a question, it's merely a line in the sand. No heat, no coaxing, just the terms of staying right here. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Jay lifts one brow, waiting.

"I...can try," you whisper, hating how small it sounds.

He shakes his head once. "Not good enough." Followed by a slow inhale, an almost disappointed one. "I've cut off half the girls I see for you—stopped answering DMs, stopped returning calls. You know that."

You do and part of you was always stupidly flattered every time a name disappeared from his phone.

Jay's fingers slide under the hem of your tank, thumbs brushing skin. "So here's what you're gonna do." His voice stays level, matter of fact, with nothing pleading or cruel. "You're going to block him. Delete the number. The next time he wants someone to fuck when he's bored, he can call literally anyone else."

You swallow, feeling the air too thick in your chest.

"Say it," he demands, eyes never leaving yours. "Promise me."

You despise your pulse for fluttering and that it feels like gravity tilting the room. But all you manage is a small nod and a softer, "Okay...I promise."

Something in his jaw unclenches as his palms slide up your sides, settling possessively at your ribcage. "Good girl," he says, and it isn't praise so much as confirmation that you've aligned yourself correctly. His hands guide you down until your chest brushes his. "Keep me happy," he adds, voice almost gentle, "and I'll keep making you forget why he ever mattered."

Your eyes flutter shut, equal parts relief and dread. You want to keep him happy. God, you do. Even if it means burning every other bridge until only Jay's hands are left to catch you.

So you kiss him, seal the promise on his tongue, and try not to notice how pleased he sounds when you sigh into his mouth—like he's already sure you'll never break your word.

He laughs into your mouth condescendingly, like he's entertained by you and it knocks the rhythm right out of your kiss.

"Fuck," he murmurs when you bite down on his bottom lip, his hand tightening briefly at your waist. But it's still followed by a chuckle, smug, cruel and lazy. "You're so eager now. Look at you."

You grind down on him, hips shifting instinctively, desperate to make a point, but it only makes him laugh harder. "Aww." He tilts his head, voice thick with derision. "Look who thinks she knows how to ride now."

Your stomach flips as you feel the heat of shame curling with arousal prickling up your neck.

"So precious," he keeps going, hand dragging down the small of your back, right over the curve of your ass. "You kiss like you're starving, but your hips still falters every time."

"Shut up," you mutter, breathless, but it comes out whinier than you want.

"Oh, now you're embarrassed?" His smile sharpens. "Didn't seem so shy when you were humping me just now."

You shove at his chest, but his hands only tighten, grounding you in place, locking your body against his.

"Go ahead," he says, softly now, teeth grazing the underside of your jaw. "Get mad, but prove me wrong, baby. Show me you finally learned how to fuck me properly."

And fuck—he knows exactly what he's doing. His voice, his words, his mouth, all of it designed to crack you open. He drags the shame, defiance and desire out of you like he's mining for gold.

Your hands shake a little where they press to his chest.

But you roll your hips anyway.

Because God help you, you do want to prove him wrong. But when he doesn't move you nearly falter like he predicted, he doesn't help you or even touch you, he's leaned back against the headboard, arms spread uselessly beside your knees, his expression deadpan but his eyes locked on you with sharp, dark, and maddening patience.

You're the one shifting on top of him, dragging your skirt up around your hips with trembling fingers, your breathing shaky as you tug your panties to the side yourself. He doesn't make a sound, not even when you reach down between the two of you to palm him through his sweats, trying to coax his cock hard.

Still, he just watches. You're a private show, meant only for him. Not someone he's touching, but someone he's witnessing, every breath and movement is a performance he can't tear his eyes from.

His dick twitches in your hand, slowly filling, but he gives no reaction—not a moan, not a sigh, not even a shift of his hips. Just that steady gaze that makes your skin burn.

"You won’t help me?" you whisper, a little breathless.

He shrugs, that same frustrating smirk on his lips. "Thought you were trying to prove you could ride me good now."

You glare at him, fingers curling tighter around the base of his cock. You stroke him a little rougher than necessary, but he only raises a brow like he dares you to keep going.

"Come on," he murmurs, voice low, goading. "Figure it out. You wanted to be the one in control, didn't you?"

You press your lips together, swallowing a shaky breath as you line him up, lowering yourself slowly on the thickness of him and shaking just slightly, fingers clutching his shoulders for balance.

You gasp as the bulbous head of his cock slips in. But he just watches quietly like he’s waiting.

And somehow, to you that's worse than anything he could've even said.

You're whimpering, trying to take more of him rolling your hips just right, moving slow and deliberate like you think he wants. Like you hope he wants.

Your hands brace on his chest, your thighs burning already, and you move with every ounce of desperation you can muster—arching your back, biting your lip, trying to look as sexy and confident as you can manage.

But inside, it's sheer panic. Because you know what Jay could have, you know all the other girls he's brushed off for you. All the girls who would've killed to be in your place, bouncing perfectly in his lap, earning his soft praises and smug grins.

What if one of them would've been better? What if you're just…forgettable?

The jealousy twists sharp in your gut. And the need to matter and to mean something to Jay pushes you harder. You grind your hips down with more focus, swiveling just right, clenching around him tight and desperate.

And it finally pulls a real moan from him. It seems so raw and almost involuntary, but your heart stutters in your chest anyway.

You look down at him through your lashes, still rocking your hips, barely breathing. "Am I..." Your voice is shaky. "...doing good?"

Jay's eyes lift to meet yours—half-lidded and blown black, finally trailing his hand up to rest on your waist, not guiding you yet, just holding.

He exhales slowly, like the sight of you ruins him.

"So good," he croons. "So fucking good, baby."

And like that, you feel your whole body light up with relief, pride and maybe even power. Like maybe you’re finally enough for him.

His fingers suddenly tighten around your waist, and without warning he starts moving you himself, bouncing you harder on his cock. It’s not gentle or kind like you had hoped it would be when you’d asked him to help you. No, Jay is using his strength like it's second nature, like he's been waiting for you to tire out just so he could take over.

Your breath punches out of your lungs when your hips are dragged down hard, the thick length of his throbbing cock pushing in deeper than you'd dared to go on your own.

"Jay—!" you cry out, head snapping back, thighs trembling. But he's already covering your mouth with one large palm.

"Shhh," he breathes, lips brushing your cheek as he leans forward. "You're gonna get me a noise complaint, baby."

You can't help the way your eyes roll back, the stretch, the pressure, the depth of him inside you making your body seize with too much sensation. "Mmpfh."

His grip on your waist is absolutely bruising, dragging you down again and again, faster and harder. Your moans go muffled into his hand, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, your body turning to nothing but a puppet in his lap.

And Jay just watches you fall apart with that same infuriating calmness. "Look at you," he mutters. "Didn't even know how to ride it right five minutes ago."

His voice is smug and dirty. "But now? Now you're screaming for it." He says shifting his body a little, just his hands, one still rests at your waist while the other slips off your mouth and between your bodies, fingers seeking out your clit with perfected ease. You gasp when he finds you, the slick sound of your wetness absurd in the quiet of the room.

He presses his thumb just right and you jolt, the sudden pressure driving you dangerously closer to the edge. Your hips start to stutter, rhythm completely lost, but he picks it up for you—gripping your waist and moving you with a strength you'd forgotten he liked to flex. The next thrust is deeper, more brutal, and your head tips back with a cry, body arching into his. "J—ay! Ngh—Y—yes! There! There!"

Jay doesn't let up at all. "You're babbling now," he says, voice like velvet and venom. "What, you getting stupid for me already?"

You try to respond but your mouth won't cooperate, nothing comes out but a broken whine. Your limbs are trembling, your head swimming. He can feel it in the way you're squeezing around him, right on the brink.

Then he leans forward, mouth at your ear, voice a low rasp, "Do it again."

Your whole body slows to the stiff point. You know exactly what he means, exactly what it means and panic flares across your face, just for a second. Then his hand is on your throat, but not to choke you, just guiding you and pressing you gently back down onto the bed. Your back hits the sheets, chest heaving and Jay climbs over you, slow and deliberate, gaze fixed on yours.

You don't have to say a word. He sees the desperate, delirious relief in your eyes now that he’s on top. The smirk that spreads across his face is so mean and satisfied.

"There she is," he whispers, brushing your hair back with mock affection. "Right where you belong."

Then he moves inside you again, and your world splits open. The new angle is different and it’s letting his cock brush something achingly good inside you.

Your mouth opens, forming a silent no, but it's already happening, he's coaxing it out of you with the same rough rhythm, the same maddening meticulousness.

Your body starts to stiffen again as the pressure boils over, and just as you start to panic more. "Relax," he breathes. "Let it happen."

"I said do it again."

Your thighs quake. The wet slap of skin, the slick mess between your bodies—it's so overwhelming, so humiliating, and so perfect.

You choke on a gasp as your orgasm crashes down, blinding and involuntary, and then it happens. You feel it. The heat, the release, the wet flood you tried to hold back.

Jay's eyes light up, fucking triumphant. "Look at the mess you made," he says low, like he's proud of you and taunting you all at once. His hand glides down, wet with you, lifting his soaked fingers to your mouth. "Open."

You do. Of course you do.

He pushes two fingers past your lips, and you suck them obediently, tongue swirling slow even as your chest still heaves from the aftershocks. His eyes darken.

"You like it nasty, don't you?" he mumbles, pulling his hand away with a wet pop, dragging your jaw open with his thumb. "So fucking easy."

He shifts then, the weight of him pressing your legs wider as he strokes himself once, twice, and not gently. He's so hard and even almost angry with it, and it makes you realize he's been holding back, waiting for you to cum first.

He leans forward, teeth at your jaw, whispering, "You want to be used, right? That's what Heeseung doesn't get. You don't need love. You need to be ruined."

Then he pushes deep in again, faster and meaner.

You scream a loud sound you really try to swallow but it comes out anyway.

He doesn't hold back this time, his pace is rougher now, desperate, driven by something darker. He holds your leg up over his shoulder, trying to mark his name into the deepest part of you.

"Fuck," he grits, breath coming hot against your throat. "You're still so wet—squeezing me like you want me to finish inside."

You can't seem to form any sensible thoughts so you just grip his shoulders like a lifeline, head rolling back, another moan choking in your throat.

"Still so tight," he pants, sweat dripping down his temple, his thumb dragging across your spit-slick mouth. "Still...fuck—still letting him fuck you like you're not already mine."

You sob when he shifts your legs higher, deeper now, hitting that spot that makes you claw at the sheets.

"Jay—" it's all you can manage, too far gone to stop him but too full of him to breathe. But it’s not like he's even listening. Not really. He's watching the way you fall apart, as if he's memorizing the proof that he can still undo you this thoroughly.

His hips pulse, the rhythm of them breaking down—he's close. You feel the way his breath goes jagged, the way his arms start to tremble, how his teeth dig into the underside of your jaw before he groans right there, like he's in pain.

"I'm gonna cum," he grits, voice tight. "You want it, don't you?"

You nod frantically, already crying from the sheer overstimulation. He's everywhere—his scent, his voice, the weight of him fucking you into the mattress.

"Say it."

You try, you do really try. "Want it—want you to cum—inside, please, Jay, please—"

And that's what does it for him. He buries his cock inside you to the hilt with a broken sound, hips grinding into you as he cums hard, long and deep, filling you with thick ropes of his cum until you swear you can feel it pooling inside. His whole body jerks, muscles clenching, breath catching at the base of his throat. He stays like that for a long moment, frozen over you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you slick with sweat and sex and something even heavier.

He props himself up on his hands to look down at you when both your breathing slows, but he still doesn’t pull out. He just stares down at you, still inside, his hand sliding up your ribs until it's cradling your jaw.

"Next time you go back to him..." His thumb strokes over your bottom lip. "I'm done with you."

"And if you do...you better make sure I don’t find out."

His voice isn't even loud but it's steady and enough to make your stomach drop. He ignores the look on your face and shifts your panties back in place then gets off you.

Sometime between the kisses he peppered all over your face, the threat and the uber he'd ordered you, Jay had helped you get dressed again, his touch cool and careful, not speaking as he smoothed your hair down and tucked your phone back into your hand like a peace offering.

You're curled up on your bed, thumb hovering over the keyboard of your phone, the half-typed message to Heeseung glowing like a bruise.

you: ok fine. you win. when?

You stare at it too long, not because you're hesitant but because you know you should be. True to your word and your promise to Jay you had deleted Heeseung's number but you hadn't blocked it, and what use was that when you had it memorized.

Jay had looked you in the eye not even an hour ago and basically told you to choose between them. And maybe you'd meant to take it seriously. Maybe.

But then the soft thud against the glass pane of your window that has you blinking and turning you head—changes everything.

And there he is, changing everything. Heeseung.

Climbing through your window like it he would when you first started dating, but it's not with a smile and an embarrassed chuckle like those days, it's with a frown.

He's mad.

You can tell from the second his feet hit your floor, his jaw locked tight, his eyes raking over you with that specific brand of fury only Heeseung has, that’s quiet and cold, but mean under the surface.

His gaze drops to your legs tucked beneath you on the bed, your wrinkled tank, your flushed skin, and something shifts in his expression—tighter, darker.

"Why the fuck didn't you answer my text?" he says, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

You swallow hard. Your phone's still in your hand, the screen glowing with the message you never sent. He sees it.

"I was gonna—"

"Yeah?" He takes a step closer. "You were gonna what?"

You flinch at the heat between your legs cooling too slowly, the sticky ache of Jay still clinging to you. You didn't even shower or change, the drop in serotonin you experienced after leaving Jay's house left you in a rut.

And now Heeseung's standing here, inches away, breathing the same air as you.

He stops beside your bed, looking down at you, and you can't seem to meet his eyes.

Your shame feels loud, you're even scared he can probably smell it on you.

All your fears are validated when he grabs you by the ankle, one strong hand curling around and dragging you down the bed like a ragdoll. You gasp, your phone slipping from your grip as your back hits the mattress edge.

"Don't ignore me," he mutters, but it's distracted now. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing your skirt up. You squirm, legs instinctively snapping shut, but he doesn't allow that, never does. He spreads you open with one rough motion, ready to scold you, tease you, touch you but then he looks between your legs and his hands stop moving.

Your panties are soaked. Still a little askew. You hadn't fixed them right. Hadn't bothered.

You watch his face twist in real time—brows pinching, mouth parting slightly, like he can't seem to believe what he's seeing.

"What the fuck?" he says, low, breathless. "Did you let someone else fuck you?"

Your stomach flips violently. You try to sit up, to cover yourself, to explain, to say something but he grips your inner thigh tighter, forcing you to stay open.

His voice is flat now. "Who was it?"

He blinks at your silence.

And then, without even looking at you, just staring down at the complete mess between your legs, he lets out a laugh. It's not loud, it's not even mean at first, it's actually almost like he's stunned.

"So you're a little slut now, huh?" he whispers.

The word hits you like a punch to the stomach. Your chest caves in a little. Not because of what he said, but because he said it. Heeseung—who's never called you that. Who's always had this unspoken softness for you, even when he was being cruel. Even when he was distant or cold or high out of his mind, he'd never call you out of your name.

"You don't get to say that," you whisper, voice shaking. "We're not even—" You break off, choking on the heat rising in your throat. "We're not together anymore."

"Right," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "You just keep my name in your phone. Keep my number on speed dial. Let me fuck you whenever I want. But now suddenly I don't even get to ask?"

"You don't," you snap. Your hands slam into his chest, weakly at first then harder the second time. "Get out. Get the fuck out, Heeseung."

He doesn't budge.

You push him again, as hard as you can, trying to guide him toward the window he so casually crawled through as if things were normal between you two. "You can't just show up here and—and check my fucking underwear—"

That makes him grin. A slow, infuriating grin.

You hate him.

You want to cry.

"You're really throwing a tantrum right now?" he says coolly, dodging your push like it's child's play. He catches both your wrists with one hand, effortlessly holding them in place. "What happened to that little whimpering mess I had in my lap last weekend?"

"Fuck you," you spit, writhing in his grip, breath catching. "You don't get to shame me and then act like you care!"

He just shrugs. "Didn't say I cared."

Then his grip tightens just enough to make you stop squirming. "But I'm not leaving either."

He walks right past you like you're not even standing there, like the argument didn't just happen. He moves with lazy arrogance—shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets.

You watch, stunned, as he sinks down into your bed, like he's done it a hundred times before. Which in his defense, he has.

He reaches over to your nightstand and picks up your phone. Just grabs it, thumbing through your screen, looking for God knows what, maybe the name of the person he's so sure you fucked earlier.

Your throat is too tight. Your fists clench by your sides, but he doesn't even glance at you, he's sat there, scrolling through your phone and the silence starts to ache.

Then he looks up.

Expression calmer now. "Go shower." He says with a flat and final tone.

You don't move, the twist in your stomach and the ache in your chest from the shame blooming there makes it hard to move. The worst part is that you don't even know if it's from what he said, or the fact that a part of you wants to listen.

"Now," he adds, eyes flicking back down to your phone.

Like you're just some mess he needs to clean up. You do as you're told—of course you do because Heeseung said so.

Your bathroom light is too bright, too exposing. You scrub harder than you need to, the soap scalding your skin as the shame now settles thick in your chest. You clean yourself like you're trying to erase something. Like you can.

What if Jay calls? What if Heeseung picks up?

Your mind races as you step back into the room, wrapped in a towel, your hair dripping, your skin flushed from the too-hot water. Heeseung looks up from where he's sprawled across your sheets and laughs, so casually amused.

"That supposed to impress me?" he asks, gesturing to the towel. "Like rinsing off some other dudes cum suddenly makes you clean?"

"Cute," he says, tilting his head. "You look nervous. Is it guilt or just performance?"

"Don't just stand there," he says after a beat, voice slow like syrup, sliding back into his usual apathy. "You think we're gonna cuddle or something?"

You shift uncomfortably, still frozen in place, clutching your towel.

He finally sits up, rolling his shoulders back, spreading his legs and patting the edge of the bed like he's calling a dog.

And somehow, stupidly, your body moves before your brain tells it not to.

You sit beside him, still shaking a little, heart hammering against the wet towel. You don't look at him, and you wish he couldn't see the panic painted all over your skin.

He doesn't touch you.

Just leans closer, nose grazing your ear, voice flat and low.

"I'm not gonna fuck you in the same hole you just gave another guy." He exhales a soft, sharp breath

You jolt, but his hand grips your waist tight enough to make you shut up and stay still. "You wanna make it up to me?" he says, voice so calm it cuts deeper. "Then get on all fours. Be useful for once."

"You know what I want."

The worst part is that you do know and you feel it breaking something open inside you—something ugly and raw and so, so tired.

But regardless of the tiredness, your body still moves.

Because that's what you've always done when it comes to Heeseung.

He shifts over you, his chest grazing your back, towel slipping as he cages you in. His mouth brushes your shoulder in a slow deliberate kiss, laced with the kind of false tenderness that makes your skin crawl. You shiver, more from the pressure than the heat of it.

Then he reaches around and pushes two fingers between your lips.

"Open up for me, angel face." he says, voice low and close to your ear and when you hesitate, his other hand presses down on your lower back, a clear warning. You part your lips, and he pushes the fingers deeper, right against your tongue. You nearly gag, your cheeks heating with sheer mortification. He doesn't move them until your saliva begins to pool around them.

"That's enough," he says, yanking them out and watching a strand of saliva cling between your lips and his fingers.

Without pause, he brings that spit slick hand behind you, reaching between your ass cheeks, spreading you open.

He coats his cock with the spit lazily, intentionally letting you feel every second of the slow glide of his fingers against you. You flinch when he teases the tight ring of muscle, his voice flattening into something amused.

"What?" he asks, tauntingly innocent. "You gave him your pussy. I'm just working with what's left."

You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of how his cruelty has never sounded this casual.

"You should be grateful," he continues, positioning himself behind you. "Most guys wouldn't want you after that. But me?"

He chuckles.

"I'll still fuck you."

His hand comes up to your throat in a choke. A reminder, as his hips press in slowly, forcing your body to adjust. Your legs tremble, stretched awkwardly on your knees, hands digging into the mattress. You can barely breathe through the sting, and he hasn't even started moving yet.

"You look so pathetic right now." He says, feeling the way the walls of your asshole spasm around him as he pushes in deeper, hot and slick with your saliva and his precum. "Poor you, helpless and weak. You just take me whenever I show up, uhn?"

You squirm in pleasure at his words, nodding, repeatedly moaning words about being his slut and for him to give you his cock, completely forgetting about the promise you just made Jay—like a true whore.

"Yeah?" He taunts you, slipping one hand under you to your tit and pinching your nipple so hard you arch your back at it, arching into him as you feel the pain shoot all the way through you in pleasure. "You're only good for taking my cum, right angel face?"

A gasp rips from your throat when his nails bite down on your nipple again, the sting shooting straight through you. Waves of goosebumps ripple across your skin, relentless, and all you can do is nod harder, desperate to keep up. "Ah—Hee, oh my god!"

"Shhh, isn't your mum home? You want her to come in here and see me fucking your needy hole? See how much of a fucking slut her daughter is?" You shake your head violently but the drag of his cock against your walls and the slap of his balls against your cunt that's dripping onto the bed as you doing otherwise.

His thrusts stay unrelenting, each one a willful reminder that this is only about release, not some sort of reunion. He leans down, mouth beside your ear, the rasp of his breath harsher than the slap of skin against skin.

"This doesn’t mean we're getting back together?" His laugh is cold and cruel, hips snapping forward harder just to hear you gasp. "Keep dreaming. I'll fuck you, but I'll never get back together with you again."

You clench around him, feeling the shame, hurt and sheer pleasure all tangled, and he hisses, the smile in his voice turning near vicious.

"That's it—tighten up like you don’t believe me," he taunts, hand curling in your hair to keep your face buried in the pillow. "We're done, angel face. You're just a convenient hole I'll use when I'm bored."

He punctuates every word with another sharp thrust, voice dropping even lower. "So stop pretending, stop hoping—because when I pull out, I'm gonna walk away, and you'll still be nothing but leftovers in another guy's bed."

You’re nearly in tears at his words, feeling it pooling on your lash line. You’re starting regret breaking your promise to Jay or for not standing your ground and pushing Heeseung out of your window. "Hee—Heeseung, please."

In one swift motion he pulls out and drags you to the edge of the bed and onto your back, pushing in again, completely ignoring your pleas. "Oh fuck! Shit’s so fucking tight—You let him fuck you here?"

"No! N—Never!" your response has him fucking forward faster, pinning your knees to your shoulders as he fucks deeper and rubs his fingers all over your clenching pussy. "You gonna squirt for me like a good girl?"

The sounds your pussy is making are messy and obscene, and when he hooks two fingers inside your pussy and curls them up? You don't stand a chance in the world, you cum hard, body spasming violently as the liquid shoots out of your cunt and sprays his chest and stomach, he laughs at the sight, "Yeahhh, there we go."

It drives him on towards his own orgasm. He thrusts faster and harder, pushing your legs into your chest harder, so hard that all you can do is bask in the pain. Your ass is burning deliciously, your pussy is hot, and your clit swollen as he finally groans and spills inside you. Hot strings of his cum filling your ass, making you keen and moan at the delicious feeling.

His skin is slick against yours as he falls over you, caging you in with your sweat cooling in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You lie tangled together on the rumpled sheets, the aftermath of your stormy reunion thrums through every nerve of your body. His breathing comes out in ragged gasps as he shifts, body weighted onto you.

His hand drifts across your waist, the pads of his fingers rough where he's still too worked up. He leans in, voice clipped on your neck, every word laced with that familiar sting, "Don't get soft on me now, angel face. I'm not your boyfriend again."

Your heart thumps at the barb because you want him to be. But instead you force the usual shrug, feigning like you don’t care and wincing at the ache between your legs.

"Yeah," you whisper, a little out of breath. "I know."

He presses closer, chest against your spine, and you feel the heat of his body like something too close to a claim for someone who just outwardly said he doesn’t want to be with you again.

"Good," he mutters through a sharp exhale. "Then you know I'm sleeping here. Don't bother moving."

You don't argue, not because you don’t see the need but because you’re far too exhausted and you know damn well he won’t listen to you anyway. You're too used to his cold commands and your quiet yielding, so you let him pull you tighter, you let his arm settle across your ribs.

No kisses or soft words or aftercare, at least Jay had tried to make you look more presentable—smoothing out your skirt and trying to tame your here it’s just the steady thump of Heeseung’s heartbeat against your back and the whir of the street outside your house.

You close your eyes, mind drifting instead to Jay as you try to ignore the not so soothing circles Heeseung’s thumb is rubbing into your stomach.

He'll kill me, you think, eyelids heavy. He said he'd be done if he finds out, he actually said to make sure he doesn’t find out. The worry threads through you, sharp and anxious, but sleep drags you under before you can chase it down.

And for a moment, you're caught between their worlds—Heeseung's cold possession holding you in the dark, and Jay's promise of finality echoing in your head as you drift off.

You wake up to the sound of someone exhaling sharply through their nose, it’s not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. But it's enough to pull you from the tangle of sleep, your limbs feel heavy and your skin is too warm beneath the sheets. Your body aches, but not sore in the good way, this is in the used up and exhausted way.

There's a dull throb between your legs and the rawness in your throat reminds you that you cried hard last night. For a second, you don't even remember where you are, but then you shift, and the bare skin against yours moves with you.

Heeseung still asleep beside you, with his chest rising and falling steadily. One of his arms is draped across your waist. You're completely naked with sticky thighs and a dull ache between your ass cheeks. The air in your room feels wrung out and the smell of sex is clinging to the sheets.

That same breath comes again and you realize it’s not from Heeseung, so you blink your eyes open.

And Jay is standing above you.

Dressed in sweats and a white tee that clings to him like second skin. His face is stoic, eyes flicking between the shape of you under your blanket and the man lying beside you.

Your heart stops, it actually stops before crashing into a violent rhythm inside your chest.

"Wow," Jay says, voice calm in that terrifyingly low way. "Not even twenty-four hours."

You shoot upright, dragging the sheet over your chest, like it'll somehow undo everything or erase the guilt growing like mold in your throat, threatening to suffocate you. You feel exposed and nauseous, like you could throw up right there in the bed.

"Jay—" you start, voice cracking.

But he just lifts his hand, not even to silence you, just so incredibly dismissively. Like your words aren't even worth hearing.

"Your mum said you didn't eat dinner," he says after a beat, not even looking at you now. "That's why I came. She said she was headed out for the day. Thought I could check on you."

Your stomach sinks. Shame slams into you so fast you have to look away. You want to be so angry at your mother for thinking Jay is so responsible with you but you can’t because he is responsible, especially with you.

Heeseung starts to stir at the sound of voices around him. He blinks up at Jay, completely unbothered. "What the fuck—?"

You can't breathe, not to talk of move. You feel like a child about to be punished, or more like a criminal caught red handed, but worse than all that, you feel absolutely pathetic.

"Is this how you let random guys barge into your room now?" Heeseung grumbles, rubbing his eyes. He squints at Jay. "The fuck are you even doing here?"

You want to scream at him to shut up. You want to cry, as you watch Jay stare into your eyes.

Heeseung sits up slowly, scoffing under his breath. "Get the fuck out, dude."

Jay doesn't budge or even feign like he’s about to. No, instead he plants himself at the foot of the bed—arms crossed, back straight, that unnerving calm carved into every line of his face. His gaze stays glued to you, not even wavering when Heeseung pushes up onto an elbow, blanket slipping low across his hips.

"Get dressed," Jay says, voice quiet but completely resolute. He isn't loud, because remember? he doesn't ever have to be. The authority in his voice is always ice cold and precise.

You scramble at the sheets, fully dizzy with panic, shame and adrenaline. Your hands are shaking so badly you can't tell if you're gripping cotton or fucking air.

Heeseung scoffs, a bark of incredulous laughter. "Who the fuck are you to tell her what to do?"

Jay doesn't still spare him a glance. He just extends a lazy hand toward your dresser. "Clothes. Now."

Heeseung's eyes narrow, confusion dawning into something uglier. "Wait." He sits all the way up, raking his gaze over Jay's face, then yours. "Hold on. Is this—" He points between the two of you, lips curling. "You? You're the guy who fucked her?"

You fathom speaking now, even though he truth is screaming inside your skull, your throat feels cemented shut.

Heeseung lets out another humorless laugh. "Wow. Your so called best friend, huh?" He looks you over, disgust edging his tone.  "You'll really spread your legs for just anyone, won't you?"

The words punch a hole straight through your chest, it has your vision blurring, but you still slide from the bed, clutching the sheet to the front of your body—the ache between your ribs way louder than the ache between your legs.

Jay's jaw flexes, but he doesn't rise to the bait of Heeseung referring to him as just anyone. He still doesn’t look at him. Rather, he turns slightly, exposing his profile to you, creating a corridor of privacy in the room that somehow excludes Heeseung entirely.

"Drawer," he says softly. "I'm counting to ten."

The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—or sob. You stumble to your dresser, jerk it open, and pull the first t-shirt you find over your head. Your fingers fumble with a pair of panties. You feel Heeseung's stare on your back, burning with hate and disbelief.

Jay murmurs, "Eight...nine—"

You wrench the panties up just as he reaches ten, heart jack-hammering in your throat. Then you stand there, arms wrapped around yourself, sheet puddled at your feet like evidence.

Finally Jay shifts his gaze to Heeseung—slow and intentional with his eyes flat and glacier cold. "Out," he says. One syllable and absolutely nothing more.

Heeseung brims with tension, rising from the bed. "Fucking make me."

The air in your room turns heavy, electric, charged with something darker than anger. You tug the oversized shirt lower on your thighs, cheeks burning, pulse rabbiting beneath your skin. You should tell one of them to leave, you should scream, you should do something. Instead you stand there uselessly with a pounding heart and a twisted gut while the two men who know your body like a map stare each other down over the wreckage of your sheets.

Jay breaks the silence first, voice low. "You promised."

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh, eyes flicking to you, then back. "And? She promised me once too. Didn't stop her moaning my name last night while I fucked her ass."

Your breath catches so hard you think you might faint. You taste shame, guilt and it’s something sour that turns strangely sweet when both their gazes snap to you at the same time, like you're the prize in a game neither of them intends to lose.

"You proud of that?" Jay asks, still calm, but you hear the steel under the words.

Heeseung's smirk widens. "Looks like she is," he says, nodding at the way your knees knock together, the way your fingers twist in the hem of the shirt that ridiculously smells like Jay's detergent and Heeseung's sweat. "Little thing's shaking."

Your stomach flips with equal parts dread and a perverse thrill. Yesterday's memories flash hard behind your eyes, both of them inside your head, under your skin. You know you'll never be able to choose. Because part of you likes this, you like their attention crashing over you from both sides, two tidal waves colliding with you caught in the undertow.

Jay steps closer, toying with your phone in his palm. "Show him you can fucking follow instructions." he says quietly, gaze never leaving Heeseung.

The command sinks into your bones, all too familiar and unraveling. Your lips part but you don't even know what you're about to say or do. But then Heeseung's hand snakes out, catching your wrist and pulling you toward him instead.

"She listens to me just fine," Heeseung declares, fingers sliding to your chin, forcing your head back so you're looking up at him. "Don't you, angel face?"

You swallow, throat tight. A tiny sound, half-whimper, half-yes escapes your lips.

Jay's eyes are blazing when Heeseung shifts you to have your back against his chest. His hand traces a slow, infuriatingly confident line down your stomach, and you flinch at the intimacy of it. You don't even have time to move before Heeseung's mouth is right beside your ear, dragging a lazy kiss against your neck, possessive and smug.

Jay doesn't say anything, but his eyes darken, you see it and so does Heeseung.

"Seriously?" Jay finally mutters, voice low, somewhere between daze and something shockingly hungrier. "You're letting him touch you like that, right in front of me?"

Heeseung just laughs, warm breath skating over your shoulder as his hand slips lower, palming your pussy like he has every right to. "You can't look away though, can you?" he says, eyes fixed on Jay now, goading. "What's the matter? Didn't get enough yesterday?"

Jay's fists curl at his sides but he doesn't move, the tension radiating off of him is palpable. His stare drops to where Heeseung's hand is inside your panties you put on, groping like he's testing ownership.

"You're disgusting," Jay snaps, but his voice is thinner now, less conviction. His gaze is low and lingering.

Heeseung hums. "And you're hard."

That hits Jay like a gunshot and he freezes, nostrils flaring because he is hard.

Heeseung turns his attention back to you, smirking a little. His fingers slip between the folds of your pussy, finding your clit and you whimper, head dropping forward into your hands, embarrassed, but not enough to tell him stop, or enough to make them leave.

"Don't pretend this isn't what she wants," Heeseung says, dragging his lips along your neck. "She's been taking both of us, hasn't she? Plus I don’t really care about her, she just lets me do things other girls don’t."

Jay doesn't answer, but he does step closer. Close enough to see everything and close enough that your skin burns from the weight of both their attention.

"You gonna join me?" Heeseung asks him, too cocky now. "Or you gonna watch with your dick in your hand like a fucking cuck?"

Jay looks at you and the way his eyes soften is the only warning you get before he grabs your chin and kisses you, rough and unrelenting. Now you know neither of them are leaving at least not until one of them wins or they break you.

Heeseung's grip on your waist tightens, but his gaze is all on Jay now, trying to stand behind you like he's bored, like he's not fully hard from just watching Jay kiss you. He lets out a slow exhale, smirking a little as he confesses something that seems to not matter to him anymore.

"You know," he starts lazily, still watching as your tongue collides with Jay’s, "when I was with her...back then? You used to piss me off. Thought you were some kind of threat."

Jay pulls his mouth from yours. "Shut the fuck up."

"But looking at you now..." Heeseung tilts his head, continuing and dragging his eyes lower in a way that makes the air shift. "I don't think I wanna fight you anymore."

There's a beat of silence, something electric buzzing underneath it. You blink, unsure if you heard him right.

"I kinda wanna fuck you instead," he adds plainly.

Jay's lips part slightly, brows drawn in confusion that's quickly swallowed anger or curiosity, you can't truly tell.

Heeseung laughs at Jay’s reaction and then leans in closer to you, resting his chin lazily on your shoulder, eyes still on Jay. His tone drops. "Bet you taste good too," he says, like it's nothing, like he's not teasing the both of you. "Wouldn't mind finding out."

You tense between them, pulse thudding, because you see how this is power, pride...and a pull between them that neither of them wants to admit but both of them feel.

"Fuck off," Jay mutters, but his voice is hoarse now. "That’s not fucking happening."

Heeseung grins, victorious, and kisses your neck again, but slower this time cause he knows Jay is watching.

Heeseung's palm slides possessively over your stomach again while his mouth works a heated trail up your throat—never taking his eyes off Jay. Every flick of Heeseung's tongue feels like a dare thrown directly at the other man, and Jay's control is visibly eroding, his jaw flexed, chest rising faster, fists clenching as though he's deciding whether to shove Heeseung away or drag him closer.

"Getting worked up just watching?" Heeseung murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, but the words are for Jay. He drags his hand lower across your thigh, slow enough to make you squirm. "Thought you were the one giving orders."

Jay's reply is a dark and unamused laugh. "Keep talking."

Heeseung does—whispers something filthy against your skin, hips nudging his hard clothed cock against your ass until you gasp and he continues to goad Jay.

"Tell me," Heeseung says, voice low as he noses along your jaw. "Is he a good kisser?" His question hums with challenge, and his fingers flex on your hip, reminding you how completely you're pinned between them.

Your pulse thunders. Shame and anticipation collide in your chest, and something reckless slips past your lips, something soft and breathy and meant only for him.

"Why don't you...find out?"

For a beat neither man moves. Jay's eyes flash in shock and something close to resentment, a flare of something hungry. Heeseung's grin spreads, slow and wicked. He leans past you, crowding closer until his breath mingles with Jay's.

The charged silence hangs, but then Jay closes the distance, grabbing the back of Heeseung's neck like he didn’t tell him a moment ago that it would never happen. Their mouths crash together, raw and forceful. You're caught between them, heat bouncing off their bodies, every muffled groan vibrating through your spine.

It's messy and competitive—Jay bites Heeseung's lip and Heeseung answers with a low growl, hand sliding boldly down Jay's side before circling back to squeeze your thigh. You feel the tremor that rolls through Jay at the touch, and pride twists with awe in your lower belly.

Heeseung's grip on your thigh loosens just long enough for him to shove you forward, away from the collision of their mouths. You stumble onto your knees beside the bed, watching as he turns fully to Jay, eyes blazing with hungry curiosity.

Heeseung presses his palm to Jay's chest, sliding it down over his ribs, fingertips tracing the line of his abs. Jay's breath draws sharp, caught off guard.

"Ever been with a guy before?" Heeseung's voice is soft, teasing, every word loaded.

Jay blinks at him. "No," he manages, tone rough.

Heeseung just laughs, soft and smug, thumb brushing over Jay's exposed skin. "That's alright. I'm honored to be your first..." He glances at you, eyes gleaming. "Just like I was hers."

Jay's jaw tics, but he doesn't move away. Heeseung steps in closer, chests brushing, heat rising in the thin space between them. His hand moves higher, curling around the back of Jay's neck, pulling him in again. And this time the kiss is filthier, open-mouthed with teeth grazing and tongues sliding without hesitation.

You're breathless watching them. Jay's hand grips Heeseung's side, uncertain but firm causing the other to groan into his mouth, hands slipping lower to snake between both their bodies to palm Jay’s hardened cock over his sweats. Jay jerks, gasping into the kiss, hips twitching forward in shock.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, pulling back just enough to suck in air.

"Sensitive already?" Heeseung grins, licking his lips. "That's cute."

You press your thighs together, pulse pounding at the sight of them, Jay's cheeks are flushed, Heeseung's calmness is near predatory, and the sheer tension vibrating between the three of you. Your body still aches from the night before, but all you can think about is them.

Heeseung bites his lip, fingers curling tighter around Jay's waistband, tugging it down enough to expose the hardness beneath.

Jay shudders. Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "You hard for me already?" he murmurs. "Or is it for her?"

Jay doesn't answer and it causes Heeseung to grin wider. "Guess it doesn't matter."

And then he spits into his hand, slow and deliberate, before wrapping it around Jay’s dick without breaking eye contact with him.

You swear you feel your clit forming a heartbeat.

Jay takes a sharp inhale he tries desperately to stifle. This is new to him, but his chest tightens either way and his pulse hammers in his throat when Heeseung wraps his spit covered hand around his dick. Everything in Jay screams that he shouldn't want this, that Heeseung is the enemy, but beneath that war, a dark current of arousal is coiling.

Heeseung's fingers pump him slow and sure, eyes locked on his as if he willing him to break. Jay's lips part, and for a heartbeat, he almost moans but he clamps his jaw shut instead, head tilting back so only the curve of his throat shows, as heat floods his face.

His hands twitch at his sides, yearning to grip something, anything. He lifts one to knot in Heeseung's hair, not in anger, but instinct like a desperate plea for more and it makes Heeseung's grin flicker with victory.

Jay's vision darkens at the edges as the pleasure builds, electric and terrifyingly sweet. He fights for control, but his body betrays him when a low groan slips free, startling even him, one which has you trailing your hand between your legs to find some sort of relief.

Heeseung doesn't even glance your way but his voice slices through the thick air like a whip, "Touch yourself and neither of us lay a hand on you."

Your fingers freeze, inches from your cunt, the sight before you too overwhelming, their bodies are close, with tension humming like live wire, and you’re drowning in it, arousal clouding everything else.

A pit of embarrassment forms in your chest. You slowly lower your hand back to the ground with your heart racing.

Jay looks you too now with a dark gaze, you notice his chest rising and falling hard like he's on the edge of saying something—but doesn't.

Heeseung's pace stroking Jay's cock quickens, it turns somewhat relentless, he has one hand still steady at Jay's hip while the other pumps him with confidence. Jay's eyes flutter shut as the pressure builds, you know that look.

"You like that, don't you?" Heeseung says, voice laced with amusement.

Jay's fingers cling to Heeseung's shoulders, body trembling under the rising tension of his orgasm. You watch, breath caught as Heeseung leans in close, lips brushing Jay's ear.

"Look at you—so proud you could handle her, and yet here you are, helpless for me." His thumb presses in right over the phallic tip of him, dragging a trembling, lewd pulse through Jay's cock. It makes Jay's hand jerk, scrabbling at Heeseung's wrist, helpless.

Heeseung smiles knowingly against Jay's skin—slow, knowing. "No hiding," he teases, brushing fingertips over Jay's lower lip until Jay parts them, letting Heeseung trace the wet line. "You don't sound like the tough guy you pretend to be."

You watch Jay try to swallow, try to form a retort, but his voice is gone, it's replaced by a soft, whimpering moan that vibrates through his whole body.

"Go on," Heeseung says. "Let me see what you look like when you cum.”

Jay's head falls back, neck bare, throat exposed. And then it happens, a trembling exhalation, guttural and urgent, as Jay's body shudders and clenches. You see the flush spread across his cheeks, you hear the wet heat of Jay's cum slicking across Heeseung's palm.

Heeseung strokes him through it with a steady hand, letting Jay's orgasm roll through him until the final shudder. Then he slowly withdraws his hand, setting Jay's spent cock free to twitch in the cool air. He watches Jay's chest heave, eyes still closed, mouth parted.

For a heartbeat, there's only the sound of Jay's ragged breathing, then Heeseung's gaze flicks downward, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he notices Jay still hard, flushed and ready like he hadn't just come undone seconds ago.

"Well, shit," he drawls, low and smug. "Didn't think you had stamina like that."

Jay doesn't respond at first, he just eyes Heeseung up and down, standing firm, his chest heaving with barely restrained unease. But there's a flicker in his eyes of something darker, especially when Heeseung keeps looking at him like that, like he's impressed and still in control all at once.

Heeseung's grins because he doesn't miss the look Jay gives him. He leans in a little, "I wanna know, Jay. You ever fucked her ass?"

That hits. Jay's head snaps toward you, and there's a twitch in his lip, his whole body tensing like he's about to swing, but it's not from shame or shock but something possessive and territorial, and it makes his tone is clipped and bitter when he replies, "No. I haven't."

Heeseung hums in jest, clearly savoring it, but then Jay steps in, crowding his space more with a tight jaw. "You think that makes you better than me?" he mutters, eyes narrowing. "You think that means you get to take what's mine?"

Heeseung raises a brow, not backing down. "You really think she's yours right now?" he says, voice velvet-smooth. "She let me in first. And look at you..." He chuckles as his gaze drops again. "Still acting like you've got any say."

But instead of escalating, Heeseung steps back a bit. A surprising glint of generosity or maybe twisted mischief shines in his eyes. He turns to you, then grabs your wrist, dragging you of the ground effortlessly toward him.

"Come here, angel face," he says, already sitting back on the sheets.

You shake as he guides you to straddle him, already pushing your panties down your thighs.

Jay's confusion flashes at the sight, followed quickly by understanding. His eyes drag across your body as you're pulled onto his lap. The way you're still pliant, already slick, flushed from everything that just happened. You settle over him like instinct, thighs shaking.

Heeseung lays against the bed with his hands spread on your ass, satisfied. "Go on," he tells Jay, like he's giving him a gift. "Or you don't wanna fuck her ass?"

Jay doesn't speak, he just gets on the bed behind you and grabs your hips roughly, eyes never leaving Heeseung's. The tension between them is tangible now, some primal challenge in the air and you're caught right in the center of it—torn and dizzy with it, as Jay pushes you down onto him, every inch of him searing and full of purpose. And all the while, Heeseung just watches cause he likes what he sees.

The sheets are cool under your knees as Jay's hands splay around your ass, guiding you to angle back against him. Every breath from you seems too loud in the sudden hush of your room, it's just the faint creak of the mattress and the muted hum of morning outside your window. Jay's hands are warm against your spine, his skin damp where he's still riding the edge of anger and desire.

Heeseung lounges at the head of the bed and under you, propped against the pillows, dark eyes tracking every twitch in your body and every flicker of tension across Jay's jaw. You're hyperaware of his presence—how his gaze sears like a brand, claiming you even as Jay'sce fingers spread across your waist in their own possessive pattern.

You're pinned between them—straddling Heeseung's lap as Jay lines his spit and cum covered dick up with your clenching hole. Heeseung's hands grip your hips too, trying to keep you in play for Jay, his thumbs digging into the flesh of your ass, forcing you back hard on Jay's cock behind you. You moan out something incoherent, "Oh—! W—Wait! Nggh."

Heeseung's voice is a rasp at your ear with something wicked and out of breath, "Look at you—between two men like some cheap toy." He adjusts himself under you, pulling out his cock from his boxers and gently lining it up with your pussy. "Oh my god! Heeseung wait!"

You gasp, heat roaring through your core as Jay picks up a steady pace of fucking his cock into you and Heeseung pushes his up into your sopping cunt, each stroke makes you push back Jay, the feeling of both of them in your holes has you digging your nails digging into Heeseung's shoulders.

Heeseung chuckles darkly. "You like that, don't you? Two big dicks fucking you?" His grin is jagged, but you can't even look at it for too long because the fullness is so intense you have to close your eyes. "So good! So good!"

Jay's hand finds yours on Heeseung's shoulder, gripping tight, his is palm hot on yours. He doesn't say anything, but you feel the strain in his muscles as he drives his cock into you harder and faster.

Heeseung leans upward, kissing you quickly before shoving his fingers into your mouth. "Ngh! Oh! Goddamit! I can feel your dick through her." He takes his fingers from your mouth and uses the same ones to rub your clit in harsh circles.

"Too much! Heeseung! Jay!"

"Sloppy little thing," he snarls. "But Jay'll fix that, huh?" He fucks up into you with renewed determination, the pressure of your orgasm building inside you in a jagged, desperate wave.

Tears sting your eyes as Jay's grunts fill the room. "Hole's so tight—My God."

"She ever squirt for you before?" Heeseung asks Jay, pace never failing, "Yeah," Jay groans, his eyes screwing shut and his head lolling back.

Heeseung laughs. "Yeah? Think you can go faster?"

You hear Jay grumble in agreement as his pace picks up along with Heeseung's and they both brush something delicious inside your two holes. The stretch is impossibly overwhelming, it has you drooling right onto Heeseung's chest.

You're right at the edge of losing control and you know they are too, every nerve ending in your body erupts into a blazing white-hot spark. You can feel the relentless fullness of Heeseung thrusting into your pussy and the deep burn of Jay pushing into your asshole like two currents of pressure that clash inside you, building into one ridiculously impossible wave.

"I'm gonna cum! Hee!—Jay! Gonna cum! Gonna cum!"

In that instant, your vision blurs at the edges, your breath catches in jagged gasps, and your holes clench down around them both. Your hands slam into the headboard as a rush of heat floods outward from your cunt, simultaneously constricting and exploding, like every drop of blood in your veins has turned to molten fire. "Yes yes yes! Use me! Use me!"

Your whole body convulses with Jay's name on your lips, need shooting through every nerve until Heeseung's words pull you back from the edge. "Fuck, that's right—Ugh."

A strangled moan tears from your throat, your back arches, and your toes curl as the wave crests. You're suspended between fierce ache and a blissful orgasm, every inch of you humming with overload.

Time fractures and each of your heartbeats thump in your ears as your orgasm rolls through you again and again with thick surges of bliss that crackle with humiliation and joy all at once. Your vision swims with dizziness, you're so fucking elated and completely undone.

Behind you, Jay grunts grow louder, his own ripping orgasm from him in a raw exhale as he cums into your asshole, continuing to pump himself into you. His hips jerk with every pulse, driving you higher even as you cum. "Oh fuck me."

Beneath you, Heeseung's breath snarls in your neck, with a husky voice. "Cumming!"

You feel his cum spill inside your pussy, so warm and grounding, as his hands tighten on your hips and hold you in place.

You're suspended between them with Jay's and Heeseung's pleasure and yours intertwining in a moment of pure, overwhelming abandon. Your body trembles so hard you think you might shatter, tears slipping free as the last tremor fades.

You feel trapped in their storm of shame, lust, and fear. It has you dizzier and you start to drift, so close to passing out. Your limbs feel heavy and detached, as if you're watching someone else slumped between them. Their bodies surround you so steadily while the world outside your bedroom window carries on oblivious.

Heeseung's breath is soft against your neck, his hand still resting on your hip. Jay's steady weight behind you reminds you of every promise made and every threat whispered. But no one speaks and time thins.

All you can feel is the slow pulse of your heart, the faint sting of tears on your cheeks, and the relentless press of desire still humming through your veins.

Then, almost too quietly to hear, Heeseung shifts, voice against your skin but eyes on Jay.

"I wanna fuck you next."

taglist: @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @rawwwre @gabrielinhaa @cherrieikeu @niyzu @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @bussolares @lovel1z @dearestdreamies @kristynaaah @rosepetals09 @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon

© nephynes 2025

SMUT, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, bloodplay implications, sex during dissociation, power imbalance, emotional dependency, mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of self-harm, trauma, possessive behavior, emotionally intense dynamic, obsession themes. (lmk if i missed any) not proofread!

You're running. Again. The strap of your tote bag digs into your shoulder as your shoes slap the sidewalk, water splashing up your ankles with each desperate step. Rain mist clings to your skin like sweat—except sweat would be warm. This is just cold and inconvenient. Your Literature lecture ran ten minutes over because, of course, your professor finally decided to acknowledge your existence the one time you needed to leave early. He asked for your thoughts on postmodern fragmentation in the age of digital alienation while you sat there wondering if postmodern fragmentation was what your GPA would look like this semester.

By the time you made it outside, the bus was already pulling up. You waved frantically, almost twisting your ankle as you darted across the crosswalk—nearly colliding with a cyclist. He swerved. You screamed. He cursed. It was poetic, in a tragicomedy kind of way. Now, you're clinging to the pole in the bus's center aisle, damp hair clinging to your cheeks as it rocks around corners, your phone buzzing with the time—12:46 PM.

Mrs. Do expects you at 12:30. Sharp, always sharp but today you're going to disappoint her, again and it makes you nervous cause this isn't your first fuck up. Getting off at the bus stop in Mrs. Do's neighborhood is like stepping into another world. Wide sidewalks, trimmed hedges. Every driveway is the kind of polished grey stone that seems to repel dirt on principle. The kind of neighborhood that smells like generational wealth and imported jasmine diffusers.

The sky's already sour when you round the corner onto the cobblestone lane. Gray and sullen, like it knows something you don't. Your thighs ache from sprinting across campus, your spine's slick with sweat under your too-thin hoodie, and your fingers are still raw from gripping the metal pole on the bus. You hadn't even realized how tightly you were holding on—like the bus was the only thing standing between you and collapse. You're fifteen minutes late, sixteen, actually.

The house looms before you like a museum exhibit—grand, sterile, and quiet enough to make you feel like you've already done something wrong just by being there. All tall glass windows and trimmed hedges, with a front door so glossy you can see your own desperation reflected in it. You ring the bell, sucking in a breath and she opens it almost immediately. Mrs. Do doesn't need to speak to make her opinion known. Her eyes flick down your frame—hoodie, faded jeans, dirt-smudged sneakers—and her mouth flattens like she's biting back something acidic. Her nose twitches once.

"You're late."

"I'm so sorry," you say, voice thin. "My class ran over and I missed my bus, and—" She rolls her eyes, cutting you off, "You people always have an excuse". You people. "I've already called your manager," she says coolly, stepping back just enough to make room for your shame to enter. "This is unacceptable. I hired help, not excuses."

Help. You step inside anyway because she hasn't technically slammed the door in your face yet. The floor gleams beneath your feet and you're careful not to drip on the marble. "I can still clean," you try, gripping the handle of your tote tighter. "I—I'll stay longer if you need. P—Please don't fire me." She turns slowly, folding her arms like she's posing for a luxury handbag ad. "You'll leave," she says. "And next time, be honest with yourself about what you're capable of."

That's it. No raised voice, no chance to plead. Just ice in human form and the creak of the front door swinging back open like a guillotine. You stand there a second too long—long enough for it to become pathetic—then you turn and walk back out with your head down and your heart thudding where your confidence used to be. It starts to drizzle as soon as you step off her perfect property. Of course it does.You jog down to the bus stop at the end of the street, ignoring the way your socks squelch in your shoes. Your bag knocks awkwardly against your side. You still have half a bottle of disinfectant in there, you could drink it and cleanse the humiliation right out of your system.

The bus pulls up late. You board with the same dread you imagine people feel before surgery—knowing it's necessary, knowing it's going to hurt. Inside, it's packed. You stand, gripping the pole, body swaying with every uneven turn. The lights flicker overhead. A kid is screaming two seats over. A man is coughing into his hand and not covering his mouth. You catch your reflection in the window—wet hair clinging to your cheeks, eyes dull, lips chapped from chewing them in nervous spirals. This is your life, this bus ride, this moment, is unfortunately your life. The route winds through the city, away from the clean sidewalks and polished gates, deeper into the cracked edges of town where the concrete is more gum than stone and the streetlights work in pairs—if at all. You get off at the corner near the faded liquor store, shoulders hunched under the growing weight of your day.

Your apartment building is a boxy, red-brick rectangle with iron balconies rusting at the corners. The woman who lives two floors up is yelling at her boyfriend again. You can hear every word, you wonder why they're still together seeing as they're fighting every other day. You climb the stairs slowly, dragging your legs like anchors. The third floor always smells like someone burned toast and sprayed perfume to hide it. Your door sticks and it takes three tries to get it open. The TV is already blaring, some british reality dating show, laughter, the pop of a beer can. Minjae is sprawled across the couch, shirtless, remote in one hand and a bowl in the other.

Your bowl. "Yo," he greets, mouth full. "You look like death."

"Thanks." You kick off your shoes and look around in the apartment that's in pure chaos—shoes everywhere, makeup on the kitchen counter, someone's bra dangling from the dining chair. Probably Jiyoon's. The dishes in the sink are starting grow by numbers. She appears in the hallway, barefoot and probably wine-drunk, wearing one of her boyfriend's shirts.

"Hey," she slurs. "How was the bitch?" You stare at her. "I got fired." "Again?" she groans, flopping dramatically onto the peeling loveseat. "Ugh. I told you to lie and say your grandma died. It works every time." You don't respond, heading to the kitchen to open the fridge, the light flickers when you open it. There's nothing inside except a carton of milk that expired last week and someone's half-eaten burger. You close it and lean against the counter, pressing your forehead to the cabinet above.

This can't be your life. This can't keep being your life.

Your socks are still wet when you drag yourself down the narrow hall toward the shared bathroom. You don't even bother turning on the light at first—just reach blindly into the shower caddy for your body wash, hoping a hot rinse will wash off the day, or at least the last of Mrs. Do's perfume that still clings to your sleeves like a curse. Your hand closes around the bottle.

Empty.

You blink, now flipping on the harsh fluorescent light. The bottle is sitting there—your expensive one, the only thing you splurged on in months, lavender and eucalyptus, bought during a panic attack at the drugstore like a promise to yourself that things would get better but now it's squeezed dry. You stand there, frozen. Cold water dripping off your hood. Your knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle. "Jiyoon!" your voice cracks down the hallway like a whip.

A pause. "What?" she calls back, annoyed, like you're interrupting something important—like Love Island. You storm back into the living room, brandishing the empty bottle like evidence at a trial. Minjae doesn't even glance up from the couch, he's playing something on his phone now, earbuds in, cereal bowl at his feet. Your fucking bowl.

"Tell me this wasn't him." Jiyoon sits up, scowling at your tone. "What are you talking about?" "This." You shake the bottle. "My body wash. The one you 'borrowed' last week. It's gone. Empty. And I know you don't like the smell—so unless I'm hallucinating, your leech of a boyfriend used the last of it."

She rolls her eyes. "Jesus, it's not that deep. It's body wash." "No, it's my body wash. The only nice thing I own. And he used it, again, after eating the rest of my leftovers and leaving dirty socks in the sink and never ever paying rent!"

Minjae finally glances up, one earbud still in. "Damn. You need a Xanax or something?"

Your mouth goes dry.

Jiyoon frowns. "Okay, first of all, don't talk to her like that—"

"No, don't defend me now," you cut in, voice shaking. "You let him live here for free. You make excuses for him while I scrape together every last cent to keep a roof over our heads. I work two jobs, Jiyoon. I eat scraps. I got fired today and came home in the rain to this—and now I can't even take a damn shower without discovering he's drained the last thing I own that smells like something other than despair."

She shifts, uncomfortable. "You could've said something nicer."

"And you could've picked someone who showers in his own place instead of mine!"

Silence.

You don't cry and you won't. Not in front of him. Not even here. You don't wait for an apology that'll never come. You retreat to your room, slam the door, and lock it behind you—not because you're afraid, but because you're done.

You strip off your hoodie, throw it in the corner, and climb into bed fully damp and exhausted. The blanket clings to your legs. You curl around your pillow and let the tension tremble out of your fingertips like static electricity.

You curl up in bed fully clothed, hoodie damp and clinging to your skin, fingers still aching from scrubbing tile three days ago. The blanket smells faintly like bleach. Jiyoon is laughing in the next room, voice high and bright and grating. You close your eyes.

*•*•*

You wake up to the clink of glassware and Minjae's laugh from the kitchen, that smug, high-pitched snort that always sets your teeth on edge. There's no time to be angry—not this morning. You're already late. Again.

You roll out of bed and throw on the first vaguely clean outfit you can find, dragging a brush through your tangled hair and pinning it up like your life depends on it. Your backpack's already half-packed from the night before. You stuff in your worn-out copy of Beloved, a dog-eared notebook filled with scribbles and half-finished poems, and race out the door without breakfast.

It's colder today. The kind of cold that bites under your clothes and leaves your fingers raw. You catch the bus by sheer miracle—sprinting half a block and nearly losing a shoe in the process—and squeeze into the back seat between a teenage couple whispering too loud and a man who keeps humming to himself.

You reach campus with two minutes to spare. The lecture hall smells like chalk dust and old books. It's one of your favorite smells in the world. You slide into the third row, clutching your notebook to your chest, and feel a quiet sort of calm settle over you. This is your safe place. Literature. Language. Storytelling.

The professor enters with her usual elegance, a tall woman with soft curls and a warm smile that doesn't waver even when her students barely look up. She doesn't need to raise her voice to command the room. She carries presence the way some people carry perfume—effortlessly.

"Today," she begins, "we talk about longing." You feel your chest tighten in the most bittersweet way.

She reads a passage aloud—something from a contemporary poet you love but couldn't afford to buy the full collection of—and for a while, you forget the bruising ache in your back from yesterday, or the hollowness in your stomach. You forget Minjae. You forget Mrs. Do.

After class, you linger longer than usual, pretending to organize your papers while most students file out. Professor Cha doesn't seem surprised when you approach her desk.

"I loved what you read today," you say, voice still soft from reverence. "The way it ached."

Her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. "That's a good word. A poem should ache. And yours always do."

You blink. "You read my last submission?"

"I did." She smiles, more maternal than academic now. "You write like you've lived ten lives. There's heartbreak in your syntax, but also something... resilient. It's beautiful. Raw."

The compliment hits deeper than she probably intends. You swallow. "Thank you. I... needed to hear that."

She tilts her head. "You've looked tired lately."

"I got fired," you confess, voice breaking a little at the edges. "From one of my jobs." She doesn't blink or pity you, she nods instead. "Then the world made space for something better. Keep showing up. Your stories matter even if no one pays you for them yet."

It's not much but it's enough to lift your spine straighter as you thank her and walk out the door.

The sunshine doesn't feel quite so cold.

You're halfway down the campus stairs, still thinking about her words, when your phone rings. A number you don't recognize, but one you know instinctively not to ignore.

You answer.

"About damn time," a gravelly voice snaps through the line. "Did you turn off your phone all day or do you just enjoy making my blood pressure spike?"

You wince. "Sorry, Cee. I was in class—"

"I don't care if you were in confession with the Pope," he growls. "You missed your shift yesterday and you got us fired from the Do account." You open your mouth to explain, but he keeps going.

"Lucky for you," he says, as if the words are knives between his teeth, "no one else wants this new job and I'm too tired to argue. Penthouse gig. Rich recluse. We charge double, client pays in advance, and no one wants to take it because apparently the guy's a freak."

You frown. "A freak?"

"Unstable. Hermit. Been on the news, but who the hell keeps track? Listen, I don't care if he's a lizard in a human suit—he's paying. You're taking it."

Your throat dries.

"How many days?"

"Three a week. Big place. Clean what you can, don't snoop. I'll send the address. Be early." and then, just before he hangs up, his tone softens—barely. "Don't mess this up, kid. You need it."

You really, really do.

You stare at the phone screen even after the call ends, the manager's words still ringing in your ears. Freak. Hermit. Don't mess this up.

The ache in your calves from walking half a mile after the bus dropped you off doesn't compare to the slow sinking in your stomach as you lift your head to take in the building before you.

It's not just big—it's obscene. The kind of place you'd see in a glossy magazine left behind in a waiting room. Black glass, white stone, gold accents on the automatic double doors. No peeling paint, no squeaky hinges, no smell of cheap weed in the lobby. You shift your backpack higher on your shoulder and wipe your palms on your pants, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you look.

The doorman gives you a glance that says you're not the usual type, but he opens the door for you anyway. Inside, the lobby is quiet. Too quiet. Your footsteps echo on the marble like you're trespassing.

You check the note your manager texted again: Penthouse, 45th floor. Don't use the front elevator. Service lift in the back.

Figures.

You find the service lift through a hallway no guest would ever wander down—a dimly lit corridor that smells faintly of lemon polish and secrecy. The kind of place you get swallowed in. You step inside the narrow elevator, the floor humming under your boots.

The doors slide shut with a groan. You breathe out. The kind of breath that's supposed to steady you but doesn't.

Your phone buzzes again just before the elevator doors open.

Cee: Don't fuck this up. Get there exactly at 10, leave exactly at 4. Even if you finish early, you stay. No exceptions. And whatever you do, NEVER go upstairs. He has rules. Don't test them.

You stare at the screen.

What kind of house has an upstairs in a penthouse? you think, and the second the thought passes, the elevator dings.

The doors creak open onto a hallway draped in shadow. No welcome mat, no noise or signs of life. Just a wide, heavy door that looks more like it belongs on a bank vault than a home.

You step out.

Your boots sound stupidly loud on the marble tile, and you hesitate before raising your hand to knock. But there's no need. The moment your knuckles reach the wood, the door clicks open on its own.

Unlocked.

The place is massive. The ceilings stretch too high, the walls too white, everything too pristine. There's barely any furniture. Just space and silence and air so still it feels like it hasn't been disturbed in years. You don't call out cause your manager said he wouldn't speak to you and that he likely wouldn't even show himself.

Just clean and leave. Do not go upstairs.

You hold your breath and step inside.

The air smells like cedar and something colder, like snow, if snow could haunt. You set your backpack down, find the gloves and cleaning supplies neatly packed inside, and glance around for somewhere to begin. The living room stretches out in an open floor plan—windows from floor to ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the city that glitters like it belongs to someone else.

You move quietly, gently, like the house might shatter if you're not careful, there's a faint creak above you that makes you freeze.

Somewhere beyond the mezzanine level—a second floor, tucked behind shadows and sleek black railings—you hear slow footsteps. Nothing fast, just the sound of pacing but then it stops and you don't look up.

You don't have to but you can feel the weight of someone above you. Maybe it's just the paranoia settling in or maybe it's the echo of your manager's warning.

Don't go upstairs.

You lower your gaze and start cleaning the untouched coffee table. You don't see a single cup stain or a single fingerprint. You think of the journal in your bag—the one you always carry, the one you use to write about your clients. He'll be in there by tonight, nameless, faceless. The man who lives upstairs like a ghost in the penthouse he knows.

For now, you work. Quiet and invisible. There's a fine layer of dust on everything. Not filth—just time, settled air and neglect. No signs of life, no spilled coffee mugs or kicked-off shoes. Just clean lines, cold surfaces, and untouched space.

You start in the living room, wiping down the windowsills and working your way around the low furniture. The couch looks barely used, the cushions still stiff. You sweep, mop, vacuum, moving silently through the rooms that all look the same—stunning, sterile, too expensive to feel real.

In the hallway near the back, there's a closet.

You pause in front of it.

It's nothing special—just a tall, sleek black door flush against the wall like all the others. But your fingers hesitate on the handle. Something about it makes your stomach twist. A soft wrongness that makes you not open it, that makes you turn around and just keep cleaning.

By 2:30, you've gone through the whole first floor. Kitchen wiped down. Bathroom gleaming. Trash collected and everything you were paid to do—done.

But Cee's voice rings in your head; Even if you finish early—stay. No exceptions.

So you sit.

You settle into one of the chairs by the window, the soft hum of the city beyond the glass lulling you into something between boredom and thoughtfulness. You reach into your bag and pull out your journal—worn leather, pages soft at the edges.

You click your pen open and start writing.

Day one at the penthouse. It smells like dust and something else I can't quite name. The kind of clean that doesn't feel lived in. I didn't open the black closet near the back. It felt like something in a horror film but I'll pretend it's just full of broken umbrellas.

Got fired from the Do account. Still bitter. She had a face like a lemon and a heart to match. Professor was a much-needed balm in comparison—thank God for her and her endless belief in me.

New job might be decent money if I don't screw it up. Cee says the guy who lives here is a recluse. Said he hasn't left the penthouse in two years. But I don't know. Maybe he's just lonely.

You pause there, tapping the pen against the paper. The upper floor is quiet. Still. You underline the word lonely and draw a small star beside it.

At exactly 4:00, you pack up your supplies, double-check every corner, and sling your bag over your shoulder and slide your journal right back into the side pocket of your bag, safe and sound.

You take the service elevator down, your own reflection warping in the mirrored steel walls, and step out into the cool evening air. The sun is already dipping lower, the clouds streaked in gold and gray.

The bus ride home is slower than usual. You sit in the back corner, forehead pressed to the rattling glass, zoning out to the lull of traffic and tired bodies. The city outside blurs past in tired shades.

As your apartment door creaks open, you start praying no one hears or sees you. But it's already too late.

Minjae's voice rings out sharp and annoyed. "I told you I'm looking, Jiyoon. What do you want me to do, lie on a fucking application?"

Jiyoon fires back just as quickly. "No, I want you to try! I'm covering your half of the rent again this month—what do you think I am, an ATM?!"

You freeze in the doorway, trying to shrink into your coat. If you're quiet enough, maybe you can just slip past—

"Hey," Jiyoon says suddenly, spotting you over Minjae's shoulder. Her tone shifts fast—softer now, almost guilty. "You just get in?"

You nod, shrugging your bag higher. "Yeah." "How's the nut house?"

You drop your bag by the door and stare at her. "The what?"

"The place you're cleaning. You know, that recluse guy who's like—off his rocker? Isn't that what your boss said?"

You toe off your shoes and mutter, "It's just a job."

Minjae grins walking away from Jiyoon's presence like the change in topic is suddenly the end of their argument. "I bet he's got some freaky shit there. Hidden cameras. Severed heads. Weird old dude stuff."

"I don't even know if he's old," you say, voice low. "And you don't know anything about him."

Minjae snorts. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You turn back to Jiyoon, your constant irritation for her boyfriend crawling up your neck. "It's... weird," you admit. "But clean. Quiet. Better than getting yelled at by lemon-faced socialites, I guess."

Jiyoon gives you a weak smile. "Well, if anyone can survive a haunted tower or whatever that place is, it's you."

You hum, tired beyond belief, and slip down the hall toward your room without waiting for more, maybe more will come in the morning.

And when morning does come, it hits like a slow bruise. No alarm, just the muted scrape of a garbage truck outside and the sound of Jiyoon's laughter echoing down the hall, already too loud for the hour. You blink up at the water-stained ceiling, let the ache in your jaw settle, and for a few seconds, you don't move. The blanket's twisted around your leg like it's trying to keep you here. You wish it would.

But you're broke. So you move

You don't eat breakfast. There's no time, and besides, Jiyoon's boyfriend used the last of your cereal. You found the empty box in the sink this morning, soggy and limp with leftover milk, like a personal fuck-you from the universe.

Outside, the streets are still wet from last night's rain, the air sharp and cold enough to crack your lips. You tug your coat tighter around yourself and walk fast, half-hoping your legs will just carry you somewhere else. But the route to the campus library is too familiar, too automatic. You take the side street behind the deli, cutting through the alley behind the 24-hour laundromat where the machines always sound like they're choking. There's graffiti on the brick wall now—someone's drawn a woman with eyes for hands.

The library is warm in that stale, overused way that makes you sleepy, but you know the quiet corner where the heater rattles just enough to keep you awake. You sit with your laptop and your headphones, the cushion on the chair still warm from the last desperate student who used it.

This is job number two.

You click play on the next transcription project; an audiobook manuscript from some retired executive who thinks the world needs to hear about his rise to glory. The audio crackles. His voice is deep, smug, like he's narrating his own documentary.

"It all began with a vision. I was just a boy, standing in my father's study, realizing the empire I'd one day build..." You try not to roll your eyes. Your fingers find the rhythm. You transcribe as fast as he talks, catching every word, every pretentious pause.

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some, like me, are greatness incarnate."

Jesus.

You pause the audio and lean back, pressing your fingers into your temples. He's unbearable. Still—you need the money, so you press play again. But somewhere in the haze of his bravado, your mind drifts, not too far, just up.

Up to the penthouse you cleaned yesterday. The thick silence, untouched surfaces and the staircase you weren't allowed to climb. It all made something you couldn't name press down on the air.

You wonder what he sounds like.

The man who lives there, the one Cee called a shut-in, a recluse. Heeseung. You only know the name because of the envelope on the front table. You weren't supposed to look, but you did. Of course you did.

You imagine his voice now, layered under the pompous narration. Not loud or self-important. Just... quiet. Measured. Maybe hoarse from disuse. You imagine what it would feel like to hear it. To be the reason it breaks the silence. Your fingers falter. The word "greatness" stutters across the screen three times in a row.

You stop typing.

And for a second, you just sit there, headphones still on, the man's voice buzzing in your ears like a mosquito trapped in a jar, and you wonder if loneliness has a sound. And if maybe you've already heard it.

You leave the library when your laptop battery dies, the sky already smudged with dusk. Your ears still ring faintly from the droning of Mr. Greatness Incarnate. You swing your bag over your shoulder, scarf loose around your neck, hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. The wind cuts sharper than it did this morning. You're too tired to fight it.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you dread the climb to the third floor, not knowing what's behind your door—and your key sticks like always when you jam it into the lock but when the door finally swings open, you freeze.

The apartment is clean. Spotless even.

No laundry tossed across the couch, no cereal bowls fossilized with milk crust sitting on the coffee table. The garbage isn't overflowing. There's even a faint citrus scent in the air, like someone opened a window and let the idea of cleanliness drift in.

And Jiyoon's on the couch. Calm. Legs tucked under her, hair braided down one side, munching on a bag of shrimp chips like this is just... normal. Like this is how things have always been.

You drop your keys into the chipped bowl by the door. "What happened?" She glances at you, shrugs. "I cleaned." You blink. "No, I mean... what happened happened. Did the landlord threaten an inspection or—"

"I broke up with Minjae," she says, and pops another chip into her mouth like she didn't just detonate an-eighteen-month-long catastrophe with five words. "Told him to pack his shit and go."

You stare. "You what?"

Her eyes don't even flicker from the TV. "He was a leech. I hate leeches."

You're still frozen in the hallway, bag slipping down your arm, unsure what dimension you walked into. The silence feels wrong. Too still. Too empty. But... not bad.

Just different.

Eventually, your feet remember what to do, and you drift to your room, slowly, almost cautiously, like something might jump out at you. You twist your doorknob, push it open—and stop again cause there's a gift bag sitting on your bed.

Brown paper, neatly folded at the top, a little gold sticker sealing the tissue paper closed. You don't touch it right away, you just stare at it like it might explode.

Then you sit, gently, fingers trembling a little now. but peel the sticker away anyway, opening the bag.

Two bottles. Your favorite body wash. The same kind Minjae used up without asking. Double this time, still sealed and tucked between them, a note—scrawled in Jiyoon's quick, sharp handwriting on a sticky note she probably pulled from her planner.

"I'm sorry."

It doesn't say anything else. Doesn't have to.

You let out this huff of a sound, half a laugh, half a sob—and press the heels of your hands into your eyes. You weren't ready for this, especially not after today, not after everything you've been through this week. You sniff, smile through the sting behind your eyes, and whisper, "What the hell is going on?"

For the first time in a long time, no one answers and it doesn't feel like a threat. Just... peace. Quiet, a rare kind.

And the bathroom is yours again.

*•*•*

The next morning wakes you gently.

Not with screaming or slamming doors or the unmistakable sound of Minjae trying to justify why rent is a social construct—but with the smell of bacon.

You lie there for a moment, still curled in your sheets, nose twitching like it can't quite believe it. Bacon. And eggs. The sizzle, the clink of a pan. There's sunlight bleeding between the slats of your blinds, the kind of sleepy, golden light that feels warm just by looking at it.

You slip out of bed in your socks, shuffle into the kitchen, and there's Jiyoon—hair still messy from sleep, an oversized shirt hanging off one of her shoulders, poking a spatula at a pan like she does this every day, like this isn't a wildly new domestic era you've entered.

"Are you dying?" you ask, voice still rasped with sleep.

She smirks. "Sit your broke ass down. We're having breakfast." You do, blinking dumbly as she plates eggs and bacon and toast like some sitcom mom. The kind of meal that costs too much time and too many groceries for the world you live in. But it's real. It's on your plate. It's hot.

And it tastes like actual heaven.

"Okay," Jiyoon says through a bite, "you're not allowed to cry over eggs." "I'm not," you lie, chewing around the lump in your throat. "Shut up."

It's quiet for a beat, just the sounds of cutlery and your lives slowly stitching back together. Then she speaks, softer this time.

"I missed this."

You glance up.

"I mean—us," she says quickly. "It got weird. And Minjae was—he j—just made everything about him. And I let it happen." You nod, eyes falling to your plate. "I missed you too."

And that's all it takes. The two of you just... fall back into it. Like nothing ever cracked. Like the gap never grew wide enough to drown you.

You're halfway through your second cup of coffee when your phone buzzes. A bank notification lights up the screen.

Deposit: $400.00 — From: H.C.A. CLEANING INC.

Your breath catches and your stomach flips but you don't even have enough time to process it before a follow-up text comes in from your manager.

Cee: Well done. Keep it up.

You stare at your phone, stunned. Your fork hangs mid-air. "What?" Jiyoon leans over, eyes narrowing, trying to look at your screen. "What is it? What's that look?"

You show her the screen.

She lets out a whistle, snatching the phone out of your hand. "Four hundred dollars?! For one day?"

You nod slowly. "It's... the penthouse."

Jiyoon's eyes go wide. "Girl. Are you sure this isn't a sex dungeon?"

"It's not—!"

"I'm just saying!" she laughs, waving the phone in your face. "Do they need two cleaners? Cause I got two hands and a back that only mildly hurts."

You snort.

"No, seriously," she grins, handing your phone back. "Keep this up, and you're gonna sugar mama us out of this hellhole."

"Us?"

"Obviously. I've already picked out my new bedroom. It has a balcony."

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter today. There's food in your stomach, laughter in your lungs, and a number in your bank account that feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn't drowning, maybe someone who could start swimming soon.

You rinse your plate in the sink, tie your boots, and throw on your coat with renewed resilience. There's something weird in your chest—not bad weird. Just... fluttery. A quiet excitement you can't explain, maybe it's the money. $1200 a week is enough to make a broke girl like you feel fluttery.

The penthouse is a mystery. The man inside, even more so and something about it tugs at you. You leave the apartment with a full stomach and something flickering under your ribs that almost feels like hope.

The security guard barely glances up when you pass through the front lobby, your shoes echoing across the cold marble. You know the route now—the elevator on the far end, the one with the gilded trim and the keycard scanner that flickers green the second you swipe the little laminated badge clipped to your bag.

Penthouse access. Floor 45.

You ride up alone, the hum of the elevator filling your ears, your stomach still fluttering for some godforsaken reason. It's ridiculous, really. It's just cleaning. A job. A space.

Still—there's something about this building, this job, this man—something you don't have a name for yet. Something a little strange.

When the elevator dings open at the top floor, you step out and blink at the sheer silence. It always feels a little too still up here, like the air's holding its breath. You cross the short hallway toward the penthouse door, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, then pause.

A man is walking out.

Tall. Black coat. Black hair. He doesn't look up as he pulls the door behind him and lets it click shut. There's a thick folder of papers in his hand—some printed, some handwritten—and he's flipping through them like he's on a mission. Brows furrowed as though he's deep in thought. You shift slightly to the side, give a small, polite "Good morning," but he doesn't respond, he doesn't even glance at you.

Okay.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, a little unsettled, but before your brain can start drawing conclusions, you catch something else. From behind the door.

Movement. Light.

A quiet creak, then a faint thump from the floor above. Right—he's upstairs. He hasn't come down, just like your manager said he wouldn't.

So, not Heeseung.

You shake it off, and push open the door to the penthouse. It's the same as last time. Too clean to feel lived in, a place more structure than soul. The marble kitchen glints under the soft daylight that pours in through those floor-to-ceiling windows, and the air smells faintly sterile. Like eucalyptus and untouched laundry.

You drop your bag by the door, change into your inside shoes, and head for the linen closet to start where you left off last time.

There's a note.

You spot it taped neatly to the inside of the closet door, white paper against the cool gray shelves. Typed in black ink, neatly, not handwritten.

You folded the towels wrong.

Beneath it, stapled neatly, is a printed diagram. A diagram with steps and numbered illustrations. You blink. It's absurd. It's pedantic. It's—

You laugh, quietly, to yourself. "What a nutjob," you mutter under your breath, echoing Jiyoon's words.

And then you catch yourself.

He's paying you. Four hundred dollars. For one day. To clean and to follow instructions. Folding towels properly is not asking too much—not for this kind of money, not for the kind of life you're trying to claw your way toward.

You shake your head, shoulders straightening, and refold every towel in the linen closet with the care of a military cadet. Corners aligned, fold sharp, just the way the diagram instructs.

Once you've checked them twice, you move on. The floors—again. There's always a thin veil of dust on the hardwood, like no one has lived here in years. The glass in the shower, the streaks on the chrome fixtures. You find a guest room with a window cracked just slightly, letting in the city noise below, and you seal it shut.

It's all the same movements as last time. Your body goes through the checklist while your mind wanders, as it always does. Little fragments of poetry rise up behind your eyes. A line about silence that weighs too much, about towels that speak louder than people. You file them away for later.

And like last time, you finish early.

3:26.

You double-check the space. Everything in order. Then you drift toward the single chair by the massive window that overlooks the skyline. The same chair you sat in last time. You pull out your journal, and you start writing.

He left a note about the towels. Said I did it wrong. I guess... he's not what I imagined. There's something almost neurotic about him, but not messy. Not in a Minjae way. It's all too deliberate. He's exacting. Controlled. Still not a trace of him anywhere—not a pair of shoes, not a book out of place. It's like he's trying to erase his presence even though it's so obviously here, breathing under everything.

Your pen hovers, you almost scratch it all out, but you don't.

A soft thud interrupts you. Distant. Upstairs. You freeze, eyes lifting from the page.

Another sound. A voice—muffled. A man's voice, low and smooth, bleeding through the ceiling like the floorboards are too thin to keep him contained.

You can't make out the words, but you hear the timbre. The rhythm.

You write until your hand cramps and the ink starts to skip. At 3:52, you check the time and shut the journal slowly, your gaze drifting out the window for a long moment.

But then... it happens again.

Your eyes flick to the closet door.

Same as last time. Same quiet weight pressing against your chest when you look at it. You don't know what it is about it—just a regular black door, no lock, no sign, nothing particularly ominous—but it nags at you. And before you know it, your legs are moving.

Soft steps across the hardwood. You don't even really make the decision—you just find yourself there, hand on the doorknob, heart ticking unevenly.

It's probably something stupid. Creepy. Like a skeleton, or jars of teeth. A body. It's always the ones who care too much about towel folding who hide people in their walls.

You exhale, slow, and turn the knob.

The door creaks open.

It's dim, a strip of light spilling in over your feet—and then your eyes adjust.

Not bodies. Not bones.

Photos.

Hundreds of them. Pinned to corkboard walls, stacked in boxes, frames leaning against shelves. Posters rolled into rubber-banded scrolls. A trophy case sits in the corner, glass clean, the metal plaques catching the light like little knives.

You blink, stepping in cautiously.

There are certificates. Paper yellowed with age. Borletti-Buitoni Trust Award. First Place—2022. Van Cliburn International Piano Competition 2021. Tchaikovsky Conservatory Excellence Award 2023. All in English, some in Korean, some in French.

You walk along the wall, fingertips brushing the edge of a matte photo. A group picture. A symphony ensemble, maybe. Then another, a candid shot of a teenage boy at a grand piano, his hands hovering above the keys, his brow furrowed like the music is something physical he's trying to catch.

And then another. A close-up this time. His face.

Heeseung.

Your breath catches.

He's younger in these—baby-faced almost—but you want to believe it's him. There's something about his posture, his expression, that quiet intensity even the camera couldn't wash out.

You crouch beside a crate of rolled-up posters and untangle one gently. The paper's dusty, brittle near the corners. When you unroll it, it flutters open across your lap.

A concert poster. The image glossy and faded with time: a sleek black grand piano under a single spotlight. A man sits at it, back straight, head bowed. His name sprawls across the top in elegant serif font:

LEE HEESEUNG

It's signed at the bottom, right across the curve of the piano. —With love, always, LH.

You stare at it for a long moment.

And then... the pieces begin to arrange themselves.

The penthouse. The silence. The exactness. The distance. And now—this.

He must've been a concert pianist.

You blink again, stunned that you'd never heard of him. Someone who'd clearly been celebrated, decorated, known. At some point, at least.

You tuck the poster back carefully and ease the door shut behind you. But the quiet feels different now. Not empty.

The whole bus ride home, your brain won't stop flipping through those images—trophies, posters, photos, that signature on the rolled-up poster. With love, always, LH. You hold it all in your head like puzzle pieces that almost fit, just not quite yet. But there's no mistaking it—the man in the penthouse was someone once.

The apartment smells like garlic and soy sauce when you walk in. You blink at the strange scent, automatically bracing for another fight—but it's quiet. Peaceful, even. The living room light is on, and Jiyoon's perched on the couch still in her stiff black skirt and her knock-off kitten heels, hair pinned up and eyeliner smudged.

"Hey," she says, not looking up from her phone. "Dinner's in the microwave. I made bulgogi."

You pause in the doorway, still blinking, confused. "You cooked?"

She shrugs. "Had a day. Needed to stir something before I murdered someone."

You heat up your plate and sink into the couch beside her, pulling your knees up and balancing the food on top. The meat is tender, warm and sweet, and the rice is just sticky enough.

"So?" she mumbles, mouth full of chips. "How's the nutjob in the tower?"

You laugh, almost choking on rice. "He's not a nutjob."

"Old man, then."

You glance at her. "He's not old."

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? And how do you know that?"

You chew slowly, smirking to yourself. "I did his laundry today."

"Oh?" She sits up straighter, grinning. "And what? The briefs don't lie?"

You laugh, snorting, and try to wave her off, cheeks hot. "No, just—his clothes. They weren't... old man clothes."

She gives you the most exaggerated eyebrow wiggle you've ever seen. "Ohhhh. So they were hot man clothes."

"Shut up."

"You want to see what he looks like," she accuses, pointing a chip at you.

You mumble something under your breath, something you don't even realize you've said aloud until she gasps.

"What was that?" she demands. "Tell me. Tell me right now."

You set your plate aside and sink into the couch cushions, eyes on the ceiling. "Okay. Fine. I opened some weird closet in his hallway today"

Her jaw drops.

"And?"

You tell her everything. The photos. The awards. The posters and the certificates. The name. The signature. The signed poster. You recite the words, LEE HEESEUNG.

She blinks. "Wait. Wait wait wait. You mean the dude you clean for is famous?"

"Was," you say softly. "I think he was famous. He was a concert pianist."

There's a beat of silence then she's snatching up her laptop. "What are we doing just sitting here? Let's Google him."

You shift beside her as she types in his name watching it autofill halfway through. She scrolls.

First result: a blurry photo of a younger Heeseung at a concert, fingers splayed on the keys.

Second result: Top 10 Rising Stars of the Classical World.

Third: The Golden Boy of the Grand Piano—Why Lee Heeseung Was Next.

There are photos—clean, posed ones, then live shots of him in motion, bent over the keys, expression contorted like the music is tearing out of him.

"Damn," Jiyoon whispers. "He was hot."

You smack her arm. "Focus."

She scrolls again—and then pauses.

You feel her go still beside you.

Her thumb hovers over the next headline.

Concert Pianist Lee Heeseung Suffers On-Stage Mental Breakdown During Performance.

Your stomach drops. It's dated 2 years ago.

"Holy shit," she whispers.

There's a thumbnail image of the article and beneath it, a video. Your fingers are trembling but you press play anyway.

The video opens on a massive concert hall. Heeseung sits alone at a grand piano under a soft blue spotlight. There's silence—and then music. Soaring, masterful, all-consuming. His fingers move like they're made of air.

He plays so beautifully that you find yourself immersed but then, something shifts.

His hands slow. His face tenses. He mutters something under his breath, eyes wide like he's seeing something the rest of the room can't. Then—

A violent slam of the keys.

The audience flinches.

He starts playing again, erratically, pounding the piano with discordant noise. His head jerks to the side. He mutters again, louder this time. Words you can't make out. Security rushes the stage. The video ends in chaos, with the camera shaking, audience gasping.

You stare at the screen long after it's gone black.

"That's why," you whisper.

Jiyoon nods slowly. "That's why he lives like that now."

Neither of you speak for a long time. There's just the hum of the microwave clock ticking forward, the faint buzz of the fridge, the afterimage of that video burned into your mind.

Heeseung isn't just a recluse. He's a man who was once made of music—and then unraveled by it.

The video plays again in your head when the screen's long since gone black.

Heeseung's face in that last shot—wild and glassy-eyed, haunted—lingers like smoke. Even with the dinner gone and the dishes rinsed, even with the taste of bulgogi faded from your tongue, it clings to your ribs.

Jiyoon breaks the silence first. She sets her laptop down with a sigh and rubs her forehead like she's trying to will away her own stress.

"Anyway," she mutters, "my manager's still a raging bitch."

The shift in topic feels abrupt, like someone slammed the door on something unfinished. You blink and turn your head, trying to meet her halfway.

"She moved my report to a different folder this morning and then cc'd her manager asking where mine was," Jiyoon grumbles, tossing a chip in her mouth. "Like she didn't just put it there herself. I swear she's trying to build a case to get me fired."

You hum a vague sound of sympathy, but your eyes are unfocused. Your thoughts are half in that concert hall, half in that penthouse closet, all tangled up with things that don't make sense yet.

Jiyoon squints at you, crunching slowly. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, blinking hard. "Sorry. I just..."

"You look tired," she says gently. "Like tired-tired. Go to bed."

You nod. "I will. Just—gonna change first."

She lets you go, and you disappear into your room, clicking the door shut behind you.

The quiet hits fast.

You peel off your jacket, your jeans. Change into your sleep shirt. The light on your desk is soft and yellow, and you go to your tote bag by instinct, unzipping it without thinking.

You freeze.

Your fingers reach the bottom of the bag.

You check again.

Then again.

Your journal's not there.

You turn the bag upside down—shake it, even though you know how pointless it is—and the only thing that falls out is a used lip balm, your wallet and your bus pass.

You drop to your knees beside the desk, rifling through the bag's compartments. Check under your bed. In your drawers. You dig through the laundry pile.

Your breath quickens. Your pulse starts to speed.

A whole year and a half. That's how long you've been writing in that journal. Every scattered thought, every tiny win, every loss, every panic attack, every private daydream. It's not just a notebook—it's you. You wrote yourself into those pages, over and over and you can think is; it's gone.

You dart back into the living room, voice already strained. "Jiyoon—have you seen my journal? The brown one?"

She looks up from her phone, blinking. "Journal? No. Did you leave it at the library?"

You shake your head too fast. "No—I had it with me. I know I had it with me. I wrote in it today, I always put it in the tote after, I—I—"

She sits up straighter. "Okay, hey. Don't panic. Maybe it slipped out on the bus?"

You clutch your arms, stomach turning. The thought of it sitting there in some grimy bus seat, left behind, already flipped through by strangers, your handwriting exposed—your insides exposed—makes you sick.

Your throat tightens.

"Hey," Jiyoon says, getting up now, her voice softer. "It's okay. We'll retrace your steps tomorrow, alright?"

But you're already crying. Not big sobs—just quiet, stunned tears, the kind that sting as they fall, the kind you can't stop once they start.

You laugh bitterly through it, pressing your palm to your mouth. "It's stupid," you mumble. "It's just a journal."

"It's not stupid," Jiyoon says, crossing the room and pulling you into a hug.

You close your eyes. Her office clothes smell like starch and soy sauce and the bad perfume her coworker probably wears, but her arms are warm and solid around you.

Still, your heart aches like something's gone missing.

And somewhere—somewhere else—those pages are no longer just yours.

*•*•*

You don't even realize how much weight you've been dragging until it starts to leave marks—under your eyes, behind your ribs, along your spine.

It's been a whole day without it. Twenty-four hours without your journal and you're already unraveling. Not crying anymore—just dulled out. The kind of sadness that makes everything taste like paper, feel like static.

Jiyoon tried her best. She really did. She even called in sick that morning just to help look. Said her manager could go chew on gravel, she didn't care. She pulled you out of bed, made you drink an iced coffee, and walked with you back to every single place you'd been.

You retraced your steps with her hand on your shoulder the entire time—gentle, like you'd break.

Back to the library. Back to the plaza where you sat for five minutes waiting on the bus. You even got on the same damn route, asked the driver if he'd seen a brown journal with an elastic band and too many taped-in receipts.

Nothing.

Just a kind smile from a man who said he was sorry and wished you luck.

So when Friday comes around—when you have to drag yourself out of bed again for the penthouse job—you feel heavy. Disconnected. You brush your teeth with your eyes half-closed. Tie your laces without bothering to double knot them. You're not crying, not even angry, just—

Faded.

You leave the house a little past nine. Jiyoon waves from the couch but doesn't try to stop you. She knows money talks, even when you're too tired to listen.

You arrive at ten sharp like always. Same hallway, same elevator ding, same code punched into the keypad.

The door opens.

And the stillness inside hits you harder than usual. Not just quiet—vacant. Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You don't bother kicking off your shoes this time.

You walk in and turn toward the kitchen to get the supplies—straight to the cabinets under the sink—and that's when you freeze.

There.

On the counter.

Your journal.

You stand still for so long the air starts to pulse in your ears cause it's open. Pages parted like a secret mid-sentence. And the breath that's been caged in your lungs for a whole day catches halfway up your throat.

You move closer. Like if you blink too hard it'll vanish.

It's turned to that entry. The one you wrote after cleaning here the first time—where you wrote about the towels and the light and the strange emptiness of a life lived up high and alone. The part where you called him lonely.

Your eyes track the handwriting in the margin. Small. Neat. Slightly angled.

An arrow is drawn from the word lonely and next to it, in ink that definitely isn't yours:

you have no idea.

Your throat goes dry.

You run your fingertips over the words—his words—like touching them will make them make sense. But they don't. Not really. They just buzz in your chest like something secret and sad and suddenly real.

He read it. He read it.

And not just read it—responded.

You sink into the nearest stool, heart hammering, holding the journal like it might slip away again.

This man—this ghost of a man, the one who hides behind silence and rules and perfectly folded towels—he read you. And then he left this like it wasn't a confession. Like it wasn't a crack in the wall you didn't think you'd ever see.

"You have no idea."

You don't.

But for the first time, you think you want to so you tear a sheet from the back of your journal. The lines are faint blue, the edge ragged where it rips. You stare at it longer than necessary—like the paper's going to change its mind about letting you say what you need to.

Your hand shakes as you write it, "I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest."

You don't sign it.

You fold it in half once, then again. Then you slide it under the coaster on the marble coffee table—tucked, but not hidden. If he wants to find it, he will.

And then you're out the door. Before 4, for the the first time not caring about the rule.

*•*•*

When you get home, Jiyoon's door is locked. You knock once, then try the handle. Still locked. "Jiyoon," you call. "Let me in." Nothing, so you knock harder. When she finally opens it, her hair is a mess and her cheeks are a deep, guilty pink. She looks like she just sprinted a mile and saw God somewhere in the middle of it.

You know what she was doing but you don't care, you just brush right past her and drop your journal on her bed like it's a live grenade.

"He read my fucking journal," you hiss, turning on your heel. "He wrote in it." "What!?" Jiyoon gasps, not even trying to play it cool. "That's where you left it?!"

"I didn't mean to!" "Wait—he wrote in it? Like, wrote wrote? Pen to page?" You nod, pacing like your bones are electric. "He responded to a line I wrote about him being lonely. Just—drew an arrow to it and wrote 'you have no idea.' Like what the fuck is that even supposed to mean!?" "That's—" She stops. Blinks. Then starts again, because of course she has to. "That's kind of hot," she says, lips twitching.

"Jiyoon!" "Okay, okay! It's fucked up, but it's also..." She trails off, thoughtful. "It's kind of giving tortured artist. Haunted tower. Piano-playing ghost with emotional constipation." You flop onto her bed, face buried in your hands. "I feel violated. But also like...I violated him first? Is that weird? I feel like we both got naked and didn't mean to."

"That is the weirdest metaphor you've ever said," Jiyoon mutters, but there's affection under it and you're about to respond but then your phone rings. Shrill and loud against the padded silence of Jiyoon's room. You check the screen and it's Cee. You answer it with a sigh. "Hello?" "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He barks immediately. "Did you leave before 4?" Your stomach drops. "Yes, I did, but—"

"You had clear fucking instructions! You don't leave before 4. Ever."

"I had to. I was done, I—" "I don't give a shit," he snaps. "From now on? You clean for him every day. That's what he wants." You blink. "Every day?"

"Every. Fucking. Day. Starting tomorrow." The line goes dead. You lower the phone slowly and Jiyoon's looking at you like you just told her you're moving to Mars. "You're cleaning for him every day?" You nod, feeling numb. She whistles. "Guess you better start folding towels in your dreams."

You flop back on her bed again, journal beside you, limbs heavy and brain scrambled, because somehow this man has read your secrets, insulted your towel folding, haunted your thoughts and gotten you trapped in a daily cleaning contract. You stare at the ceiling, heart a mess of beats. You truly have no idea what the hell you've gotten yourself into, just like Heeseung wrote.

*•*•*

You hate today. Not in the throwaway I-hate-Mondays kind of way, but in that deep, simmering, "I'd rather get hit by a bus than scrub your already-clean floors for six hours" kind of way. It's Saturday. Saturday. And you're supposed to be doing anything else. Sleeping in. Going to the corner store with Jiyoon in your pajamas. Sitting in silence and mourning the part of yourself that used to be a free woman.

Instead, you're here. The penthouse again. Cold and looming and weirdly beautiful in a way you hate to admit. It's only 9:30. You're early and you could wait. You should wait. But something reckless and slightly unhinged is buzzing in your blood—maybe it's the journal thing, or the fact that he read every single thing you've ever written about yourself. You don't know.

You just know that this time, you're not waiting. You take the elevator up. No code. No warning. Just your footsteps, soft and slow, echoing across the marble as you step into the penthouse and then—you stop. Dead.

Because there's someone already down here, in fact two someones. One of them, you recognize as the man you saw leaving that day—now unmistakably a doctor of some sort, clipboard in hand, every movement clinical and restrained. He's sitting next to another man. A man who's— Oh fuck.

Shirtless.

Barefoot. Wearing only a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips like they're barely there at all. Lee Heeseung, the one on all the pictures and posters in the haunting closet, the one from the articles you saw.He's not a ghost or a shadow upstairs. He's definitely real and he's here, laughing at something he just said, a low warm sound that breaks the silence—and then cuts off the second he sees you.They both stare and you can't help but stare back cause your brain short-circuits because not only is he real—he's gorgeous. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that feels cruel. Sharp jaw, dark hair a mess, skin golden and soft in the morning light and then the audacity of the amused curl of his mouth as he takes you in.

The doctor doesn't laugh at Heeseung's joke, he just closes his clipboard with a hard snap, locks the files into a black case with practiced hands, mutters something clipped to Heeseung, and walks past you like you're air. You don't move, not because you don't want to but because you can't. And now Heeseung just stands there, right in front of you, 6 feet away. Shirtless.

As if this is all some sort of routine, where he expected you to show up early to catch him sitting there. Then he speaks. Voice low, smooth, maddeningly calm. "You're early."

You blink, stunned mute. He cocks his head slightly. Barely.

"Is this how you always barge into my home?" You open your mouth but you have to close it again because no words will come out.Because all you can think is holy shit. Not only is he not old, like Jiyoon said, not only is he not some weird piano hermit ghost—he is breathtaking. And apparently, deeply unbothered by the fact that you've just witnessed whatever strange intimate evaluation that was.

"I—sorry," you finally manage, voice rough to the point of shame. "I didn't think—there was someone—upstairs, usually—" Heeseung raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "You didn't think as I didn't think you'd be here before ten, hmm?" You bristle, flustered and mortified and somewhere under all that, burning. "I'm just here to clean." He smiles at that and it's not kind, it's not mocking either. Just... knowing, he's got that look—the kind that says he's already pages ahead in your journal entry for tonight, already memorized the lines, already knows exactly how this ends.

"Good," he says. "Then clean." And he walks past you—slow, easy, barefoot steps—disappearing back up the stairs without another word. Leaving you there, alone with your rage, your humiliation, and your heart pounding so loud in your chest it echoes in the silence. What do you do now? You clean. Of course you do. That's what you're here for, and you already showed up thirty minutes earlier than you were supposed to, so now you're finishing faster than usual—dusting the shelves with extra care just to stall, organizing the rows of books he never touches, wiping down the marble countertops even though they don't look like they've been used in days.

And all the while your brain won't stop looping back to your journal on his kitchen counter, to the handwriting in the margins that isn't yours, to the arrow pointing right to the word lonely and the quiet weight of you have no idea written beneath it.

It's unfair, you think, the way he's just living in his architectural digest penthouse, barefoot and cryptic, while you're pacing through his living room, trying not to wonder how much of your life he's read. You almost forget the weight of it—almost—until he's suddenly back.

You hear him before you see him, the soft sound of his footsteps against the dark wood floor, and when you turn, there he is.

Coming down the stairs like a fucking problem you can't afford to have, still barefoot, still in those jeans that hang too low on his hips, but now in a loose linen shirt that he didn't even bother to button all the way.

It's distracting, infuriatingly so. You don't even want to think about how hot he is—because it's wrong, and messy, and also, you're still mad.

He sees you before you can pretend you weren't watching him descend like some kind of fallen angel with unresolved trauma, and for a moment, he says nothing. Just stands there at the bottom of the stairs, head tilted slightly, his eyes unreadably deep, like he's trying to pin you to the spot with silence alone.

Then he turns, walks toward the closet in the hallway—the one with the photographs and trophies and that signed, rolled-up poster of his own damn face—and you stare after him without meaning to, without even trying to be subtle. There's something about the way he moves, like someone who hasn't had to explain himself in years, like someone who only speaks when the silence becomes too loud to tolerate.

You don't expect him to come back out and walk straight toward you and you definitely don't expect him to stop right in front of you to speak.

"Do you always sit in my chair when you psychoanalyze me in your journal?" His voice is even, smooth, and just sharp enough to make your jaw clench. There's something teasing in it, mocking maybe, or maybe just observant, but either way—it makes your chest tighten.

You straighten where you sit, looking up at him without flinching. "You had no right to read my journal."

He doesn't flinch either.

"You wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?"

And that's what throws you—how casual he says it, how unbothered he is by the violation, like it was never that serious to begin with.

In your head, you're screaming. Not because you're scared, but because it's almost worse that he read it without hesitation. Because that journal was yours, it was everything. A year and a half of pain and boredom and loneliness and softness and tiny bursts of joy that you didn't know where else to put. Little poems about love you've never felt. Sentences that barely made sense to you at the time. Half-finished stories and full-bodied grief. And now he knows. Maybe not all of it—but enough.

You bite your tongue before your mouth runs wild, but your thoughts are already racing.

He read it. He read all of it, probably. God, did he see the poem you wrote about the boy who only existed in your dreams? Did he read the list of things you want to do before you die? Did he see the part about wanting someone to ask you how your day was, without needing a reason?

You want to be mad. You are mad. But under that is the hot sting of embarrassment, the helplessness of being seen without warning, without consent.

He's still watching you, expression still unreadable.

You blink hard. "It wasn't for you."

"I figured."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Then why did you—"

He cuts you off without cutting you off. His voice is softer this time. "I found your note."

That makes your stomach turn.

You remember the note. I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest.

You didn't even think when you left it. You just wrote it and ran. And now he's standing here, bare feet planted firmly on the floor, chest half-exposed, staring at you like your truth didn't scare him off at all.

"I don't think you're invasive," he says. "You were just... honest, like you said."

That word again.

And suddenly you're not sure what this is anymore—what he is. Because he's not yelling. He's not smug. You don't even think he's trying to humiliate you, he's just standing there, calm, casual—as if this is routine, as if your journal wasn't a goddamn blueprint of everything you never said out loud. As if he didn't drag his pen under the word lonely and scrawl you have no idea in the margins, careless, cruel, and so absurdly calm about it.

You really don't know what to say but you guess your silence must say enough, because his eyes soften just enough to sting.

"People don't usually stay when I'm honest," He says it like it's already written in stone, something that happened, not something he's choosing.

You just sit there, unsure if you're still furious or if your heart just broke a little for a man you don't understand at all.

You really want to ask him why he wrote in your journal, why he felt comfortable enough to reply to it like you were in some kind of conversation. You should get up and walk out, slam the door for good measure, remind him you're the help and he's a man who's too comfortable living above the rest of the world, shirtless and half-smiling at things that should have been private. But instead, you're still sitting there.

And instead of leaving, you ask, "What's with the whole coming at ten and leaving at four thing?"

He blinks.

It's not the question he expected, maybe not the one you expected either, but it's already out in the air now and hanging between you like mist.

He exhales through his nose, shifting his weight slightly as he leans a hip against the back of the chair across from you. You watch the movement—too closely—and hate how your eyes keep catching on the little things: the curve of his collarbone, the faint line of a vein down his forearm, the way he smells faintly like vanilla and clean linen. You force your gaze back up to his face.

He doesn't answer right away.

Then, after a moment, he says, "I just thought six hours was enough time for you to do what you needed."

It's almost clipped, controlled.

"And..." He pauses, eyes flicking to the side, as if choosing his next words carefully. "It's better for you if you follow it."

You blink. "What do you mean better for me?"

He shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant but not exactly casual. "You walked in on something you weren't supposed to see this morning."

Your mind flashes back to that moment—the doctor, the manilla folders, the way Heeseung was sitting on the chair laughing to himself with no shirt on and then suddenly not laughing at all.

Your throat feels a little dry.

"You mean the doctor?" you ask carefully.

He nods once. "Yeah." Then, quieter, "There are... things I deal with. Things I don't need anyone witnessing."

It's not quite a warning. Not quite a confession either. It floats in the space between.

You shift in your seat, uncertain. "So the schedule is more for... your privacy?"

He lets out a sound that's almost a laugh but not quite, low and humorless. "Sure. Let's go with that."

There's something in the way he says it that tells you he doesn't really mean it—not entirely. Like there's more he could say if he wanted to, but he doesn't.

Still, you nod slowly, even though you don't really understand. Even though the idea of spending six hours in a place that holds your most personal words hostage is suffocating.

Even though his presence is starting to feel... electric in the worst and best way.

And then, after a beat, you ask softly, "And what happens if I don't follow it?"

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And for a second, something shifts. The air between you turns thicker, heavier. You can feel his eyes like heat on your skin.

"I don't think you'd want to find out," he says, voice low and quiet, but not threatening. Just true.

And you believe him.

Not because you think he'd hurt you. But because there are some parts of him—some stories, some shadows—you haven't earned the right to touch yet.

You don't answer.

You just hold his gaze until it feels like it burns and then drop your eyes to your hands and stand up to walk away, walk towards the door

He straightens then, subtly, pushing off from the chair like the moment's passed. You don't know if you're relieved or disappointed.

"Of course a person as beautiful as you would write so heartbreakingly beautiful." It's low. Almost to himself. Like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

But you hear it.

And it feels like your ribcage cracks clean in half.

You turn—just slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder. He's not even watching you. He's looking down at the floor, one hand resting loosely on the back of the chair like he hadn't just broken you open and left you bleeding all over his expensive floors.

"What did you ju—" you almost ask but he's already cutting you off. "You're done for the day, right?"

You barely nod, fully facing him now, bewildered.

"Then you should go."

You turn around and walk slowly, legs a little stiff, journal heavy in your bag, chest heavier still.

And as you move past him, toward the front door, he doesn't say anything else.

He just watches you go.

You walk home like your body isn't yours, it feels like your bones are made of sound, the way you hear everything but can't feel a single step. Your bag is even heavier than it should be for some reason.

The door to your apartment creaks as you open it. Warmth hits you in the face. Jiyoon's music is loud—some upbeat synth-pop song she always plays when she's cooking—and the smell of garlic and oil and something spicy wraps around you like a familiar blanket. But you don't step in right away. You stand in the doorway a little too long, still wearing your shoes, still holding your keys in one hand like you forgot what they're for.

Then she turns. She sees you.

And she freezes.

The music doesn't. But she grabs her phone and hits pause mid-chorus, eyebrows already pulled together in the way they do when she's bracing herself for gossip. "You look... feral."

You blink. "What?"

"Your face," she says, pointing a wooden spoon at you. "It's giving war-torn romantic heroine. What happened?"

You close the door behind you. You walk inside. You don't know where to begin.

So you say the first thing that spills from your mouth.

"I saw him."

She doesn't need clarification. "Him?"

You nod.

"Lee Heeseung?"

You nod again.

She gasps so loud the spoon hits the floor.

You don't laugh. You can't.

"He was shirtless," you add quietly, like it's something illegal.

Jiyoon makes a noise so high-pitched only the dead could hear it.

"No. No. No," she says, rushing over and grabbing both your arms like she's checking for a pulse. "You have to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Did he talk to you? Did he breathe near you? Did he smell good? Does he look weird? Did you black out? Are you still alive? Blink twice if you need CPR."

You let out a long breath, barely a laugh. "He was laughing with some man. A doctor, I think. He was barefoot. Just jeans, low. He didn't even look at me at first. Just kind of... existed."

You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles start to ache.

"Then he did see me later when he came back down, I was sitting. In that chair I said I always journal in. And he just... stared. Then he disappeared into that hallway closet with all the photos and came back out without something, and I watched him the whole time like a creep." Jiyoon looks winded. "This is already the best thing I've ever heard."

"He asked me if I always sit in his chair when I psychoanalyze him in my journal." Her eyes explode. "No."

You nod. "Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I told him he had no right to read it."

"Did he deny it?" You shake your head slowly. "He said—and I quote—'you wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?'" Jiyoon puts her whole body on the counter, like gravity's too much. "This is sick. This is sick. I can't believe you're living out the plot of the exact kind of emotionally unstable literature you always say you hate." You let your head fall next to hers. "I'm going to have to switch some of my classes."

She lifts her face, blinking. "Wait, what?"

"I can't keep going in the mornings. Not if I'm cleaning for him every day. The only opening left in my schedule is evening sections and some online ones, and I'll probably miss my favorite professors class."

"You love that class."

"I know."

"I don't know if you can tell but you're kind of acting like it's worth it"

*•*•*

You wake up feeling weirdly... eager. Which is insane in your opinion. It's cleaning. You're going to clean for six hours in a house where the walls are silent and the air feels kind of tight, and maybe—maybe—he'll come down again. Maybe he won't. You tell yourself it doesn't matter. You dress in your usual oversized tee and leggings, but you switch your sneakers for the cleaner pair, the ones without scuff marks. You spend longer on your face than necessary. Just moisturizer, a little concealer—nothing obvious. Just in case. You tell yourself it's just habit. You tell yourself a lot of things.

You get there at 9:57. By 10:02, your coat is hung up and the cleaning supplies are laid out in their usual corners. The house is quiet—same as always—but now it's a different kind of quiet. Now you know who it's holding and it makes you all irrationally aware of everything.

You start with the mirrors.

Not because they're dirty. They're not.

But because they reflect the hallway, and every time you glance up, you can see the top of the stairs.

By 11:17, you've vacuumed every rug on the main floor. Nothing.

By 12:04, you've re-organized the kitchen drawers. Again. Not that he'd notice. You don't even know if he uses them.

By 12:58, you're dusting frames that don't need dusting, glancing at the ceiling like footsteps might fall out of it.

By 1:45, you've convinced yourself he's not coming down. That yesterday was a one-off. That he's upstairs doing whatever rich, complicated people do—brooding maybe, like some Austenian shut-in. You try to laugh at yourself for even caring but it sits low in your chest. He's just a man, you only even met him once.

So why does it feel this weird? You're so distracted you almost forget to check the pantry. You always check the pantry. And when you finally do, you find it's already been stocked. Someone else did it.

Maybe him.

Your stomach turns and don't know why. By 3:50, you're packing your things, fingers slow on the zipper of your bag. By 3:56, you're glancing around the room like it might give you a reason to stay longer. By 3:58, you hear it.

Footsteps that make you freeze. And there he is.

Heeseung. Descending the stairs like it's nothing. Like he didn't make you wait all day without knowing you were waiting. He's wearing another linen shirt—this one in charcoal—and it's loose over his frame, the top two buttons undone. His hair is a little messy, like he's been lying down or pulling his fingers through it and, he's barefoot again. He smiles.

"Hey," he says, voice warm in that slow, easy way. "You're still here." You swallow. "Not for long."

He steps down the last stair. "How was your day?" You blink at him. It takes a second for your voice to catch up. "I spent it here. You tell me." His brows lift a little. Not offended—more amused. He shifts his weight and leans against the banister.

"I missed my favorite class."

"You're a student? And you missed a class? Because of this?" You glance down at your hands. They're still a little red from scrubbing tile. "Yeah."

He's quiet for a second. "Have you had dinner?" You start to say no—but your stomach betrays you before your mouth can lie. It growls. Audibly. Your eyes go wide and he laughs at your expression. "Sit," he says, already turning toward the kitchen. "I'll make something."

You blink. "What? No, that's not—" He turns to look at you over his shoulder. "Sit." And there's something in the way he says it that has you obeying, hesitantly still. The counter's cool beneath your palms as you lower yourself into the chair, eyes tracking his every movement. He moves so naturally in the kitchen—opens the fridge with one hand, pulls down a skillet with the other, all casual familiarity and soft clattering sounds. It smells like garlic again. Butter. Something fresh.

"What are you making?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Something edible. Hopefully."

Heeseung's cutting vegetables like he's done it a thousand times. He slices a tomato without looking down, throws it into a pan, then adds something else from a jar. The sizzle is instant.

You lean forward. "Do you cook for all your maids?"

He pauses, halfway to the sink. Then he glances at you, a slow grin spreading across his mouth. "You're barely a maid."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs again, that same lazy charm. "Have you seen the state of the guest bathroom?"

You laugh—actually laugh, the sound startling even to you but you catch yourself wondering why you're not offended he just insulted your cleaning skills. You watch his smile grow wider and somehow, in the scent of sautéing herbs and low music playing from the speaker he must've turned on when you weren't looking, it feels normal. Almost. Except not at all. Because when he sets the plate down in front of you, you look up to thank him—and he's already watching you. Eyes soft and focused.

And for the first time all day, your chest doesn't feel so tight.

You dig in and it's stupidly delicious, making your eyes go wide again, mouth still full. "Okay.

That's insane."

Heeseung chuckles, taking a bite of his own.

You point your fork at him. "You made this? Just now?"

He nods, watching you intently. It doesn't take long before the plates are empty—yours cleaned down to the sauce, his barely touched—and there's music playing from somewhere in the house, something soft and unfamiliar, all instrumentals and quiet piano.

You're both still sitting at the counter, opposite ends, your elbows propped up, legs curled beneath the stool. He's lounging with his long body twisted toward you, shirt sleeves rolled up, one hand holding a wine glass he hasn't taken a sip from yet.

The conversation has slowed into something looser now—easier. He asked what books you've been reading lately. You asked if he's always this good at cooking. He pretended to be modest and then very much wasn't.

And then you ask, "Why every day?"

He looks at you. "Why did you suddenly want me to come clean every day?" There's a beat of silence. Heeseung's gaze drops to the rim of his glass, the edge of his thumb skimming around it once, twice.

"When I saw your note," he says finally, voice lower now, "I didn't know what to do with it." He lifts his eyes, meets yours.

"I knew you weren't going to come again until the day after next. And it made me... restless. Waiting for a reply. Not being able to ask."

You inhale, slow and careful.

"And then I read your journal."

You stiffen a little, but he doesn't apologize. He doesn't even flinch.

"I didn't read all of it," he adds, leaning forward, closer. "I swear. Just some pages. A few entries. And one poem."

You stare at him.

He sets the glass down. Both elbows on the counter now. His fingers lace together.

"I read this line—" he begins, eyes on yours, "Your silence filled the house louder than your voice ever did."

You're stunned like your brain can't comprehend he's reciting your poem word for word.

He doesn't even blink. "I memorized the gaps in your sentences like scripture. I waited for the ending, but all you left was air."

Your mouth opens—just barely—but you can't speak.

"There's still a teacup on the windowsill. There's still a sweater on the hook. There's still a ghost in the shape of you that lives in the room where you never said goodbye."

You whisper the final two lines without thinking.

"And I still set the table for two, like a fool. Like you might remember that you left me starving."

His lips part—just slightly. Your voice had gone soft at the end, cracking a little, like it didn't want to be said out loud. And maybe it didn't. Maybe it never was.

You didn't even think it was that good. You wrote it half-asleep. You'd forgotten you even. "I needed to know," he says, not looking away, "who could write something like that."

You're quiet for a long time. "You shouldn't have read it."

"I know."

"I didn't write it for anyone to—"

"I know," he says again, voice quiet now. "But I couldn't help it. I wanted to meet the person behind it. I wanted to see if you'd look at me the way your words did."

The room is suddenly very still.

You don't know what to say. You don't know if there's even language for the way your body is reacting. There's heat in your throat, under your skin, behind your ribs. You should leave. You really should but instead you ask, "Do I?"

His brow creases. "Do you what?"

"Do I look at you that way?"

He doesn't answer your question, not with words anyway. Just studies you with that same unreadable stare, something flickering behind his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

And then, as if someone's pressed fast-forward on the moment, he shifts his weight back and clears his throat softly. "Do you play any instruments?" he asks, voice casual, like he didn't just memorize one of the most vulnerable things you've ever written.

You blink. "What?"

He shrugs, gaze dropping to the counter. "You write. I assumed you like music."

"I do," you say carefully. "I like listening more than anything. I used to sing."

He hums, smiling faintly. "Used to?"

You sigh, deflecting. "It's different when people are watching. When you're older. The recorder was more forgiving."

That gets a real laugh out of him. He tilts his head, grinning. "The recorder?"

"Yes, and I was a prodigy. First chair in third grade." You press a hand to your chest dramatically. "The youngest to ever play Hot Cross Buns with such emotional depth."

He snorts and leans closer like he's about to say something else, but the next thing you know, he's not across the counter anymore—he's beside you.

You don't know exactly when he moved, maybe it was when he stood up from the stool to put the plates in the sink, still laughing about the recorder joke.

His elbow brushes yours. His shoulder is an inch from yours. You feel his presence like heat—radiating and dangerous in the best possible way.

And somehow, you're still laughing. You're still talking about childhood instruments and music you like and whether jazz is romantic or just sad in a pretty way. He teases you for not knowing any Miles Davis and you tease him back for quoting poetry like a teenage girl with a Tumblr account.

It's light. Easy. It's so different from the static in the air earlier this week, from the careful distance you both tried to maintain. But now...

Now his hand brushes the counter beside yours. And your breathing changes. And the silence feels like a held breath.

You don't look at each other—you're still talking, kind of. But your voices are softer now. Lower. A little slower.

And then it happens.

Your eyes meet.

His face tilts just slightly toward yours, making your breath catch.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you and doesn't. His eyes drop to your lips. He leans in, just a little—just enough that the space between you crackles—and you feel yourself tilting too, breath hitching, mouth parting.

And then he pulls back, all too quick and 

sudden. He clears his throat, looks away, stepping back so abruptly he almost knocks over the stool that was next to you.

You flinch at the sound.

"I—" he starts, then shakes his head, jaw tight. "You should go."

Your stomach drops.

"I didn't mean to—" he breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to come tomorrow. Go to your class. I'll tell your manager."

You stay frozen for a second, eyes wide, lips still tingling with something that didn't happen.

And then you nod, slow. Trying not to show how much you're shaking. "Okay."

He doesn't say anything else.

You leave quietly.

But your pulse pounds in your ears all the way home and in the haze of it all you don't take the bus home.

You don't want the rush of it—the closed windows and stale air and elbows brushing yours. You want air, real air, the kind that cools your skin and cuts through the confusion curling heavy in your chest. The heels of your sneakers hit the sidewalk harder than usual. You don't notice until your toes ache.

You can still feel it. The almost of his mouth on yours. His voice whispering poetry that used to belong to no one but you. The way he looked at you right before he pulled back—like he could drown and not care.

You don't realize how far you've walked until your phone rings, sharp in the quiet. You check the screen and it's Cee. You sigh, thumb swiping across the glass.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you right now?"

You blink. "Uh... on my way home. I finished cleaning—he told me not to come tomorrow, so—"

"Yeah, well, change of plans," he cuts in, voice tight, clipped. "He called. Wants you in tomorrow."

You stop walking. "What?"

"That's what I said. Twenty minutes ago, he told me you weren't coming. Five minutes ago, he said make sure you do."

Your grip tightens around your phone. You glance down at the pavement, cracked and worn, your shadow stretched long in the streetlight. "That... doesn't make sense."

"Welcome to my fucking week."

You don't know what to say. You try to remember exactly how he said it. You don't have to come tomorrow. You can take your class.

He said it like a kindness. Like a favor.

Or maybe—maybe it was a trick. A test. Maybe you failed.

The line is quiet for a moment. Then, softer—softer than you're used to from him, like he has to chew it first before he can let it out—your manager says:

"Hey. Is everything okay over there?"

Your breath catches.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." A pause. "He hasn't done anything weird, right? Or tried something? You'd tell me, yeah?"

You blink again, hard. It feels like stepping off a curb you didn't see. Your lips part, your heart kicks—because no, he hasn't. But he almost did and you're starting to think maybe it would've been fine if he did. Maybe it would've been more than fine.

"No," you say quickly. "Nothing like that. He's... he's not like that."

"You sure?"

"Yes." You don't hesitate. "I don't want to quit."

There's silence on the line. You can hear him exhale.

"Alright," he says finally. "You're there again at ten. Don't be late."

You nod, even though he can't see you. "Okay."

He hangs up.

You just stand there. A low breeze rustles through the trees, brushes cool fingers against your neck.

He asked for you. After almost kissing you and pulling away—after telling you not to come tomorrow—he called and asked for you. Your pulse flickers hot beneath your skin as your mind raced with questions.

Was he testing you?

Did he think you wouldn't come back?

You suddenly realize your mouth is dry, your throat tight. The stars feel too bright above you. Your phone buzzes in your palm, a silent reminder that something has shifted, again.

And for better or worse, you'll be seeing him tomorrow.

You don't even bother to take your shoes off when you get in the door.

The front door slams behind you harder than you mean it to, and Jiyoon—sweet, perceptive, too-curious Jiyoon—is immediately shouting from the kitchen, "Is that you? Are you okay? You've been gone forever, I was about to—"

"I'm fine!" you yell back, already halfway down the hall. Your voice cracks halfway through the word. You don't even try to fix it.

"Wait—" Jiyoon appears around the corner, wooden spoon still in hand, some ridiculous song playing from the speaker behind her. "Wait, wait, what happened? Did you see him again?"

You keep walking.

"Did he—?"

"I'm fine," you repeat, softer this time but not gentler. "He said I don't have to come in tomorrow, so I'll probably go to my class."

"Oh my god, what does that mean?" she laughs, stepping after you. "Did you finally tell him off or did he—?"

"I'm tired, Jiyoon," you mumble, hand on your doorknob. "So tired."

She crosses her arms. "You look like you just made out with someone in a Jane Austen novel."

Your face goes hot.

"I love you," you say, deadpan. "But I need to be alone right now."

She gasps dramatically, "You're hiding something! You always say I love you when you're hiding something—"

You shut the door in her face.

Lock it.

Lean back against it.

Your heart is still thudding too loud in your ears.

You sink down to the floor, journal already in your hands before you even realize you've moved. Your fingers tremble when you unscrew the cap of your pen. You press it to the page.

And for a moment, you just sit there, not even writing.

Just breathing.

You write, He said I write beautifully.

Then, slower, He said he felt restless about not getting a response.

And then, He pulled away.

The ink smudges beneath your fingers. You don't wipe it away. You just keep writing, your handwriting more frantic than usual, trailing across the page in swooping spirals and crooked curves. You write about the way he looked at you—so real and intense it felt like it burned. About how close he was, how you could feel the heat of him.

About the poem.

How he remembered every word.

How you finished it together.

And when you're done, you stare at the page—like maybe it'll give you answers. Like maybe it'll tell you what it means when a man like Heeseung tells you not to come, then calls your manager like he can't bear not seeing you.

You close your journal.

And press it to your chest.

You crawl into bed, still in your jeans, feet hanging off the edge, journal clutched to your chest like a heartbeat you don't trust to stay steady on its own.

It takes everything in you to peel yourself away, toss the journal aside, and dig out your laptop from where it's tangled in yesterday's laundry on the floor. You log into your evening class with exactly thirty seconds to spare, camera off, mic muted, chin propped against the heel of your palm.

The professor's voice starts droning through your headphones—soft, monotone, familiar—and for a second you think maybe you can do this.

And then your eyelids get heavy.

You blink hard.

You scribble your name into the attendance chat and pretend like you're absorbing something, anything, while your mind floats right back to—

That linen shirt hanging open just enough to see his collarbones. His voice, low and steady, reciting your words back to you like scripture. The smell of garlic and rosemary from his cooking still clinging to your hair. The way he moved closer without you even realizing. The moment before the kiss that never happened—the way your heart caught on the edge of it.

You shake your head violently, try to refocus. The slide on your screen says something about semiotic theory. You don't know what that means. You don't care what that means.

You're so screwed.

Your professor's voice fades into a low buzz, and you press your palm to your cheek harder, like maybe pressure can keep you conscious. It can't.

The laptop screen glares into your face. The chat scrolls with questions you don't have the energy to fake-read. You close your eyes just for a second.

You tell yourself it's only for a second.

Just one.

Just—

You jolt awake six minutes later to your professor asking, "And how might this apply to authorial intent, Y/N?"

You blink, brain empty.

You type in the chat: Sorry, my mic's not working.

And you thank every god that ever existed for mute buttons.

*•*•*

You find yourself hovering just outside the penthouse door, hesitating.

Your fingers are curled in a loose fist, suspended midair like they've forgotten how to move. You've stood in this exact spot every day for about a week now, but this time—this time you're unsure. The same polished floor under your shoes, the same towering door with its sleek gold handle and silent weight, but something about today feels different. You feel different.

You almost turn around.

Almost.

But then—voices. Muffled, low but distinct, curling around the edges of the thick door.

You lean in without meaning to, breath held as if your body knows this is a moment you're not meant to be part of. You recognize his voice first, Heeseung's—light, teasing, a tone you've come to know well, though it still unsettles you how easily it affects you. The other voice is lower, older maybe, with clipped words and a sternness that makes your stomach tighten. It must be the doctor from the other day.

"No," the doctor says, firm and quiet. "Now isn't the time to have a new person around every day. You know that."

There's a pause. You hear something creak—maybe a chair.

"It's fine," Heeseung replies, far too casually. "Nothing's happened. She's just cleaning. It's fine."

"She's not just cleaning."

There's silence. A long one. And then—Heeseung's voice again, softer. "Maybe she's good for me."

You freeze. You don't know what they're talking about exactly, not in full, but the heat that rushes to your face is impossible to fight. Good for him? What the hell does that mean? And why does it make your chest feel like it's caving in? Before you can hear anything else, the door swings open, making you stumble back just in time, blinking up at the man who steps through—tall, with sharp eyes that land on you and skim over every inch of your body like you're being scanned. He doesn't say hello, he doesn't smile just like last time. Instead, he mutters something—so low you barely catch it but the edge is there, sharp enough to wound. Something about "distractions" and "too young" and "another mistake."

You step aside without responding, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He walks past you with a slight shake of his head and a long sigh, like your very existence is a burden.

And then—

"Didn't think you'd come."

You turn back around.

Heeseung's standing in the doorway, barefoot again, hair still damp like he just showered, dressed in a loose gray shirt and soft black pants that cling to his hips in a way that makes your head fog. He's smiling—nothing too wide, just soft, like a secret meant only for you. Like he's genuinely happy to see you.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but he's already speaking again.

"About yesterday," he says, stepping aside so you can walk in. "I'm sorry. I overstepped."

And the whiplash? It's instant. Because wasn't he the one who told you not to come today? All quiet and serious and guilt-stricken after nearly kissing you in his kitchen? Now he's soft again, familiar again, and it throws you completely off.

"You don't need to apologize," you say quickly, almost defensively, as you walk inside.

"I do," he says, just as fast. "I really—"

"No, Heeseung." You stop and turn to face him, heart in your throat. "You really don't need to apologize."

He opens his mouth again, brows furrowing, about to insist—but your voice cuts through the air before you can stop yourself.

Quiet. Barely a whisper.

"You didn't have to stop either."

Silence, all heavy and immediate. Heeseung just stares at you. Still and looking stunned. His lips parted like he wants to speak but the words haven't caught up to his brain. His eyes search your face slowly, like he's not sure if he heard you right—or if you meant to say it out loud.

And maybe you didn't.

But you did.

And there's no taking it back.

The door clicks shut behind you before you can even remember stepping inside.

Heeseung doesn't move at first. Just stares at you like he's not entirely sure you're real. Like maybe he conjured you up somehow. His eyes stay on your mouth a little too long, and you try not to notice the way his chest rises and falls, slow and controlled, as if he's reminding himself how to breathe.

Then you say it again. Softer this time.

"You didn't have to stop."

It hangs in the air between you. Heavy, reckless and unapologetic.

Heeseung blinks once. His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shutters. He exhales through his nose—shaky—and drags a hand through his hair, the curls still slightly messy from sleep or stress or something in between.

"That's inappropriate," he says, not unkindly. More like he's trying to draw a boundary he doesn't even believe in.

And the words sting. Maybe more than they should. Maybe because you were just beginning to feel something real stirring between the two of you—something outside of your job, your journal, your blurring lines. You freeze. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out at first, and it's too late anyway. He's already turning from you.

The confused hurt in your eyes stops him in his tracks, but only for a second. He looks back at you—and really looks. Something passes behind his eyes, quiet and aching. Regret maybe or worse, restraint. You watch his jaw flex, as if he's chewing on something bitter, swallowing all the things he'll never allow himself to say.

Then he's stepping away. A slow, deliberate retreat. His footsteps are soft against the stairs as he disappears up them without another word.

And just like that, you're alone. Again.

The silence is incredibly deafening.

Your hands are still trembling.

They have been ever since you left his place. You could barely wipe the kitchen counters without your fingers missing the edge. The dishes were spotless before you even realized you'd scrubbed them twice. Your head was everywhere but here, rerunning that moment—that look in his eyes, the cold withdrawal of his body after your quiet, desperate confession.

And he never came back down.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn't this.

The day drags, and when the clock finally blinks 4:00, you practically flee. Your phone's already to your ear by the time you hit the elevator.

"I can't do this anymore," you say as soon as Cee picks up.

He sounds startled. "Do what? Are you—what happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened. I just—" You press your fingers to your temple. The weight of everything suddenly lands all at once. "I don't want to clean for him anymore."

He's quiet for a second. Then, softer, "Did he do something?"

"No. I just..." You sigh. "It's better this way."

And you think that's the end of it.

But the second you step into the building's reception, the front desk clerk—neatly pressed shirt, neutral expression, his name tag slightly askew—glances up from his computer. "Miss," he says, "Mr. Lee is asking for you upstairs."

You freeze.

Your mouth goes dry. "I—I was just up there."

He nods once, polite. "He asked me to let you know."

You hesitate.

Everything inside you says don't go. That this is how it always begins—with soft invitations and good intentions and doors that don't close fast enough behind you.

But your feet are already moving.

The elevator ride is silent, save the rush of your pulse in your ears. And when you push the door open, Heeseung is there, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Waiting.

You can't read his expression.

"I figured you'd quit," he says. Not accusing. Not even upset. Just matter-of-fact, like he'd already prepared for it.

"I am," you say. "I think it's for the best."

There's a beat.

"I don't want that."

You scoff before you can help it, stepping inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft hiss. "I'm not even sure you know what you want."

You don't even realize you're walking until you're standing in front of him, so close you could count the lashes framing his eyes if you weren't too scared to look directly into them. There's something in his face—some falter in his composure—that makes your chest feel too tight.

He doesn't move.

So you do.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, your heart hammers, and then—you're kissing him.

It's a mess of a thing. Sudden. Brash. Tipped forward on hope and recklessness. Your lips crash into his like a question you don't want answered and—

Nothing.

He doesn't move.

Your lips are on his, but he's frozen. Unresponsive.

The rejection burns so fast it chokes you, and you start to pull back, humiliated—but something in you makes you whisper to him, "Please," you almost sound broken. "Please kiss me back, Heeseung."

That's all it takes.

The air leaves his lungs like he's been sucker-punched. His hands are on your face instantly, his mouth catching yours like he's been starving for it. Like the moment he tasted you, he remembered how badly he wanted.

And this time, he answers the question

His mouth is on yours like he's finally allowed himself to breathe. You're not sure who moves first after that—him or you—but the space between you disappears completely. His hands are in your hair, on your waist, gripping your hips like he needs the reminder that you're real and here and kissing him back just as desperately.

And when he pulls away to look at you—face flushed, eyes dark and confused—you whisper again, barely audible, "Heeseung..."

That does it for him because you can swear you see the moment something in him breaks. Suddenly he's not hesitating anymore, like the sound of your voice cracked through whatever restraint he'd been clinging to, and now it was all unraveling.

He's swallowing the soft sounds you make, capturing every gasp, every whimper, like he needs to devour them, and his mouth is hot and insistent as it trails down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin like he's trying to mark the moment there.

You gasp when he lifts you without warning, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your arms around his neck. You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. It's erratic—wild—matching yours nearly beat for beat.

He sets you down on the kitchen counter like you weigh nothing, the cool marble biting at the backs of your thighs through your jeans. His lips return to yours before they begin their descent again, brushing over your collarbone, down the slope of your chest. His fingers find the hem of your top and pause, glancing up, breath hitching.

You nod.

That's all he needs.

He peels it off gently—too gently for the look in his eyes—and when your bra joins the growing pile of fabric, he's silent for a second. Just watching you. Then he exhales something like a curse and leans in, pressing slow, reverent kisses down your sternum, the curve of your breasts, dragging his teeth lightly, sucking your nipple into his mouth, making you shiver and arch into him.

Every time you whimper, he presses closer.

Every time you moan, he groans softly against your skin, like your sounds undo him.

And just when you think your legs might give out from how tightly your body is wound, he lifts you again. Not onto the floor—but down, off the counter, and turns you gently, pressing you forward. You gasp softly as your hands meet the marble again, your heart stuttering.

Your jeans are tugged down with unhurried hands. Your underwear follows. You're so exposed. Breathless. And behind you, Heeseung lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost like a prayer.

One of his hands smooths over your lower back. The other grips your hip. "God forgive me," he whispers.

You don't know how to stay quiet—not when his mouth is trailing behind you, kissing the backs of your thighs, the curve of you, everywhere—and when he finally leans in, when you feel the first sweep of his tongue, your entire body jolts forward like he's short-circuited something deep inside you.

"Heeseung—" It leaves your mouth like a sob.

He groans in response, tightening his grip around your thighs, but his pace doesn't falter.

And all you can do is press your cheek against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut, biting down on your own hand as he ruins you slowly.

Intimately.

He watches you unravel with so much intensity from beneath you, it's like he's trying to imprint every detail into memory. His tongue maps out every inch of you, teasing and tasting places you never realized could make you feel this way—until he finds your clit again. Instinct takes over; your hips roll down against his mouth, and he responds with a low hum, gripping your thighs to hold them open just enough to tilt his head and drag his tongue lower once more. "Spread your legs for me baby" He whispers it in a way that has you thinking you'll do anything he says, as long as he says it in that voice.

Suddenly and surprisingly, he shoves his tongue deep inside you while using his fingers to rub tight circles against your clit. "Hee—Ah!" You're moaning and whimpering so uncontrollably, the whole thing has your legs trembling where you're stood. You're convinced if he wasn't holding you up himself you'll collapse from the pleasure and pressure of it all.

His tongue is incredibly relentless, slurping you up, not even caring that he's drooling down his chin with your essence, "Wait! W-Wait!" You cry out suddenly.

"What? What? What's wrong? Did I hu—" His words cut through to you as he gets up off his knees where he was, but you're cutting him off and pulling him for another deep kiss, hopping yourself up on the counter again. Heeseung kisses you back like he's starving—like you're the first thing he's ever been allowed to want.

Your hands are in motion before you can think. Clumsy, eager, pulling his shirt halfway out from where it's tucked into his sweats, feeling the heat of his stomach beneath your palms. You moan into his mouth and his hands squeeze your thighs in response, hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn't stop you when your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants. If anything, he kisses you harder. His tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it—owns you—and you're letting him. Begging for more.

Your hands are shaking when you fumble at the button of his slacks, but you manage to get it undone, your fingers brushing the trail of skin that dips below the waistband. Heeseung lets out a sharp, broken sound against your mouth—fuck—his head tipping forward, forehead resting against yours as you palm him through the fabric.

You weren't ready for how hard and heavy he would be in your hand. It was like the length of him just went on and on.

You feel the twitch beneath your palm and gasp, and his breath stutters like he's seconds from losing it.

"Jesus—" heeseung grits, his voice deep and wrecked. His head tips back, neck exposed, throat bobbing, you've never seen someone come undone like this.

He's panting now, hips shifting forward like he needs the friction, like your hand is the only thing anchoring him.

"Is this okay?" you whisper, breathless, your voice barely steady as you trace him again, bolder this time.

His eyes find yours, blown wide and unreadable, lips parted. "You're gonna kill me," he breathes, but he nods. "Don't stop. Please take it out, please."

Your hand moves again, more confidently now, doing as he says, and his mouth crashes into yours mid-moan—swallowing it whole, like he can't bear the sound of his own unraveling.

And when he groans into you, deep and guttural and feral, you feel it between your legs—hot and pulsing and near unbearable.

He grips your hips like he's trying to anchor himself—like you're the only thing holding him together. He's dragging you to the edge of the counter and pinning your hand behind you, it has you feeling dizzy—the way he has you pinned there, at his mercy.

Before you can pull away to look down at where you have your hand wrapped around him, he's picking you up off the counter yet again, carrying you and setting you down on the couch, ever so gently.

Heeseung is panting into your mouth, your bodies pressed flush—his chest against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist. The fabric between you is suffocating. His sweats are halfway down his hips, your jeans are already abandoned on the kitchen floor, along with your panties, your composure, and any shred of dignity you once clung to when it came to him.

He's got you caged between his body and the couch. One arm braced beside your head, the other skimming down your side until his fingers are slipping between your legs again. You jolt, gasping against his lips, forehead pressed to his as his fingers slide through the mess he's made of you.

"Fuck—" you whisper, clutching at the back of his neck.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice nothing but gravel and smoke, his thumb teasing your clit in slow, deliberate circles that make your spine curl. "You're perfect like this...I knew you'd come back."

You moan again, louder, desperate, rocking against his hand—your whole body begging for him.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses sloppier now, and then he's gripping himself, lining up with your entrance, breath hot and uneven against your cheek.

And then—

"Rina," he breathes.

You freeze for half a second.

It's soft—tender as a whispered prayer, effortless as a breath, a name escaping his lips before he even realizes it.

But your brain doesn't quite catch it—not fully. You're too far gone. Too overwhelmed by the stretch of him nudging at your entrance, by the unbearable heat of his body, the quiet, feral groan rumbling from his chest.

You blink, dazed. "What...?"

But the next second, he's pushing in.

And everything else disappears.

Your body arches, mouth falling open around a choked cry as he fills you in one slow, devastating thrust.

The stretch burns in the best way, and Heeseung moans something guttural, animalistic, like the moment he's inside you he's forgotten his own name too.

"So tight," he groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he holds himself there, buried to the hilt. "Fucking heaven."

Your fingers claw at his back, your mouth finding the shell of his ear.

"Heeseung—move. Please—"

He pulls back, just enough to slam into you again, and you swear the stars tilt. His rhythm is brutal, relentless, every thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, and you're sobbing now—moaning into his mouth like you've lost your mind. Maybe you have.

Maybe he has.

Because he's whispering things you can't quite understand—fragmented pieces of something almost sweet, almost unhinged.

"My perfect girl... only mine... waited so long—so long—Rina..."

You hear it again. Clearer now, but you're too gone to stop. Too full of him to question it. Your body writhes beneath his like it's what it was made for—like he's been carved into your DNA.

And you don't know what he means but something about the way he's holding you—possessive, reverent, frantic like he'll die without you—sends a chill up your spine even as you're unraveling around him.

Where they meet—the madness and the need—you don't know where you end and he begins. But you're already lifting your hips to meet his just to chase your high. You're pretty sure you're drooling now and by the way he looks down at you a smiles you know he likes what he seeing "You're so beautiful" "So tight wrapped aroun—" He keeps silencing himself with strangled moans, pulling back and sitting up, too overwhelmed to even remember he hasn't apologized for already being on the edge.

"I'm gonna c—" "Oh fuck fuck fuuuuckkk" He drawls on and on, you can feel your release coming too, in fact it almost feel like you're going to pee. "Don't stop! Heeseung! Fuck!" You moan loudly, yanking him down into a sloppy kiss before pushing his hips back, his cock slipping wet and twitching from your cunt. Without pause, your fingers find your clit, working it in savage, relentless circles, each one followed by a sharp slap that makes your thighs jolt. "Fuck—shit!" you cry out, body arching as a hot stream shoots from you, splattering across his stomach and chest.

His breath catches—eyes blown wide, chest heaving—watching you lose control all over him "You're so sexy". You haven't even caught your breath when he suddenly takes over again, letting the mess spill from you as if your trembling doesn't matter, pushing you down and driving himself deep into the pulsing aftermath still rippling through your body.

"Cum on my cock again, please" "Need you to, Rina—Fuck! I'm so close!" He's mumbling half incoherent half desperate and your overstimulated self doesn't seem to hear the alarm bells ringing in your head at the name he just called you again.  You're already on the brink again, trembling and aching for it, and when it finally crashes through you, it's because Heeseung drags it out with no mercy. He pulls out, cock dripping, and fists it furiously as he paints your stomach—but he doesn't let your cunt stay empty. Two fingers slam back into your soaked hole, curling deep and fast, forcing you to squirt all over his wrist as he talks you through it with a low, filthy grin.

You're both trembling.

Sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin. Harsh breathing. The deep, ragged quiet of two people who forgot where they were, who they were, what any of this even meant. He slumps forward, collapsing into you with a half-groan, half-laugh, and you let your fingers drift up his spine, your body humming with aftershocks.

You don't say anything and neither does he, not for a long, long moment.

Then he pushes up, slowly, gently—his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you off the couch. You whimper softly from the sensitivity, clinging to his shoulders.

"Come on," he says, voice raw and low. "Shower."

Your limbs feel like water, but you nod, letting him carry you. He walks the both of you to the massive bathroom like you weigh nothing—like you're still something precious in his arms—and sets you down on the warm tile floor. The shower clicks on, hot water spraying against his hand as he checks the temperature, then guides you under it with him.

The moment the water hits you, you shiver—more from the way he's looking at you than the heat. His gaze doesn't drop once. Not when he's rubbing gentle soap over your skin, not when he's rinsing between your legs with careful fingers, not when he presses a kiss to your shoulder like an apology he's too afraid to say aloud.

He doesn't speak until you're both out, towel-wrapped and damp.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, toweling off your hair with surprising tenderness.

You nod. And you don't stop him when he pulls one of his T-shirts over your head—soft and oversized, falling to your mid-thigh. You don't stop him when he pulls on a pair of boxers for you either, or when he leads you to the guest bedroom, the sheets cool and clean beneath your bare legs as you crawl under them.

He climbs in next to you, his body warm beside yours, and without a word, he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist like it's muscle memory.

There's no more heat. No more tension. Just his heartbeat against your back, his breath slow and steady in your ear and you fall asleep like that, in his clothes, in his bed, in his arms. Not thining about the name he whispered.

*•*•*

You wake up before Heeseung does.

There's no buzzing alarm, no sunlight breaking through the blackout curtains, but your body jolts upright anyway—like your soul remembered what your mind didn't.

Panic grips you first.

Jiyoon. She's definitely called. Probably texted. Maybe even filed a missing person's report.

You twist in the sheets, trying not to disturb the weight draped over your waist. Heeseung's arm. Heavy, possessive, warm. His hand is splayed over your hip like it belongs there.

You freeze. Your breath catches in your throat.

What did I do?

Your heart's racing as you carefully, carefully peel his arm off of you, shimmying toward the edge of the bed. You manage to get one leg off, then another, tiptoeing like a thief in the early morning hush—

"Why are you sneaking out?"

You squeak.

Spinning around, your hands instinctively fly to your chest, but you're still wearing his shirt. You breathe a little but then freeze again when you see him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep. His voice is low and scratchy—one of those voices that somehow sounds like velvet and gravel all at once.

You stare. And then it hits you—like a freight train right between the ribs. Everything he did to you. Every moan he pulled from your lips. The way he tasted. The way he touched you like you were something sacred and sinful at the same time. You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth like you can trap the memory there.

His brow lifts just slightly, eyes crinkling with amusement. "What am I gonna do with you?" he mutters, flipping back onto the bed with a sigh, one arm flung over his eyes. "You're trouble."

"I have to go," you say quickly, eyes darting to the door. "My friend is probably freaking out, she didn't know where I was—"

"Okay," he murmurs, voice muffled beneath his forearm. "But can I get a kiss?" You blink, feeling your heart stutter. Then, slowly, you cross the room again, padding back to the side of the bed. His arm lowers just enough to watch you. When you lean down, brushing your lips to his, he hums—like he's been waiting for that exact moment.

But just as you try to pull away, he grabs you. You yelp, landing on top of him with a soft thud as his hands anchor you by the hips. "Heeseung—" He kisses you again and t's not a chaste goodbye kiss this time. It's deeper, hotter—his lips moving slow and sure against yours, like he has all the time in the world. His tongue licks into your mouth, and you melt against him without thinking, your fingers clutching the soft fabric of his T-shirt over his chest.

You whine into his mouth. "I have to go..." He nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with a soft kiss before pulling back just enough to breathe. "Come back," he whispers. "Tonight. Seven o'clock."

You're blinking at him, breathless. "To... clean?" He shakes his head once, lips twitching. "No. I'll cook." You can't help it. You smile. It's shy and warm and completely helpless. "Okay," you whisper.

He lets you go then, but not before placing one last kiss on your cheek, right beneath your eye. "Don't be late."

You close the door to the guest bedroom behind you, twisting the handle slowly so it doesn't make a sound, like he might stir just from the click, not that he could even be asleep again. Your heart's still thudding, though softer now, your body still warm from how he held you—not just last night, but moments ago. You feel him on your skin. Between your thighs. In your mouth, even. You pad into the hallway, feet silent against the floor, and the penthouse feels even bigger in the morning, stretching out wide and echoey. Sunlight slips in through the tall windows of the living room, golden and faint, catching dust in the air.

Your clothes are everywhere. A trail—your bra laying on the kitchen floor with your jeans close by, your shirt hanging from the edge of a barstool like some kind of white flag.

You sigh.

You gather them quickly, cradling the bundle to your chest. But when you unfold your shirt—well, what's left of it—you remember the exact moment he took it off, how he looked at you like you were some forbidden fruit he'd gone too long without, you hadn't even realized he had ripped it. It's unsalvageable.

So you just... don't put it on. You slip your bra back on, then shrug his black shirt over it. It swallows you, soft and warm from sleep. You wiggle into your jeans next, the ones he peeled off of you. Your hands tremble as you do the button up.

Last thing—your phone. You search the couch. Nothing. Under the cushions. Still nothing. You check the kitchen counter, the bar, even crouch down to peek under the sofa. "Come on, come on..." Then finally, mercifully, you spot it near the edge of the carpet, half-tucked under the dining chair. You dive for it like it's oxygen and fumble to unlock it.

Ten missed calls. Three voicemails. Twenty-two messages.

All from one name. You don't even get a word out when you hit call—Jiyoon answers on the first ring. "You bitch." You wince. "Oh my god," she cackles. "You bitch. Where were you? Don't tell me—no, no actually, tell me everything right now."

"Ji—"

"You slept with him, didn't you? You fucking whore. You got that psycho dick, didn't you?! Tell me. Was it good? Was it crazy?!"

You cover your face with your hand, crouching down behind the kitchen island like you're trying to hide from the embarrassment sinking into your bones. "I'm coming home," you say weakly, voice still raspy from sleep and... everything else.

"Oh," Jiyoon says, tone shifting slightly. "I'm not home right now. I'm covering a shift for my lazy coworker. But I'll be back later—wait, wait, is he still there? Are you still there? What's he doing?"

"Jiyoon."

"What?"

"Bye."

You hang up.

Still pink-faced and hot, you shove your phone in your pocket, tug on your sneakers, and walk to the elevator with your head ducked low—like the doors might open and the walls themselves would whisper what happened between them. You're not sure how to feel. Still floating. Still wrecked. But you know you'll be back by 7.

*•*•*

You unlock the door to your apartment with shaking fingers, pushing it open slowly like you might find the night before still waiting for you on the other side. But it's empty, cause there's no Heeseung here. No soft piano notes echoing from hidden corners. No whispered "be back by seven." Just your little apartment, lived-in and warm and smelling faintly of vanilla from the candle Jiyoon must've lit last night. You step inside, close the door behind you, and lean back against it for a second. Just to breathe. Your body aches so deliciously and shamefully. Your lips are sore. Your thighs. Your heart.

You change into something soft and oversized before dropping onto your desk chair and logging into your online class, the kind of class that requires so much effort to focus on even when you haven't just had... whatever that was. The screen lights up. A professor you don't care about is already talking, already droning on about something you're not registering. You blink at the slides. The bullet points. You try. Really, you do. But your brain?

It's busy. Because it won't stop showing you his face in the dark. The way he hovered over you, lips parted, skin burning hot against yours. The way he touched you like you were something he needed to know. Memorize.

The way he whispered—low and wrecked—"Rina." You flinch.

It hits you all at once. You'd been so caught up in the moment, too far gone to process it then. But now? Now it loops. The way he said it. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Rina.

Who the hell is Rina? You shift in your seat, open a new tab, and hesitate. Your heart is racing again—not the good kind this time, as your hands tremble over the keyboard. Then you type it in regardless,

Lee Heeseung Rina

The search bar blinks at you. You hit enter. And there it is.

The very first result is a glossy thumbnail from three years ago. Heeseung in an interview, seated on a sleek navy couch, wearing black slacks and a gray button up sweater and a white shirt beneath it. He's smiling. That breathtaking smile you've only seen a few times up close, so effortless and disarming. You click the video.

The host laughs and leans forward. "Come on, Heeseung. Everyone wants to know. Who's Rina?" Heeseung chuckles, mouth tugging up at one side. You sit a little straighter.

"She's my first love," he says. "And probably the only one I'll ever love like that." The crowd awwws and your heart cracks like glass under pressure, you have pause the video. So she was real. A real woman.Someone he loved so deeply he admitted it on camera—publicly, permanently. Your throat closes up. Your chest tightens. He called you that name. Did he think of her while he was—. You don't even finish the thought. Instead, you search harder. Scroll deeper. You need to know what she looks like. If you look like her. If this is some messed up ghost-of-an-ex situation.

Another video pops up—this one titled "Behind the Scenes | Seoul Symphony Ensemble (ft. Lee Heeseung)"

You click it. The footage is candid, grainy. Heeseung's younger here, maybe only twenty or twenty-one, still too beautiful for it to be fair. The camera follows him backstage as he leads a film crew through the dim corridors of a concert hall. Then he stops, turns to the camera. "Come here," he says with a quiet laugh, gesturing to the next room. "You have to meet her." The camera jostles slightly as they follow. Heeseung walks up to a sleek, glossy black grand piano and runs his fingers across the keys. "This is Rina," he says, like he's introducing a person. His voice is reverent. Almost loving. "She's been with me since I was thirteen. She's...kind of everything to me."

You freeze.

The camera zooms in slightly. Heeseung brushes dust from the piano's surface with his sleeve, smiling at it so softly it hurts. "She's my first love." You sit there, staring, mind blank and full all at once.

Rina's not a person.

Rina's a piano.

A fucking piano. A part of you wants to laugh at your delusion but you don't, instead you just sit there.  Eyes glued to the screen. To him. To the way he's speaking—not to the camera, not even to the crew—but to the piano, like it's something alive. Like it's someone he's missed. Someone he still longs for in the softest, most ruined parts of himself. And that name—Rina—sits different now in your head. Not like a rival. Not like someone he's still in love with. But like... a memory. A feeling. Something that made him whole when the world couldn't.

Rina is his piano.

You let the video run, sound turned low, just watching him—barely twenty two, still beautiful, still broken. The way he presses one key gently and listens. How he says, she's been with me since I was thirteen. How he adds, she's my first love like it's a secret and a confession all at once. Your heart folds in on itself. Because in a way it makes sense now. The way he said your name last night, the way he whispered Rina instead—like he couldn't tell the difference. Like in his mind, in that haze of need and obsession and closeness, you had become something sacred. Something he hadn't let himself love in years. Something he used to play like music. And he'd touched you the same way—with reverence and hunger, as if trying to figure out where you end and he begins. You press your palm to your chest, like maybe you can settle your heartbeat if you hold it hard enough.

He doesn't see you as a replacement. You're not her. But in that moment, you think he felt something he hadn't in a long time. Something pure. Something familiar. Something maybe even terrifying. Heeseung, in his fractured, beautiful, obsessive mind, didn't just mistake you for his piano, he associated the moment—you—with what he once felt when he played Rina. And maybe he's so far gone he doesn't even realize he did it. And maybe you should be scared, but all you feel is this deep, warm ache in your ribs that won't go away. You close the laptop, completely forgetting about your class, and press your fingers to your lips. They still tingle from kissing him and you feel your stomach turn with excitement for the night to come.

*•*•*

You hear it before you see her. The clatter of her keys on the counter. The heavy sigh. And then, sharp—like a bullet of disbelief,  "YOU BITCH." "OH MY GOD." You don't even turn. Just let your eyes flutter shut and mentally brace for it. "You absolute filthy little minx," Jiyoon hisses, storming into the hallway in her work flats and crumpled apron, "Don't even try to deny it—I know you did it." "I'm not denying anything," you mumble, turning slowly to face her. She's halfway through unzipping her jacket, eyes wide, expression scandalized.

Your entire face bursts into flames. "Jiyoon—" "Oh my God, you did sleep with him." She points at you like she's witnessing a war crime. "You have sex hair. You're literally glowing. What the hell is that shirt? Wait—don't tell me." She takes a dramatic step back. "Is that his shirt?" You tug the hem instinctively. "It's just... something I had to wear. Mine got—um. Ripped." She stares at you. Blinks once. Twice. Then screams. "Oh my GOD. He ripped your clothes off? That's—like—that's premium movie-level sexy violence."

You bury your face in your hands. "Please lower your voice." "You didn't even text me last night!" she cries. "Do you know how worried I was? I thought he locked you in a cage or something!"

"I was busy," you say, voice strangled. "You were BUSY getting ravenously destroyed," she says, flopping onto the couch like the dramatics are too heavy for her legs. "Okay. Tell me everything. Don't leave out any of the details. Did he talk? Was it intense? Slow burn? Did he like—say your name all rough and gravelly or was he like, all quiet and crazy about it?" You hesitate.

You want to tell her and you almost do, but something about that moment—about everything that happened last night, the hazy weight of his body pressed against yours, his breath in your ear, how he held you like you were a prayer and a ghost all at once—feels too delicate. Too personal. You can't even begin to explain the shift you felt inside yourself, let alone the strange ache in your chest when he said that name. You swallow, keeping your voice light. "It was... really good."

Jiyoon lifts a brow. "That's it? Good?" You shoot her a look. "I'm not giving you a full play-by-play." She gasps. "So it was insane." "I'm gonna be late," you deflect, brushing past her to grab your phone. "I told him I'd be there at seven." "Ugh. Seven is such a romantic time."

"What does that even mean?" "Like. Not too early, not too late. Right in the middle. Candlelight o'clock." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You gonna let him feed you and then fuck you again?""Jiyoon."

"You are. Oh my God. Are you shaving again or are we doing stubble and surrender tonight?" You groan. "I can't talk to you about this." "Yes, you can," she says, pulling her hair into a bun. "We signed a roommate agreement, remember? Emotional nudity clause." You smile despite yourself. "Just wish me luck, okay?" She softens then, eyes scanning your face. "You like him." You hesitate, fingers pausing on your necklace clasp. "I don't know what I feel," you say truthfully. "It's... fast. Messy." "You don't do messy."

"Exactly." Jiyoon walks over, squeezes your shoulder. "That shirt looks hot on you, by the way. Like dangerously I-was-just-fucked-by-a-mentally-ill-man hot." "Thanks, I think."

"Be safe. Don't let him tie you to anything unless there's a safe word. Call me if he tries to perform an exorcism." You laugh, heading for the bathroom door. "You're gonna fall for him," she calls behind you. "You already are, huh?" But you don't answer, because you don't know that yet, and if you do, you're not ready to say it out loud.

You check the time again when it's 6:38 PM. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at you—doe-eyed, glossed lips parted slightly, a tiny knot of nerves cinched beneath your ribs. You smooth your hands down your dress for the fifth time, whispering to yourself under your breath like it might change something. "Okay," you murmur. "Just dinner. It's just... dinner." With Heeseung. At his penthouse. In a dress you specifically picked to walk the very fine line between I wanted to look nice for you and I definitely didn't spend two hours trying on everything I own. A dress that clings at your waist and floats at your knees and makes you feel pretty but also exposed. Not in a bad way, just... in a way that makes your skin feel watched. Known.

You hesitate in the doorway, staring down the hallway toward the stairs. And then you groan. "Nope. No way I'm taking the bus." You can already see it—you standing sandwiched between strangers, one arm clutching the overhead bar, the other yanking at your skirt, trying not to breathe too loud. You can feel the wrinkles forming just thinking about it. You'd show up looking like a disheveled little sandwich and Heeseung—Heeseung with his white linen shirts and leather watchbands—would tilt his head and maybe smile and maybe not say anything, but you'd know. You open your phone and call a cab.

It feels ridiculous. Extravagant even. But the moment you sink into the backseat, cool leather beneath your thighs and the city lights blinking past your window like slow breaths, something quiet settles inside you. You take a long, shaky inhale. Heeseung's face comes to mind. The way he looked last night—flushed and breathless and so terribly hungry for you, like you were the first and last thing he'd ever wanted. The way he whispered your name. Except—it wasn't your name. Not the first time. Your fingers tighten slightly on your bag and you push the thought away. You already made peace with it—told yourself it didn't mean anything. Not really. You'd seen the videos. You know what Rina is. And in some strange, abstract way, you think maybe you understand what happened better than you should.

Maybe he sees things in fragments—maybe he feels things in them too. Maybe last night, you reminded him of something he loved once so deeply he carved a home for it in his bones. And maybe tonight, you want him to start carving space for you instead. You glance atthe time on your phone, 6:53. Your stomach flutters. Are you nervous?

God—yes. Your knees won't stop bouncing, and your fingers keep picking at the edge of your dress. But you're also... excited.You don't know what's waiting for you on the other side of this ride—don't know if dinner will be awkward or sweet or laced with something heavier—but it feels like something real. Something different. And that terrifies you. Because you've never been looked at the way he looked at you last night. Not like you were music.

The cab pulls up to the building. You pay with shaky hands, thank the driver too softly, and walk inside. The elevator ride is a blur of breath-holding. The ding at the top floor even sends a jolt through your chest. And then you're standing in front of his penthouse door, your hand hovering, not sure whether to knock or just—. It's not locked. The knob turns and you step inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, and you're met with... silence. You take one hesitant step forward into the quiet space. It's too quiet. The air feels still in a way it didn't the last time you were here—when it was thick with the scent of his skin, his hands, your gasps and moans echoing off the walls like confessions. Now it's like the space is holding its breath again.

"Heeseung?" you call, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance at the clock on the wall, 7:01. You chew on your lip, glancing around. The kitchen looks untouched. There's no trace of movement, no clatter of pans or scent of dinner in the air. There's a single light on in the far corner by the bookshelves, casting golden shadows across the couch where he held you just hours ago, his mouth in your hair and his arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear. You exhale softly. "Heeseung?" you try again, louder this time, taking cautious steps farther in. Still nothing.

And then it hits you—you don't even have his number. You came here like some wide-eyed idiot with your heart between your teeth, expecting him to just be there, waiting, arms outstretched. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not hear the door, or might be upstairs, or might have changed his mind entirely.

God. You sink down onto the arm of the couch and try not to panic. You won't text Jiyoon—not yet. She'd tease you mercilessly and then probably tell you to go snoop in case he was sleeping with other people or something absurd. You don't want to snoop. You just want to see him. You shift in your seat, smoothing your dress again, tugging at the edge of it and check the time again, 7:06. You blink, already feeling defeated and ready to leave but then a sharp loud sound echoes from upstairs that has you snapping your head towards the stairs. There's another thud—louder this time—followed by a crash that sends a sharp jolt through your chest. Something shattered. And then, unmistakably, screaming. Blood-curdling. Ragged. Like pain clawing itself out of a throat too raw to hold it anymore.

Your breath snags. Your heart kicks into high gear. Your body's moving before your mind can catch up, instinct overriding hesitation as you bolt through the living room, past the grand piano, toward the stairs. Breaking every rule you were given when you first started working here, but that's the last thing on your mind.

He's upstairs. That's him—him screaming.You take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, fingers scrambling against the banister. When you reach the top, there's only one door that makes sense—tall and black, you sprint to it, chest heaving, and try the handle.

Locked.

Your fist slams against it before you can think. "Heeseung?!" There's no response—just another crash, something metallic this time, like a stand being thrown, maybe a chair. Your knuckles are pulsing against the wood. "Heeseung, open the door! Please!" Still no answer. Just a chorus of garbled words—frenzied, nonsensical, frantic.

"They changed the notes—don't you hear it? It's all wrong, out of key, they're inside the piano! Stop watching me! The rhythm's bleeding, I can't—" Another crash. "It's too loud in here, too loud in my head, make it stop!" Your blood runs cold. Something primal flickers inside you—panic morphing into something sharper, braver. You back up, brace your shoulder against the frame, and throw yourself forward.

Once. Twice—

CRACK.

The door flies open, and you stumble into the absolute chaos, the first thing you see is the floor, and at the center of it all; a piano or what's left of one. Splintered wood. Torn wires. Ivory keys cracked like teeth knocked from a skull. You recognize it instantly. Rina.

There more glass and splintered wood than floor beneath her. Crumpled sheet music. A chair lying on its side. Blood. Blood like paint streaked across the wooden floor, thin trails leading to—

Him. Heeseung.

Standing in the center of it all like a broken monument. There's a deep gash across his forearm, blood still dripping sluggishly onto his hand and down his knuckles. His chest rises and falls too fast, ribs pushing sharply beneath skin that gleams with sweat. His hair sticks to his face. His eyes—wide, unseeing, glazed with something far away and chaotic and terrifying—don't register you at first. He's breathing like he's drowning.

You try to speak, to talk to him, but your throat won't open. He moves before you can. Quick, jerky. Like his body's not entirely his own. He spins, stares at the wall like it's speaking to him, fingers twitching at his sides. "They changed the notes," he mutters. "They changed the fucking notes." His voice is shredded. Raw. Like he's been screaming for hours. Maybe he has. You take one step closer, and your heel lands on a snapped piano key. It clicks beneath your foot like a trigger. He whips around, eyes on you now, all wild, unhinged and unfocused. "Who are you?" he rasps.

You freeze. The question slices clean through you. Your mouth opens, but your voice won't come. Heeseung stares, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the brown. His hands curl and uncurl like he's not sure if he wants to reach for you or strangle you. "Who are you?" he repeats. "Why are you watching me? Are you one of them?"

Them? Your heart stutters. "Heeseung..." you whisper, finally finding your voice. "It's me." But he flinches like you've struck him. You take another step and watch as he instinctively steps back. "No," he whispers. "No—Rina? I'm so sorry. I hurt you. You were perfect and I ruined you. My perfect girl. Please forgive me." Your breath catches.

"It's okay, it's okay." You don't know where it comes from. Maybe instinct. Maybe desperation. Maybe the way his voice cracks like the word is a wound. "I forgive you," you say, voice steadier this time. "I came back for you." His mouth parts and his whole body stills. You can see the thought slotting into place behind his eyes, crooked and trembling and fragile. But it settles. "...Rina?" You nod. "I'm here."

He walks toward you slowly. So slow. Like every step might set him off again. And still, you don't move. His bloodied hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek—his touch clumsy and too hard at first, like he doesn't remember how to be gentle. But then it softens. His palm cups your jaw, and he leans in so close his breath skates across your lips. "I knew you'd come back," he murmurs. Your throat tightens and swallow around the ache, allowing him to press his forehead against yours. "I'm here now."

"Don't leave," he breathes. "Please don't leave me again. The music stops when you're gone. It stops and I can't breathe, I can't—"

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper. He leans back just enough to look at you. The way he's looking now—it breaks you, because there's no rage or wildness. Just pure, shivering exhaustion. He's unraveling at the seams, and you're the only thread keeping him together. "I want to play," he says softly. "Let me play you."

You nod. And when he tugs you toward the mangled piano, you follow. It's barely standing. The legs are cracked. One pedal's missing. The keys are uneven—some bloodied, some broken. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't sound. But he sits on the shattered bench, breath hitching, and gently pulls you onto his lap.

You settle there, straddling him, your dress bunching slightly against the rough edge of the wood. Your hands brace on his shoulders. His arms wrap around you, drawing you closer. And then—fingers trembling—Heeseung presses his hands to the keys. The sound is... haunting. Off. Warped. But he plays anyway. A melody, jagged and soft. A lullaby with broken bones. The piano cries beneath his touch, but he keeps playing. For you, because of you, it all makes your chest ache for him, you even feel your eyes sting. And all you can do is hold him, let him pour whatever's left of himself into the broken body of his piano—into you.

Because right now, in this room thick with blood and chaos and ghosts, you're the only thing anchoring him to earth. The music tumbles out of him in discordant bursts, crooked and aching like his mind, like his body—like whatever this is between you. And you swear, you'd let him play you forever. But then his fingers slip, not from the broken keys, but because your breath stutters against his jaw. He stills, drifting one hand away from the piano to find your waist instead, the other continues to play, the curve of your back—and then he's holding you so tight you feel the blood from his arm soak warm through your dress.

You don't flinch.

He tilts his face up, searching yours. Your lips part, not for words, but for the way his mouth captures yours the second you breathe in. It's so so desperate. A kiss that tastes like iron and sweat and the kind of madness that wants to be known, wants to be seen.

You whimper into him, clutching at the front of his shirt, and his hands are already moving—shaky, hurried, needing—grabbing at your dress, dragging it up your thighs as if he doesn't care it's stained now, doesn't care it's soft and new and something you wore for him.The keys beneath you clatter with each shift of your hips, and his fingers fumble at the zipper on your side like it's fighting him. He groans low in his throat, kissing you harder, tongue sliding hot against yours as if he's trying to crawl inside of you—trying to disappear there, to lose the noise in his head.

"You came back," he gasps against your mouth. "You really came back—" You nod, breathless, eyes wet, thighs tightening around his waist. "I told you I would." He tugs the dress down your shoulders, hands smeared with red, smearing it onto you, painting you with it. It sticks to your collarbones, your arms, a fever-warm trail of devotion and ruin, but you don't stop him.

He's kissing you like he needs this to survive, like he'll lose his mind all over again if you pull away. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he groans at the way you pull, his mouth moving from your lips to your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—biting, tasting his blood smeared there, claiming. You tremble. And then his hand is between your legs, cupping you through your panties, a low, reverent moan tearing from his chest when he feels the heat there. "For me," he mutters, delirious. "You're like this for me."

"Yes," you breathe, rolling your hips into his hand, nails clawing at his back through his shirt. "Only for you." He groans again, like the words unmake him.

Your dress is halfway down your body, straps hanging off your arms, and you're so tangled together that it's hard to tell whose limbs are whose. He continues kissing you then like a vow. Like salvation. And everything else—the broken piano, the screaming from earlier, the sharp pain in your back from the cracked lid—fades to nothing. The music stutters beneath you—sharp, erratic keystrokes like a hymn being pulled apart at the seams.

But he doesn't stop playing. Even as his bloody fingers slip over the ivories, even as his other hand bunches your dress up around your hips, even as you gasp into his mouth and his teeth catch your bottom lip hard enough to sting. You're still straddling him, thighs trembling on either side of his lap, and he's shifting beneath you like he can't get close enough, like the distance between your bodies is an insult to the devotion he's shaking with.

"Heeseung," you whisper, breath hitching as his hand slides between your legs, the fabric of your panties clinging to you wet and ruined. "Please—" "Shh," he hushes, mouth dragging down your neck, blood and spit slick on your skin. "It's okay, it's okay—I got you, baby, I got you—" His fingers tremble as he pushes the fabric aside, clumsy and rushed, and you flinch when his knuckles brush over you. He groans against your throat, hand gripping your hip like he might break it, like it's the only anchor he has.

"Fuck, you're so warm—" he pants, "—I missed you so much, I missed you—" You don't know if he's talking to you or to her, to Rina, to whatever memory he's tangled you up with—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he's freeing himself beneath you with frantic hands, moaning under his breath as he fumbles himself through his sweats, panting into your collarbone like he's on the verge of falling apart. And then he's there. Thick, flushed, already so hard it makes your head spin. He grips your thighs, pulling you up just enough—just enough to align—and then sinks you down onto him in one ragged, choking breath.

You cry out, clenching around him, thighs shaking. Heeseung's head snaps back, a guttural sound ripping from his throat, and his hands clamp down on your hips like he's afraid you'll vanish again. "Oh my God—" he gasps, "—move, baby, please, come on—come on—"

He's twitching inside you already, so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he's begging for more. Encouraging you, pushing up into you while his hands guide your hips, while his fingers—still stained with his blood—return to the keys beneath him, pressing out that same broken melody. You try to move—hips rising, sinking—but it's messy. Desperate. Your thighs burn, your breath hitches, and your forehead presses to his as he whispers, "Just like that, just like that—don't stop—don't stop—" The piano groans beneath you both. His legs tremble. Your panties are barely hanging on, twisted and soaked, caught somewhere between you, and still—still—he keeps playing.

Keeps playing through the rise and fall of your bodies, through the wet slap of your hips, through the breathless moans and the ache and the madness. He's shaking beneath you. His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your sobs, blood smearing from his wrist to your waist as he holds you tighter—deeper—closer.

"I knew you'd come back," he whispers, forehead to yours. "You always come back to me." You can't answer. You can only cry out his name, again and again, as the notes beneath you unravel into chaos and crescendo Your fingers claw at his shoulders as you rock against him, pace faltering with every thick thrust. The bench groans beneath your bodies, protesting under the weight of it all, but you don't stop. Neither of you could if you tried.

His hands are all over you—up your back, into your hair, clawing at your waist like he doesn't know where to hold, just that he has to hold somewhere.

The piano is completely forgotten now. The keys he was so desperate to press—abandoned mid-chord, half-played notes frozen under bloodied fingertips. But Heeseung's mouth is moving and he's moaning something. At first it's a whisper, hoarse and uneven, barely above the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again. But then—clearer, louder— "Y/N... oh my god, Y/N—" You halt for a second. Barely. Just long enough to catch your breath. To hear him. Your name—your name, not his pianos—spilling from his lips like prayer, like apology, like it's the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Heeseung's head drops to your shoulder, and he's panting your name again, so sweet and unguarded it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. "Y/N," he gasps, "you feel so good, baby—fuck—so good—" It's like he sees you now. Really sees you. And his hands are softer now, less frantic, still trembling but reverent in how they hold you—his thumb brushing your waist, his other hand cradling your jaw as he lifts your face to his.

Your noses bump. His eyes search yours like he's never seen anything more precious. "It's you," he whispers, almost awed. "It's really you..."He leans in, kissing you like the world's finally slowed down, like he's finally returned to it. To you. And when you move again—hips grinding, slow now, deeper—he moans your name into your mouth, over and over like it's his undoing. Each syllable spills from him shakily, soaked with disbelief and want and something that almost sounds like worship.

Your hands find his cheeks, thumbs stroking where the dried tears have clung to his skin, and when you whisper his name back, soft and breathless, he shudders. Heeseung's forehead presses to yours. You feel him twitch inside you, thighs clenching around him as you both near that terrible, beautiful edge again, and he breathes your name one last time— "Y/N, I'm—fuck—I'm gonna cum, baby, please—stay with me—stay—" Your hips stutter. His hands seize. And then everything splinters—. Your name tears from his throat in a ragged moan, your own lips parted in soundless release as your body collapses forward, curling into his chest like instinct.

Heeseung's arms close around you immediately. One low on your spine, the other twisted into your hair, as if he can press you into him hard enough to keep you there forever. Your pulse throbs everywhere. Between your legs, in your throat, under your tongue. Heeseung is trembling beneath you, arms loose but shaking, chest heaving like he's run for miles and only now stopped to breathe.

He's still inside you. Still in you, cradled and connected and caught in the softness of what just happened. No piano. No ghosts. Just this.You shift slightly, just to catch your breath, and he shudders around you with a hoarse gasp. His head drops to your shoulder, face buried in the crook of your neck. You stay there a while. No words. No need. Just the sound of the wind against the high windows, the echo of your breathing, and the quiet creak of a broken piano bench holding two too-lost people.

Eventually, his fingers twitch against your waist. "Y/N," he breathes, voice scratchy and soft. You hum, stroking the sweaty strands of hair back from his temple. Your touch is gentle, slow, grounding. He lifts his head—eyes glassy, wide and wet around the edges. You watch them drop down, settle on the stains between you, the faint blood still smudged across his hands and chest. He catches your wrist.Brings your fingers—still trembling—to the mess of red streaked across his ribs. The open cuts from earlier have mostly clotted, but the wounds are still fresh, angry-looking, like they're still listening to the madness that tore them open. He presses your palm there, over his heart.

"This body..." he whispers, eyes still downcast. "It belongs to too many ghosts." Your chest tightens, but you don't pull away. Instead, your fingers spread gently over the damp skin of his chest, pressing softly, reverently. You guide his gaze up to meet yours. "It belongs to me tonight," you murmur, voice quiet but sure. "It's okay, Heeseung. I've got you."

He blinks hard and for a second, something in him flickers. Something soft. Almost boyish and safe. Then his forehead presses against yours again. He leans into the cradle of your hands like he's never been touched this way before—like he doesn't know what to do with it. "...Don't let go yet," he whispers. "I won't," you promise. "Not tonight." Heeseung's head is resting against yours, your hand still pressed to his chest, when he whispers it. So faint, it's nearly lost in your breathing.

"...Call her." You pull back a little, brushing your nose against his cheek. "Hm?" He blinks slowly, like the exhaustion is hitting him all at once. "Phone's somewhere here, on the shelf by the metronome. Just—tell her it's bad, she'll come." You stare back into his eyes cluelessly,

"My nurse".

You nod, slipping gently off his lap. He groans softly at the loss of you but doesn't stop you. Doesn't move at all, really—just tilts his head back against the edge of the bench, hair damp with blood sweat and tears. You find the phone where he said it would be, swipe up, and call the nurse. She picks up after one ring. You tell her to come and you don't have to say much more—she must be used to these calls by now. And as you're hanging up, you hear him say it behind you, low and soft, "Thanks... for coming upstairs."

You turn, heart squeezing. He's still sitting there, shirtless and smeared in blood, legs parted like he couldn't stand if he tried. But he's looking at you—really looking—and something about it makes your breath catch in your throat.

You walk over. Kiss his forehead. Then slip into the bathroom for towels, water, and cleaner. By the time the nurse arrives, you're back upstairs, on your knees by the piano, gently gathering the shattered ivory keys and splintered wood into a pile. You've scrubbed some of the blood from the floor, though the stains are stubborn. The piano looks gutted—her insides exposed, wires torn and twisted like veins. Your heart aches again. Not for the piano. But for him.

Heeseung, who stayed downstairs. Who let someone else tend to him while you tried to do what you could for the mess he left behind. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs, then his voice—calmer now, hoarse, but steady. "Leave it." You glance over your shoulder. He's standing there, freshly bandaged, a clean shirt half-buttoned and hanging loose on his frame. The nurse must have left quietly.

"I'm still your cleaner, remember?" you say lightly, trying to ease the air. "Let me do my job." His lips twitch. But there's something softer in his eyes now—something closer to sorrow than amusement.

"You're more than that." You pause and look down at the broken keys in your hands. "I know."

And he comes to you—sinks down beside you on the floor, still moving slowly like he's holding his bones together by sheer will—and rests his forehead to yours again. Neither of you says anything else, you just sit in the wreckage of something beautiful. Together.

*•*•*

It's hard to say how much time has passed. Days, maybe. Weeks. The kind that blur together, quiet and golden at the edges, like light filtered through gauze. The scar on Heeseung's arm is healing well—just a thin red seam now, barely visible when he rolls his sleeves up. He doesn't try to hide it anymore.

You're downstairs today. The sun is dipping low and warm across the windows, lighting up the dust motes dancing in the air. The piano stands rebuilt, restored—not the same one from upstairs, but something new. Something you picked out together.

You're sitting beside him on the bench, your knees touching. Heeseung's hands are guiding yours across the keys with quiet patience.

"No, baby, focus" he murmurs, laughing when you hit the wrong note again. "That's an A, not a G."

"I am focused," you argue, shoulders tensing in mock defense. "I just—I forgot which finger goes where." He leans closer, brushing his lips against your temple. "The one I showed you. Your third finger. C'mon. Try again." You exhale, pouting a little as you reposition your hands. Heeseung watches you with a softness that folds itself into the corners of his smile.

You press the keys again. It's still wrong. You groan dramatically. "Ugh, why is this so hard?" And he can't help it—he grabs your chin and kisses you mid-pout. Quick and warm. The kind of kiss that says you're the most precious thing I've ever ruined myself for.

Your lips curve into a grin beneath his. He chuckles. "You know what I think?"

"Hm?"

"I think you just like messing up so I'll kiss you."

You nudge him with your shoulder. "Maybe." Heeseung leans in again. A little slower this time. A little deeper. Then his hands return to the keys. And so do yours.

You sit like that a while—two shadows against the shine of the piano, laughter and missed notes echoing softly in the room. And if someone were to peek in just then, they might think it's a simple thing. A boy and a girl, and a piano between them. But it's not. It's an anchor. A promise. A world rebuilt from ash and ghosts and broken music.

And maybe you never learned to play perfectly, but he never stopped telling you you were the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.

➺ taglist-

@immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji

©️ nephynes 2025

Heeseung is the sun around which the entire campus orbits.

He’s the captain of the basketball team, the big star whose name echoes through the packed arena during every game. With his lean yet athletic build, dark hair that falls over his sweaty forehead after a match, and that lazy half-smile that screams trouble while charming every girl in sight, he moves like he’s always being watched — and he is. Every head turns when he walks by, the crowd in the hallways parting like the sea for him and his teammates. He loves the attention.

Everyone knows the stories about Heeseung. He doesn’t do relationships — he rotates. A new girl every week, sometimes every day if he’s in the mood. They’re often seen leaving his apartment late at night, or early in the morning if he feels like letting them stay over, hair messy and wearing his team jacket like a trophy.

He usually doesn't appear with them in public, but it doesn't take long for the chosen girl to start gossiping in the hallways about how she's being fucked by him. That doesn’t last long though, because once the thrill fades he ignores them completely, never answering their messages once the weekend is over. "Let’s just have fun," he says, and the girls always agree, secretly believing they’ll be the one to change him.

You’ve been watching him from afar for months, studying the way he laughs too loudly at parties with his arm around whatever girl he’s with at the moment, the way his hand rests on her lower back as he guides her through the crowd, and how his eyes scan the room like he’s already searching for the next target while the current one is still pressed against him. It should disgust you — the casual way he uses people, the trail of broken hearts he leaves behind without remorse. But it doesn’t disgust you. It feeds you.

Deep down, in that secret place where you allow yourself to be completely honest, you want to be one of them. Not just another weekly girl — you want to be the one who breaks the pattern, the one so unforgettable, so incredible in bed and out of it, that Heeseung, the campus player, finally chooses you for good.

The problem is you have no idea how to make that happen.

You’re a virgin, completely untouched. The closest you’ve ever gotten to intimacy was an awkward, too-long hug with your best friend Jake after a tough week of exams. Approaching Heeseung as you are now — inexperienced, nervous, and clumsy — would never work.

"He likes confident girls, experienced ones who know how to dominate and be dominated in equal measure, because he doesn’t waste time teaching the basics. He expects you to already know how to please him." That’s what you heard from one of his teammates.

So after watching him leave the court with yet another girl on his arm, you make a decision.

You’re going to practice.

You’re going to transform yourself into the perfect girl for him — experienced enough to impress him, confident enough to stand out, and irresistible enough that when he finally notices you, he won’t be able to let you go.

────────

You stand outside Jake’s dorm room long enough for your legs to start aching. Your best friend’s room has always been your safe haven — the perfect spot for late-night study sessions, movie marathons, and listening to him ramble excitedly about sci-fi. Jake is kind, a bit nerdy in the best way possible, like a golden retriever with brown hair, a sweet smile, and glasses.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door.

Jake opens it almost immediately and breaks into a wide smile the moment he sees you. "Hey, what took you so long? Come in— wait, are you okay? You look tense."

You step inside and sit on the edge of his bed, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. Jake drops into his desk chair and pulls it closer so he’s facing you directly, his knees almost brushing against yours. "Jake… I need to talk to you about something kind of crazy, embarrassing, and probably really stupid."

He tilts his head, curiosity sparkling behind his glasses. "You know you can tell me anything. What’s going on?"

You tell him everything — how you’ve been watching Heeseung for months, how every time you see him with someone new, something deep in your chest twists, not exactly with jealousy, but with desire. You share the rumors you’ve heard about how he likes girls who know what they’re doing, girls who can match his intensity. Finally, you admit that you want to be the one he chooses — not just for a week, not for a fling, but for good.

"But I’m a virgin, Jake," you whisper, your cheeks burning. "I’ve never even… I don’t know what I’m doing. So if I tried to approach him like this, he’d probably laugh."

Jake’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t interrupt.

"So I’ve decided… I’m going to practice. I’m going to get experience so that when I finally have my chance with Heeseung, I’ll be good enough that he won’t want anyone else."

Silence stretches between you as Jake stares at you for a long moment. He pushes his glasses up, his expression soft — not mocking, not disgusted. Just… Jake. "Wow. That’s… a lot. Heeseung, huh? I mean, I get it, but you’re really willing to do all that for him?"

Biting your lip, you nod. "I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about it. And… I was hoping you’d help me with the first part."

Your voice drops until it’s almost inaudible. "I want you to be my first. I want to lose my virginity with you. You’re my best friend and I trust you. I know you’ll be gentle, you won’t laugh at me or tell anyone. Please, Jake?"

His cheeks flush pink and for a second it looks like he might say no. "You… you want me to what? Oh my God. I don’t even know what to say."

He lets out a nervous laugh, a mix of surprise and something he’s always kept hidden. "I’ve never thought about you like that before or… okay, maybe I have, a little. But you’re serious? This is all for Heeseung?"

"Yes, but right now it’s about learning with someone safe, someone who cares. And that someone is you."

Jake stays quiet for a moment while he thinks, then reaches out and takes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Okay… if we’re really going to do this, I want it to be right for you. Not just jumping in headfirst." His thumb keeps tracing slow, soft circles on the back of your hand. "You’ve never done any of this before, right? Not even… by yourself?"

You swallow hard, staring at your intertwined fingers, and admit softly, "No… I mean, I tried rubbing against my pillow once and it felt good, I think? But I got scared and stopped. I don’t know what I’m doing, Jake. That’s why I need you to help me learn."

Jake nods, adjusting his glasses — a nervous habit — with flushed cheeks, but his voice stays as gentle and patient as always. "That makes sense. But before anyone else touches you, you should get to know your own body first. What feels good, what you like. It’ll make everything easier later… for him and for you."

He hesitates for a second, then adds with a small reassuring smile, "Do you trust me enough to try this now? With me here?"

Your heart races with a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "Yes, I trust you. Just… tell me what to do, please."

Jake stands up slowly and sits beside you on the bed. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple, then to your cheek. "Start by getting comfortable. Lie back, and maybe take off your sweater if you want to and feel okay with it."

You do as he says, pulling off your sweater and setting it aside so you’re left in just your tank top and jeans. "Good," he murmurs. "Now touch yourself under your clothes first, over your stomach, along your thighs… feel how your body reacts."

You slide your hand beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. Your fingers graze the soft skin of your belly, then move higher, gently caressing one of your breasts. It feels strange doing this while he watches, but his gaze isn’t hungry or demanding — it’s warm and encouraging, like he’s looking at something precious. When your fingertips brush your nipple, a small sigh escapes you.

"Right there. That’s good. Circle slowly and squeeze just a little."

As he speaks, his own hand drifts down to the front of his sweatpants and then he starts touching himself gently over the fabric, not even trying to hide it. Knowing he’s getting hard just from watching you makes your breath hitch.

Following his instruction, you circle and lightly pinch your nipple, feeling a warm sensation build low in your belly. "Jake, it feels so good…"

"Tell me," he encourages, his hand moving in slow strokes that match the rhythm of your breathing. "Does it make you wet between your legs?"

"Yes," you sigh.

"Keep going, slide your other hand into your jeans and touch yourself over your panties if you’re not ready for more yet."

With your free hand you obey, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping inside. The fabric of your panties is already damp when you press your fingers against yourself and rub lightly, drawing a soft whimper from your throat.

Both of your breathing grows heavier with every second. Jake pushes his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself, stroking slowly while he watches every movement of your fingers.

"Fuck, that’s beautiful," he breathes, the words slipping out like he can’t hold them back. "Rub your clit. Find the spot that feels best."

You circle your clit, experimenting with pressure and rhythm, rolling your hips when you finally discover the perfect way to touch yourself. Jake’s eyes stay locked on your hand while his own speeds up, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock with every stroke.

"Inside your panties now," his voice still gentle but strained. "Feel how wet you are. Explore your body, learn what it likes so you can show someone exactly what you need."

You push your panties aside and slide a finger along your slick folds. "Slide a finger inside, babe," he says and when you do, a moan escapes your lips — it’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Jake groans with the sight, his hand moving faster on himself.

"Add another finger and curl them a little. Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so good, babe." His praise makes you bolder, so you start pumping your fingers slowly, rubbing your clit with your thumb at the same time, while your free hand keeps playing with your breast, pinching harder as the pleasure rises.

"You’re getting close, aren’t you? I can tell by the way you’re breathing. Let it happen. Imagine how good it’ll feel when I’m inside you." His words push you over the edge.

Moaning Jake’s name, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation, your body tenses and your thighs tremble uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes through you. Waves of heat pulse around your fingers, deeper and stronger than you ever imagined.

"Fuck, don’t do this to me." His hand strokes faster until he groans and comes too, spilling over his fingers with a shaky breath.

For a moment, the room falls quiet except for your shared breathing. Jake leans in and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his glasses tilting slightly. "Hey… you still with me? How are you feeling after that? Overwhelmed?"

You shake your head and let out a small giggle. "I’m good. Really good, actually." Reaching up, you gently fix his glasses and whisper, "Thank you for being so patient with me, Jake. I know this is probably weird for you too."

He smiles, and it makes you smile back naturally. "It’s not weird. At least not with you. Honestly, seeing you like that… it was beautiful. You’re beautiful." He leans in and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, giving you time to calm down while his hand rests on your hip and his thumb draws slow circles on your skin. "If you want to keep going, I’m right here."

You bite your lip, the mix of nerves and curiosity warms your body all over again. This is supposed to be practice — each new sensation is another skill you’re learning — but right now, with him, it feels like something more.

"I want more," you admit, cheeks burning. "Can you… use your mouth on me? I’ve heard it feels really good, but I don’t know what to expect."

Jake’s eyes widen for half a second. "Yeah, I’d love to do that for you." He moves carefully on the bed, helping you adjust the pillows behind your head so you’re comfortable. "Just relax and tell me what feels good, okay? If anything is too much or not enough, say so. Promise?"

"Promise." You extend your pinky toward him and he does the same, linking them together to seal the promise.

He starts with soft kisses on the inside of your knee, then higher up your thigh. Every touch of his lips sends shivers across your skin. "Your legs are already shaking," he murmurs with a low chuckle against your thigh. "That’s so cute."

When his mouth finally reaches your center, it’s feather-light at first — just his lips brushing against your folds — but it’s enough to make you draw in a sharp breath and grip the sheets tightly.

Then his warm tongue drags upward in one long, torturous lick from your entrance all the way to your clit. The feeling is wet, hot, and incredibly intimate, the texture of his tongue adds a new layer of friction that makes your hips jerk involuntarily.

"My God, Jake…" The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Good?" he asks, pulling back just enough for you to see his glistening lips as he looks up at you.

"Yes… really good. Do that again, please."

With more confidence this time, he explores every inch of you — licking along your folds, circling your clit, then moving down to taste your entrance. The wet sounds of him pleasuring you only heighten the arousal building in your belly.

Jake hums in satisfaction as he finds the rhythm you like best, reading it from your moans. "You taste incredible… so hot and wet."

You reach down and thread your fingers through his soft hair. "Right there, when you suck on my clit, it feels so good."

He listens immediately, sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and applying gentle suction while his tongue flicks against it, making the pleasure intensify, stronger than before.

The smooth glide of his tongue, the occasional careful graze of his teeth, and the way he alternates between lavishing attention on your clit and licking down to dip inside you make heat spread through your core — it radiates outward until even your fingertips feel warm. You grow even wetter, and Jake groans in appreciation, licking up every drop like he can’t get enough.

"Jake, I think I’m getting close again," you gasp, your voice breaking into a loud moan as he sucks harder on your clit. Your hips move against his face instinctively, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he doubles down with his tongue. This orgasm builds differently — deeper, more overwhelming — and when it crashes over you, it hits with a full-body shudder.

You cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure pulse through your center. Jake keeps licking you through it all, drawing out every tremor until you’re panting and oversensitive.

He finally lifts his head, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand before leaning over you again. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes shine behind his glasses, and a proud little smile plays on his lips. "You okay? That looked like it felt really good."

You laugh breathlessly. "It was incredible… I didn’t know I could feel so sensitive down there."

Jake chuckles softly. "Good. That’s kind of the point of all this practice, right? Learning what you like." His hand slides over your body again, stopping just above your mound as his fingers trace lazy patterns across your skin. "Are you sure you want me to take your virginity? Your body’s already experienced so much tonight. Maybe you need a break."

You shake your head, caressing his face. "I don’t need a break. I just want to feel your cock inside me, please."

One of his hands drifts lower until his fingers reach your wet entrance, circling it slowly. "I need to make sure you’re ready for me. I don’t want to hurt you. Relax and breathe out for me."

You do as he says, and he slowly presses two fingers inside you.

His longer fingers create a different sensation. The stretch borders on discomfort at first, making your walls clench tightly around the intrusion. "Ah— it’s tight," you whisper, gripping his shoulder. "It burns a little."

Jake freezes immediately. "Want me to stop? We can wait."

"No! Keep going. I want to get used to it."

He nods and presses a soft kiss to your temple. "You’re doing so well… so warm and snug around my fingers. What if I curl them just a little?" He demonstrates, stroking your inner walls gently until he brushes against a spongy spot that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

"Oh!" Your eyes widen. "Right there… my God, that feels so good."

"I found your g-spot," he says, clearly proud of himself. He keeps the movements shallow and slow, pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb draws gentle circles over your clit. The initial burning fades, turning into something hotter, slicker, and far more pleasurable.

"Add another one, Jake," you say after a few minutes, voice breathless. "I think I can take it."

Jake carefully slides a third finger in, the pressure increases and your walls flutter as they adjust to the stretch. Every curl of his fingers against that perfect spot sends waves of pleasure through your entire body, while his thumb on your clit keeps the arousal building higher.

"Talk to me, babe," he says, eyes fixed on your face. "How does it feel now? Too much?"

"It’s full… stretching me," you moan, your hips starting to move in time with his hand. "But it’s turning into something really good. Faster on my clit— yes, like that. God, Jake, your fingers are so deep."

He picks up the pace a little, thrusting more firmly and creating an overwhelming sensation in the best way possible. The pleasure keeps intensifying until your breathing comes in short gasps and your thighs tremble uncontrollably. "I’m getting close again. Please don’t stop."

Jake leans down to kiss your stomach, murmuring encouragement. "Come on, come on my fingers. Let go for me, babe."

You moan loudly, back arching as the orgasm hits you harder than the ones before. A deep wave crashes through you, making your inner walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. Jake keeps pumping slowly and carefully until the spasms ease, then gently pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth. "Your taste is addictive."

Smiling you reach up to brush a messy strand of hair from his forehead. "Jake… I want to go all the way. I want to feel you inside me, please."

Jake’s breath catches, then he sits up properly and reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.

"You actually have these," you say with a light teasing note in your voice.

He looks at you with a shy smile as he opens the packet and rolls the condom down his length. "Hey, Heeseung isn’t the only one on campus who has sex, you know? A guy can be prepared even if he’s not out at every party." Jake hovers over you, supporting his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. "You look so beautiful like this," he whispers, leaning closer and gazing at your lips.

"Can I?" When you nod, he captures your mouth in a slow, deep kiss filled with desire. His lips move to your cheek, your jaw, and then trail softly down the side of your neck, leaving a wet path that makes you shiver. He takes his time, giving attention to every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth and fingers. Only when both of you are breathing heavier does he settle between your legs and position himself.

"Breathe with me, okay? Slow and easy." You nod, inhaling as he begins to push inside.

The initial pressure is intense — a wide, stretching fullness that makes your breath hitch. Your walls stretch around his thickness in an overwhelming way and your body tenses as he sinks into you inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. "Oh my God…"

Jake stops immediately. "Hey, hey… look at me," he says, his voice full of concern. He kisses you softly on the lips, then your nose and forehead. "Is it too much? We can wait. I hate the idea of hurting you, even for a second."

You shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to ease the discomfort. "It’s a lot… really full and there’s some burning, but I want this."

To distract you from the stretch and help your body relax around him, he kisses you again. It works — the pain slowly turns into pressure, and then into something hotter and more intimate. "Okay, you can move a little more now."

Jake slides forward inch by inch until he’s fully inside you — every part of him is wrapped tightly in your heat, making you feel so connected, so completely filled, with a pleasant throbbing where your bodies meet.

"God… you feel incredible," he breathes, staying still for a moment while buried deep inside you. He covers you with more kisses. "So warm and tight around me. Tell me how you feel, babe."

"Full," you sigh. "So deep… it’s starting to feel really good."

Smiling against your skin, he begins rocking his hips in small, gentle movements. Each shallow thrust glides along your inner walls, brushing that sensitive spot and sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body. Jake keeps his eyes on yours, watching carefully for any sign of discomfort.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. "More kisses," you whisper softly, and he gives them freely — deep, passionate kisses that match the slow rhythm of his hips. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers beside your head as he sinks a little deeper and a little firmer. The pleasure builds gradually, a warm wave spreading from your center outward.

"You’re doing so well," he praises between kisses, his voice full of affection. "Look at you… my best friend, letting me do this. You feel perfect, so hot and slick around my cock." His free hand caresses your breast through your tank top, his thumb brushing your nipple in time with his movements, pulling more moans from you.

"Faster… just a little," you ask, voice breaking. "I want to feel more."

Jake obeys, finding a slow but steady rhythm that lets every thrust fill you completely, the head of his cock brushing that sweet spot over and over again. "Does this feel good for you too?" you ask between moans, wanting to make sure he’s enjoying it.

"God, yes," he groans. "You’re squeezing me so tight, but right now it’s all about you. I want you to come like this if you can."

You roll your hips to meet his thrusts, learning the rhythm and experimenting with how it feels to clench around him. Jake’s glasses are completely fogged up and slipping down his nose, he pauses just long enough to take them off and set them aside, then kisses you deeply as he resumes his movements.

"I’m getting there," you moan against his mouth. "Please don’t stop, Jake."

"I’ve got you." He shifts slightly, sliding one hand between your bodies to rub gentle circles over your clit. The extra stimulation pushes you right over the edge. Your walls flutter and clench hard around his cock as the orgasm crashes through you. You moan loudly, nails digging into his back while your body pulses around him.

Jake keeps thrusting softly through your climax, murmuring praises. "That’s it… so good. You’re incredible." Only when you start to come down does he let himself go. His hips snap a few more times before he buries himself deep and comes with a low, shaky groan, filling the condom.

For a long moment afterward, he stays inside you while both of you catch your breath. Then he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and cleans you both with a warm cloth from the bathroom. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft and full of concern. "No pain? I tried to be as gentle as possible."

You snuggle into the sheets, feeling a pleasant soreness between your legs and a deep sense of satisfaction. "I’m perfect. A little sore, but in a good way. You made my first time really special, Jake. You’re the best friend I could ask for."

The next morning, you wake up in his bed. The ache between your legs reminds you of everything — the careful way he touched you, the gentle thrusts, the tender kisses. It had all been perfect for your first time.

But as you slip out of bed carefully so you don’t wake him, a realization settles in your mind. It wasn’t enough. Not for what you really want.

Heeseung isn’t gentle. From the rumors, girls get pinned against walls, left breathless and marked. He likes control, intensity, rough hands. Jake would never give you that, even if you begged. He’s your best friend who worries about every little sound you make. He would never push your limits the way you suspect Heeseung would.

You also need to practice that side — the rougher kind of sex that leaves you deliciously sore, the kind that teaches you how to take and give back. You can’t show up to Heeseung soft and inexperienced if you want to stand out, if you want him to crave you for more than one night.

So you leave Jake a note on his desk. "Thank you for last night. Let’s talk soon," and head back to your dorm with a new determination.

────────

That weekend, the hockey team is throwing a big party at their off-campus house — an event that always draws a different crowd from the basketball scene. There’s no explosive feud between the teams, just a quiet rivalry and enough tension that basketball players rarely show up at hockey parties and vice versa. It’s perfect. No chance of running into Heeseung or his circle, and you need that space to level up without any complications.

You take extra time getting ready because you want to be noticed. You choose a short black dress that hugs your curves, the hem riding high on your thighs. It’s simple but dangerous — low neckline, thin straps, the kind of outfit that makes you feel powerful when you look in the mirror. You add a bit more makeup than usual, nothing too dramatic, and slip into heels that make your legs look longer.

The hockey house is already packed when you arrive. Hockey players in their varsity jackets, girls in tight dresses, and red solo cups everywhere. You grab a drink and wander through the crowd, heart racing with anticipation.

That’s when you see him.

Sunghoon, the captain of the hockey team, is standing near the kitchen island, leaning against the counter like he owns the place — and he does. He has a cold, almost untouchable aura that makes people shiver when he walks by. His teammates laugh around him, but he only offers a slight, distant smile, like he’s above it all.

Your eyes meet across the room and he doesn’t look away. Instead, his gaze slowly travels down your body, taking in the dress you chose so carefully, before returning to your face. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips — not warm like Jake’s, but something sharper, more predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t look away either. After all, that’s exactly why you came.

He pushes off the counter and makes his way through the crowd toward you. The suffocating tension hits you the second he stops right in front of you, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. "You don’t usually come to our parties," he says, his voice low as he tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s already halfway to solving. "Or are you from the basketball crowd, doll?"

You take a sip of your drink to steady yourself. "Maybe I was waiting for the right night… Plus, hockey parties have a certain reputation."

A faint smile tugs at his lips as he steps a little closer, invading your space enough to make your pulse race. "Reputation for what, exactly?" He’s so close now that you can smell his cologne — something fresh and expensive that makes your head spin.

You shrug, trying to look calm. "Good music, strong drinks… You’re Sunghoon, right? The captain of the team. I’ve heard a lot about you." The words come out bolder than you expected, but they hit something in him and his gaze darkens.

He raises a thick eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, making his impressively attractive biceps stand out. "I hope they’re good things."

You smile slightly. "Depends on who you ask. Some say you’re intense. Others say you’re… hard to keep up with."

Sunghoon studies you like he’s deciding something. The air between you grows heavier, and you can feel the pull — the way his eyes drop to your mouth, then lower, before sliding back up. "And what do you think? Do you think you could keep up?"

The question makes your breath hitch. "I think it depends," you reply, taking a small step closer, letting the tension build until it feels almost unbearable. "Are you offering to find out?"

He leans in even closer, his lips hovering near your ear so only you can hear him, his warm breath brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. "Careful. Talking like that might get you more than you bargained for."

You turn your head just enough that your cheeks nearly touch. "Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for."

His hand settles on your lower back, firm and guiding, pulling you subtly closer. "Come upstairs with me," he says, his voice steady as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. "There’s a room up there. Quieter. We can… talk more."

This is it — the next step.

You nod, letting him guide you through the crowd toward the stairs with his hand still resting on your back as you climb the steps.

The door clicks softly shut behind you, and the room instantly feels much quieter than the chaos downstairs, lit only by the soft glow coming through the open window. Sunghoon leans back against the door without saying a word, simply watching you with a playful smile on his lips.

"So," he begins softly, pushing away from the door and walking toward you, "you showed up at a hockey party dressed like that, with your eyes on the captain. You’re either really brave or really curious. Which one is it?"

"Maybe both."

Your back hits the wall before you even realize you’ve been moving backward. "Bold. I like that, I don’t waste time with girls who don’t know what they want." He towers over you, his presence intense and dominant.

You swallow hard. "I know exactly what I want tonight. Someone who won’t hold back."

He leans in closer, one hand settling on your hip, fingers pressing firmly enough for you to feel his strength. "Careful what you wish for… You look like the type who melts easily, and I think I’d really enjoy finding out."

His gaze drops to your mouth, then returns to your eyes, dark and hungry. Without another word, his lips crash against yours in a deep, overwhelming kiss right from the first second. Sunghoon doesn’t take it slow like Jake — he claims your mouth completely, his tongue sliding against yours with raw intensity while his free hand moves up to caress the back of your neck, tilting your head exactly the way he wants.

You try to match the intensity of his kiss, but it’s overwhelming — he devours every sigh and gasp that escapes you. When he finally pulls back enough for you to breathe, his eyes are darker, his lips slightly swollen. "Not bad," he murmurs, voice rough. "But you can do better, doll."

Before you can respond, he kisses you again, slower this time, pressing his body against yours so you can feel the hard line of his cock straining through his jeans. Your stomach tightens with a mix of nerves and excitement.

"Come here." He takes your hand and guides you away from the wall toward the bed. Sitting on the edge, he pulls you close until you’re straddling his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs, your dress riding up as you settle against him.

He pulls you into another deep kiss while one hand slides up your body and the other grips your thigh. You rock lightly in his lap, feeling him grow even harder beneath you, and he lets out a low groan into your mouth. "You’re so fucking hot. I want to see what else that pretty mouth can do." His fingers trace your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Get on your knees for me. Show me what that mouth is capable of."

Your heart stutters because his words hit you hard — part excitement, part panic. On your knees. Sucking him. You’ve never given a blowjob before.

You slide slowly off Sunghoon’s lap and drop to your knees, your hands shaking as you reach for the button of his jeans and try to pull down the zipper. Reality crashes over you: you’re on your knees for the hockey team captain, about to give him head with zero experience.

His eyes narrow the moment he notices the tremor in your hands and the hesitation in your movements. A low, cruel, mocking laugh escapes him. "Wait." He reaches down, gripping your chin with two fingers, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You’ve never done this before, have you?"

Biting your lip, you shake your head. "No… I’ve never done it."

Sunghoon’s expression doesn’t soften with pity. Instead, it sharpens with something darker — satisfaction mixed with pure control. He releases your chin and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, looking down at you like you’re a player who needs to learn the drill.

"Good, I like honesty. So you’re going to listen carefully. I’m not in the mood for guessing games tonight. You want to learn? I’ll teach you, and you follow my instructions. Got it, dol?"

You swallow hard and nod again.

"Words," he commands, cold and firm. "Use your words when I ask you something."

"Yes," you repeat, your voice steadier this time. "I understand."

He gives a small nod of approval. "Good girl. Now unzip me."

You obey, slowly pulling the zipper down. Sunghoon lifts his hips slightly to help you tug his jeans and boxers low enough to free his cock. It springs out, hard and heavy, the tip already glistening with precum.

His hand rests on the back of your neck, not pushing, but guiding. "Look up at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t just stare at it like you’re lost. Wrap your hand around the base and feel the weight."

Your fingers are still trembling as you obey, curling them around his thick length. He feels incredibly warm and heavy in your palm, the skin smooth over steel. You give an experimental squeeze, watching his reaction.

"Yes, just like that," he praises coolly, like he’s directing a teammate on the ice. "Now stroke up and down. Keep a firm grip. That’s it— good. Don’t be shy."

You pump your hand firmly, finding a rhythm that makes Sunghoon’s breathing grow a little deeper, but he keeps complete control, his eyes locked on you the entire time. "Spit on it, get it nice and wet. Good girls make it sloppy."

You gather saliva and let it drip onto the head, using your hand to spread it all over his length. The wet sounds that follow make your face burn even hotter, but the way his cock twitches in your grip sends a shiver through you.

His fingers twist into your hair with enough force for you to feel it, then he pulls you closer to his throbbing length. "Now use your mouth. Start with the head, wrap your lips around it, no teeth. Suck gently while you swirl your tongue."

Your heart races as you wrap your lips around the tip, tasting a man’s cock for the first time — slightly salty, but surprisingly good. Your tongue moves in slow, hesitant circles, trying to find the rhythm you think will feel best for him.

"Eyes up," he orders sharply. "Look at me while you do it. That’s good, but take me deeper now. Relax your throat, don’t force it. Move your head slowly and keep stroking the part you can’t reach."

You open wider and take him deeper. It feels strange at first — the stretch of your jaw, the way he fills your mouth, the occasional gag when you go too far, causing tears to gather at the corners of your eyes.

"Relax your jaw and breathe through your nose. Faster with your tongue on the underside. Use your hand in sync with your mouth."

You follow every instruction carefully, the clear commands making it easier despite your inexperience. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds as your mouth works on him — licking, sucking, and your hand sliding smoothly along his cock. Sunghoon’s thighs tense under your free hand, and his voice grows a little rougher, though still tightly controlled. "Hollow your cheeks more when you pull back. Take me deeper whenever you can, I want to feel the back of your throat."

Pushing yourself, you take him deeper until your nose brushes his stomach, triggering a light gag. You try to hold it, but end up sliding back up, gasping for air. A thick string of saliva connects his cock to your mouth, and his grip tightens in your hair, the slight sting only heightening the moment.

"Not bad for your first time. Now focus on the head again. Suck harder while you move faster. Yeah— just like that. You’re gonna make me come if you keep going."

You throw yourself into it completely, determined to get better so you can do this perfectly for Heeseung one day. Your hand and mouth work together, faster and sloppier now, until Sunghoon’s breathing turns heavier and his abs tighten visibly.

"Fuck— keep your eyes on me," he growls, his voice dropping lower. "I’m close. When I come, you swallow. Every drop. Understand, doll?"

You murmur something unintelligible around him, the vibration drawing a low groan from deep in his throat. His hand guides you with a little more firmness now as his hips begin to rock, meeting your mouth with each movement. His dominance is intoxicating — no endless questions, no overthinking, just clear and commanding direction that pushes you exactly where he wants you.

With one last deep thrust into your mouth and a low groan, he comes. Hot spurts hit the back of your throat as you swallow desperately, trying not to gag while you take everything he gives you, your hand still gently stroking him through it.

Sunghoon holds you there for a few more seconds before finally releasing your hair and letting you pull back. You release his cock with a wet pop, your lips swollen and glistening. He looks down at you with that same cool satisfaction, his thumb brushing a stray string of saliva from your chin. "Clean every inch with your tongue."

You nod and obey, licking him carefully with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue until he’s completely clean.

"Good," he says, his voice satisfied. "Now come here."

He pulls you up from your knees and back onto his lap, guiding you into a deep kiss that’s slower and less aggressive than the one against the wall, yet still possessive. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting himself on you, letting out a soft groan against your lips.

"You did well for your first time," he praises quietly as he pulls back, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "A little messy, but eager. I like that. You look even better with that flushed face after sucking me off, doll."

The praise sends a warm flutter through your stomach, and before you can respond, Sunghoon moves, flipping you onto your back on the bed. He hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other slides up your thigh, pushing your dress higher. "You’ve never sucked a cock before… so I’m going to ask. Are you a virgin?"

You shake your head quickly. "No, I’m not."

A flash of relief crosses his face, quickly replaced by a darker, almost predatory smile. "Good. That’s actually perfect. It means I don’t have to be gentle with you." His hand glides along your inner thigh, spreading your legs apart. "I hate holding back."

Two of his long fingers press against your entrance, finding you already soaked from everything that’s happened. He pushes your panties aside and slides them inside you in one smooth motion. His fingers are noticeably longer than Jake’s, reaching places that instantly make your breath hitch.

"Fuck, you’re so tight. You sure you’re not a virgin, doll? Because you’re squeezing me like one." He starts moving right away, no slow buildup, no endless questions about how you feel, just his fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm — faster and deeper — while his thumb rubs firm circles over your clit.

You gasp, arching your back off the bed as his long fingers reach so deep that they stroke that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. "Sunghoon—" you moan, clutching his shoulders.

"Eyes on me." His free hand pins your wrists above your head while the other moves faster, scissoring his fingers to stretch you further. He watches every reaction on your face, adjusting the intensity until you’re writhing beneath him. "You’re already soaking my hand, doll. Come on, let me feel you come around my fingers."

He adds a third finger, pushing deeper and curling harder against that spot while his thumb presses firmer circles on your clit. The combination is overwhelming — fast, deep strokes that tighten the pleasure in your core until your thighs start trembling around his hand.

"I… oh God…" Your words dissolve into a moan as the orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench hard around his fingers, pulsing with every wave, but Sunghoon doesn’t slow down, he keeps going until you’re shaking and gasping, hypersensitive and completely spent.

Only then does he pull his fingers out, bringing them to his lips for a quick taste while he looks down at you with dark satisfaction. "You taste so good, doll."

Without wasting another second, he shoves the rest of his pants and boxers down and climbs fully on top of you. "Arms up." You lift them without hesitation and he pulls your dress off, tossing it aside somewhere in the room. Your bra follows immediately, exposing your breasts to the cool air. In the same motion, he squeezes one firmly, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens, then leans down to suck it, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

"These are perfect," he murmurs against your skin before moving to the other. His free hand yanks your panties down your legs in one swift pull, leaving you completely naked beneath him. Sunghoon sits back for a moment, his eyes slowly roaming over your bare body with cool appreciation. "Perfect. You’re perfect, doll."

He positions himself between your spread thighs, one hand gripping your hip while the other guides his cock to your entrance. Only then do you realize there’s no condom. This is going to be the first time you feel someone raw. "Wait, Sunghoon…"

"I’m clean," he says dryly, reading your hesitation perfectly. "We’re good." He doesn’t say anything else, simply pushing forward and sinking the thick head of his cock into you with one precise thrust.

With no latex barrier, you feel every inch of him — hot, hard, and completely bare. The stretch is more intense than it was with Jake, deeper and fuller in a way that makes your walls flutter and clench tightly around him. A low moan escapes you as he sinks even deeper, filling you completely until his hips press flush against yours.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Sunghoon groans, closing his eyes for a brief second before locking his gaze on your face again. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust, starting to move with long, deep strokes that brush every sensitive spot inside you while he watches your every reaction, every gasp, fucking you with firm control.

You grab onto his arms, your nails digging crescent moons into his skin. "Sunghoon… it’s so deep like this." Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs.

He kisses you hard again, swallowing your moans as his hips snap forward faster, growing more intense. The pleasure feels stronger than your first time because there’s nothing between you, but after a few minutes, Sunghoon suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and whimpering.

"On your knees. Face down, ass up," he orders. "I need to go deeper. I want to watch this ass bounce while I fuck you stupid."

You get on all fours, feeling incredibly exposed with your ass up and back arched. The vulnerability of this new position you’ve never tried before sends a fresh wave of nerves through you. Sunghoon kneels behind you, his hands spreading your cheeks slightly as he lines himself up again.

He thrusts into you hard, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. The new angle lets him go incredibly deeper, the head of his cock pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed. You cry out, fingers clutching the sheets tightly. "Oh my God, it’s so much deeper like this."

Sunghoon groans in satisfaction. "That’s exactly what I wanted." His hands grip your hips firmly as he starts fucking you with more intensity. His thrusts are relentless, hips snapping forward with a force that makes your entire body shake.

One hand slides up your back and fists in your hair, pulling your head back sharply and arching you even more. "Fuck, look at you taking it so well like this."

His other hand comes down hard on your ass, a firm slap that makes the flesh jiggle and sting deliciously, drawing a loud moan from you. He spanks the other cheek, then again, alternating while he keeps pounding into you.

Without a condom, you feel every vein, every ridge, the way his cock stretches and fills you completely with every powerful thrust. "This ass looks even better when it’s moving for me," he says, landing another harder slap. Your arms tremble, barely able to hold you up as the pleasure builds hotter and tighter in your core. "You’re clenching so fucking hard. You like it rough like this, don’t you?"

"Yes," you moan, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Harder, please."

He obeys without hesitation, fucking you with punishing force that makes the bed creak beneath you and his balls slap against you with every deep stroke. "Touch yourself, rub your clit while I fuck you."

You slide a hand between your legs, circling your swollen clit. Another sharp slap lands on your ass, the sting spreading hot across your skin and making you clench hard around him. "Fuck, do that again, doll." He delivers one more firm spank, then squeezes the reddened flesh possessively. "You’re dripping all over my cock, soaking the sheets like a good girl."

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm, the sharp tugs on your hair, the stinging slaps, and the overwhelming depth of this position, push you straight over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard, your walls pulsing and contracting tightly around his bare cock as waves of pleasure crash through you. You moan loudly into the mattress, your whole body shaking.

Sunghoon doesn’t slow down at all — he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, chasing his own. "I’m gonna come," he growls. After a few more deep, powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and groans as he fills you with hot pulses of cum, spilling deep inside you for the first time. The sensation is new and overwhelming — warm, wet, and so intimately raw that it makes your mind spin.

Sunghoon collapses beside you on the bed and pulls you against his chest, lazily stroking your back. "You should come to our parties more often. Those basketball idiots don’t deserve someone like you at their parties."

────────

Not everything is about the plan. After all, you are still in college — assignments pile up and deadlines approach without caring about your personal obsessions. When the professor pairs you with Jay for the next project, you don’t think much of it, you just need to finish the work as quickly as possible so you can get back to your plan.

The second-floor library was strangely quiet that night. Most students have already left, and the few who remain are buried in their books. You and Jay sit at a secluded table in a corner, surrounded by tall bookshelves that give you a sense of privacy.

Jay sits across from you, looking effortlessly attractive in a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his veiny forearms. You’ve been discussing the project for nearly an hour, but the conversation slowly drifts away from the assignment and becomes more personal.

"You always seem so put-together," you say with a small smile. "Even during finals week. How do you do it?"

Jay chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. "Coffee. A lot of coffee… You’ve been glowing lately. There’s a new confidence in class. It looks good on you."

Your cheeks flush slightly. "Thank you. I’ve been pushing myself out of my comfort zone lately."

"I noticed and it’s honestly really attractive." The compliment is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Jay’s voice drops lower as he continues. "You know, it’s easy to talk to you… and easy to look at, too."

You laugh, quickly glancing around to make sure no one is nearby. "You’re not bad yourself. Always so polite and charming... It’s kind of dangerous."

His smile widens, and then he reaches across the table, lightly brushing his fingers against yours. The touch is gentle but sends a spark through you, making the library feel even quieter now, like the rest of the world has disappeared and only the two of you remain behind the shelves.

Before you can overthink it, Jay leans forward over the table. "Come here."

You meet him halfway, and the kiss starts soft and sweet at first — a gentle brush of lips that quickly deepens as he tilts his head. Jay kisses with care and skill, one hand gently cupping your cheek while the other rests on the table for balance. It feels good, warm, and surprisingly right.

When he finally pulls back, breathing a little faster, he whispers. "No one’s around… Come sit with me."

He gently pulls you around the table and onto his lap. Your legs part over his thighs, the skirt riding up as he settles you against him and wraps one arm securely around your waist.

"Jay," a nervous laugh escapes you as you glance at the shelves surrounding you. "We’re in the library… Someone could walk by any second."

"It’s okay," his hand traces slow circles on your lower back while the other rests on your thigh. "Look around, it’s almost empty, and the shelves block most of the view." He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw. "We’ll be quiet. I just want to be close to you for a little while… if you’re okay with it."

Sitting on his lap like this in a public place feels incredibly bold, but Jay’s gentle confidence makes your hesitation melt away. "It’s okay," he whispers, kissing you again, slower this time. "Just relax. It’s just us right now."

You kiss him back, and it doesn’t take long for your hips to start moving almost on their own, grinding against the growing bulge in his jeans. The friction feels good even through your clothes — a slow, delicious rhythm that builds heat between your legs. Jay lets out a low hum of approval against your mouth, his hand squeezing your thigh encouragingly.

"That’s good… really good." His hips continue moving in deliberate circles, letting you feel him hardening beneath you — the thick outline pressing right against your core.

The kiss deepens as he traces your lower lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, and you open for him. "Yeah… keep doing that." One of his hands slides up to your cheek, tenderly stroking it with his thumb, while the other guides your hips, helping you find a rhythm that feels even better. "You’re driving me crazy doing this… it feels so good."

Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his gaze is dark with desire but still incredibly gentle. "Do you want to do this here?" he asks, thumb caressing your hip. "We don’t have to… but if you’re comfortable, I need you right now."

You quickly glance around — there’s still no one nearby. "Yes." The certainty in your voice surprises even you. "I want to."

He pulls you into another kiss, deep and reassuring, before reaching between your bodies to push his pants and underwear down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out — long and incredibly thick, the head flushed red and already glistening. It’s bigger than you expected, heavy, with prominent veins.

Your eyes widen in surprise and nervousness. "Jay… you’re really big. I don’t know if I can take all of that."

He cups your face with both hands, noticing your nerves. "Hey… look at me. We don’t have to rush anything, and if it’s too much, we stop, I promise." A soft, caring expression takes over as thumbs gently stroke your cheeks. "We’ll go really slow… I’ll make sure it feels good for you."

You nod, biting your lower lip. "Okay. I trust you."

One hand stays on your waist while the other guides his thick cock, rubbing the head against your soaked panties, teasing your entrance through the fabric. "Move your panties to the side for me."

With trembling hands, you hook your fingers under the fabric and pull it aside. The cool air hits your wet folds, making you shiver. Jay helps by tugging your skirt up until it’s bunched around your waist. Only then does he position himself at your entrance — the blunt head of his cock brushing against your slick pussy. "When you’re ready."

You take a deep breath and start sinking down, the stretch is immediate and intense — almost too much. His thickness slowly pushes your walls apart as you lower yourself, inch by inch. A soft moan escapes your lips from the burning sensation and the way he fills you so completely. It’s deeper than anything you’ve felt before, his huge size presses against every sensitive spot inside you.

Jay groans, tilting his head back for a moment. "Fuck… you’re so tight. Take it slow, angel. You’re doing so well."

You pause halfway, breathing deeply to ease the burning feeling. It’s almost uncomfortable, but the raw heat of him, bare and deep, sends sparks of pleasure through the stretch. Determined, you continue lowering yourself until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, your walls fluttering as they try to adjust to his enormous length.

For a few seconds, you stay still, adjusting to the feeling of his cock pulsing deep inside you. Jay’s arms wrap around you, holding you close as his lips brush your temple. "You’re perfect, angel. Taking me so well... Tell me when you want to move."

You start experimenting, at first moving simply — rising and sinking as you’ve seen in porn videos. The motion drags him along your walls, creating delicious friction, but it feels a little awkward. It feels good for him, his groans make that clear, but it isn’t quite hitting the right spots for you.

"This is incredible," he says honestly. "But I want you to feel good too. You don’t have to just go up and down. Grind on me… roll your hips in circles, and when you bounce, use your whole body. Let me guide you, angel."

He gently guides you with his hands on your hips, and you follow, shifting from simple up and down movements to a smooth, rolling grind. The change is instant — his thick cock now rubs perfectly against your front wall, pressing hard into that sensitive spot with every circle of your hips, making a sharp moan escape you. "Yes, just like that. Feel how deep I am when you roll your hips? Now try bouncing while you do that."

You combine the movements — lifting and dropping while rolling your hips on the way down. Each bounce takes him incredibly deep, his cockhead dragging against places that make your toes curl. The stretch remains intense because he’s almost too big, creating a delicious burn.

Jay groans louder, and one hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck as he kisses you again. "Yes… fuck, you’re riding me so well. Look at you, angel." His other hand stays on your hip, guiding you to bounce harder.

The praise makes you bolder. You brace your hands on his shoulders for balance and start bouncing faster, moving up and down while grinding. Jay is so big that you can feel his cock reaching deep into your stomach, creating a profound pressure that makes your head spin.

Your newfound confidence makes him throb inside you as Jay starts thrusting up to meet you, the added force sending waves of pleasure through your core. "Deeper… like this," you moan.

Jay’s hands roam all over your body — squeezing your ass, caressing your breasts over your shirt, pulling you down for more kisses. He doesn’t take full control, letting you lead while offering guidance and praise. "That’s it… move just like that. You’re getting so wet for me. You look so beautiful riding my cock."

The pleasure builds quickly, a deep, spreading heat that consumes your entire body. You lean forward, changing the angle, and cry out when you hit an even more sensitive spot. Jay groans, holding you tighter. "Right there? Good girl. Keep going, take what you need."

You moan loudly, burying your face in his neck as the orgasm crashes through you violently. Your walls clench uncontrollably around his cock, pulsing and milking him while you keep bouncing, pushing him over the edge right after. He groans, thrusting his hips up against you as he cums deep inside, filling you with hot, thick pulses of cum.

Once you both come down, Jay lifts your chin and kisses you again, his tongue moves lazily against yours, savoring the moment. You kiss him back, feeling his cock still twitching softly inside you.

"You were incredible, angel," he whispers between kisses, smiling against your lips. "So beautiful riding me like that."

Jay’s hands run gently down your back, his gaze dropping to your chest. "Can I see more of you?"

You nod, and he doesn’t waste a single second, pulls your blouse up just enough to free your breasts. The cool air of the library makes your nipples harden instantly. "Perfect,” you sigh softly as he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

He sucks harder, then grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud with a careful bite that makes you moan and clench around his cock, which is still buried deep inside you. Switching to the other breast, he gives it the same attention — kissing, licking, sucking, and biting. You roll your hips slowly in his lap, savoring the way his cock twitches inside you every time he sucks harder.

"You’re so sensitive here," he murmurs against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses between your breasts. "I could spend hours doing this."

You let out a soft, needy sound, holding his head closer to your chest as he continues marking you with his mouth — sucking hard enough to leave hickeys that will remind you of this moment later. He’s getting hard again inside you, growing thicker and longer, pressing against your sensitive walls.

"Fuck, you’re making me hard again. The way you squeeze around me while I suck on these… you’re driving me crazy." Suddenly, Jay’s arms tighten around you and, in one swift movement, he stands up.

"Jay—!" you gasp, clutching his shoulders.

"I’ve got you," he says carefully, sitting you on the edge of the table with his cock still buried deep inside you. "I need to move for a bit. Okay, angel? Tell me if it’s too much."

Before you can respond, he starts fucking you at his own pace — deep, powerful thrusts that make your body shake on the table. The angle is perfect, making his thick cock drags along every inch of your walls with each stroke.

You try to stay quiet, but the pleasure is overwhelming, and moans far too loud for the silent library keep escaping. "Ah— Jay!"

He quickly covers your mouth with his hand while continuing to thrust firmly. "Shh, angel." His hips snap forward a little harder, testing your silence. "You have to stay quiet… someone might hear."

Even with his palm muffling your sounds, the deep thrusts still pull muffled but audible moans from you. Jay glances around nervously, unsure what to do because stopping isn’t an option, so he makes a quick decision. He pulls his cock out, reaches for your panties, which was pulled to the side this whole time, tugs the wet fabric free and then he pushes it between your lips.

"I’m sorry," he whispers immediately as he slides back inside you with a deep thrust. "I hate doing this… but I don’t want us to get caught, okay?"

You nod slightly, eyes watering from the intensity, but the gag works — your next moan comes out completely muffled. "You’re being so good for me, so wet and tight." Jay returns to your breasts, sucking on one nipple while he continues fucking you senseless.

His pace quickens, hips snapping harder against yours as he tries to keep control. The risk of getting caught and the feeling of you around him push him closer to the edge. "Cum for me. I’m close too… let go, angel."

You scream into the gag, your body shaking in his arms as you cum hard, and the sensation of your walls pulsing around him sends Jay over the edge right after. He buries himself as deep as possible and cums inside you with hot, intense pulses.

Still buried inside you, he strokes your hair and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You were incredible… so responsive and beautiful."

A shy smile tugs at your lips. "You were incredible too."

He runs his thumb across your flushed cheek. "I’d love to do this again someday… if you want. Maybe somewhere more private next time, so I can take my time with you."

Biting your lower lip, you nod. "I’d like that. A lot, actually."

That night, back in your dorm, you realize something: during those hours with Jay, you didn’t think about Heeseung even once because you were completely lost in the moment — in his gentle touches, his warm voice, and the way he made you feel so good.

────────

The basketball team has just won a home game. The crowd is still roaring and the players are celebrating in the middle of the court. Sitting in the stands, you spot Ni-ki — Heeseung’s close friend and teammate. He’s younger than the others but carries himself with an easy, playful confidence.

When the court finally quiets down and the players start heading toward the locker rooms, you walk calmly through the internal hallways of the building, following the path that leads to the locker room area. To avoid being seen by Heeseung, you hide behind a pillar. From there, you have a perfect view of anyone leaving the locker room, while people passing through the hallway are unlikely to notice you.

A few minutes pass before the door opens. A group of players steps out, talking loudly, and Heeseung is right in the middle of them. You press yourself tighter against the pillar, holding your breath as he walks by, laughing at some joke.

More athletes leave after that until the hallway falls completely silent. Knowing most people have already gone and the risk of seeing Heeseung has passed, you finally step out of your hiding spot and walk to a brighter, more visible part of the corridor, right near the door.

When Ni-ki comes out, his eyes land on you almost immediately. He slows his steps, tilting his head with clear interest and a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "No way. You actually waited? Most girls chase after the captain." He stops right in front of you, looking you up and down without even trying to hide it. "Damn, you look dangerous."

You feel a flutter in your stomach but smile back at him. "I thought the guy who kept stealing the ball and grinning like he owned the court deserved some attention tonight."

Ni-ki laughs, running a hand through his damp hair. "You’re bold, huh? I like that." He steps a little closer, his eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. "So what’s your deal? Are you a basketball fan or did you just come here to make my day way more interesting?"

There’s a seductive tease in his voice — arrogant but fun. He clearly likes what he sees and isn’t shy about showing it. "Because if you’re here for me, you should probably tell me your name before I start calling you ‘mine’ in front of the whole team."

If you play this right, he might casually mention you to the team later, and Heeseung would hear your name and maybe get curious. But if you mess up and come across as too eager or awkward, Ni-ki could joke about it in the locker room and ruin everything before you even get close. Still, you trust yourself. "It’s y/n."

"y/n," he repeats, like he’s savoring the sound. "Nice. It suits you. So, y/n… do you always wait outside the locker rooms after games looking this good, or did I just get lucky today?"

"Only when the player on the court is showing off like he’s trying to impress someone."

Ni-ki moves even closer. "Ah, so you were really watching me? Careful, I might get too cocky." He tilts his head, his eyes tracing your face before dropping to your lips. "Or maybe that’s exactly what you want. To make me arrogant enough to do something about the pretty girl who showed up just for me."

His gaze continues sliding down from your lips, appreciating the way your top hugs your body. Suddenly, Ni-ki glances around, checking if anyone is nearby. The hallway is empty. Without warning, he grabs your hand with a grin. "Come with me for a second."

He pulls you into the locker room, but not near the entrance. He keeps guiding you deeper inside, past a small entryway and around the corner of the main area, where he presses your body against the wall. The tension that has been building finally snaps. Cupping your face with one hand, he kisses you with raw hunger — his lips moving against yours with confidence as his tongue teases yours, deepening the kiss almost instantly.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, a cocky little smirk on his face. "Fuck… you taste even better than I imagined."

He presses you harder against the wall and slides one thigh between your legs, creating just enough pressure to make you gasp into his mouth. "You’re so fucking addictive." His hands slip under your top, warm palms gliding over your skin and sending shivers through you.

Suddenly, Ni-ki drops to his knees in front of you, looking up with an even more mischievous smile. "I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you waiting outside." His hands move quickly, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down along with your panties. He lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, opening you up to him.

Ni-ki presses his mouth against your pussy like he’s starving for it — voracious and rough. His tongue licks long, wet stripes from your entrance up to your clit before swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Oh my God — Ni-ki…" you moan, one hand flying to his messy hair.

He moans against you, the vibration shooting pleasure straight up your spine. "You taste so good." His tongue dives inside you, licking and savoring every inch like he can’t get enough. Messy and eager, his lips suck on your folds before focusing back on your clit with small, hungry sucks and licks.

He eats you out like he wants to memorize every taste, every reaction — switching between long, slow licks that make your toes curl and faster movements that force you to bite your lip to stay quiet.

"Ni-ki… that feels so good." He looks up at you while his mouth works, eyes gleaming with satisfaction and desire, clearly loving the way you’re falling apart for him.

Ni-ki murmurs in response and doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth while his tongue moves fast. "Ni-ki… fuck, right there," you gasp, fingers tightening almost painfully in his hair as your hips start grinding against his face.

He slides two fingers inside you while his tongue keeps working your clit, curling them instantly against that perfect spot.

Your breathing turns ragged, your thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head. "I… I’m gonna—" you try to warn him, voice breaking, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he sucks harder on your clit and pumps his fingers faster.

Your whole body locks up for a second before a violent tremor runs through you. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers as your clit pulses wildly against his tongue.

Ni-ki groans proudly against you, licking you through every wave, addicted to the way you fall apart. He keeps going until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and shaking. Only then does he finally pull back, lips glossy and swollen. "Shit, you come so beautifully."

He rises to his feet with a satisfied smirk and pulls you into another kiss so you can taste yourself on his tongue, his hands grip your waist, pressing your body against his. "You’re so sweet. I could eat you every day, all day long."

You open your mouth to respond, but the metallic click of the main door handle cuts through the air.

You both freeze and footsteps echo on the tiled floor, accompanied by a familiar voice humming something.

It’s Jungwon — another teammate, the point guard.

"Shit." Ni-ki quickly grabs your hand and pulls you toward the shower area with its open stalls and curtains. Yanking one curtain aside, he guides you inside, and presses your back against the cold tiled wall.

The footsteps grow louder, closer. "Hey, is anyone still in here?" Jungwon’s voice sounds casual, like he heard something and decided to check.

Ni-ki presses a finger to your lips, leaning in so close that his warm breath brushes your ear. "Don’t make a sound," he whispers, almost inaudible.

Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, but Ni-ki doesn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, the risk seems to excite him even more. Jungwon’s footsteps get closer, and right at that exact moment, Ni-ki pushes two fingers inside you without any warning. Your eyes widen and a sharp gasp almost escapes before you bite down hard on your lip.

He curls his fingers instantly, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you with ease, a small mischievous smirk on his face as he watches your reaction. He pumps them slowly at first, then faster, while his thumb presses firmly against your swollen clit.

Trembling violently, you bury your face in his neck, desperately trying to muffle the moans threatening to spill out. "Shhh," Ni-ki whispers right against your ear, but his fingers don’t stop — deep, curling thrusts that make your knees buckle. "You’re squeezing me so tight. Does almost getting caught turn you on?"

You nod frantically and bite down on his shoulder through his shirt to stay quiet as Jungwon moves just a few meters away. Ni-ki’s thumb presses harder on your clit while his fingers thrust faster, making your thighs shake and your walls flutter uncontrollably around him as you fight to stay silent. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the effort.

Jungwon’s voice echoes again, closer this time. "I heard noises coming from here. Who the hell is in here?"

Noticing Jungwon getting closer, Ni-ki curls his fingers harder, rubbing your sweet spot relentlessly while his thumb works your clit in fast, precise circles. You dig your nails into his back, letting out a silent scream against his neck as pleasure peaks. Your pussy clenches violently around his fingers, dripping as waves of spasms run through you.

Finally, Jungwon’s footsteps retreat. The door opens and closes again. The second it does, Ni-ki pulls his fingers out and kisses you hard, swallowing the broken moan that finally escapes you.

Without breaking the kiss, he tugs down his basketball shorts and boxers in one quick motion, freeing his hard, thick, flushed cock. It’s already leaking at the tip from how turned on he is after eating you out and fingering you.

You reach for him without thinking — and without really knowing what you’re doing — wrapping your hand around his length and stroking slowly at first. You feel the heat and the way he pulses hot against your palm as your thumb brushes over the head, spreading the precum. "You’re so hard… I can feel how much you want this."

"Yeah? Then let me have you." He quickly helps you pull your jeans and panties all the way down your legs, kicking them aside before pressing you against the cold tiled wall of the shower stall. One hand grips your thigh as he lines himself up and with one smooth thrust, he pushes inside, burying his cock deep into your still-sensitive pussy. The stretch makes you gasp at the sudden, overwhelming fullness after everything that’s already happened.

He fucks you against the wall with firm, deep thrusts, his hips snapping forward while he holds you in place. "Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good," he groans, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you harder, each movement pressing you against the tiles. "So wet and tight."

"Ni-ki… you’re so deep," your voice trembles with pleasure as he hits that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "Don’t stop… it feels so good."

He keeps going like that for a while, fucking you firmly against the wall with his hands gripping your ass. But soon the position isn’t enough for him, with a low grunt, he suddenly lifts you as if you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and you let out a muffled cry as he starts bouncing you on his cock, thrusting up with hungry movements that make your breasts bounce inside your top.

"Yes, like that… it feels so good," you moan while he fucks you in the air, your back pressed against the wall for leverage as he holds you like you’re weightless. The sensation is intense, every thrust hits so deep it makes your head spin and your toes curl.

"Open your mouth." He brings two fingers to your lips. "Suck them for me. I want to feel that pretty mouth while I fuck you."

You part your lips obediently and take his fingers into your mouth, sucking them eagerly while he keeps thrusting into you. His cock twitches at the feeling of your warm mouth around his fingers, the taste of you still lingers on them from earlier, making you moan around them.

"That’s it," he says, eyes locked on your face as he watches you suck his fingers while bouncing you on his cock. "You look so fucking hot like this. Keep sucking just like that."

You do exactly that, swirling your tongue and sucking harder as he drives deep inside you, clearly losing himself in how good it feels.

You pull off his fingers with a wet pop and gasp, "Ni-ki… I’m so close again. I’m gonna come."

With a mischievous smirk, he pushes his fingers back into your mouth, moving them in time with his cock as he fucks you harder against the wall. "Then come for me again. I want to feel you squeezing my cock while you suck my fingers."

The dirty words combined with his relentless pace finally push you over the edge. You moan loudly around his fingers as your legs tighten around his waist. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes through you, making your entire body shake in his arms.

Ni-ki groans at the feeling of you coming and his thrusts turn erratic. He buries himself as deep as possible and comes hard inside you, pulsing with hot spurts while holding you firmly against the wall.

After a moment, he finally lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor again, but he doesn’t pull out immediately, he stays nestled inside your heat, kissing you slowly and almost lazily, like he isn’t ready to end the moment yet. "Fuck… that was incredible. And honestly? That was the best post-game sex I’ve ever had. No joke. I’m gonna be thinking about this pussy for days."

You let out a soft giggle, cheeks burning. "Really? I don’t think I’ll be able to walk properly after this."

Surprisingly gentle, he laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek before finally pulling out slowly. Both of you hiss at the loss. "That’s actually great. Means you’ll be thinking about me too. When can we do this again? After the next game, or maybe after every practice?"

────────

​The basketball team had crushed their biggest rival that night, and the victory party at the massive off-campus house is going to be loud, chaotic, and packed with people. This is the moment you’ve been carefully preparing for with every practice session and every new experience. Tonight is the night.

You choose a bold black dress that clings to your body like a second skin, short enough to show off your legs and thighs, with a neckline that reveals just enough to be daring. Your hair is styled exactly the way you like it, and your makeup is flawless, enhancing your features in a way that makes you feel powerful. When you look in the mirror, you look like someone who belongs in Heeseung’s world.

When you arrive at the party, the music is already pulsing through the walls, bodies are moving everywhere, and the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Your eyes scan the room until they find him.

Heeseung is sitting on the large couch in the main room like he owns the place — which he basically does. Two girls are practically draped over him. One is half in his lap, her hand resting possessively on his chest, while he has one arm casually around the other girl, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder as he talks to his teammates.

Spotting Ni-ki nearby, chatting with some of the other players, you walk toward him with confident steps because you aren’t going straight to Heeseung. No — you’re going to make him come to you. Ni-ki’s eyes light up with immediate recognition and interest.

"I can’t believe you’re here," he says with a grin as he pulls you into a side hug that lasts a second longer than necessary. "You look dangerous tonight. Come here, I want you to meet some of the guys."

You laugh softly and stay close to him, letting him introduce you to some of his teammates, including Jungwon. Your cheeks heat up as you remember that moment in the locker room, and when you glance to the side, Heeseung is watching — the girls are still around him, but his eyes are locked on you, following every move you make.

Ni-ki leans in and whispers in your ear, "You know, I still can’t stop thinking about that day in the locker room. Jungwon almost catching us… My fingers buried so deep inside you while you tried so hard not to moan. I’ve been replaying that shit all week."

Your face flushes instantly and the memory makes your thighs press together in a rush of heat. "Ni-ki…" you whisper back, half embarrassed and half turned on, "you can’t just say that here."

You’re too focused on Ni-ki to notice Heeseung pushing the girl off his lap, standing up, and walking over with his usual confidence. He stops right in front of you, his gaze shifting between you and Ni-ki, who is still grinning widely.

"What’s so funny over here?" Heeseung asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "You two look like you’re sharing secrets."

You freeze for a second before answering quickly, a little too fast. "Nothing."

"Nothing? Come on. Nothing stays hidden from the captain, especially when my teammate is standing here grinning like an idiot and you’re looking all flustered." He steps closer, his full attention now on you. "Gonna tell me what got you so worked up, pretty?"

Ni-ki’s playful smile fades, replaced by something closer to jealousy as he watches the captain focus entirely on you. "We're just messing around. It's fun talking to y/n, that's all."

Heeseung looks you up and down slowly, taking in the way the dress hugs every curve of your body. "Want a drink? I can’t have you standing here empty-handed."

"Yeah… I’d like that."

Ni-ki’s jaw tightens as he glances between the two of you, clearly not happy about being sidelined, but he knows better than to push it with Heeseung. "Catch you later, y/n," he says, giving you one last look filled with a mix of jealousy and desire before disappearing into the crowd.

Now it’s just you and Heeseung.

He guides you toward the kitchen, his hand lightly brushing your lower back. “So… y/n,” he says, savoring your name like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. "You show up at my party looking like sin, talking to my boy while wearing this little dress that makes everyone wonder what you’re hiding underneath." A mischievous smile curves his lips as his eyes flick to your mouth for a moment. "You gonna let me find out, or are you just here to tease?"

You feel yourself getting wet just from the way he’s looking at you — that hungry stare and confident tone making your panties stick to you. "Talking about what I’m hiding under this dress already? We just got to the kitchen… but yeah, I might let you discover it." Your voice comes out bold because you refuse to sound nervous now, after waiting so long for this moment.

Deep down, all you can think about is how badly you want him to stop talking and just fuck you senseless.

Heeseung’s smile deepens, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face. He glances around to make sure no one is paying too much attention, then leans in even closer, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. "There’s an empty room upstairs. Third door on the left, go up in a few minutes. I’ll follow right after so no one notices."

He pulls back, sliding his hand slowly along your waist before disappearing into the crowd. You wait a few minutes, taking a sip of your drink to calm your nerves, but it barely helps — the ache between your legs only grows with every passing second. After exactly five minutes, you head up the stairs and find the third door already slightly ajar. You step inside with shaky, anticipatory breaths.

Moments later, Heeseung appears. He closes the door firmly behind him and locks it.

The second the lock clicks, he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way his mouth crashes against yours in a hungry, intense kiss. He bites your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth, then does it again harder just to hear you whimper.

His hands slide down to grip your ass firmly under the dress, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you flush against him, letting you feel the hard outline of his cock through his pants.

"Fuck, this ass feels even better than it looks in that dress," he growls against your mouth, squeezing harder and spreading your cheeks. The kiss deepens, his tongue dominating yours while he continues kneading and groping your ass like he can’t get enough.

Heeseung’s mischievous smirk returns when he hears you moan into the kiss. He doesn’t break it as he walks you backward toward the bed. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, he pushes you down and climbs on top of you.

A string of saliva connects his lips to yours when he pulls back to strip your dress off in one quick motion, leaving you in just your bra and panties, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in every inch of your body.

"Look at you… such a pretty little slut, all dressed up for who? For me?" His hands make quick work of unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before he drags your panties down your legs and throws them away too, leaving you completely naked and exposed for him.

With a firm hand, Heeseung spreads your legs wide, getting a perfect view of your glistening, dripping pussy. "Already so wet for me, but it’s not enough." Suddenly he leans down and spits directly on your pussy, the warm string of saliva hitting your clit and dripping down your folds. The sight makes his rock-hard cock twitch inside his pants so he does it again, spitting a second time, then spreads it with two fingers, rubbing the wetness all over. "Gonna get this pussy nice and sloppy for me."

You moan loudly at the filthy feeling of his saliva sliding through your folds — hips jerk while your pussy clenches around nothing.

Heeseung drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, deliberate stroke that makes you gasp. When you do, he laughs against you — the vibration sending shivers through your entire body.

"You taste so fucking good," he says before diving back in. He eats you out messily, his tongue swirling around your clit before dipping down to push inside you, savoring every drop of your arousal mixed with his spit.

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly as the overwhelming sensation hits you. "Heeseung, that feels incredible…"

He keeps going, licking deeper inside you while his nose brushes against your clit, but suddenly he pulls back, looking up at you with a devilish smirk. Without warning, he brings his hand down in a sharp, wet slap against your soaked pussy, the sting mixed with pleasure makes you cry out loudly. "Holy fuck, Heeseung."

"You like that too?" He slaps your pussy again, harder this time, hitting your folds and swollen clit. "Such a dirty girl, getting even wetter when I slap this pretty pussy."

"Yes— God, yes," you moan, thighs trembling. "It burns, but it feels so good at the same time."

That encourages him to give you another slap and right after, he buries his face between your legs again, sucking hard on your clit while two thick fingers push inside you. He fingers you mercilessly, curling them to hit that sweet spot over and over as his tongue works your clit. "Fuck, you’re so tight. Taking my fingers like a good little slut for me."

He spits on your clit again, spreading the saliva with his tongue before adding a third finger, stretching you deliciously while pumping them faster and harder. All you can do is moan, your thighs shaking violently around his head. "Heeseung, I’m getting close… please don’t stop."

He obeys, alternating between long licks, hard sucks on your clit, deep thrusts of his fingers, and firm slaps that make your pussy burn and throb. "I’m gonna come," you moan, arching your back off the bed.

"Then come for me." Your entire body tenses, your walls clenching hard around his fingers as spasms rip through you. You come hard with a loud cry, thighs trembling violently around his head. But Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking and fingering you through every pulse, drawing out your pleasure until you’re oversensitive and whimpering.

When he finally pulls back with glossy lips and chin, he kisses you again so you can taste yourself on his tongue. "Get on your knees for me," he commands against your lips. "I want that pretty mouth around my cock."

It’s time to put into practice what Sunghoon taught you about sucking dick.

With a confident little smile, you gently push him so he lies on his back. Once he does, you position yourself between his legs and reach for his belt, slowly unbuckling it. He lifts his hips to help as you pull his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It springs up thick, hard, and leaking precum, making your mouth water at the sight.

You wrap one hand around the base of his cock, lean in, and press a soft kiss to the tip before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside, drawing a shaky breath from Heeseung. "That’s it… suck me like a good girl."

Feeling confident, you take him into your mouth and slowly suck on the head, swirling your tongue around it while savoring the precum there. Then you take him deeper, bobbing your head as your hand strokes what doesn’t fit, your movements growing smoother as you find the right rhythm. "Fuck… your mouth feels so good."

His praise encourages you to take him even deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, making you gag. A wet choking sound escapes as your eyes water, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you stay there for a moment, breathing through your nose the way Sunghoon taught you, before sliding back up and sinking down again.

Heeseung grabs your hair and tightens his grip as a needy groan escapes his throat. "Shit, that’s… ahh—"

You keep going, moving your head faster and sucking harder while your hand twists around the base, making his thighs tense and another desperate moan slip out.

It’s hard to believe that Heeseung, the guy everyone on campus talks about, the one with a reputation for being experienced and dominant, is moaning and whimpering under your mouth. It’s unexpected, but not in a bad way, especially because your pussy clenches around nothing every time he makes those sounds.

You pull back a little, sucking on the head while stroking him faster with your hand, which draws another broken moan from him. "Yes— fuck, yes, baby."

Wanting to pull even more reactions from him, you take him deep into your mouth again, gagging softly around his length as your head moves faster. Saliva drips down his entire shaft and onto your hand, making everything slick and messy.

Heeseung’s moans grow louder, breathier, and more frequent. "Fuck, I… I’m gonna come. Please don’t stop… I’m so close, baby."

You moan around him and suck harder until his thighs start to tremble. "Fuck… fuck—!" His voice cracks as the orgasm finally hits him.

His cock pulses hot and hard on your tongue, releasing thick jets of cum into your mouth. You try to swallow as much as you can, continuing to suck him through every last spasm and moan.

When you finally pull off his cock with a wet pop, Heeseung moves fast. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you — the whimpering guy from moments ago is gone. Now his eyes are filled with raw hunger.

"I’m not done with you yet." With a firm hand, he spreads your thighs, exposing your dripping pussy, begging to be fucked. "Now I’m going to fuck you properly."

You blink at him, confused and surprised by the sudden shift because seconds ago he was moaning and almost begging under your mouth, and now he’s trying to act like the dominant guy everyone talks about.

He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance, rubbing it up and down your wet folds, coating himself with your arousal. Without warning, he thrusts into you hard in one brutal stroke, stretching you around his thick length.

The sudden fullness makes you cry out loudly, your back arching off the bed. "Oh my God — Heeseung!" The stretch feels so good, especially while you’re still sensitive from coming earlier.

He fucks you hard and deep from the very first thrust, his hips slamming against yours with relentless strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, this pussy is so wet and greedy," he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy kiss while one of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. He holds it for a few seconds before loosening his grip, letting you gasp for air. "Look at you, sucking my cock like a good little slut. You love being used like this, don’t you?"

"Yes, fuck, yes," you moan, your voice breaking under the pressure of his hand. "You’re so deep inside me. It feels so good, Heeseung."

He chokes you again, a little harder this time, and the mix of pleasure and lack of air makes your head spin deliciously.

Heeseung pushes your legs back toward your chest, folding you in half so he can fuck you even deeper. The new angle makes his cock hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, causing your eyes to roll back.

When he finally releases your throat, you gasp desperately for air, moaning loudly as he keeps hitting that sweet spot over and over. "Please… harder. I can take it."

Heeseung lets out a needy groan at your words, his hips stuttering for half a second before he gives you exactly what you asked for. He fucks you harder, rougher, driving his cock into you with punishing depth. The sound of skin slapping against skin grows louder and wetter as he pounds into you, pressing your body into the mattress.

Just as your next orgasm starts to build, he suddenly slows down, keeping his cock buried deep inside you but barely moving. "Not yet. You don’t get to come until I say so, slut."

You whine desperately, trying to lift your hips for more friction. "Please, Heeseung… I need to come. I’m so close already. Don’t stop— I’ve been so good."

He smirks wickedly, shaking his head as he starts thrusting with slow, teasing rolls of his hips. "Beg better than that, baby. I want to hear how badly you need it."

You’re a complete mess underneath him, tears of frustration and pleasure gathering in your eyes. "Please… I’ll be so good for you. Just let me come on your cock, please. I need it so bad— I can’t take this teasing anymore."

Heeseung groans, but the sound turns into a needy moan as your walls clench around him. He starts fucking you harder again, his hand returning to your throat. But he isn’t done teasing you yet, so he edges you two more times — bringing you right to the brink with deep, brutal thrusts only to slow down and leave you whimpering and empty.

On the third time, you’re crying and babbling nonstop. "Heeseung… please, I can’t take it anymore. It hurts so good… I need to come. I’ll do anything you want. Just let me come on your cock."

"Fuck… you look so pretty when you beg," he groans, his voice rough with his own need to come. He thrusts into you with brutal force, tightening his hand around your throat again while his hips move relentlessly. "Come then. Come all over my cock like the desperate slut you are. Let me feel you."

Your entire body seizes underneath him. Your walls clamp down hard around his thick cock, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you soak his cock and the sheets beneath you, screaming his name.

Heeseung fucks you through your orgasm, groaning as your pussy milks him. "Fuck, that’s it. Good girl… you’re squeezing me so tight." A few more brutal, deep thrusts and he buries himself as deep as possible, coming hard inside you with thick, hot pulses.

Lying under him with your heart racing and breath coming in short, heavy bursts, his cock still buried deep inside you, your mind keeps returning to the sounds he made minutes ago — those desperate, broken moans and whimpers when you had him in your mouth.

Something about hearing him lose control like that makes heat pool low in your belly. After a few seconds of hesitation, you gather your courage, place a hand on his chest, and push him gently but firmly. "My turn to break you now. I want to hear you moaning under me." You say as you swing your leg over his waist, straddling him.

Heeseung’s breath hitches as his cock, already hardening again beneath you, shows just how much he likes the shift in power. "Baby… fuck," he gasps, his hands reaching for your hips.

"Don’t touch unless I say so." You slap his hands away, then wrap your fingers around his thick cock, stroking him slowly and teasingly while rubbing the head up and down your cum-soaked pussy. "Look at you. The captain of the basketball team. Everyone on campus thinks you’re this untouchable stud who ruins girls and never gets ruined."

You sink down onto him in one slow motion, taking every inch until your ass meets his thighs — the stretch making both of you moan. You stay completely still, clenching around him just to watch him squirm, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. Then you start moving your hips slowly, rubbing your clit against his pelvis. "Ahh— fuck… please don’t tease me."

You begin riding his cock properly, using everything you learned — deep movements, tight squeezes, and powerful bounces that make your ass slap against his thighs and your clit grind deliciously against his pelvis.

"Fuck, baby," he hisses, his hands flying to your hips, but you grab his wrists and push them away. You lean down so your breasts brush against his chest and his cock hits even deeper. "Don’t touch. Just take this pussy like a good boy. Got it, captain?"

Heeseung’s cock twitches hard inside you at your words, and a low, surprised moan escapes his throat. "Shit… yes," he groans, clearly turned on by the way you dominate him. "Use me, baby. Fuck me."

So this was the real Heeseung? A whimpering mess when someone takes control. All that arrogance on the court, all those girls throwing themselves at him, and here he is — moaning and shaking underneath you like he can’t handle how good your pussy feels around him.

You watch every reaction closely, mesmerized by the way his lips part, his breath coming in short, needy gasps every time you bounce and grind on him, and the broken moans slipping from his throat when you clench hard around his cock.

'God, he really is a whimperer,' you think, amazed by the sight as you bite your lip and ride him harder. "All that reputation and you’re crying because a girl is riding you. That’s kind of pathetic… but so fucking hot."

Heeseung lets out another broken moan, his hands desperately gripping the sheets since you won’t let him touch you. "Fuck— you’re killing me. Your pussy feels too good, I can’t… ah— slow down a little, please."

You laugh softly and keep riding him mercilessly, clenching around his cock rhythmically, rolling your hips in tight, dirty circles while bouncing faster and faster, making sure he feels every movement. "You’re going to take this like a good boy, captain."

Heeseung moans louder, letting his head fall back against the pillow as his body trembles beneath you. "Shit, you’re so mean. Please don’t stop. Your pussy is squeezing me so tight— fuck, I’m losing my mind."

You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs so he has the perfect view of his cock disappearing into your dripping pussy. "Look how deep you are," you moan, rolling your ass on him in small, obscene movements. "You like watching me use your cock like this, don’t you? Such a big, strong captain… and now you’re moaning under me."

The pleasure and the delicious sight of the untouchable Heeseung moaning and whimpering push you toward your own orgasm. "I’m gonna come," you gasp, leaning down to kiss him messily while still bouncing on his cock. "And you’re going to come with me, crybaby."

Heeseung moans loudly, the nickname making his cock twitch hard inside you. "Fuck… I’m coming!" His hips buck up to meet your bounces as thick jets of cum spill deep inside you once again.

You follow right behind him, your orgasm crashing over you as you keep riding him through both of your peaks, milking every last drop from his cock.

"Don’t tell anyone about this," he begs breathlessly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That I’m… like this. Please. This is our secret, okay? Just between us."

────────

Jake’s hands grip your hips tightly, you clench around his cock and roll your hips in those filthy, perfected movements. His broken moans fill the room as you bounce faster, grinding harder against him. Suddenly, your phone starts ringing on the nightstand, Ni-ki’s name lighting up the screen.

You slow your movements, reaching over to answer the call while still sitting on Jake’s cock. "Hey," you sigh, slightly breathless.

Jake groans, his hips twitching desperately. "Babe… please don’t stop," his voice is full of need. "I was so close… keep going, please."

You cover his mouth with your hand to silence him to continue the call. Ni-ki sounds frustrated on the other end. "You free right now? We lost tonight and I’m pissed. Come to my dorm… I need that pretty pussy to help me forget this shit game."

"I can come over soon," you say, trying to keep your voice steady while rolling your hips on Jake. "Give me a bit."

"Good. Don’t take too long. I really need to fuck you," Ni-ki says before hanging up.

You drop the phone and start riding Jake again. "Sorry about that. Now be a good boy and come for me.

Later that night, you’re on all fours in Ni-ki’s dorm as he fucks you hard from behind. His hips slam against your ass with deep, aggressive thrusts.

In the middle of a particularly rough stroke, he suddenly asks, "I saw you leaving the hockey rink the other day. What the hell were you doing there?"

You moan and push back to meet his thrusts. "None of your business."

Ni-ki’s hand comes down hard on your ass with a loud smack. The sharp sting makes you clench around his cock and moan louder. He slaps you again, even harder. "Wrong answer."

"Again," you moan, arching your back. "I like it."

Ni-ki laughs darkly and keeps spanking you repeatedly while fucking you harder, his palm leaving red marks on your ass as he pounds into you until both of you come hard.

The next afternoon, you’re on your knees in Jay’s dorm with his huge cock stretching your mouth as you suck him. Jay has one hand gently stroking your hair, looking down at you with proud eyes.

"You’re doing so well. Taking me so deep like this… you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth, angel."

You relax your throat, taking him as deep as you can, sucking harder, using every technique you’ve learned. Jay groans, his fingers sliding gently through your hair.

"Fuck… you’re incredible. Such a good girl for me. Keep going, you’re making me feel so good."

He keeps praising you the whole time, soft and sincere, until he finally comes down your throat with a soft, shaky groan, lovingly stroking your cheek as you swallow everything.

When you leave Jay’s room, still a little flushed and disheveled, you run straight into Sunghoon in the hallway. He looks at you, then at Jay’s door behind you, and his expression darkens instantly.

"What the fuck were you doing in there?"

You don’t answer, trying to walk past him, but he doesn’t let you. Sunghoon grabs your wrist and pulls you into his own dorm, slamming the door behind you. He fucks you hard and jealous, bending you over the desk, taking you from behind with brutal, possessive thrusts.

"You’ve been fucking everyone lately, haven’t you?" he growls, driving deep and angry. "Greedy little slut."

You moan loudly, loving the jealous tone in his voice.

During the rough thrusts, your phone starts vibrating on the desk — it’s Heeseung sending message after message.

Heeseung:

I can’t stop thinking about that night with you.

Come over.

Baby, answer me.

I know you’re getting these.

Don’t play games with me.

Stop fucking ignoring me.

Sunghoon notices the constant buzzing, picks up the phone, uses your face to unlock it, and opens the chat. With a dark, possessive smile, he takes a photo of your flushed, teary-eyed, moaning face while he fucks you hard from behind and sends it to Heeseung with the caption: "She’s busy."

He tosses the phone aside and fucks you even harder after that.

────────

You finally understand why Heeseung never wants to be tied to just one person. Having options is liberating. Jake, Sunghoon, Jay, Ni-ki, and Heeseung — each one offers something different: different rhythms, different kinds of pleasure, different versions of yourself. You don’t have to choose just one because you can have them all. Now you understand Heeseung’s lifestyle — it’s freeing.

And you realize you want that freedom too.

Thank you for reading! and a special thanks to everyone who asked to be tagged <3

You're straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, the thin fabric of your stage skirt riding up your legs. His hands rest on your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles through the material, but he's not gripping. Not guiding. He's waiting. He always waits for you.

"You're staring," you murmur, looping your arms around his neck.

"Can you blame me?" His voice is low, a little breathless. "You looked so good on stage tonight, noona."

There it is. That word. Delivered with a smile that's just shy of teasing, eyes glittering with amusement. He knows exactly what he's doing.

You roll your eyes. "Don't start."

"Start what?" His thumbs press a little deeper into your hips, while giving you puppy eyes. "I'm just complimenting you. You're older, you're wiser, you're sooo experienced. I should respect you."

"You're mocking me."

"I would never." He leans forward, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw. "Respect your elders, right, noona?"

Your fingers tighten in his hair. You should correct him. But his mouth is trailing down your neck now, soft and warm, and he's still murmuring that word against your skin like a prayer.

Noona. Noona. Noona.

"You're insufferable," you manage, but your voice comes out shakier than you intended.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and that teasing glint is still there, but underneath it is something hungrier. "You love it."

"I hate it."

"Liar." He nips at your bottom lip. "You get so wet every time I say it. I can feel you through your panties, noona."

Heat floods your cheeks. He's right. You hate how much you love it, hate the way your body reacts every single time that word leaves his mouth. But you'll never admit it. Not to him.

"You're so full of yourself."

"Stop acting like you don’t love it." His hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. You can feel how hard he is through his pants, and the contact makes you both gasp. "See? You can't even pretend anymore."

"Shut up, Jake."

You crash your mouth against his, kissing him hard and deep, and he groans into it like he's been waiting. His tongue slides against yours, messy and desperate, and his hands roam your body like he's trying to memorize every curve. He's always like this sweet and obedient until you give him an inch, and then he's everywhere.

But you're still in control. You pull back first, leaving him chasing your lips with a whine.

"Take off your pants," you say.

He scrambles to obey, lifting his hips to shove his pants down his thighs, boxers following. His cock springs free, flushed and leaking, and you watch him squirm under your gaze.

"You're staring," he says mimicking you from earlier with a shaky laugh in his voice.

"Can you blame me?" You reach down and wrap your hand around him, watching his head fall back against the chair. "You're so pretty like this, Jake. All desperate and whiny."

"I'm not whiny-"

You squeeze gently. He whines.

"Not whiny at all," you agree, smiling. "You're gonna listen to what I say right?"

He nods, eyes blown wide.

You shift off his lap, only to reposition each other on a nearby couch. You climb over him again, swinging your leg over his head until you're facing his lower body and straddling his face. He gets the idea immediately. His hands grab your thighs, pulling you down until your center hovers just above his mouth.

"Wait," you say, and he freezes.

You lean forward, lowering yourself until your mouth is level with his cock. When your breath hits his skin he shudders beneath you.

"You eat me out. I'll suck you off. And if you're good-" you drag your tongue up the length of him just once, just enough to make him whimper " maybe I'll let you cum."

"Fuck," he breathes. "Noona, you're going to kill me."

"Probably." You wrap your lips around the tip and suck gently. "Now shut up and get to work."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

His mouth finds you immediately, tongue parting your folds with an eagerness that makes your hips buck forward. He's messy about it he always has been, too hungry to be neat but he knows exactly where to put his tongue. He laps at your clit in broad strokes, then sucks gently, then does it again, and you have to pull off his cock just to gasp for air.

"Fuck, Jakey-"

He hums against you in response, the vibration shooting up your spine, and you can feel him smiling. That smug little shit.

You retaliate by taking him deeper, swallowing him down until your nose presses against his pelvis. He chokes on a moan, his hips jerking up, and his rhythm falters for just a second before he doubles down.

But then he pauses. His mouth leaves you, and you feel his breath hot against your inner thigh.

"You know what would make this better?" he asks, voice thick.

You lift your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. "If you stopped talking?"

"If you admitted you love when I call you noona." You can hear the grin in his voice. "Say it. Just once. 'Jake, I love when you call me noona.'"

"I will bite you."

"That's not a no."

You drop your head back down and take him in your mouth again, hoping to shut him up. He groans, hips stuttering, but he's not done.

"That's not how this works, noona," he says, and the word is muffled because he's burying his face back between your legs, but you still hear it.

His tongue finds your clit again, and this time he's relentless fast and firm and exactly how you like it. Your legs start to shake. Your mouth goes slack around his cock.

"There she is," he murmurs against you. "There's my good girl. You gonna cum for me, noona? Gonna soak my face and pretend you hate me?"

You want to tell him to shut up. You want to pull his hair and remind him who's in charge. But you're so close, so fucking close, and his tongue is doing that thing and his hands are gripping your thighs so tight they'll bruise and he's still saying it, noona noona noona like a fucking mantra.

You cum with his name on your tongue, except it comes out wrong, comes out shaky and desperate and exactly what he wanted to hear.

He moans against you through it, drinking you down, and when you finally go limp above him he pulls his mouth away just long enough to say, "See? I knew you loved it."

You hate him. You hate him so much.

But he's still hard and leaking against your lips, and you took it upon yourself to finish what you started.

You crawl off him and he sits up. Both of you are a mess. His hair is sticking up in twenty directions. His chest is covered in sweat and spit. His eyes are glazed over, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

You're not much better.

But you're also not done with him.

You settle back between his thighs, fingers tracing lazily along his hip, feeling the way his muscles jump under your touch. He's watching you with those desperate hazy eyes, already trembling again just from the anticipation.

You don't say anything. You just look at him really look at him and let the silence stretch until he can't take it anymore.

"Noona?" His voice cracks. It's small. Fragile. Nothing like the teasing tone from earlier. His lower lip trembles and his eyes are glassy, wet at the corners. He's holding back tears. "Noona, did I- did I not do good?"

Your heart falters.

"I did everything you said," he continues, voice wobbling. "I was good. I didn't complain. I let you- I let you do whatever you wanted. You said if I was good I could-" He stops, swallows hard, and a single tear slips down his cheek. "You said I could cum, noona. You promised."

He's whining now, high and desperate, hips twitching like he can't help chasing friction. His cock is still hard, flushed red, leaking against his stomach. He looks wrecked. Completely wrecked.

"Please," he whispers. "Please, noona. I'll be better. I'll be so much better. Just tell me what I did wrong and I'll fix it. I'll do anything. Just please don't- don't leave me like this."

His hands reach for you but stop halfway, remembering he's not allowed to touch without permission. Instead they fall back against the couch, fingers curling into the fabric like he needs something to hold onto.

"Did I not make you feel good?" His voice breaks on the last word. "I thought- I thought made you feel good. You made a mess all over me and you kept saying my name and I thought you were happy. I thought I was doing good."

Another tear falls. Then another.

He's not even trying to hide it anymore.

Your thumbs brush away his tears, slow and gentle, as you lean in until your forehead touches his.

"Hey," you whisper. "Hey, look at me."

His glassy eyes meet yours, wet and scared and so vulnerable it makes your chest ache.

"You did so good," you say softly, firmly, like you need him to hear it and understand. "So fucking good, Jake."

He sniffles, lower lip still trembling. "But I-"

"Shhh." You shake your head, thumbs still stroking his cheekbones. "You were perfect. You did everything I asked. You let me have you however I wanted. You're being good I like it a lot."

A shaky breath escapes him.

"I'm not leaving you like anything," you continue, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm right here. I've got you. You're my good boy, okay? My good, pretty boy who did everything right."

He blinks, more tears spilling over. "Then why did you stop?"

You smile softly, kissing the other corner of his mouth. "Because I wanted to look at you. Because you're perfect everything about you is and I wanted to remember every second of it."

A broken sound leaves his throat.

"You want to cum, baby?" you ask, lips brushing against his.

He nods frantically, hands still fisted in the couch fabric, still obeying even now. "Please, noona. Please im so needy for you, just wanna feel you."

"You will," you promise, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.

He gets shy at the thought of it and tries to hide his smile.

"That's my boy," you whisper, and you lean down to kiss him soft and slow and full of everything you can't say. He melts into it, tears wet against your cheeks, and when you finally pull away, his eyes are still glassy but the panic is gone.

He doesn't hesitate. "I need you so bad. I've been thinking about you all day. All week. Every time I see you I just want to -" He cuts himself off with a shuddering breath as you squeeze gently.

"You just want to what?"

"I want to be inside you," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "I want- I want to make you feel good too. I want to make you cum so hard you forget your own name. Please, noona. Please let me."

You hold his wrists against the back of the couch. His hips buck up involuntarily, grinding against you and it's a mess. His leaking pre cum mixes with yours, both of you still slick and sticky from before, Jake's own spit still wet on your skin. The slide is filthy, and you can feel him growing hard again beneath you, pressing between your swollen folds.

You roll your hips slowly, watching his face contort with pleasure.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes, noona it feels so fucking good," he gasps. "Noona, please-"

You keep moving, slow and torturous, and his eyes roll back. His fingers curl into fists above his head but he doesn't lower them, doesn't try to touch you. He's being so good. So obedient.

"You're going to cum like this just from a little grinding," you tell him. "Like a teenage boy. And you're going to thank me for it."

He moans, loud, and you press your hand over his mouth.

"Quiet. Someone could hear."

His eyes widen. His hips stutter. The thought of getting caught, of someone walking past and hearing him fall apart for you it pushes him closer. You can feel it in the way his body tenses, the way his breathing goes ragged against your palm.

"Imagine if a staff member walked in right now," you whisper in his ear. "Imagine if they saw you like this. Their precious Jake. Begging. Whining. About to cum because his noona told him to."

Thats all it takes.

His whole body goes rigid, his mouth opening in a silent cry against your hand, his hips jerking up into you as he spills in the space between the both of you. You watch his face the whole time, drinking in every expression, every twitch, every broken sound he can't quite hold back.

When it's over, he slumps against the couch out of breath, wrists going limp in your grip. His face is flushed, his eyes are wet, and he looks completely wrecked.

Beautiful.

You release his wrists and cup his face in both hands, tilting his head up.

"You did so good," you murmur. "Such a good boy for me."

He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. "Noona..."

"I know." You kiss his forehead softly. "I know."

He's still hard. You can feel it. One orgasm isn't enough for him and you have no intention of stopping here.

"You can touch," you tell him.

His hands fly to your waist immediately, gripping tight, like he's afraid you'll disappear. But you grab his wrists and guide them higher, up to your chest, pressing his palms flat against your breasts.

"Here," you say softly. "I want you here."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His fingers curl around the soft flesh, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you shiver at the contact. He's learning by watching your face, paying attention to what makes your breath catch. When he circles his thumb around one nipple, your hips jerk forward involuntarily, grinding against his length again.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Just like that."

He gains confidence, squeezing and kneading, pinching lightly just to watch you gasp. Your head falls back and you let him play. Let him explore. His touch is worshipping, desperate, like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

"Noona," he whines, hips bucking up. "Please. I need- I need you so bad."

You look down at him wrecked, hard, completely at your mercy and you feel a surge of affection so strong it almost hurts.

"I know, baby." You lean forward, bracing your hands on either side of his head, and let your tits brush against his chest. He tries to chase your mouth but you pull back just out of reach. "Tell me what you want."

"You," he gasps. "Just you. Always you."

"That's not specific enough."

His fingers dig into your hips, desperate. "I want you to ride me. I want to be inside you. I want to feel you cum around me. Please, noona. Please."

You reward him by lowering yourself just enough for the tip of him to press against your entrance. He moans, loud and broken, and his head falls back against the couch.

"Say it again," you whisper.

"Noona," he breathes. "My noona. Please tell me you love it. Please tell me you love when I call you that."

You sink down just an inch.

"I love it," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "I love when you call me noona. I love the way it sounds coming from your mouth. I love how desperate you get.

A sob catches in his throat.

"I love it, Jake. I love when my good boy calls me noona."

You sink down fully, taking all of him in one slow, steady motion, and the sound he makes is inhuman. His back arches off the couch, mouth open in a silent scream, and you feel him throbbing inside you immediately.

You don't move at first. You just sit there, full of him, watching him come undone beneath you.

"Spit," you say suddenly.

His eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure. "What?"

"Spit in my mouth."

Something dark flashes across his face. He reaches up, fingers trembling, and gathers saliva in his mouth. Then you lean down, lips parting, and he lets it fall from his lips to yours, warm and wet and obscene. You catch it on your tongue, moan at the taste of him, and then you lean back up and let it drip from your mouth down onto his chest.

"Again," you whisper.

He does it again. And again. Each time more desperate, more sloppy, until both of you are covered in spit and sweat and the evidence of how badly you want each other.

Then you start to move.

You ride him slow at first, which has him gasping your name. His hands find your tits again, playing with them, pinching and pulling until you're crying out above him. Every flick of his thumb sends a jolt through your body, makes you clench around him, makes him moan.

"Harder," he begs. "Please, noona, harder. I can take it. I'll take whatever you give me."

So you give him more. You bounce on his cock, fast and brutal, letting him watch the way your tits move with every thrust. His mouth waters. You can see it. He reaches up and spits directly onto your chest this time, watching his saliva drip down your skin, and you moan so loud you're sure someone could hear.

"Do you love it?" he gasps, thrusting up to meet you. "Do you love when I call you noona?"

"Yes," you cry out. "Yes, I love it, I love it so much-"

"Fuck- you're so fucking hot, say it again."

"I love it Jakey."

He grips your hips, flipping you both over so he's on top, and the sudden change in position makes you gasp. He doesn't enter you again, not yet. Instead he hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other reaching down to guide himself through your soaked folds.

"You love being my noona," he says, and it's not a question anymore. It's a statement. "You love that I'm younger and you love that I make you feel this good."

"Yes." You're nodding frantically, beyond caring about pride. "Yes, Jake, yes-"

He pushes inside you in one sharp thrust and your vision goes white.

He fucks you hard no slow pace, no more teasing. Just desperate, animalistic rhythm, his hips slamming into yours, his mouth hovering over your chest. He spits on your nipples, watches the saliva glisten, then lowers his mouth to suck them clean. His tongue swirls around each peak, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and you're clawing at his back, leaving marks you know will last for days.

"Cum for me," he growls against your breast. "Cum on my cock, noona. Want to feel you squeeze me. Want you to soak me."

Your orgasm crashes over you without warning, your back arching off the couch, a scream tearing from your throat. You clamp down around him so tight he can barely move, but he keeps thrusting anyway chasing his own release, desperate and sloppy and perfect.

"Noona," he chants, thrusting erratically now. "Noona, noona, noona-"

His hips stutter, his eyes roll back, and he spills inside you with a broken cry of a mix of your name and noona.

He collapses onto your chest, both of you shaking, both of you soaked in sweat and spit and each other.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then he lifts his head, chin resting on your chest, and gives you that familiar teasing smile but softer now, edges blurred by exhaustion and satisfaction.

"Love you, noona," he whispers.

You laugh, weak and breathless, and run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

"Love you too, loser."

Sometimes, you now realize, it's better to keep your mouth shut than say anything at all.

Because what on Earth were you thinking? Offering yourself up to your boyfriend's—extremely hot—friends may have not been your smartest decision. You've told Jay time and time again to never take anything you say seriously for at least thirty minutes after he fucks you.

Yeah, his dick is that fucking good.

But now you're on your bed, legs spread wide with your boyfriend sitting behind you. His arms are hooked under your armpits, supporting your body as you press your back into his chest with every soft flick of Sunghoon's tongue over your clit. Yes, Sunghoon's tongue.

You can only see the top of his head; only see the floppy mop of hair that brushes along your inner thigh every time he tilts his head to get a better angle. Your back arches up off of Jay's chest, a whine ripping out of your throat when Sunghoon flattens his tongue and licks a particularly long stripe up your pussy.

"Fuck!"

Jay chuckles behind you, kissing your neck as he strokes your stomach. "Feels good, baby?" You nod feverishly against him, craning your neck to burry your face into his chest. "Sunghoon making your pussy feel good?"

Sunghoon's lips find your clit, latching on and suckling the swollen bud. You whine again, thighs threatening to close around his head. "Hoonie—mpfh, there, there!"

Never, in your entire life, did you believe you'd find anyone who could compare to Jay's ability to eat you out. The man had it down to a science; knew exactly where to lick, where to kiss, where to suck and prod. He knew when to speed up his movements, when to flatten his tongue, when you needed more stimulation from his fingers. Every single time, like clockwork, Jay had you writhing and squirming and begging him to keep going, even after you'd come twice, because it just felt that good.

And here comes Sunghoon—threatening to kick Jay off his throne. He was eating you out like you would seriously be his last meal on Earth; like he'd go home to no food, no money, and would be forced to starve for the rest of his life. He was ravaging you, completely abusing your pussy. And Sunghoon knew it was good. He knew you were obsessed from the way you thrashed in Jay's arms and the way you tried to pull away from his mouth.

Sunghoon chuckles against your core, vibrations traveling from your puffy lips up to the growing heat in your stomach. You moan, high-pitched and squeaky. Jay kept up his kissing, offering little nips here and there when you move too much.

"Almost there, baby," he whispers into you, "let Hoonie do his thing."

And let him you did. Because not even two seconds later are you cumming all over Sunghoon's face. He doesn't relent, simply keeping up his pace. Sunghoon flattens his tongue, licking thick and slow stripes up your pussy, gathering your arousal onto his tongue before scarfing it down. You twitch from the overstimulation, and he places delicate kisses onto your clit.

Sunghoon never meets your eyes, too entranced by your soaking pussy to pay your pouty face any mind. It twitched when he pulled away, hole clenching around nothing—begging Sunghoon for any kind of pressure. He chuckles, kissing your clit again. Sunghoon's tongue darts out from his mouth, playing with the bud before licking another stripe along your entrance.

"Fuck, Jay," he groans, going in for more, "she tastes so fucking good."

Jay laughs behind you, cocky and arrogant because he knew. Every damn night he was having the revelation Sunghoon was currently having; every night he could bury his face into your pussy and make you cum on his face; every night he could bury his fingers deep inside of you, pulling them out of your hole and into his mouth as he sucked them clean of your arousal. He knew you tasted like fucking heaven, but his friends didn't.

This was all a part of his sick fantasy.

"I know, man—I'm the one tasting her every night."

"And you're so damn lucky for it." Sunghoon finally lifts his eyes to meet your own. Your eyes are glassy and hooded, the aftereffects of the mind blowing head he'd just given you.

You take note of his eyes as he did yours. Contrary to your own, Sunghoon's eyes were wide, pupils blown out with pleasure and curiosity. Because, honestly, Sunghoon was curious. He was curious to know every small detail about you, sexually, of course.

He wanted to know what made you cum hardest, what elicited the cutest sounds out of you, what made you cry, what made you beg, how his name would sound falling off your lips mid-orgasm—everything. Sunghoon was fully prepared to memorize the way you worked for his own wet dreams later on.

"What I wouldn't do to taste her every day," he whispers, kissing your thigh. You whine at the contact, twitching lightly.

"Don't test your luck, Hoon," Jay warns, a tight laugh accompanying his words.

"Oh, c'mon, man," Sunghoon sits up from his position on the bed and onto his knees between your legs, an obvious wet patch plastered across the crotch of his gray sweatpants; the crotch that flaunted his incredibly hard cock. "I'd suck your dick—serious."

"Gross! I don't want you sucking my dick," Jay's hands make their way up to your breasts, cupping them through your shirt. You weren't wearing a bra—you didn't see the point. Jay gropes your tits over the fabric, squeezing the mounds and pinching your nipples as his lips stay on your saliva-covered neck.

"Well, if it meant I got to do this more often," Sunghoon leans forward, lips connecting to your jaw on the opposite side Jay was working, "I'd suck your dick."

"Why would I need anyone else sucking my dick when I have her?"

Sunghoon moans at Jay's words, cock jumping in his pants. His hands quickly latch onto your waist, pulling you closer to him. He grips the flesh through your shirt, almost kneading you in his hands. "Fuck—wanna feel it."

You feel Sunghoon's cock against your shin, desperately rutting into you with the promise of friction.

"Gotta pick one," Jay says, "you either get to fuck her mouth or fuck her pussy—not both."

"C'mon, Jay," Sunghoon protests, pulling off of you and resting on his heels, "this isn't fair."

"I don't really care about what's fair," he laughs, finally raising his head to look at Sunghoon, "she's my girlfriend."

Sunghoon stares at Jay; Jay stares at Sunghoon. The two have that challenging look to them, daring the other to back down. Neither want to, that's the problem. And you're sitting right in the middle of it—legs spread wide, pussy soaking and clenching around nothing. Neither of them seem to care, almost as if they'd forgotten your presence as if they weren't literally arguing over you.

"Choose," Jay challenges.

"I can't," Sunghoon groans, throwing his head back in frustration.

You snake your socked foot up Sunghoon's thigh, the sole resting on the tent in Sunghoon's pants. He groans, immediately snapping his attention down to the contact. You circle your ankle once, twice, to give him some relief before retreating back to the bed.

Sunghoon grabs your ankle, thumb rubbing soft circles onto the fabric of your sock as he keeps his gaze focused on you. His eyes narrow, sharp and plotting, like he's running through all of the situations in his mind.

"What do you think, pretty girl?" Sunghoon's voice comes out quietly, almost like he wants the conversation to be between the two of you, no Jay in sight.

Jay pinches your nipple, your back arching off of his chest. "I don't know," you whine, "just want something."

"It's your choice," he leans closer, lips brushing along your jaw. His hand slides from your ankle up to the bend of your knee, settling there. "You want Hoonie's cock in your mouth," he pecks your lips with his own, "or your pussy?" Sunghoon cups you in his hand; the simple action alone has you bucking up into him, desperate.

"Mouth," you moan, "wan' you in my mouth, Hoonie."

He chuckles, "Right answer."

Jay gives your tits one last squeeze before pulling his arms out from under you. His hand finds your shoulder blades, holding you steady as he changes his position to be on his knees. Jay towers above you from behind, and Sunghoon rises in front of you.

Sunghoon's clothed dick is practically in your face. You can see the strain; the way the tip leaks precum and the way he's begging to be touched. So, you lean in on all fours. Your lips meet his clothed cock, placing soft pecks onto his tip before your hand comes up to cradle the rest of his length.

Sunghoon hisses at the contact, hand instinctively coming to grab a fistful of hair, "Holy shit," he huffs out. Your kisses turn sloppy—open mouthed and needy. Sunghoon's eyes widen before returning to their previous hooded nature; he meets Jay's gaze.

"Your fucking girlfriend, dude," he moans, tugging on your hair.

Jay just laughs, palming your ass, hands delving deeper before his fingers find your desperate pussy. "Yeah, she's insane."

You giggle at their praise, ass wiggling back against Jay—a silent request for him to slip his fingers in. Jay tuts, fingers prodding at your puffy lips, collecting your arousal. "This isn't about you, princess—this is about Sunghoon."

Sunghoon isn't paying attention to a word of what came out of Jay's mouth; his hand hastily dips underneath his waistband and pulls out his cock. When it appears in front of your face, all you can do is stare.

Now, based on how he carries himself, you never assumed Sunghoon was small. However, it still doesn't quell the initial shock you feel when you finally see his dick. It sits proudly in his hand, thick and long, a few noticeable veins trailing up the side. His tip is red and pumping precum.

Sunghoon watches your reaction, pumping his cock as soft groans slip past his lips. "Fuck—'m gonna cum just from how she's looking at it."

"You're so big, Hoonie," you whisper, chin lifting to meet his eyes. "I don' think I'm gonna be able to take you all."

Jay scoffs behind you, two fingers circling your wet entrance before slipping into your pussy. "C'mon, you can take him—you take me all the time."

You swallow thickly, leaning forward as you lick a small stripe up Sunghoon's tip, collecting a drop of his precum. Sunghoon's eyes roll back in his head at the contact, hand tightening in your hair.

"He's no bigger than I am, baby," Jay chuckles.

"Fuck you, Jay," Sunghoon moans, head thrown back, "let her suck my fucking cock—don't need any of your cocky bullshit."

You giggle at Sunghoon's words, his obvious neediness slipping through the sounds. Your breath fans over his tip, and without thinking, he bucks his hips forward, tip pressing against your lips. You part your lips, taking the head of Sunghoon's cock into your mouth. You suckle it, looking into his eyes as you do so.

"It's true, she knows it," Jay curls his fingers inside of you; you moan around Sunghoon's cock.

Sunghoon bucks his hips at the vibrations, burying himself a few inches into your mouth. You let out a shocked squeak, but don't pull off. You simply take the time to adjust to his length.

"Show me, then," Sunghoon lets out a strained laugh, "let her see 'em next to each other."

"Fuck you, dude," Jay pulls his fingers out of you before slamming them back it. You jump at the sudden harshness of his actions, pushing yourself deeper onto Sunghoon's cock. His tip hits the back of your throat; you hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper. "Not gonna show you my dick."

"Why not?" Sunghoon grunts, hand gripping your hair harder. His free hand cradles your jaw, holding you in place.

"'cause," Jay grunts, fingers picking up the pace inside of you.

You moan around Sunghoon's dick, tears brimming in your eyes as Sunghoon begins to set his own pace for your mouth. His one hand still holds your jaw still while the other fists your hair; you're entirely pliable in his hands. Sunghoon's treating you like a stupid fucktoy, like you're only purpose is to get him off; and you fucking love it.

You sit there, fire blooming deep in your belly while the two men abuse you from either side.

"Shit, your mouth's so good, baby," Sunghoon nearly whines at the way you're sucking him. You rest your tongue on the underside of his cock, feeling his vein with each thrust he gives. All you can do is babble little moans; saliva and precum pooling at the corners of your mouth and dripping down your chin.

You let out a particularly high moan when Jay's fingers find that one spot—the one deep inside your gummy pussy. Sunghoon bottoms out without warning, pressing you so deep down his cock that your nose brushes his pelvis.

He cums down your throat, not even bothering to pull away from you. You let him, eagerly taking every drop of cum he gives you. You feel your own orgasm wash over you, legs shaking as Jay wraps an arm around your waist to stabilize you. You cum on his fingers, arousal dripping obscenely down his hand and onto his wrist.

"There we go," Jay coos, soothing you through your orgasm.

Sunghoon doesn't let go, not for a few seconds. When he finally releases his grip on your hair, you pull off, a string of saliva and cum connecting your swollen lips to his spent cock. You gasp for air falling back into Jay.

Jay wraps his body around yours, clean hand brushing your hair out of your face as he laughs at your fucked out state.

"Holy," Sunghoon breaths out, "fucking shit, Jay."

Sunghoon falls down onto the side of the bed next to you and Jay, head crashing into the pillow as he lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes. "There's no fucking way you're doing this every night."

Jay laughs at his friend, moving you to rest on the bed in between them. Jay throws an arm around your waist, hands snaking under your shirt and stroking the skin beneath. "Jealous?"

"So fucking jealous, man." Sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, letting out another deep breath. "Gonna be thinking about that for years—seriously, best fucking blowjob I've ever had."

"It was good?" You croak out, turning your head to look at Sunghoon with big, curious eyes.

"Please tell me you're not actually asking me that."

"She always asks that," Jay groans, kissing your shoulder.

"It was fucking incredible," Sunghoon leans in and kisses the top of your head, softly petting your hair before he pulls away. When he does, he notices Jay's glare. "What?"

"Watch yourself, Hoonie," he mocks, pulling you closer to his body.

"Chill—she's your girlfriend, I know," Sunghoon shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. Silence envelopes the room for a moment, the three of you existing in the space together. Sunghoon shifts in the bed, the sound of the sheets and blankets rustling interrupting the calm.

"Are you seriously gonna let Jake and Heeseung fuck her?" He asks as if it's the most casual conversation in the world.

Jay shrugs, turning to you. "Do you wanna fuck 'em, baby?"

Your eyes dart between the two men, before you softly curl in on yourself, "I mean," you begin, voice small, "I wouldn't hate it."

Jay laughs at your response, "No need to be shy—I don't get jealous about that."

Sunghoon scoffs and rolls his eyes, muttering something about how Jay is a 'big fat fucking liar'.

"Plus, they all know you're my girlfriend," he finishes, "right, Hoonie?"

taglist : @enhypenlvrsstuff @deobitifull @mrstellaaa @berryysuyoo @d1seongjeglazer @engeneheree @lesbiansforakaneheiya @gett-fukedd @someoneskpopmystery @jaeyundazed @devilish-meangadh

Your boyfriend was hot—there was no denying it. But after the fourth or fifth round of him and Heeseung barking at each other over a stupid shooter game? Fucking yawn. It got a little bit boring. You were getting antsy—desperate for even a little bit of attention. Jay was sweet, a hand resting on your thigh in between matches. But it just wasn't enough.

You were a human.

You had needs.

And maybe those needs just so happened to be sitting on the couch, man spreading and whining about whatever-the-fuck, while your boyfriend went to the bathroom. You were bold in every sense of the word; you didn't really give a damn what anyone thought about you. And with permission from your boyfriend?

You were already crawling over to where Heeseung sat on the couch. He was scrolling on his phone, completely in his own world and not at all paying attention to the scheming smirk you had across your lips.

That wasn't until you dramatically sighed, pulled his phone right out of his hands, and settled atop his perfect lap. Heeseung put his hands up—he refused to touch you, not until Jay said something. Yeah, sure, that whole video debacle had been running rampant through his mind for weeks; you know, the one where you asked all of your boyfriend's friends to fuck you.

Heeseung assumed that's what this was about, but Jay was fucking scary when he got mad; and nothing riled him up more than some uninvited guest coming onto his beloved girlfriend.

"Woah, wha,"

"Do you wanna cash in your check?" You ask, eyes wide and begging for anything. Your hands rest on his abdomen, softly stroking the baggy shirt that covers his skin. You bite your lip softly—really playing into the whole needy act.

"Do I wanna what?" Heeseung was already out of breath.

"Cash in your check," you repeat. Your hands snake up to his chest carefully; your eyes dart down to that spot caged in between your thighs. Heeseung was already getting hard. "Sunghoon did a few days ago."

"Sunghoon wha,"

"What the fuck," Jay scoffs, appearing in the doorway to the living room. He wipes his damp hands onto his t-shirt, strolling over to the two of you on the couch. Jay's hand finds the crown of your head, petting you softly. "Seriously, babe? You're so fucking easy."

"You let Sunghoon fuck her?" Heeseung nearly screams, hands flying to your waist when you roll your hips in a particularly torturous way.

Jay shrugs, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head, "I mean—he didn't fuck her."

"What the fuck is that s'posed—mpfh," you roll your hips again, leaning closer into Heeseung's touch. "S'posed to mean?"

"I give you guys a choice," he responds. Jay stops giving you attention, instead finding the spot next to Heeseung. He leans back against the couch, head tipped up to the ceiling and legs spread wide, showcasing his own growing bulge. "You can either fuck her mouth, or fuck her pussy—not both."

"And what did he choose?" Heeseung's grip on your waist tightens as you continue to move—soft, slow, needy. All of his words come out short and through gritted teeth as if he's desperately trying to keep his composure. And, well, he kinda is. Even without actually feeling you, Heeseung can tell just how good of a fuck you'll be.

You dip down into Heeseung, lips finding his neck. He lets out a quiet moan which he quickly bites back.

Jay smirks at his friend, raising his eyebrows in silent recognition. "He chose her mouth."

Heeseung nods, eyebrows furrowing. He pushes you away—only slightly—to watch the movement in between you two. He watches the way your hips slowly grind onto his clothed cock; he watches as his cock springs to life with your every roll; he watches his patience and self-respect slowly dissipate into a horniness he's genuinely never felt before in his life.

You're whining over him, hands fisting his shirt desperately. Jay's hand slides up Heeseung's neck and settles in his hair. He plays with it, waiting for Heeseung to respond to his imaginary question. Heeseung outright moans, head falling back into Jay's hand, turning to look at his friend.

"What do you choose?" Jay whispers, eyes softening at how desperate you've already made Heeseung.

"Fuck," Heeseung groans once more, sucking in a breath through his teeth. "Can she ride me?"

Jay chuckles, "You wanna ride him, baby?"

You nod feverishly, hips stalling as you look to your boyfriend. He turns to Heeseung, flashing him a smirk before he pushes himself off the couch. Jay finds himself behind you, hands atop your breasts as he massages them through your shirt.

"You're lucky," he begins, fingers finding the hem of your shirt, "I didn't let Sunghoon take her shirt off—but you won't get the full experience unless you see her tits."

Heeseung groans at Jay's words. You lift your arms, whining softly as Jay tugs the fabric over your head; your hands fly right back to Heeseung's chest, fingers digging into his shirt.

Behind you, Jay tuts. He reaches for the clasp of your bra, wasting no time in unbuttoning it and sliding it off of your body. His hands cover Heeseung's on your waist, pulling you up off of him. "C'mon, baby," Jay coos. He kisses your neck softly, eyes locked on Heeseung. "Show him how pretty your tits are."

You start to curl in on yourself, fingers finding the hem of Heeseung's shirt as they nervously play with it. Heeseung is floored; his eyes are wide and mouth agape. He glances up at Jay, silently asking for permission. When Jay nods, Heeseung wastes no time before grabbing your breasts. The mounds find Heeseung's hands delicately as he toys with them, fingers brushing over you nipples to watch you squirm.

"You have no idea how much I think about these," he whispers. Heeseung leans forward and places a soft kiss onto one of your breasts—he looks up at you with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen.

"I think I have some kind of idea," Jay quips.

Heeseung takes one of your mounds into his mouth, lips wrapping around you carefully as his tongue finds your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the bud, moaning into your flesh as he feels you shake. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging at the strands softly.

"Heeseung," you gasp, hips rocking against his lap. "Jay," you whine, "feels so good."

"Yeah, I know," he coos back at you. Jay's hand finds your hair, softly brushing through it as he watches this whole scene unfold from behind. "You love getting your tits sucked, hm?"

You nod at his words; Heeseung moans.

"Please, Heeseung," you push his forehead—an attempt to get him off of your chest and looking into your eyes. "'m so," Your lip quivers as you stare at him.

Heeseung looks up at you before turning his attention to Jay. "You're fucking joking," he says, breathless.

Jay just laughs at Heeseung's breathlessness before feigning ignorance. "Wha'dya mean?"

"She's a fucking wet dream, dude," Heeseung throws his head back, grip tightening on your waist as he eggs you to keep grinding down onto him. He squeezes his eyes shut, letting a drawn out moan erupt from his chest. "Fucking shaking—'re you that needy?"

You nod, hands sliding down to palm his cock through his sweatpants. "Please, Heeseung," you whisper, "wanna feel you."

Heeseung just nods at you, eyes lidded. His hands cover your own, coaxing you off of his bulge. His hands fidget with his waistband, finally freeing himself. Heeseung holds his cock in his hand, hissing as he watches the precum dribble out from his tip.

Jay lets out a low whistle, "Wow, Hee," he teases, "look at that." Jay leans down, hooking his chin over your shoulder. He places a kiss on your neck. "You're fucking leaking," he chuckles, turning to you, "guess you're not the only needy one, hm?"

Heeseung whines when you reach out, wrapping your hand around his dick. You pump him a few times, lifting your hips as your hands move to remove your shorts.

"No prep?" Jay teases.

"I don't need it," you mumble as your shorts messily come off.

Jay quirks a brow, scoffing. "No fucking way."

"What?" Heeseung groans. You lean forward, pecking the corner of his mouth as you lift up and line his tip up with your entrance.

"You little,"

"What the fuck are you talking about, man?" Heeseung's hands dig into your waist so hard you're sure you'll have bruises the next morning. He whines, head thrown back as you sink down onto the tip of his leaking cock.

"She fucking fingered herself 'cause she knew you'd be over," he scoffs.

If you thought Heeseung was being loud before—that comment turned the notch up twelve decibels. Jay's comment mixed with you bottoming out on his cock, well, Heeseung was honestly shocked he didn't cum right then and there.

Heeseung keeps his tight grip on you, steadying you where you sit on his pelvis. You watch the deep rise and fall of his chest; the way he lets the breaths be audible and ring out into the living room. His eyes are squeezed shut, but every time they open even a little bit, you notice how they're rolled back.

"Heeseung," you whine, "'m so full."

"Move for him," Jay coaxes. He peppers kisses on your neck, hands covering Heeseung's own. "Let him feel you, yeah?"

You listen to Jay, picking up your hips before slowly lowering back down onto him. You set a steady rhythm—slow and controlled. With every movement, you can feel all of Heeseung. He was around the same size as Sunghoon—although Sunghoon was thicker in girth. Neither of them simulated Jay's cock, that you were positive about. You feel the drag of his cock along your walls; feel every vein and throb his length offers.

You're trying to play it cool, trying to make it seem as if this is a normal occurrence, but it's simply not. No matter how many times Jay fucks you—you'll never get used to his cock, it's just not possible. Heeseung's size fills you up perfectly, but it still takes a while to get used to. The stretch burns—but Jay said to move, so you moved.

You pick up the pace when you feel the burn start subside. One of Jay's hands snakes forward, applying pressure onto your clit. You moan your boyfriend's name, head falling forward onto Heeseung's shoulder. "Fuck—right there."

You notice when Heeseung starts to get more comfortable—the way his hips start to meet yours with thrusts of his own, the way he takes a little bit more control of the whole situation, offering you help and easing some of the pressure off your legs.

"Her pussy's so fuckin' tight, Jay," Heeseung moans. He's entranced by you entirely.

Jay's fingers speed up on your clit, smirking at Heeseung's words. Jay watches Heeseung's face—every twitch, every tense of muscle, every reaction to your body.

If you thought you were having trouble keeping it together, then Jay had it ten times worse. He was trying to play the cool, dominant boyfriend who shares his girlfriend with his friends—he didn't know it'd turn him on so fucking much. The neglect of his cock was torturous, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it.

The tip of Heeseung's cock hit that spot, and when you moaned particularly loud, Heeseung kept up the pace. He found it again and again, abusing your poor pussy in the effort to get you off. Heeseung's cock mixed with Jay's fingers on your clit had that familiar heat pooling in your belly.

"Heeseung," you moan.

"She's gonna cum, Hee," Jay interrupts, "make it good for her, yeah?"

Heeseung listens to Jay—keeping his pace steady and continuing to hit that spot in your pussy. "Dude, I can't," he groans, "she's so fucking wet—so warm, shit."

You stop your movements, clenching hard around Heeseung as you cum with a loud whine. Heeseung follows closely behind, dumping his load into you as he groans. "Jay—fuck, 'm sorry."

Heeseung's head lolls back, eyes hooded as they stare you down. They flick down to the place where the two of you meet; he watches as his cum leaks out of you and onto his thighs. His chest rises heavily with each deep breath he inhales, trying to calm down.

"I did not," he pants, "mean to cum inside her."

Jay clicks his tongue, finger slowing down on your clit when he notices you twitch from overstimulation. "Don't worry about it," he lies, trying to shrug it off like he's not absolutely seething at the fact.

You drop from your forehead onto your cheek where you rest on Heeseung's shoulder. You stare at the wall across from you, waiting for the colored dots to disappear from your vision. You reach behind you for your boyfriend, smiling when you feel him grab your hand.

"You good, baby?"

"Mhm," you hum, nodding as you tug him onto the couch next to you and Heeseung. He complies, watching you with careful eyes for any sign of discomfort. Heeseung's hands wrap around your torso, pulling you closer to his body; his cock is still buried inside of you, slowly softening.

Your hand separates itself from Jay's. Slowly, you snake it up his thigh and onto the tent in his pants. Jay quietly hisses, before gently swatting your hand away. "'m fine, pretty."

"But you deserve to cum, Jay," you softly respond.

Jay's heart simply melts at your tone—the way you always worry about him when, in reality, the only thing he cares about is your pleasure.

"I don't want you to do anything—promise." Jay smiles at you, bringing your hand to his lips as he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"Then you do something," Heeseung speaks up. The three of you fall silent, allowing Heeseung's words to marinate in your minds.

"What?" Jay asks, eyebrow quirked.

Heeseung finally turns to look at Jay, "Do something about it." Heeseung's eyes flick down to Jay's crotch—an obvious wet patch displayed across it—and gives him a challenging look. "Get off—to her, to me, to both of us."

Jay hates to admit how his cock jumps at Heeseung's words—at the way he suggests it. Jay swallows thickly, scoffing like it's no big deal. And it isn't, not until your hand finds its way back onto his bulge, squeezing his dick.

He moans, but lets you grope him.

"Show us, Jay," you whisper, a cheeky smile spreading across your lips.

Jay—eyebrows knitted together and eyes hooded—thinks it over. His cock hurts and watching you ride one of his best friends was genuinely one of the hottest things he'd ever seen you do. So, he sucks up his pride, swats your hand away, and watches as his own hand dips below the waistband of his sweats.

Jay hisses at the contact, letting out an open-mouthed 'ah' as he pulls his cock out from its confinements. You and Heeseung shamelessly stare at Jay's cock—long, girthy, and standing proudly in his hand.

Jay doesn't look at the two of you, he just can't bring himself to. He pumps his cock, once, twice, hissing at every movement of his hand. He's sensitive—so fucking sensitive. It almost hurts to touch himself, but fuck, does it feel good.

You and Heeseung just watch the whole ordeal; you watch as Jay's hand slides up and down his dick, watch as his chest rises and falls, watch as he desperately tries to keep his composure.

Jay moans, almost whining as he closes his eyes. He throws his head back, squeezing his cock as he shuts his eyes. "Oh, fuck," he draws out, "oh my God."

Heeseung's lips part, a soft breath that could almost be mistaken for a moan slipping past them. He shifts you in his lap, cock slowly springing back to life; you whine when you feel him start to fill you up once more.

"Oh, baby," Jay groans, "fuck, you feel so good."

"Jay, dude," Heeseung whines. He feels his hands getting restless, tightening his grip on your waist.

"Shut up," Jay says, "stop fucking," he's interrupted by a moan, "fucking talking."

You lick your lips, watching as Jay's cock begins to leak more and more. His tip ruthlessly pumps out precum, coating his red dick with the milky, white substance.

"'m almost," Jay's mouth opens wide, jaw tensing at the stretch, "fuck, fuck, fuck."

Jay cums with a whine—something guttural and not on purpose. He pumps his fist faster, drawing out a long groan as he empties his load across his hand. Jay doesn't stop until his cock softens, falling slack in his grip.

He takes a moment to breathe, turning to look at the two of you.

Heeseung's eyes are blown-out and hooded; your face is red and breath unsteady.

"Jay," Heeseung croaks out, "I think we might have a slight problem."

Jay groans in frustration, squeezing his eyes shut to quell the cloudiness hazing his mind.

"You're not fucking her again," he breathes, "go jerk off or s'mthing."

taglist : @enhypenlvrsstuff @deobitifull @mrstellaaa @berryysuyoo @d1seongjeglazer @engeneheree @lesbiansforakaneheiya @gett-fukedd @someoneskpopmystery @jaeyundazed @devilish-meangadh @hi00000234567 @loverbyfate @regaltwat @nishimuraswifeuu @dwaekkiim @sheseung @yeeunlvr @hoesluvjake @butterfly27261505 @brbgottablast @luvjake @imtiredofthisbsstuff @lesbiansforheiyaakane @dvett

The sweat pooled between your back and Jay’s chest would’ve been disgusting in any instance other than this one. With both of your clothes discarded somewhere on the floor and his chest pressed flush against your back, you, quite frankly, didn’t give a flying fuck about anything else.

Jay hovered over you; his arms parallel to your face as he fiddled with his phone on the windowsill. You just sat there, patient as ever and admiring your boyfriend on the camera. You tried to sit still, but, fuck it, you were horny. Goddamn that gorgeous man.

This was almost routine at this point—Jay recording you. He was protective and easily provoked with fits of jealousy, so it was contradictory. Wouldn’t someone so hellbent on making sure everyone knew you were his want to keep your sex life a secret? Well, sure, in a sense. It wasn’t like he was posting these videos for the world—not at all. He was just sending them to his groupchat, obviously.

You couldn’t remember the first time this happened, but for some reason, it didn’t bother you. You weren’t stupid. You noticed Heeseung’s wandering eyes that always landed on your chest, you weren’t oblivious when it came to Sunghoon trying to show off his gym progress, and there was no way Jake wasn’t even a little bit conscious when he’d drape his body over your own at the bar. But the weirdest part? Jay never cared.

Your boyfriend would’ve pulled you possessively close and thrown a mean look over his shoulder had it been anyone other than his friends acting like this. You’d thought about it a lot—what the difference was in response, and you finally came up with your conclusion. 

Jay got off on it.

Jay simply loved knowing his friends were so enamored with you that they probably jerked off to your Instagram account. He loved knowing he was the one that got to fuck you—not them; loved knowing that he was the one splitting you open on his cock, he was the one tasting your delicious pussy, he was the one making you cum and cry and beg for more. 

And yeah, his friends talked about it. His friends mentioned how hot you were, cornered Jay into giving them details about the sex, everything. Quick comments of, “How tight is she,” and even, “How does she look when she cums—fuck, I bet she sounds so hot.” And you knew, though you pretended you didn’t.

So, when one night of disgustingly passionate sex after a night out with Jake and Heeseung eyefucking you was coming to an end, Jay asked if he could record. You said yes, he pressed the button, and after five minutes of slow, sensual strokes, you came around Jay with a loud cry and soft whimpers to accompany your clenches.

“I’m sending this to the guys,” he said as you two started drifting off.

You just laughed in response and said “Do it, I wanna see what they say.”

And after that night, it became routine. Jay didn’t always record the two of you, maybe once every few months. But the knowledge that the camera was on and his friends would be watching turned him on more than he’d like to admit. Jay liked to rub it in their faces. He liked to say I’m the one who gets to fuck her pussy, not you without actually saying it.

Tonight was different; tonight had a purpose. 

“Fuck,” you felt his muscles flex beneath you. You reached up and grabbed Jay’s bicep, a soft moan slipping past your lips; you were getting impatient. “I don’t like the angle, it’s pissing me off.”

Jay grabbed the phone from the windowsill and put it in your hands. He adjusted your arms, making sure your face and chest were visible. The only part of himself on camera was his chest and shoulders, but he got cut off at the neck. Jay pressed a few kisses on your neck, wet and open mouthed, as his hands found themselves on your waist. He stroked your skin, soft and lovingly before giving it a quick squeeze.

“Wanna press record for me, baby?” He murmured into your neck. You nodded, hands shaking as your fingers found the red button on his phone. Jay’s hands splayed themselves over your stomach, the tips of his fingers dangerously close to your pussy. You were wet—so wet—with anticipation that the mere suggestion of Jay touching you made you impossibly wetter.

“They can’t see you,” you breathed out.

Jay chuckled. His fingers found your clit as they rubbed soft circles onto the bud. Your back arched up off his chest and a moan fell from your kiss-swollen lips. “It’s okay—they know who’s fucking you.” 

Jay continued touching you, and you just stared into the camera. You made pouty faces and gave it soft winks and smiles as though you were testing out angles for a selfie or admiring your fresh makeup. Every now and again, when Jay would rub your clit just right, your mouth would fall open or your face would twist with pleasure. You’d catch it on the screen, and a soft blush would rest across your cheeks with a shy smile across your lips.

“Tell them what’s happening,” Jay whispered. His fingers picked up the pace; you internally cursed him because you knew he did it on purpose—knew he wanted to hear your voice quiver and shake while you addressed his friends.

“Uhm,” you began, a shy giggle slipping past you as you moaned. “Wha,” you squeezed your eyes shut, “Whad’you want me to tell them?”

“What you told me,” Jay’s voice was low and sensual. You could hear him fine, but the video only picked it up in the distance, although the viewer could hear him clearly. “What you want me to do.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his words. Right. That. “Oh,” you bite your lip as Jay picks up his pace again before quickly slowing down. His fingers move along your swollen bud slowly now, large circles that make you shake with want. “I told Jay that,” you hesitate a bit, staring at yourself on the screen with big eyes.

Jay comes into view now, hooking his chin over your shoulder. He admires the two of you on screen and a sly smirk paints his sharp features. Jay licks his lips and chuckles before he latches onto your neck. He nips and sucks your skin, making you jump each time he makes contact with a new area. “C’mon, use your words,” he says, “Tell ‘em what you told me—don’t get shy now.”

You swallow thickly before nodding. “I kinda want him to be,” you hesitate again, your voice growing smaller. “Like, rough with me.” 

“Like what?”

A whine slips past you as you purse your lips into a pout. Of course, he’s doing this. Jay likes to act all macho when the camera’s on, likes to humiliate you because he knows it’s what his friends get off to. 

“Like, slap me a bit, be a lil’ rough—not too much, though! I don’t wanna hurt.”

“Y’know I won’t hurt you, baby.”

You nod again. Your lip is between your teeth once more and you will yourself to keep talking. “Fuck me harder than usual—y’know? I jus’ kinda wonder what it feels like.”

“Yeah,” he’s talking to the camera now, “Figured I’d show you boys what it’s like to throw her around.” A wicked smirk takes over him once more as he removes himself from your neck and focuses on the camera. Jay grabs the phone from you and puts it on the windowsill. He fiddles with it again, obviously unhappy with the angle. Jay clicks his tongue, ultimately deciding it’ll do.

The camera shows more now. It shows your completely naked body and how you’re sitting on the bed, back against Jay’s chest and legs open for them to see you dripping. The angle also shows Jay’s fingers back on your pussy. They rub slow circles on your clit once more, and with your hands free you take the opportunity to grab onto Jay’s biceps. Your eyes are screwed shut, mouth hung open as soft pants slip out. Jay kisses your shoulder once, twice, before he removes his hands and brings them to your waist.

Jay scooches back from you and hooks his arms under your armpits. He hoists you up until you’re sitting on your knees before he places his hand on the small of your back. “Bend over for me,” he commands, and of course, you comply.

You let Jay’s hand guide you down - face first into the sheets. Your cheek is pressed into the cloth when you feel Jay grab your hands. He binds the two with the fingers of just one of his hands while the other lands a sharp smack across your ass. Immediately, you feel the sting from his hand, yet you still moan. The sound surprises you, but not Jay. No, Jay expected you to like it—he knows you too well. 

He holds your wrists behind your back and soothes the red print with his hand. Your thighs clench together, and he notices. 

“C’mon, don’t hide from me,” he coos. Your pussy oozes arousal and you feel Jay drag his finger up your slit. Your hips move on their own, pushing back towards him for some kind of relief. Jay clicks his tongue, gathering the wetness onto his fingers before pulling away.

He leans towards the camera and spreads his fingers apart. The scene is grotesque; your slick strings together as his fingers spread, wetness visibly dripping down their slender form all for the phone to see. Jay makes eye contact with the camera, smirking while he brings his fingers into his mouth. The man laps at them—starved. He moans and sighs in pleasure, eyes screwed shut as he relishes in your taste.

He pulls away, examining your position. Jay leans forward, licks a thick stripe up your pussy, and lands another sharp slap, this time on your pussy. You twitch and cry out, tears prickling into your eyes.

Jay chuckles before shoving two of his fingers inside of you—rough and unapologetic with no warning. He pumps his digits in and out, in and out, at a brutal pace. There’s no intention of slowing down or showing you any signs of mercy. The squelchy sounds of your pussy are obscene—the sound bouncing off the walls all around the two of you.

“Yeah, look at that—fuck. You’re sucking them in, baby,” Jay leans forward and kisses your pussy, lips attaching to your clit as he suckles the swollen bud. Your whines join the rest of the absurd sounds, putting on a show for the camera.

Jay curls his fingers perfectly, right at the spot he knows drives you mad. You let out a particularly loud moan, and that seemed to be Jay’s cue. He picks up the pace, slamming his fingers in and out of you, abusing the spongy spot inside of your pussy. The palm of his hand smacks against your ass with every thrust, the sound of skin on skin now loud and obscene.

You clench around him, the whines of his name now accompanied with soft pants. Jay knows you’re getting close, and so without a second thought, he pulls his fingers away. Whimpers fall from your lips, tears coming to your eyes once more at the loss of contact.

“Jay,” you cry.

Jay coos at you, sucking his fingers into his mouth and licking them clean. He chuckles at you, almost mocking your state. “It’s okay, baby. Ion’ want you to cum too fast.”

You whine again, pushing your ass back in hopes he’ll give you something. Jay responds to your action with a smack, his hand rubbing the red skin as he presses a kiss to it. Jay cups himself through his boxers, palming his erection as he lets out a groan of relief. His cock is already hard and leaking precum, a wet patch on the front of his underwear signaling he can’t wait much longer.

He pulls his cock out, pumping himself as he stares at your position. Your hole clenches around nothing, oozing arousal. Jay screws his eyes shut, mouth hung open as he fucks himself with his hand. 

“Oh, fuck,” he hisses when he ceases his motions. Jay scoots closer to you, lining his tip with your hole. You whine at the sudden contact, pushing back against him in hopes of getting him inside you faster. Jay doesn’t think twice before spanking you again, this time not offering any comfort.

“Fuck, you guys are missing out,” he speaks to the camera, his smirk coming back. “Tip’s barely in and she’s already tight as fuck.” Jay pushes into you about two inches before settling. You’re tighter than ever. His chest rises and falls as he tries to steady his breathing, but fuck, you feel so good. It’s all overwhelming, even to him.

Jay settles his hands on your hips, snapping his hips forward as he buries another couple inches into you. You feel so full, and he’s still not even done. That’s what you love about your boyfriend’s dick - he’s so big that even half feels like you’re going to fucking die. He hardly ever uses his whole length, but when he does - it’s heaven.

You begin to rock back onto him, a silent signal that you’re ready for him to start. Jay clicks his tongue before letting out a sigh, “Patience, baby.”

You whine at his words, pouting against the sheets. Jay doesn’t wait long before giving you what you want, however. Quickly, he starts his thrusts. Rough and fast, not letting up. He brings your hips back to meet his thrusts, your whole body limp and pliable under his magnificent hands. 

You’re being fucked like a stupid doll. Back and forth, back and forth, it doesn’t stop. The smacks that ring out through the room as your ass bounces off his pelvis are loud, but it only eggs him on. Jay hit the spot that makes you see stars, and you cry out louder than you have tonight. 

Your hands find purchase in the sheets around you, desperately trying to anchor your body from the damn near abusing pace Jay has set. Soft breaths are punched out of you with every thrust; Jay’s own grunts and groans are raw and full of need. 

Jay slows his movements down when he fists a handful of your hair. He pulls on it and drags your body up; back flush against his chest as you’re pulled onto your knees. You stare at yourself on camera; nose red and raw, eye makeup smudged with tears, drool collecting around the corners of your mouth. Jay keeps his hold on your hair with one hand and grabs your breast with his other, manhandling the mound of flesh.

“Look at them,” he says to you. You nod at him, eyes remaining focused on his phone. “Tell ‘em how you feel.”

Your lips quiver as you try to find your words, but you simply can’t. Your eyes drift down to your pussy visible on the screen - split open on Jay’s cock and dripping in an insane manner. Jay notices, removing his hand from your chest and bringing it to your pussy. He spreads your lips open, showcasing your pretty pussy to his friends.

A possessive smile spreads across his face, “Her pussy looks so good split open like this, huh?” You moan at his touch and words, which just gives him the confidence to keep going. “She wouldn’t look nearly as good on any of you guys, though.”

His fingers find your clit, giving it slow, languid rubs while Jay leans towards your neck. His lips find your sweaty skin, latching on and leaving open mouthed kisses all over. His tongue darts out, licking up a bead of sweat as he enjoys the salty taste. 

“She only likes to fuck guys with big dicks, right, babe?”

You let out a laugh of disbelief that quickly morphs into a moan. 

“Answer me,” he whispers into your neck.

You nod, “Mhm.”

“Mhm? C’mon, be a big girl and use your words. I know they’re in there, somewhere.”

“Ye,” you’re interrupted by a moan, “yeah - yes.”

Jay smirks. He releases his grip on your hair, letting you crash down onto the mattress beneath him. Jay resumes his pace. His cock is splitting you open—you barely had time to adjust before he set the speed. 

His tip hits the right spot; the place that has your eyes rolling back and toes curling, the place that makes you see stars and has you reaching back to your boyfriend for comfort. Jay notices. Jay keeps fucking you like a stupid doll.

Harder.

Faster.

Messier.

Your ass meets his pelvis time and time again. Loud smacks bounce off the walls, the raw sound of skin on skin colliding is obvious to anyone who dares to hear what the two of you are doing. Jay loves it. Jay gets off on it. 

You feel his ego growing by the second; every clench of your pussy and twitch of his cock a signal that he’s coming close to letting go. You are too.

You feel the familiar feeling deep inside your gut. The heat is rising; your stomach is suddenly heavy and you’re way too aware of everything happening. You’re aware of every drag of Jay’s cock—aware of every vein caressing your gummy walls. 

Your moans increase in volume, Jay’s name spilling out of your lips. The entire scene looks and sounds like some kind of cheap porno performance, and you’d think so too if you weren’t actively living it.

“Fuck, baby,” Jay moans above you. His jaw is slack, eyes screwed shut. 

“J,” you can barely finish his name at the pace he’s fucking you. “Jay—I’m gonna,”

“Fuck, me too baby.”

Something inside you snaps at that moment. Immediately, your body goes slack, brain goes numb, vision gets foggy. You cum more intensely than you ever have. Your juices squirt out of you, arousal coating Jay’s cock and thighs and pelvis. He’s simply dripping with you—all for his friends to see on the other end.

Jay doesn’t stop when you cum - he keeps fucking you with that raw, brutal pace he’s had set for the night. A low groan comes from deep within Jay’s chest. He feels your walls clench around him from the overstimulation.

“Shit—you’re so hot. I’m gonna—fuck,”

Jay pulls out of you in one swift motion. He angles himself above your ass, shooting ropes of his milky cum all over your red ass cheeks. Jay continues to pump his cock, milking himself until he’s emptied his entire load onto you.

You sit there, cheek still pressed into the mattress with tears running down your face, panting and desperately trying to catch your breath. You feel Jay press himself against you as he grabs the camera from the windowsill. He flips it, showing your cum-covered ass off to his friends.

“Look at her,” he says, fingers collecting his cum. He briefly shows the wetness of his thighs, laughing as he coos at your fucked out state. Jay presses his palm to your back, pressuring you to lay flat down onto your stomach. You comply, simply because you don’t have enough strength in your entire body to resist your boyfriend. 

Jay hovers over you, camera shoved in your face as he shows you off to the audience. He brings his fingers to your lips, beckoning you to open them before he shoves his fingers into your mouth. You lap at them wildly, sucking the cum off his fingers until they’re clean.

Jay just laughs at you, “Yeah, show ‘em how needy you are for daddy’s cum.”

You moan around his fingers, eyes rolling back at his words. You pull off his fingers with a loud pop. Jay grabs your jaw, forcing you to face the camera. A cheeky smile spreads across your face; your tongue poking out with remnants of his cum before you pull it back into your mouth and swallow the rest of it.

You’re a mess—a beautiful fucking mess. Your hair’s all tousled and in your face, sticking to the damp skin adorned with tears and smudged mascara.

“Mm,” you moan, "tastes good, daddy. I wan’ more.”

Jay kisses the top of your head. “How was that, babygirl?”

You nod, nuzzling into Jay’s harsh grip on your jaw. “Good.”

“Don’t tell me—tell them.”

You open your hooded eyes wider, watching yourself on screen. “Sunghoon—it was really good,” you swallow your breaths for a moment, “you wanna join us next time?”

Jay lets out a low whistle, speaking up off camera, “You’re gonna leave Jake and Heeseung out?”

You laugh and bite your lip, “I didn’t say that. Jakey and Heeseung can join, jus’ thought Sunghoon would want to the most.”

Jay clicks the red button, ending the recording before he tosses his phone onto the comforter. He smoothes his hands over your body, a sudden sense of gentleness following his movements. You feel his weight leave the bed and you lay there, waiting for Jay to return.

When he does, he has a bottle of water and a wet washcloth. Jay doesn’t even let you attempt to move, just shushes you as he carefully wipes you down and finds your long-forgotten clothes on the floor. 

“Are you okay—for real?”

You nod and giggle at his sudden soft disposition, “Yes, Jay. I’m fine,” you reach out for your boyfriend, “c’mere.”

He accepts your spent invitation, settling directly on top of you as you huff out a dramatic breath and mumble something about him being heavy. Jay just mocks you, reaching for his phone. He spends some time on it, splitting the video into chunks small enough to send to his friends. Jay kisses your head and your cheek and anywhere else accessible to him; he simply refuses to leave you without affection.

Jay sends the clips to his groupchat, one by one until almost the whole encounter is in the hands of Jake, Sunghoon, and Heeseung. He tosses his phone onto the bed, settling on top of you while he continues peppering you with kisses.

Barely two minutes later, Jay’s phone buzzes—five, six, seven times. It keeps buzzing, but Jay just laughs into your hair.

“Sounds like they like it,” he mumbles into you, “I hope you weren’t lying about letting them join.”

Despite spending almost all of your formative years day dreaming what it would be like to be away from home, how the outside world would feel fresh and new and beautiful, you weren’t fully prepared for just how different it could possibly be.

It hadn’t been long now since you’d left, evident by Jake’s lip still cracking and bleeding every time he managed to smile too wide.

Still, he was managing far better than you and you were almost a little jealous considering his ability to socialize and adapt to your surroundings every new place you ended up in.

Taking now as a prime example as you observed your surroundings with a slight frown on your face. You were sat in an old diner with lights that made a low buzzing noise and windows fogged up by the cold that settled in with the night. Your hands were nervously playing with the paper from your straw, anxiously ripping it into smaller and smaller pieces so you had something to keep you occupied.

Jake was a few feet away, sat on a stool at the bar and leaning over it with a bright smile on his face, chatting animatedly with the older women behind the counter and shoving his finger against the map out in front of him every few seconds as he was trying to understand the directions she was helping him with.

You thought it was interesting how much he seemed to fit in out here.

The town you were currently in wasn’t far from where you’d grown up but it was almost triple in size, actual buildings and businesses just outside the diner and small crowds of people wandering around in suits and modern clothing. It felt like a new world and your head was hurting from the constant buzz of noise and movements.

All your life you’d longed for something interesting, for any moment to catch your attention long enough to help you forget where you were and now you finally had a steady stream of these distractions and you didn’t quite know what to do with them.

You looked back up towards Jake and saw him already watching you, a worried expression on his bruised face that slowly melted into a smile as he gave you an encouraging thumbs up.

Your lips curled up slightly and you gave him a small nod of approval back.

Despite your constant worrying and doubt about leaving home, or more literally running away from home, the one thing you hadn’t second thought was who you were doing it with.

Feeling an ice cold hand placed on your arm, you whipped your body around in defense and laid with your back pressed firmly against the mud, hands raised in preparation to fight off whoever had approached you in the field.

You dropped your hands with a cry when you saw it was just Jake standing over you, his eyes wide in fear and hands raised in surrender and an attempt to soothe your sudden panic. He relaxed at the sight of your relieved eyes but then immediately tensed up again when you started to sob.

You sat up to look at him closer, cupping his injured face in your shaking hands and frowning deeply.

He’d never seen you this vulnerable or lost and he felt a deep pit settle into his stomach at the way you shook your head in denial and cried looking at him. He wasn’t quite sure what the full extent of his injuries were but he imagined they couldn’t be pleasant judging by your extreme reaction.

“We have to go.” He was whispering and you kept shaking your head, looking at him in confusion and caressing his face with your cold thumbs.

“Go where Jake?” You said in bewilderment, looking around the area you were in and shrugging. “We have no where to go, and nothing with us.”

He was kneeling down into the mud so he could be closer to you, not minding the way it squished and soaked into, what was now, his only pair of jeans.

“You have me.” His voice was stern and sincere, needing you to trust and understand that what he was saying was the truth. It wasn’t safe to stay where you were and you’d have to take your chances elsewhere to avoid what was coming your way.

“They followed me out of the house.” He was continuing and although you had suspected as much, knowing there was no way he had talked himself out of that situation, your stomach still clenched in fear. “It’ll be worse when they find us.”

You weren’t sure how it could be worse considering the current state of him. Jake’s face was swollen and already starting to bruise, his lip busted with blood dripping down onto his sweater.

Despite a few days passing now and healing the most extreme of his injuries, you still cringed at the memory and your face pulled into a grimace as you looked back down at your hands.

“We get people like you in here all the time.” A sudden voice was snapping you out of your thoughts and your head shot up to see a boy around your age with an apron on his waist. He was standing next to your table and looking over at Jake, the same way you were.

“Excuse me?” Your tone was harsh and he glanced at you for a second before sliding into the booth across from you.

“Hey, relax. I didn’t mean anything bad.” His voice was hushed and casual, spiking irritation in you. You wondered if this is how all teenage boys spoke in the real world. “That’s my mom over there. We live above the diner.”

He lifted a hand over his shoulder to point at the woman Jake was talking to, who apparently was the owner on top of being a waitress. You looked back at the boy and your eyes went to his name tag.

“Bob?” You questioned him with a raised eyebrow and he let out a laugh at your deadpan expression.

“It’s actually Heeseung.” He explained and when you looked more confused he continued. “Bob’s sick so I’m filling in.”

You didn’t say anything after that, just humming in understanding and avoiding looking at him. You were mentally willing that Jake would hurry back so he could take over the social interaction.

“I really didn’t meant to offend you. I just meant that we see kids from the villages all the time.” He was speaking in a kinder tone now but you looked back up in surprise at his words.

“You can tell?” You whispered and leaned forward with your elbows on the table, looking around slightly in panic. It was already alarming enough to think you were radiating runaway vibes but it also didn’t help to think about all the kids before you that had ended up at this same place.

“Not really.” He rushed to assure and his big eyes widened in alarm at your sudden change of demeanor. “I just heard your boyfriend asking about the bus stop.”

You nodded at his explanation, relaxing slightly at his words but being a bit awkward at the label he had applied to Jake. He seemed to notice and his eyebrow quirked up.

“Not boyfriend then.” You couldn’t tell what his tone was implying but you furrowed your eyebrows into a glare and watched him carefully.

Thankfully Jake was finally heading over then, you could see him approaching from over Heeseung’s shoulder and he froze for a second when he realized you weren’t sitting alone anymore.

Heeseung was sat where he’d been sitting so he slid into the seat next to you, pressing close so your thighs and shoulders were touching each other. He didn’t look too worried at the sudden appearance of the boy despite your own hesitance.

“I’m Jake.” He greeted casually and he stuck his hand out across the table. Heeseung looked down at it for a second in surprise and you suddenly realized how aged the two of you might seem compared to normal teenagers. Still, the strange boy shook Jake’s hand happily and smiled across the table.

“Nice to meet you dude.” He grinned and looked over at you, making you realize you hadn’t offered your name to him at any point. You mumbled it and he nodded appreciatively.

“His mom, the owner, said they have a place for kids who leave the neighboring towns to stay overnight.” Jake was speaking in a calm tone from next to you and you glanced over at him with widened eyes.

Despite your annoyance with the boy across from you, it suddenly made sense why he had approached you in the first place.

“She told me all about the bus stops like we needed but I figured it’d be good to have somewhere to sleep for a few days that wasn’t a bench.” He looked nervous as he spoke like he was worried you’d scold him for making his own version of a plan.

Heeseung on the other hand looked awkward for other reasons, the mention of your homelessness saddening him.

“That sounds great Jake.” You smiled warmly at him, eyes tired as you placed a reassuring hand on his bouncing knee. “Thank you.”

“My mom lets people who stay with us work in the diner if they’d like.” Heeseung was talking again, more sheepish this time. “You don’t have to but she’ll pay you, then you’ll be able to travel easier.”

For the first time since leaving home you felt a small surge of hope as the two boys spoke and you almost welled up in tears at the kindness you were experiencing. You felt happy that other people like you and Jake had found this place and you felt sadness that some might not have.

You harbored these thoughts for the rest of the evening, even after Heeseung’s mom was done with her shift and flipping off the open sign on the diner window. She ushered the three of you into a back hallway with a warm smile and you followed in contemplative silence down it and up the staircase at the end, giving Jake small nods every time he glanced back to make sure you were okay.

The apartment wasn’t large but it was nice and home like, comfortable seatings in every corner and pots and pans sprawled about the kitchen like they’d left in a hurry after breakfast.

She showed you that the couch pulled into a springy bed for you and Jake to sleep on and you almost smiled at the slight blush that brought to his cheeks. She gave you a knowing glance and you faltered away from her gaze.

You were making the bed with the blankets she’d lent you, Jake and Heeseung off in his room after he excitedly exclaimed he had something to show Jake that he just couldn’t miss out on.

“Are you settling in okay?” Ms. Lee’s voice was startling you and you looked up at her from where she stood in the doorway, adorned in pajamas and a robe.

You briefly considered the fact you’d never once seen your own mother in such a casual state, although there was hundreds of obvious differences between the two.

Not fully trusting yourself to speak still, you nodded your head at her appreciatively and smoothed out the final blanket you had just laid down.

“Come here and I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” She was instructing kindly and you awkwardly followed her a few feet away into the connected kitchen, sitting down at the small table as she started to rummage through the cupboards. “I’m sure this must all be so overwhelming.”

“A bit.” You answered her after a few seconds of hesitation, your voice quiet and not quite sounding like yourself.

“You’ve made it this far.” She was continuing and you cocked your head at her although she wasn’t facing you and couldn’t see. She seemed to anticipate your reaction however and went on to explain. “Leaving is the hardest part.”

“When did you leave?”

She was turning around in surprise at your question but she didn’t look upset or offended that you had somehow managed to realize she also was from one of the villages. After her look of surprise faded away she gave you a small proud smile and sat at the table across from you.

“All these years I’ve been doing this and you’re the first person to figure me out.” She had a small teasing tone and you managed to smile at her.

“19 years ago I left.” She said it slowly like she was waiting for you to piece it together and you did immediately, parting your lips in surprise.

Your eyes shot to the fridge briefly, seeing photos of her and a small baby then more of the two of them as Heeseung continued to grow and she continued to age.

“I fell inlove,” She began hesitantly, like she hadn’t spoken it aloud before. “And then I found out I was pregnant. I could only hide it for so long of course and by the time they found out it was too late. But my father told me I would have the baby and then they’d give him away, we’d never tell anybody.”

You were nodding as she spoke, watching her as she stood up again at the sound of the water filter stopping and she began to pour your drinks while continuing her story.

“I said okay, of course. I was young and didn’t think there was anywhere to go but then I saw him.” She shrugged with a sad laugh and paused in her motions, taking a second to breathe. “I held him for three seconds before they took him away but that was all I needed.”

When she turned back towards you she gave you a smile and you returned it, graciously accepting the warm mug she was handing you as she sat back down.

She didn’t continue and you didn’t ask her any questions or pry for more specifics, details on how she managed to get out with Heeseung. You imagined that was where the story got ugly for most people, including yourself.

You thought back to the bruises on Jake’s face and body and you wondered what she thought when she saw him. Did it phase her or did most runaways come through looking how he did, or maybe even worse off. How many kids got to this point and then turned around, accepting the fate of returning home?

Echoes of Jake’s voice carried down the hallway, his laughter and teasing tone as he joked back and forth with Heeseung and you felt yourself tear up at how carefree and happy he sounded.

You weren’t sure he’d ever felt like that before but even worse, if he would again for a long time.

“You should go and check on him.” Ms. Lee was whispering and patting your hand, a knowing look on her face when you glanced up at her with wet eyes. You nodded and went to stand up before hesitating.

“Thank you.” You whispered back to her with full sincerity, voice cracking around the word and she didn’t reply verbally, giving you a smile and a nod.

Your heart was pounding as you walked down the hallway. There was only two doors at the end and one of them was open with bright lights pouring out so you assumed that was the one they were currently in. When you turned the corner into the doorway, you froze for a few seconds.

The boys were sat on Heeseung’s carpeted floor with something in between them, laughing so hard their breaths were catching in their throats and you watched Jake give him a playful shove on the shoulder at something the other boy was saying.

Heeseung’s room was basically a cluster of all sorts of games and media, things you didn’t recognize but you could imagine were well known considering the sheer amount of merchandise he had.

You could see colorful superhero’s and toy cars, a bookshelf overflowing with books and more little knick knacks. You thought back to your room, grey and barren other than the bible on your nightstand and your stomach turned.

Then Heeseung’s eyes were bouncing up towards you and he faltered as he noticed your sudden appearance. “Oh hey.”

Jake was looking over his shoulder in confusion and his smile dropped when he saw you, eyebrows furrowing in worry as he stood from the carpet and approached you in a hurry. His hands went to your crossed arms, holding you delicately and peering down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered and you shook your head, confused when you realized you were crying.

You tried to tell him that it was nothing and reassure him he could go back to hanging out with Heeseung, who was cautiously watching the two of you, but your voice made no noise so you just parted your mouth in muted silence.

Jake was frowning and petting your hair gently. “Hey let’s finish up tomorrow.”

You felt guilty as you heard Heeseung agree and bid the two of you goodnight, only getting worse when Jake started to lead you down the hallway and back out into the living room with gentle hands.

Ms. Lee was already out of the kitchen and the mugs were cleaned up, small circles of left over hot chocolate residue being the only evidence of your talk.

Jake helped you into bed and pulled the covers over you before walking around to the other side and crawling in next to you. He tugged his sweater off, leaving him in a white t-shirt, and laid down on his side so he could face you.

“What happened?” He whispered and you let out a small sob, laying on your back so you didn’t have to look at him. “Y/N, what happened?”

“I don’t know.” You whispered and you genuinely meant it. You weren’t sure when or why you’d started to cry, before this week it was extremely rare you’d get to such a point of emotion. “How are you so good at this?”

He let out a soft laugh and you glanced at him finally, frowning at his gentle expression and shifting your body so you could be closer to him.

“Are you kidding? This is terrifying.” He was scooting forward with you, pressed against your side now and whispering next to your ear.

You smiled through your tears at his statement, rolling on your side so you could face him better. You cupped his face when you turned, thumb rubbing softly over his bruise cheek.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore.” He whispered and you nodded softly despite not fully believing him. You saw the way he tongued at the cut on his lip and winced every time he got dressed in the morning. You couldn’t believe somebody could ever want to hurt a person like Jake.

Even now as you leaned up to kiss him, you could hear the slight hiss of pain at the feeling of your lips pressed onto his. He ignored it and surged forward into you, happily accepting the pain that came along with being close to you again.

You hadn’t had any down time since leaving, sometimes holding hands while you waited at bus stops or pecking him goodnight before you curled into each other and slept close to remain warm.

But kissing him now felt different in the same ways it felt familiar and you leaned into him again desperately at the sudden comfort that washed over you. Despite the absolute mess of a week you were having and your entire life being flipped upside down, Jake was here and he understood exactly what you felt.

He’d come with you instead of taking his punishment and staying home. It wasn’t safe there but neither was what you were doing, living from place to place with no steady food source or warm bed to sleep in as the winter approached rapidly.

Yet he was still here with you and still doing things that were strange and confusing for him. Just like you, Jake had never had to work, never taken a bus or been in a city with more than 700 people. He was waking up each day and holding more conversations than he’d had his entire life and trying to figure out the safest option for the both of you.

You wanted him to understand you were beyond thankful for him and everything he was doing although you had a habit of falling short on words.

One of his hands went to your hair, keeping you pressed against him and you felt a small spark of satisfaction in your stomach at the reminder of who exactly you were kissing. Less than two weeks ago he hadn’t even been able to hold your hand and now he was frantically keeping you tugged against him.

Your hands went around his back and you bunched up his thin shirt in a tight fist, shuffling even closer to him as you took a deep breath and kept kissing.

He was sitting up just a bit so he could lean over you and you heard a soft whine escape his throat as he tried to deepen the kiss. You stopped and tapped him on his back which caused him to immediately pull away with a frown.

“We can’t baby.” You shook your head and his frown deepened. You felt his hand that was in your hair twitch like he was going to instinctively curl it up before remembering it’s placement.

“I can keep quiet.” His voice had taken a soft pleading tone and you felt him lowering himself again, although this time he was half way on top of your body. He leaned back in to kiss you and you accepted habitually.

This kiss was deep from the start, your heads turning and pulling each other in with a fever that only time could bring. You let yourself lick into his mouth just to hear his soft little gasp before pulling back again.

“Please.” He was whispering into your mouth before you could reject him again and your resolve faltered slightly.

You hummed as you considered your current situation and what he was asking. Heeseung and his mom were quite a bit away, all the way out of the living and kitchen and down the long hallway. But the apartment was still small and you were guest.

“What do you want baby?” You questioned him gently, touching his face again and he immediately was pushing against your hand and letting out a shaky breath.

“Please.” He didn’t say anything else for a second and you almost told him to word it clearly before you realized he was completely lowering himself now so you could feel him against you.

Your mouth parted in understanding at the hardness that was now pressed against your stomach and he flushed bright red, hiding his face in your neck in a familiar position. Your hand that was still on his back, gripping his shirt, rubbed it softly and he groaned in embarrassment.

For a moment you wanted to tease him, make him feel more humiliated for getting hard after barely kissing you. But then he was picking up his head with red cheeks and anticipation in his eyes and you couldn’t help yourself from leaning into him.

He made a small surprised noise at the sudden kiss but happily accepted it.

Your hand went under his shirt to continue rubbing his back and you were suddenly reminded how rare it was you actually felt each others skin. Not to mention you’d only ever seen him without pants, always remaining fully dressed.

He seemed to be having a similar line of thoughts because he was impatiently reaching down in an attempt to tug his shirt off, stopping when you swatted at his hands.

You didn’t want to be in too damning of a position in case Ms. Lee decided she needed a late night glass of water, and you were content with the feeling of his warm skin under your hand as you rubbed his back.

Jake let out a little whine however at your refusal and you licked into his mouth as an apology, knowing he liked that part of kissing the most.

This was evident by the way he immediately bucked against your hip, a soft gasp coming out of his mouth again as he started to hump against you slowly. You lifted your leg slightly so you could push his body over, centering him so he was grinding with you directly and not just your hip.

“You’re so cute.” You mumbled into the kiss when his whole body twitched at the switch of position, freezing for a moment at the feeling. “You’d let me have you right here, wouldn’t you?”

He was nodding quickly and pulling back to look at you more clearly, trying to determine if you were serious with hooded eyes and swollen lips. The smile on your face told him you were just teasing and he groaned.

“We can’t baby I’m sorry.” You were mock pouting at him and caressing his bruised cheek. “What if Heeseung heard?”

He froze at the mention of the other teenage boy and you were intrigued by his extreme reaction. You’d just been explaining casually but he seemed to have already considered this judging by the way he awkwardly avoided your gaze now.

At first you wondered if he was jealous at the idea of it, curious if he had a possessive side to him at all. But then you were shifting underneath him and you suddenly realized he was throbbing as he was pressed against you, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Would you like that?” You whispered and he winced, still not looking at you. “You want him to hear?”

He didn’t say anything but you knew you were right, he was just too ashamed to admit. Maybe he wasn’t able to read your tone and was worried that was a line you didn’t want to cross, a bad thing to suggest.

You attempted to reassure him silently by rubbing his back again and shifted your hips so he would lower himself onto you once more, guiding him by doing that until he was finally moving again. He took a stuttered breath as he continued to grind against you.

“Would you let him touch me or just watch?” You were suddenly whispering and he looked flustered at the fact you were bringing it up again.

“N-no touching.” He sounded pained at the thought and you almost laughed, answering your previous question about possessiveness.

You hummed and kissed him again and he happily accepted. Your leg was coming up to wrap around his waist so he was pressing against you more and you almost let out a sound of your own at the feeling. For a moment you considered indulging his earlier request and letting him touch you.

“Only you can touch me right?” He was nodding and kissing against your mouth desperately as you spoke, making it difficult to get the words out. “But he can watch.”

He paused again to look at you, breathing hard as he kept rubbing himself against you and trying to hold in his noises. He glanced down the hallway towards Heeseung’s room and another wave of interest washed over you. You weren’t sure if it was being watched that he liked or specifically by his new friend.

“You like him?” You whispered in question, pushing his shirt up off his back and waiting for him to get the hint and pull it over his head. You wanted to sit back and look at him now that he was shirtless but you kept eye contact as you waited for him to answer.

He shrugged and blushed. “No, I don’t know. He called you pretty earlier and it made me think.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” You quirked up an eyebrow and he nodded immediately, eyes shooting down to your lips briefly.

“So pretty.” His voice was a whisper like he hadn’t even meant to say it and you smiled at him and the way he was looking around at all the features on your face. He had stopped moving against you to look at you but neither of you noticed. “I just wanted to like… I don’t know.”

“Show him that you got me?” You tried to finish his sentence since he obviously had no clue how to describe the thoughts he was having and he looked relieved as you put it into words, nodding his head and leaning back down so he could kiss you again.

The kiss was slower and more sweet, taking little breaks and drinking in being close to each other. Your hand on his back moving suddenly reminded you that he was shirtless and you paused.

He watched you in confusion when you pulled back from the kiss, tugging the blankets up slightly so you could get a better look at him on top of you.

You knew Jake was fit considering his wide build and legs, assuming his dad had put him to some type of labored work back at his village, but it didn’t make it any less surprising to see all of his chest and stomach bare and pressed against you.

“God you’re pretty too.” You groaned softly and he looked a little unnerved at you using that word, still adjusting to losing his faith. He quickly forgot about it as you spoke again. “I want you to fuck me so bad.”

A deep whine escaped his throat and he dropped his head into your neck again, biting against it to stop himself from crying out as he started to hump you again.

“Do you remember how wet I felt on your fingers?” You were panting as he rocked against you, throbbing in your sweatpants and desperately holding onto his back. “Want you to think about your cock inside me.”

He let out a soft cry into your ear and started to buck into you harder, you were clenching around nothing at the feeling of him, wishing so desperately you were alone so you could finally show him what it felt like to actually feel you.

“It’s so tight and warm Jake.” You kept whispering in his ear despite the fact it was riling him up too much, his noises getting far too loud for the quiet room you were in. “You won’t last two seconds, my poor baby.”

He was suddenly kissing you in an attempt to shut you up and simultaneously mute his own sounds, the thought of stopping because of an interruption making him feel sick to his stomach. He’d never needed you so desperately and your countless attempts to provoke him weren’t helping.

You were surprised at his sudden bold actions but accepted it happily, a small knowing smile on your lips and you kissed him back.

He kept fucking into you, so desperate for relief that he didn’t even realize you clawing against his back, the stinging of your nails hidden underneath the pure pleasure rushing through his veins. You were licking into his mouth desperately and he felt a surge of pride at the fact you were as needy as he always felt.

It wasn’t long after that before he was coming undone on top of you, biting onto your collarbone in an attempt to hold back his deep moans that were barely muffled against your hot skin.

He was collapsing on top of you and you nearly cried out at the sudden loss of contact, tapping his back desperately and waiting for him to pick his head back up and look at you in concern.

“Touch me.” You urged and he looked frightened and confused before nodding and waiting for you to guide him. You took his large hand in yours and pushed it down under the covers, gliding over your panting stomach and into your pants where he was met with your wet and aching core.

He gasped softly and looked at you with wide eyes, not quite understanding why you were suddenly on board with being touched. You realized quickly Jake didn’t understand what it meant for you to cum too, only just doing it for the first time for himself some weeks ago.

You rocked your hips against his hand and he shifted so he could access you more comfortably, laying on his side as he nervously pressed his hand firmly against you.

Humming in approval, you gripped his wrist and helped him move it properly, letting out small whines at the feeling of his thumb on your clit like it had been back in the field. Your free hand was touching him as he laid next to you, rubbing his stomach and chest and drinking in all the bare skin.

He was addicting to touch and be touched by and you wished again, for the dozenth time that night that you were in the position for him to take you fully.

“Put one inside me.” You were gasping out and he looked thrown off by the request, shaking his head softly and watching you in bewilderment. He wasn’t sure what you were exactly referring to but you shifted your hips and spread your legs a bit more so he could feel you and understand.

His mouth was parting in shock as his fingertip was now pressing against your hole and you waited for him to meet your gaze, nodding your head in confirmation.

He trusted you blindly and slowly pressed a finger into you, gasping softly at the feeling of it while you did the same. You always knew his hands were particularly large but you weren’t prepared for how heavy and thick they’d feel on you.

“Oh fuck.” You muttered out and he froze, waiting to see if it was a good exclamation or a negative one. The roll of your hips let him know which and he kept pressing into you, leaning forward so he could kiss you during.

“Be quiet.” He whispered against your lips and another flash of heat passed over you at the command. His voice was genuine when he said it but the slight change of his demeanor made you feel crazy.

You let yourself be slightly distracted by the kiss as he kept pressing his finger into you and moving it experimentally, trying not to panic at the loss of control you were experiencing. You needed to remind yourself that your plan to control and ruin Jake was long over and this was a mutual relationship now.

His free hand was going to your hip that was rocking and moving to try and get him to finger you deeper, holding it down against the bed and giving himself more time to touch you and explore the feeling.

“Spit.” You were whispering into his mouth and he pulled back slightly to look at you in confusion before remembering that day back in his bedroom. He was waiting for you to confirm and you nodded desperately, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out for him to fully get the message.

He sat up a bit more, looking hesitant and awkward but he fulfilled your request and let himself spit into your open mouth. He watched with wide curious eyes as it hit your tongue and a low moan rumbled through your chest, leaning up to kiss him again.

Between the constant feverish kissing, him pressing against you so desperately, and now what was happening now, you knew you were close.

Before you could even manage to warn him, you were finishing around his hands and you vaguely heard him make a soft startled sound, freezing like he was worried he had hurt you somehow. You laughed at his concerned expression through your pants as you tried to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” He was whispering and you laughed again, closing your eyes and nodding.

He laid down flat on his back next to you and you both fell into silence for a few minutes, falling back to reality. You briefly wondered what he was thinking about during the moments after you did something to this extent and you rolled onto your side so you could wrap an arm across his stomach.

“I should get dressed.” He murmured although he made no attempt at moving. His cheeks were red as he took in his half nudity.

“We need showers.” You scrunched up your nose and he smiled at the expression, only slightly relaxing at your joking tone. “Boys sleep shirtless.” You offered to him.

“Normal boys you mean.” He whispered back after a few seconds of silence and you frowned at him.

“You are normal Jake.” You shook your head and laid it against his chest. You didn’t fully believe your own words but you wanted him to at least hear it. “Anything different about us isn’t our fault.”

“Heeseung’s normal.” He was spitting and despite knowing his anger wasn’t directed towards you, you were still taken back by his tone. He seemed to realize and he sighed.

You felt guilty that you hadn’t realize how much it was bothering him to be around somebody his own age, something who lived a different life.

“Nobody’s normal Jake.” Your tone was stern but not scolding and you felt him take another deep breath. Your hand was resting on his side and taping the warm skin softly. “Everybody has their shit.”

He didn’t say anything after that and you let the conversation die, hoping some part of what you said had stuck with him. If you were going to stay here for a few days you didn’t want him overthinking the entire time and driving himself crazy with insecurities.

Eventually you felt his breathing slow underneath your cheek as he fell asleep. You nuzzled into his chest contently before quickly following his lead.

——

By the time you woke up, Jake was gone and the blankets were pulled up tight around you. You felt panicked for a few seconds, jolting upright with a gasp before your eyes landed on a surprised Heeseung who was stood in the kitchen.

He was frozen in his pajamas, fuzzy pants with a yellow bear printed all over them, holding a bowl of cereal. He had paused mid bite at your sudden movements and you groaned and rubbed your eyes.

“Where is he?” You murmured, voice groggy with sleep.

He didn’t ask for any clarification, automatically knowing who you were referencing. “He helped my mom open this morning.”

You nodded and didn’t say anything else, pulling Jake’s discarded sweater over your head and climbing out of bed. Heeseung continued to eat his cereal in the kitchen as you moved until he noticed you staring at the couch bed in confusion.

“I’ll put it away until tonight.” He assured and you glanced back at him. “Go on and head down.”

You wanted to thank him, maybe engage in conversation about Jake and find a way to let him know your concerns. Despite your lack of trust initially, you had a good feeling about Heeseung and his mom and you imagined he’d be willing to tone it down for Jake’s adjustment.

Instead of doing any of that, you only managed to hum in appreciate. He smiled at you knowingly and you shyed away from it, heading down the stairs swiftly.

When you made your way down into the diner you were greeted with a few people sat around the shop, one or two families filling up the tables and some singular men at the counter drinking coffee.

You stood in the doorway for a moment when you spotted Jake, watching him swiftly make his way around the area in a white apron. He was smiling at the kids eating as he delivered them a plate full of pancakes, refilling the parents mugs casually after. He looked natural doing something so foreign to him and you felt more pride than jealously this time.

Eventually he noticed you observing him and he gave you a soft smile, flushing bright red after a few seconds like he was remembering parts of last night.

You weren’t exactly sure what part he was more embarrassed by but you liked the pink tint to his face.

“Did you want to help him?” Heeseung’s mom was suddenly appearing behind you and you jumped at the sound of her voice, shooting out of the doorway and awkwardly letting her walk pass.

“Oh I.. I’m not sure.” You hesitantly shuffled in place and she glanced at you with a warm look that gave you a weird pit in your stomach.

“I could use some help in the kitchen.” She was putting away something underneath the counter as she spoke but you could tell she was being purposefully casual in her offer, not wanting you to think she was pitying you for your obvious lack of social skills.

Despite the initial urge to scowl at her, to explode with anger at the fact she was offering you something so gentle and kind, you managed to accept.

Three days passed like that, you helping out in the kitchen while Jake (and occasionally Heeseung when he got bored) tended to customers and the register.

At night you’d all eat together, drinking hot chocolate and you’d sit back and smile silently at the way the boys laughed and teased each other. Then you and Jake would tuck into bed and talk about your days, sleeping against his chest like you were two regular people living regular lives.

On the fourth day, you woke up and did the same routine but you knew it was different. The others seemed to notice it too and everybody was unusually silent, moving around each other like it was habit now but not laughing and talking anymore.

You went through the day with the silent knowledge that it would be your last with the Lee’s. They’d been beyond generous and you almost denied the amount Ms. Lee was offering you and Jake for the work you were doing.

You knew it was probably more than she’d pay an actual employee but she pushed it into your hand and cupped them in hers softly while you shook your head with watery eyes.

Heeseung was approaching you before the last shift ended and you tried not to focus in on his shaking hands and furrowed eyebrows. You set down the rag you were wiping the counter with and gave him your full attention.

“I’ve been through this enough times to know you guys are leaving.” He was starting in a low voice and you felt a weird turn in your stomach.

You hadn’t considered much how many connections he made throughout his life that didn’t last. You wondered at what age he started to realize that the people that stayed with them were never going to last, you felt a fondness building at the fact he was still so willing to bond with you and Jake despite this.

“I just wanted to let you know that if things don’t work out, or they get too hard out there, you can come back here.” His words were quiet but sincere. You knew Jake was listening in from a few feet away and you saw him hang his head out of the corner of your eye. “You can always come back here.”

“We will.” You were whispering back and he looked at you finally. “I promise we will.”

“And we will call you whenever we get to where we are going.” Jake was speaking suddenly but Heeseung didn’t look surprised at the fact he was listening, just nodding his head.

You were rounding the counter before you even processed your feet were moving, pulling Heeseung in by his shoulder and hugging him tightly. He accepted it immediately, letting out a shuttered breath and patting your back.

You didn’t want to cry so you pulled away quickly, letting Jake hug him as soon as you finished.

The day finished up quickly after that and before you even registered what was happening, you and Jake were stood at the bus stop with the Lee’s who offered you a ride last minute. You both had gifted backpacks on your shoulders and your body felt heavier than usual.

Ms. Lee was hugging you goodbye when she whispered in your ear softly. “The hardest parts over.”

You hesitated as you pulled away from her, giving her a close lipped smile and a nod, knowing if you spoke you’d burst into tears.

Neither of you said anything as you got on the bus, moving in silence as Jake took your bags and placed them in the cubby underneath your seats. He watched you as you sat down next to the window before taking his spot beside you. His hand was coming up to grab yours and you shakily took it, trying to ignore the fact Heeseung was standing outside on the platform as he watched you go.

“Are we doing the right thing?” You eventually whispered to him, a few hours into the drive. His head was laid on your shoulder and for a moment you were worried he had fallen asleep.

“I don’t know.” His answer was honest and you were glad, not in the mood for any false hope.

“I imagine we got lucky this time.” His voice was low and you felt his hand come up to rest on your knee. “But we are going to try our best.”

You hummed in agreement and put your hand on top of his, squeezing it affectionately and shifting so you could rest your head onto his. You were suddenly exhausted and coming to the realization that most of the other passengers were already asleep.

You briefly wondered where they were all heading to, if anybody was feeling as confused and lost as you were or if they knew exactly what to do once they got off the bus.

Most were probably heading home for the holidays, something you’d been trying to avoid thinking about ever since you left despite the cold weather serving as a constant reminder to what time of year it was.

Like always you waited for Jake to fall asleep first, listening for his breaths to shallow out and for his chest to slowly rise and fall. It was, for some reason, easier for you when he drifted off first. Maybe it gave you some time to think about things without the guilt of checking out of conversations or maybe it was just easier for you to focus when you knew he was safe and not going anywhere.

After you were sure he was asleep you slowly managed to follow him into a deep dreamless night.

By the time you woke up, it was still dark outside the bus windows but you could see it slowly lightening as the sun started to rise. People around you were shuffling off exhaustion in their seats and preparing to deboard.

You looked over at Jake to see him already awake, eyes puffy from sleep as he looked out the window with a melancholy expression. You were tapping his arm instinctively and he glanced at you, face widening into a soft smile at your tired expression.

“Only like ten more minutes he said.” His voice was low but you nodded at him, tugging your sleeves down and preparing to go back out into the cold.

Once you got off the bus you felt a bit disoriented. Your previous stop was bigger than home but definitely manageable, still considered a small town to most people in the world and home like. Now you were definitely branched out and this city was large and bustling like nothing you’d ever seen.

Because the cold bite to the weather, you and Jake had mutually agreed to put some of the money you earned into a long stay hotel.

You felt slightly sick handing over money to the woman behind the check in desk, only worsening when she gave you a curious expression and asked if you wanted one bed or two.

You didn’t look back at Jake as you mumbled to her you only needed one, holding onto the straps of your backpack awkwardly for the rest of the interaction and as you made your way down the hallway.

“Home sweet home.” You muttered with a sigh as you propped the door open, tossing your backpack over onto the chair in the corner and sitting on the bed with a bounce. It squeaked underneath you as you jumped slightly and Jake smiled at you.

“It’s not that bad.” He reasoned and you weren’t sure if he was serious or just trying to cheer you up.

You laid back onto the bed completely, crawling up so you could be against the pillows and sighing again as your back cracked uncomfortably from the bus ride. Jake was getting the memo and pulling the blinds closed, kicking off his shoes and joining you in the bed.

Your body was feeling slight resistance at the fact you were back in bed so early in the morning but you pushed your routined mind to quiet down as you tried to rest again.

“When we wake up I say we go for a celebratory dinner.” Jake’s tone was hushed but you could tell he was smiling.

You didn’t say anything but you laid flat on your back and scooted closer to him. He was laying on his side and watching you with a careful expression, like he was still cautious of your reactions sometimes.

Taking his hand softly, you wrapped it around your stomach so he could hold onto you and you nuzzled into his chest with your side. He looked pleasantly surprised at your sudden incline in affection and squeezed your side appreciatively.

“We have three weeks here before we need to pay any more. I think we can find work before then.” He was whispering now that you were pressed up against him, his chest vibrating your shoulder as he talked in a low tone.

“So we are staying here?” You hadn’t really considered settling down anywhere for some reason and the thought threw you.

It was like your mind was still thinking this was all temporary, that at the end of this trip you’d return back home and back to your miserable lives.

He was shrugging against you and you glanced at him, seeing his hesitant and awkward expression. You felt guilty that he was still so cautious around you and you wanted to tell him that’s not what you meant, you weren’t trying to scold him for his suggestion.

Instead, words always falling short for you, you leaned down to press him into a kiss.

He was taken back for a few seconds, not at all expecting you to move let alone touch him, but then he was immediately pushing back into you and accepting your sudden kiss. You kissed for a few dozen seconds, slow and innocent until he instinctively squeezed his hand that was around your side.

You pulled back to look at him and his eyes were shooting all around you face, breathing slightly hard as you watched him sink back into that familiar headspace.

“Take your shirt off.” It wasn’t worded as a question but you raised your eyebrow so he would understand he could say no, this was his chance to deny you.

Of course he didn’t, shooting up immediately and tugging his hoodie and shirt over his head. His fluffy hair was left a mess from his haste to remove them and you glanced down at his chest for a while before saying anything.

Then you were shifting slightly and following suit, pulling your sweater off and trying hard to not flush at the sudden widening of his eyes and mouth. He was looking at you intensely and then looking away like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be seeing you shirtless. You almost laughed at him as his hands started to shake from their place on the bed.

“Kiss me.” You instructed and after a few seconds of bewildered hesitance he was following your orders.

Your hands went around his back, his warm skin under your palms getting goosebumps at the feeling of your icy hands. He wasn’t touching you at first, hesitating and hovering over parts of your body like he’d burn up if he touched any part of your skin.

Eventually he was resting them on your hips, touching your pant waistline instead of your shirtless top half and you almost scolded him before deciding against it.

You led his body so he’d lay back down with you, placing him on his back and crawling over him so your body was sprawled on his. He groaned slightly into your mouth as you pressed your weight down on top of him and it sent an ache to your core.

He’d stopped kissing you to try and process the feeling of your bare chest pressed tightly on his and you frowned slightly, kissing his parted lips and trying to get him focused back on you. Slowly but surely he was out of his trance and aggressively connecting your lips again, a hand coming up to your hair as he cupped the back of your head.

“Jake.” You gasped into his mouth and he tensed for a few seconds before humming in question. “Please touch me.”

He was pulling back in confusion, hesitance on his face when he glanced down at your bodies and tried to understand what part of yours you were referring to. You laughed softly at his expression and gestured to your exposed skin as an answer.

His pretty face was flushing bright red as he nodded with a suddenly determined look on his face, you found it cute he was seemingly preparing himself to touch you.

You kissed him again to try and keep his mind off of it for now, letting him push back into you and turn his head slightly so you could kiss deeper and deeper. Jake’s movements were quick and eager, desperate for you to keep going even when he wasn’t quite sure where you were planning to take things during times like this.

His blind trust in you felt good and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction at the knowledge he’d do anything you asked with little to no question.

His big warm hands were touching you finally now, spread against your back in a stiff position as he tried to get used to being with you like this. You could tell he wasn’t focusing on kissing anymore and just mindlessly following along as he started to rub your skin with a new found fascination.

“Quit being so cute.” You mumbled against his mouth and he breathed a laugh.

“Can’t help it.” He teased back and he was pleased when you chuckled softly, rarely laughing in general let alone at one of his jokes. “I could do this forever.”

His sudden confession stumped you and you tried to not visibly show the affect him saying that had on you, a soft blush rising to your cheeks. He didn’t even seem to register what he was saying, mindlessly speaking in a content tone as the two of you laid close together.

“Forevers a long time.” You whispered back eventually and you kissed him again briefly, shifting on top of him so he could breathe a little. He wasn’t complaining about your weight on him at all, liking the feeling of being underneath you.

“Not nearly long enough if you ask me.” He was blushing too now and you were sure the pair of you looked like any regular couple on vacation, in love with no responsibilities and naive to the world around you.

“Do you mean that?” A wave of insecurity hit you when you asked and he looked at you incredulously, like he couldn’t fathom why you wouldn’t believe him.

He was kissing your forehead in a manner far sweeter than what you were just doing, a hand leaving your back to brush your hair from your face gently and cup your cheek. It was strange being on the receiving end of movements you normally did to him, tensing slightly as he touched you. “Why wouldn’t I mean that?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged and mumbled although you certainly did have an idea of where your thought process was stemming from. You remembered who he was briefly, the knowledge you could tell him and he wouldn’t judge you or get upset resurfacing. “I’m the only one you’ve even been with.”

“So you think I picked you because you were there and taught me stuff?” He whispered in an understanding tone, trying to make sense of what you were implying without being accusatory.

You nodded hesitantly and he frowned, caressing your cheek. It was strange to be so vulnerable for you and you hoped he wasn’t too thrown off by your change of demeanor, feeling stupid suddenly for pausing your actions to bring this up.

He was kissing you again, quickly like he was trying to ground you back to reality and you met his gaze.

“I’d choose you no matter the circumstances.” He finally said and your eyes softened at his firm voice that left no room for question. “If we met 100 years from now I would have chose you.”

“That’s dramatic.” You smiled down at him and his thumb was wiping high up on your cheekbone, making you realize you’d been teary eyed. “What if you were married?”

He pretended to think for a few seconds, raising an eyebrow in contemplation before smiling and flipping you over so he was on top of you now. You were laughing as you turned, a big toothy grin on your face at his antics and he steadied himself over you.

“If I was married,” He started and you nodded in anticipation, biting your lip to stop from smiling at him. “Well I wouldn’t marry anybody but you.”

You groaned at his cop out answer and he leaned down to kiss your nose as it scrunched up. “That’s cheating, answer like you’re married.”

“Tell me what you’d do.” You rolled your eyes as he changed the subject onto you but you still genuinely thought it over, watching him with a careful expression.

He was still leaning over you with a smile on his face, his cheeks slightly red from blushing earlier or maybe the cold. His hair was flopping into his forehead and you briefly wondered if he’d ever worn his hair like this before you met, before you left home.

“I’d only marry you too.” You were whispering and his smile fell slightly as he looked at the serious expression on your face. Then it was coming back and he was attacking your face with his lips causing you to squeal and move around frantically underneath him.

After his attack he was kissing you normally and you took in a deep breath, wrapping your arms around his back and hugging him tight against you.

You kissed like that for a while longer, weirdly slow and sweet unlike every time previously and you felt slightly giddy at the innocence of just wanting to be close to each other despite being the most naked you’d ever been together.

“Let’s go get dinner.” You were saying into a kiss after a bit had passed and he nodded his head, kissing you one more time before sitting up and helping you do the same.

He didn’t look at you as you moved from under him and stood beside the bed, trying to find your discarded shirt that got lost somewhere in the covers. You watched him avoid your side of the room with a half smirk, wondering if he had looked at you at all this entire time.

The two of you finished getting dressed, wrapping your scarf tightly around Jake’s neck before you went, and found your way back outside.

The city was busy and you awkwardly joined into the flow of foot traffic, trying to look casual and not totally out yourself as lost tourist. Eventually you got the hang of the pacing and you locked your arm in Jake’s, keeping him pulled tight to you so you didn’t separate.

You made it a few blocks before you were stopping in front of a random restaurant and you glanced at Jake who had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time. He offered you a soft nod of approval and you squeezed his arm in reassurance, assuming he was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the complete change in atmosphere.

He didn’t say anything but he gave you a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and the two of you braved it into the restaurant.

He relaxed after you ordered and were able to eat, enjoying a meal and talking about your day and complaining about the travel time like you were regular people who had just gotten home for the holidays. You wondered if anybody sitting around you could overhear, if they’d be able to tell what you’d been through or piece together the bruises on Jake’s face.

After you ate you decided not to go back to the hotel just yet, exploring more of the city and stopping to enjoy views and sights you’d never seen before.

“There’s so many people.” Jake was remarking from the bench you were sitting on. It was on the outskirts of a small park that had a good view of the city and lots of other couples and families were sat around you enjoying the same thing.

“It’s kind of nice right? Nobody is paying any attention to us.” You were fidgeting with your scarf that he was wearing as you spoke and he nodded softly. “Maybe we can call Heeseung tonight.”

He glanced at you with excited eyes and you smiled affectionately at him, patting his cheek softly and avoiding the bruising.

You sat there for a while longer before the cold settled in even more as it got dark, so you stood slowly and pulled him up with you. The two of you made your way back to the hotel and you felt a lot more content than you had when you originally arrived, more familiar with the area and pacing now that you’d had time to explore and take it all in.

When you got back inside and took off your shoes and jackets, Jake was racing to the hotel phone and dialing in the Lee’s number.

He sat there holding his breath as it dialed and you watched him from the bed, knowing when his eyes widened and a bright smile broke out on his face that somebody had picked up on the other side.

You went and took a shower while they talked animatedly and by the time you came out they were still going, although when he caught sight of you draped in towels, Jake was thrusting the phone in your direction with a grin as he awkwardly avoiding looking at you.

“Hello?” You hesitantly spoke into the phone, something you weren’t quite used to considering the fact you didn’t really have anybody you needed to call back home, most people being less than a ten minute bike ride away from you at all times.

“Hey Y/N.” Heeseung’s low voice was cracking through the phone speaker and you smiled softly although he couldn’t see it. “I just wanted to see how you were doing, I didn’t expect you guys to actually call honestly.”

“Of course we’d call.” You shook your head and sat down on the bed next to Jake who tensed slightly because of your bare skin.

“Yeah that’s what Jake said.” He let out a breathy laugh and you could hear him fidgeting with something like he was nervous. “So um, my mom said that if you wanted and if the trip wasn’t too bad maybe you guys could come back here for Christmas?”

You didn’t say anything and the phone line went silent, the low buzzing of static being the only noise you could hear other than your heart beating quickly. He cleared his throat on the other side like he was worried you hadn’t heard him.

“Like,” Your voice cracked and you felt Jake’s hand on your knee. “Spend Christmas with you guys?”

“Well yeah but only if you want to and if you found a job by then my mom can help you look for housing in your price range, she’s really good at that, then you wouldn’t need to stay in hotel anymore. Not that there’s anything wrong with staying in a hotel, Jake said there might even be a pool which is super cool, but you know just so-“

“Heeseung.” You cut him off and he sucked in a deep breath, falling off into a mumble after he realized he had been rambling nonstop. “I think that’d be really great.”

You felt Jake sway against your side, leaning into you and you gave him a small smile, feeling a lot better now that you had a place to go for the holidays.

Heeseung and you talked for a few minutes longer, Jake listening in from beside you and occasionally adding his own comments as he tiredly rubbed his eyes and yawned a few times. You eventually said goodnight and the two of you promised you’d call again as soon as things were settled, hanging up the phone and crawling back into bed.

“Are you not going to get dressed?”

Jake was mumbling with a small blush on his face and you were shrugging, hearing the pillow crinkle under your movements.

“Do I need to get dressed?” You whispered back, raising an eyebrow in his direction and drinking in the way his eyes shot down to your towel and then back up to your face quickly like he hadn’t meant to do it.

He didn’t say anything but he was moving over towards you on the bed, climbing over you so he could hover there as he leaned down to kiss you urgently. You laughed against his lips at his sudden movements and you felt him poke your side because of your teasing.

It was easy to forget where you were in that moment, how uncertain things were and how much harder they’d get once this night was passed and you needed to start getting your life together on your own for the first time. You didn’t think about how far you were from home or the consequences of getting caught.

You laid there in bed, kissing a boy who had given up his faith for you and he warmed you even as the snow started to fall just outside the hotel window.

It wasn’t like you came out of the womb with horns and a little forked tail.

The nurses didn’t scream in terror and your mother didn’t faint at the sight of you, it wasn’t some grand discovery that anybody could see or anybody could plan for.

You made it through your formative years relatively normal, or at least as normal as you could be considering who your father was. But it wasn’t until middle school when you realized how different kids would treat you because of this.

Those were your favorite years you could remember. The half decade before anybody cared, or knew enough to care, what it meant for you to be who you were. Then you were old enough to have consciousness and design your own set of morals, something all the parents in your town dreaded.

Your town was barely that, more so a few neighborhoods sprawled across barren lands with more fields and trees than concrete and signs of the modern world that had seemingly developed everywhere, except for where you’d been born.

Sometimes you wondered if you’d been cursed to stay here forever. It seemed like everybody who was born here, died here, but unlike you they all seemed pretty content with this fact. Proud even, the elders stating the amount of years and generations they’d own their rusty old homes like it didn’t create a nasty pit in your stomach.

Time was frozen and the world had moved on, leaving all 2,000 of you behind to die and birth and die again until eventually the last generation killed themselves off in an act of sympathy, a mercy slaughter.

It was probably immoral to be thinking about your entire town dying whilst in church. But you didn’t think much about the implication of having sinful thoughts anywhere, regardless of how many crosses were currently burning stares into your back.

More than 70% of your life was spent inside these four walls, on this exact weathered seat on this same old pew.

See, when turned 12 years old and the kids at school made you aware of the fact your dad was the lead preacher at the only church in town, you figured this made you some sort of royalty.

Not once did you feel the overwhelming holy presence of god that everybody else seemed to be experiencing everyday after school and work when you all settled in together to listen to your fathers teachings.

You’d sit with a scowl on your face, turning around in the front row pew reserved for the preachers family and you’d observe the people around you. You knew everybody in your town, some more than others, but you always thought people looked different when they prayed.

The nice man who worked at the grocery store looked far more guilty and weathered with his eyes closed and the angry woman two blocks away who yelled at the kids riding their bikes too close to her sprinklers, looked peaceful like she was talking to an old friend.

Your mother would hiss under her breath in an attempt to catch your attention, sending soft pinches to your thighs until you’d begrudgingly turn back in your seat and plop down in your puffy dress, tuning out the sound of your fathers loud voice.

Looking back on it now, your mother seemed to notice the dark parts of you brewing before you even did. The two of you never saw eye to eye and despite the fact you were her only child, much to her dismay considering they tried for years after your birth to have another but to no avail, she never treated you with any sort of motherly warmth or kindness.

She’d glare at you from across the dinner table while her and your father conjoined hands and thanked the lord for the meal that your mother had cooked. You’d started to sit on your hands at dinner when you were 7 years old and what once was a cute misbehaving habit quickly became the warning sign of your future endeavors.

Still, part of being the preachers family was playing an act. So you’d all get up early in the mornings and wordlessly move around the house like the backstage of a play, dressing the part and giving bright smiles to each family that walked through the doorway on Sunday morning.

Your mother would stand behind you with a long stretched out smile, hands on your thin shoulders as she dug her nails down every time she felt you tense up at a greeting.

Then you were 16 and for the first time in your life, you heard her voice the thing you’d always assumed she believed. You stood in the hallway in your nightgown, standing stiff as a board to avoid the creaking wood of your old house, peering around a dimly lit corner to hear your parents conversation more clearly.

“She hasn’t done anything wrong Mary.” Your fathers rough low voice was flowing in your direction, sounding tired and agitated. You could vaguely hear the sounds of his rough hands rubbing over his unshaven scruff in frustration.

“She will.” Your mother sounded panicked and alert, desperate for him to understand her case. “I can’t explain it but she has this darkness in her, I’ve felt it ever since I was pregnant.”

Your breath caught in your throat as they spoke, understanding now they were referring to you. You were only slightly surprised, no grand feelings of fear or betrayal arising.

That nights conversation had ended with your mother in a fit of tears and your father uttering words of reassurance in an attempt to calm her down as you used the sounds of her loud sobs to sneak back to your room, getting under the covers and blowing out the candles by the time your father was opening your door to insure you were in bed.

He’d stood there for a few minutes, the door cracked with his hand on the knob. Do this day you wondered what he was waiting for. Maybe he was expecting you to talk in your sleep or he was trying to get some sense of the evil your mother was spewing about, but eventually you heard his tired sigh and the door shutting.

It’d been three years now since that conversation and you still hadn’t fully understood the evil your mother was referring to. You didn’t believe in god, that much had been clear to you from a very early age but you didn’t believe in the devil either.

You didn’t feel things maybe you should be feeling, sadness when an elder passed away unexpectedly or happiness when a new baby was born into the community. You didn’t feel pain when your mother shot you looks of disgust and you only felt slight jolts of satisfaction when she leapt in fear every time you entered a quiet room.

The seed of evil that was apparently inside of you never bloomed, no matter how much you waited for its arrival.

Until the day the Sim’s arrived to town.

It was extremely rare for somebody to move out of your hometown, and you’d been instructed to never speak about the families that left, to let yourself forget their names and faces. Forget any interaction you’d had with them now that they were gone.

But you’d never once contemplated the fact that it was possible to move here willingly. It hadn’t occurred to you that somebody would choose this place to live and that they’d be allowed to stay peacefully, and especially not given a grand welcome.

So you felt yourself uncharacteristically thrown off guard as you found yourself at church on a Saturday, typically your only day you weren’t required to be here. You’d spend these days down by the creek or riding around the abandoned section of town on your bike, trying to find something interesting to see.

As you stood near the stage, where your fathers podium was perfectly centered and polished, greeting the usual faces with a forced smile, your eyes landed on the most interesting sight you’d ever seen.

The Sim’s were a direct mirror of your family as they stood in front of you. Only three of them, a tall man giving your father a sturdy handshake and laughing like old friends and a small meek woman who was holding your mothers hand in both of hers, a thankful smile on her face.

Placed directly in front of you was a boy, seemingly your age, shifting back and forth on his feet as he waited for you to initiate any form of greeting.

There was people your age in town, your graduating class held 25 kids and over half of them were girls, daughters that were considered blessings for their special ability to continue on your towns population. You’d met boys, few handsome but handsome none the less but nobody who looked like the one standing in front of you.

He was taller than you, peering down at you from behind thin framed glasses and about double your width. You imagined you were hidden behind his shoulders to the view of the people stood in line behind him, waiting to greet your family.

His skin was tanned, something that you imagined wouldn’t last long considering you weren’t sure your town was blessed by the sun at all, almost constantly grey and dreary looking even in the peak of summer.

You took your time observing the boy, not feeling any sense of urgency at the knowledge people were watching and waiting, not even at the fact your mother was stood directly next to you and you could feel her stare on the side of your face. Her loss of attention seemed to make the boys mother nervous and she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“And this is our son, Jake.” She was chirping out and you almost wanted to laugh at how desperate she seemed to impress your family. The boy, Jake, was looking at you still for a second before his eyes shot to your mother and he gave her a nervous smile. “He’s shy at first but he’s a very good boy.”

His eyes flicked back over to yours as she spoke and your mouth quirked up in a small smile, finally sticking out your hand in offering to him.

You felt a strange feeling build up inside you, splattering against your ribs and painting your insides with something deep and powerful. As you held his hand in yours, your eyes caught onto your mothers and you could see the fear crossing over her expression at her own realization.

“Hi Jake.”

And the seed bloomed.

——

It wasn’t more than 30 seconds after your father finished his last word, the remains of it still echoing throughout the room underneath the chorus of ‘amen’s, that your mother was gripping your arm and dragging you back into his office space.

She closed the door swiftly and you yanked your arm out of her grip with a scowl, staring at her for an explanation about her sudden behavior despite having a slight inkling of what she was about to say to you.

“You can’t.” She spoke vaguely, an angry desperation in her voice like you were a feral dog with a hungry look in its eye.

“What are you talking about?” You lowered your agitation, doing your best impression of a confused and fearful daughter. She scoffed at your expression and held a hand to her mouth like she was genuinely amazed at your audacity.

“You leave that boy alone Y/N, or so help me God.” She was shaking her head at you and you felt a surge of annoyance at her tone, her voice shaky and weak.

You thought she was slightly pathetic. She’d spent her entire life treating you like the devil, implying your evil and avoiding you at all cost but the second you finally start to understand her concern and she’s immediately turned to pleading and bargaining. There was no fun in this for you.

Soft knocks against the door caught her attention and she looked over your shoulder, trying to ignore the fact you were still staring at her and not bothering to turn and face whoever had entered.

“Go home and get dinner started.” Your fathers voice was entering the room now in a hushed whisper, like somebody was still outside behind him. “We are going to have a welcome meal with the new residents.”

Your mothers eyes shot back in your direction at his words, like she was begging you to remember her previous warning and you offered her a small smirk before turning to face your father with a toothy grin, expression changing now.

“Of course father, whatever you need.”

——

You’d ignored your mothers glare the entire time you worked on dinner together, setting the table casually and changing into a less formal dress that gained a thumbs up of approval from your father.

When the Sim’s arrived, you greeted them similarly to how you did at church except your mother made sure to shake Jake’s hand for a prolonged amount of time so you couldn’t, only breaking apart when your father cleared his throat and ushered you all towards the polished dining room.

He took his seat at the head of the table and you briefly wondered what type of man Jake’s father was. He was larger than your dad, much larger and you noticed a hint of irritation in his face when he took a seat on the side. You imagined he sat similarly to your father at his own house and didn’t find great pleasure in the new arrangement.

There was three seats on each side and your mother had rushed to take a middle seat next to you, attempting to block anybody else from being seated beside you.

However your father cleared his throat subtly and sent the both of you a small glare, confused at the fact she hadn’t adorned her usual seat next to him. You were sure he realized it would be strange for her to sit a seat away from him, making them look distant or troubled.

She sent you a small angry look but shifted over a space so she was now sat in her usual place, leaning an empty chair between the two of you.

An empty chair that was soon taken by Jake, his mother sending him an encouraging smile and giving him a slight nudge in your direction. You remembered what she said about him being shy, not hiding the fact she was trying to create a friendship between the two of you.

His mothers face angered you more than your own. She was small and weak looking, constantly smiling with wide eyes like she was waiting to drop into a conversation at any time to force a connection, yet she rarely did throughout dinner. For the most part she stayed silent, nodding along obediently every time her husband spoke.

So you kept your attention on the boy for the most part, figuring the adults were too busy kissing eachothers ass’s to care about what the two silent teenagers were doing at the end of the table.

You knew he could feel the way you were watching him, sending you small glances out of the side of his eye and shifting uncomfortably in his seat every time he realized you were still looking.

He really was handsome you were deciding. You’d never really paid attention to boys before, understanding the difference between being attractive and not but it didn’t have any affect on you. You liked the slope of his nose and the way his throat bobbed with every nervous gulp he took.

Your father was seemingly noticing your mutual disinterest in the conversation, you watching Jake and him watching his empty plate. “Y/N honey, why don’t you take Jake to your room and show him some of your notes on our latest teachings.”

Both of your heads turned towards him as he said this, your eyes lighting up with excitement and Jake’s widening slightly.

“Oh..” His mother was starting and you resisted the urge to glare in her direction. “Jake isn’t… he’s never..”

Jake’s father sent her a sharp look and she snapped her mouth shut immediately, looking away from him. Your excitement only doubled as you realized she wasn’t comfortable leaving her son alone with a girl, leading you to believe he never had been before.

“Of course father.” You smiled at him softly, standing and flattening out your dress in a prudish manner. Jake glanced in your direction as you stood, clumsily rising out of his own chair as you headed up the stairs and down the hall to your room.

He followed wordlessly behind, still not speaking even when you stood in the doorway and let him awkwardly squeeze past you so he was stood stiffly in the center of your room. You closed the door behind you and he froze, eyes widening again.

“What are you doing?” His voice was high with worry and you realized it was your first time hearing him speak.

“What are you talking about?” You played dumb as you observed him, walking backwards until your legs hit your bed and you could sit carefully. He stayed standing as he watched you with confusion and worry.

“Mother says not to close doors.” He was shaking his head and it looked like he wanted to go and open it himself. He didn’t move however and you leaned back to rest on your hand, cocking your head in his direction.

“Do you always do what mommy says?” You questioned.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your condescending tone. You’d seemed nice enough at church and dinner, not speaking much but polite to your parents whenever you did. He was suddenly worried he had angered you.

“I guess she did say you were a good boy.” You quoted what his mother had said when she introduced him, voice carrying a faint mocking tone as you spoke.

He didn’t say anything after you said that, just standing there looking at you like you were some form of animal he’d never seen before. And maybe he hadn’t you were beginning to think, his speech was structured and tight like he was reciting lines and you were curious if he’d ever had a conversation with somebody his own age.

Your hand reached over to pat the bed next to you, raising an eyebrow at him and urging him to sit.

He watched you with that same look for a few seconds before looking back at the door like he was contemplating how fast he’d have to bolt out of it before you could sink your claws into him. He seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it, crossing the room and sitting down as far away from you as he could possibly get.

“Where’d you come from?” You didn’t plan to say that but the curiosity was driving you crazy, not quite understanding how he could be so sheltered.

“A village not far from here.” He was eventually answering with a soft shrug. He was sat perfectly straight on your bed, posture making him look even taller than he already was considering you were still leaned back on your palm.

You should’ve figured he was from a village, suddenly understanding why his mother was practically a house wife from the 1800’s and his dad looked relatively similar to a lumberjack.

“No girls at your village?” You were watching the side of his face as you questioned him, growing slightly agitated that he wasn’t looking at you. “Jake.”

He turned his face towards you when you addressed him, eyes widening like he was worried you were going to scold him from the sound of your stern call.

“I asked you a question.” When he didn’t immediately answer you assumed he hadn’t heard you, repeating yourself. “Was there no girls where you’re from?”

He was shaking his head swiftly, looking at his hands and then back towards you. “None like..”

“None like me?” You interrupted him as he started to trail off and your lips quirked into a smile. “So no pretty girls then.”

He frowned as you hummed and nodded your head like you’d made sense of what he was trying to say. He didn’t look like even he understood what the things you were saying meant and you almost pitied him as you slowly unlocked the full extent of his naivety.

“You’ve probably never even held hands with a girl right?” You kept your tone sweet despite your intentions.

He looked like he only slightly relaxed at your change of tone, glancing at you as he shook his head as a way to answer your question. He didn’t understand why you wanted to know this.

You were sitting back up straight, off your hands, and leaning sideways to get closer to him. He watched you with panicked eyes as you reached down near his lap and took his hand in yours, similarly to how you shook it at the church but the tension in the room was a direct opposite.

He made a strange noise when you touched him, a semi squeak at the suddenness of your contact and you smiled at him, scooting closer so you weren’t awkwardly stretching your arm in his direction.

“How does it feel?” You murmured, fighting the urge to lean against him and whisper in his ear. You didn’t want to scare him off just yet.

“I don’t think I should be in here.” He was shaking his head as he spoke and staring down at your conjoined hands or maybe the floor past them. They were resting in his lap, the back of your hand on his right thigh.

You frowned softly although he wasn’t looking at you, trying to keep up with your act. He seemed to be more pliant earlier when he thought he had upset you. “Jake.”

He glanced at you as you said his name, just like he had before, and his gaze looked guilty when he noticed the frown on your face. You squeezed his hand to try to bring his attention back to the fact you were touching him but he shook his head again.

“I really need to go Y/N.” He was still trying to sound polite despite his obvious discomfort and you almost smiled at the innocence of that.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” You let a small whine sink into your tone, really trying to drive home the idea that he was upsetting you and you felt him squeeze your hand absentmindedly.

He didn’t reply after you said that and the room fell into a strange silence. Then he was sending a heavy glance in your direction and your mouth parted in realization, understanding his inner monologue by the thick amount of guilt in his expression.

“You do want me to touch you.” You let your smile show now, not finding any reason to hide it now that he clearly took your bait. He squeezed his eyes shut as you said this and shook his head again, his hair messy now and falling into his face.

“What’s wrong Jake?” You were almost cooing at him, your hand sliding out of his and up his wrist, in result the back of your hand going further up his thigh. You kneaded at his wrist bone and he grunted at the almost painful sensation. “It’s just skin.”

He looked at you with a frustrated expression, holding eye contact for a few seconds much to your surprise. You were almost worried he was going to cry. You didn’t mind it personally, if anything you were thinking about how pretty he’d look with watery eyes and a red nose, but you imagined it would cause some level of concern with the parents.

So you released your grip on his wrist, taking your hand back and placing it on your own lap. You were still sitting far too close to him but he visibly relaxed at the lack of touch, however slightly confused why you had backed off.

Almost like the world had been paused for the entirety of your conversation and now played again, a soft knock on your door caused you to leap away from him and grab the bible your father insisted was kept on your nightstand at all times.

You were relieved to see his face when the door opened, knowing your mother would have most likely immediately sniff out what you’d been doing. Or at least attempting to do.

Your father looked between the two of you and the large space, nodding in approval when you flashed him a smile and opened to a random page in the book. He didn’t seem to notice how tense Jake was or the fact your door had been closed in the first place.

“Your parents are leaving Jake. You can stay a bit longer if you two are having fun.” Your father was saying in a welcoming voice but Jake was hopping off your bed before he even had a chance to finish.

“No, sir. Thank you but I really should get home and finish unpacking.” He was stumbling over his words and awkwardly shifting in place, waiting for your dad to move out of the doorway so he could make his escape.

Your dad shot you a confused look over Jake’s shoulder and you gave him a small shrug, fighting the urge to smile.

——

Guilt was eating Jake alive the entire ride home. He wasn’t quite sure what he had necessarily done wrong, what level of sin he had just committed, but his mother kept shooting him disappointed looks in the mirror.

“Will you stop looking at the boy like that.” His fathers gruff voice was mumbling from the drivers seat and his mom snapped her eyes back to the front window obediently. “It’ll be good for him to make a friend.”

“What type of girl leads a boy to her bedroom?” He was surprised his mother had spoken again, especially in the harsh tone she was using. She must’ve been angry enough at you and your behavior to forget the fear she held for Jake’s father.

He felt a bit strange as she said that. You were definitely weird and had made Jake feel something he’d never experienced, and he positively wanted to leave your room as quick as possible but he didn’t think you deserved such a mean comment.

He continued to feel strange for the rest of the night.

Jake laid in bed, hours past his usual bed time, and replayed your interaction in his head. Every time he got to the part where you grabbed his wrist in your tight hold, he squeezed his eyes shut and asked god to forgive him.

He could feel his stomach light up when he thought about your hand on his pants and he wanted to dig his nails into the skin as a self punishment for the thoughts brewing in his head, thoughts he had never had before and didn’t understand.

Rolling over in his bed, stomach to the mattress, he stuffed his face into his pillow and cried softly until he eventually fell asleep.

——

You felt giddy in the church pew the next morning after seeing Jake walk in with his parents. You immediately knew your plan had worked judging by his puffy face and swollen eyes. He’d clearly gotten no sleep and you could take a strong guess at the reason why.

A sick part of you was ecstatic at the fact you had something to do, something that actually managed to catch your interest.

If all it took to keep Jake up all night was you touching his hand, than you were preparing for more fun than you originally thought.

The morning had gone routinely as you remained in your seat for the entire sermon, not spinning around to try to catch a look at the boy despite the urge constantly in the back of your mind. You didn’t focus for a second but you did a solid job pretending until you heard a hushed voice behind you excusing themself.

You snuck a glance back to see Jake passing through his pew with muttered apologies and thanks to the people he was passing, smiling softly at them.

You watched him exit the pew and make his way down the main aisle, no doubt heading towards the bathroom hall since it was the only other part of the building outside of your fathers head office. You let him disappear from your sight and counted to 30 before abruptly standing and following his path before your mother could grab your hand in denial.

By the time you made it to the hall, Jake was exiting the bathroom with damp hands and a few wet strands of hair like he had splashed his face in an attempt to wake up.

His eyes widened when he saw you approaching and he glanced behind him like he was considering disappearing back into the bathroom so you couldn’t say anything to him. You smiled at this but didn’t move closer to him, leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing?” He watched you with careful eyes, not quite sure what you wanted.

You shrugged and furrowed your eyebrows. “What are you doing? You look tired, did you not get any sleep?”

He didn’t say anything as he looked at you, eyes heavy and guilty again like he was afraid you could read his mind. Unlucky for him, you didn’t have to read his mind to know what was happening in it.

“Were you thinking about me?” You pushed forward on his suspicions when he didn’t respond to you, tilting your head as you looked at him.

He didn’t respond again, letting out a small tired exhale before leaning against the wall opposite of you. The hallway was tensioned despite not being close enough to touch even if you stretched your arm out.

“I was thinking about you.” You suddenly confessed in an attempt to catch his interest or potentially get him to lower his walls enough for a solid conversation. It seemed to work considering his head was snapping up and he was looking at you with wide questioning eyes. “Is thinking a sin?”

He watched you for a few seconds, slightly embarrassed that you had somehow realized what his inner dilemma lead back to.

“Yes.” He answered matter of factly and you let out a small laugh.

You observed the way his lips awkwardly quirked up, like he was pleased he made you laugh despite being dead serious in his answer. His smile pulled at his cheeks for a second and you liked the way he nervously wiped his sweaty hands on his pants.

“What… what were you thinking about?” He squeezed the words out like they were painful after a silence fell between the two of you. You felt a bud of satisfaction at the fact he’d been curious enough to ask.

“Touching you.” You shrugged like it was a casual thing to say, watching his shoulders tense and his mouth part slightly in shock and disapproval.

“My hand?” You were a bit surprised that he asked a follow up question, voice dropping into a scared whisper like he was worried somebody was eavesdropping, maybe he was worried god could hear him.

You were watching him for a few uncomfortable beats, liking the way his cheeks turned red and he kept looking away from your gaze anxiously. Then you were shaking your head to answer his question, taking a step closer to his side of the hall.

His breath hitched as you kept taking small strides in his direction, taking your time with a loose smile on your face like you were out for a casual walk. You stopped next to him, turning and pressing your back against the wall he was leaned on so your shoulders were pressing together.

You wondered if he was planning to hold his breath the entire time you were touching him this time around, his face reddening even though your skin was separated by multiple pieces of thick fabric.

“Would you let me touch you again?” You leaned over slightly so you were closer to his ear, your chin hovering over his shoulder.

“You can’t.” He was immediately denying your request, stiff and agitated sounding. His voice was tight as he spoke like he was having to force the words out. “Please don’t do this.”

“Because you’re a good boy right?” You were even closer now, your lips touching the shell of his ear and he was shuddering against you, a frustrated whine in his throat.

He sent a sharp glare in your direction, at least as sharp as his features could get. You thought he looked cute when he was mad at you, eyes brows furrowed and his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose. Despite the way he was looking at you, he made no attempt to push you away or step apart himself.

“I want you to come to my house after church.” You whispered to him and he didn’t say anything, for once not shaking his head and just looking at you as you spoke your cruel demands. “I’ll tell my dad to talk to your parents about helping you catch up on his teachings.”

He looked amazed at your audacity, to not only lie to your parents but to lie about the lord and the Bible made his stomach turn in disgust.

Still, he almost couldn’t help but to lean his shoulder closer to yours and watch you with wide eyes and a parted mouth. He felt almost transfixed by you and your newness, the unique energy you gave off that made his head spin. He nodded his head slowly and watched you smile.

——

You’d waited for your mother to leave the house, a very rare occurrence for her outside of her weekly bingo nights at the recreational center in town, before you poked your head into your fathers office to request he calls the Sim’s.

You felt strangely jittery as you waited for them to send Jake over. Surprisingly, the Sim’s hadn’t moved into a house that far from you and you imagined he could probably ride a bike to your house in less than twenty minutes if the weather ever allowed it, rainy days an almost constant feature around this time of year.

It was only around half an hour before you heard knocks on the front door, followed by the low tone of your fathers voice and eventually the creaking of the steps as somebody made their way up to your bedroom.

Jake seemed thrown off when he saw you, dressed in far more casual clothes than he’d seen you in so far. He also looked momentarily relieved at the fact your door was wide open and you didn’t make any move to shut it as he crossed into the threshold of your room.

“Hi.” He politely addressed you with a slight bow and wave, avoiding looking at you fully where you sat on the bed. You gave him an incredulous look and sighed before patting the spot next to you.

He looked like he was dreading this but expecting it, only taking a few seconds of hesitation before he was shuffling over and sitting slowly down on your soft bed. You immediately scooted closer to him and grabbed his hand in yours.

His reaction wasn’t as intense as last time although he did immediately stiffen and his eyes snapped wide open, but he didn’t let out a small shriek at the feeling of your touch like he did yesterday.

“Are you going to let me touch you today?” You kept your voice low and he was suddenly very aware of the fact your door was completely open and your father was just a few feet away downstairs.

He slowly looked over at you, peering up from behind his long eyelashes and you wanted to grab his face with your nails. He looked like a puppy who had just done something naughty, big eyes unmoving from nerves as they darted around your face so he could avoid holding your strong gaze.

“This isn’t right.” He whispered back, eyes pleading as they finally locked onto yours. You almost felt sorry for him as he spoke, obviously so desperate to set you back on the right path in life. “Mother said I shouldn’t lay a hand on anybody, not even myself.”

You almost smiled as he said this, pleased at the new information he was unknowingly providing you with.

“It’s just skin.” You were reminding him again, slowly leaning against him so your chest was pressed against the side of his arm. His breath hitched at this and he glanced down at your upper body for a second. “You’ve never touched yourself?”

He shook his head immediately, face annoyed like he was offended you’d even suggest he would do such a thing. You liked that even though he was uncomfortable and denying his thoughts towards you, he still wasn’t seemingly capable of pushing you away. He’d still shown up to your house.

“I touch myself.” You were leaning forward more so you could talk into his ear again. A soft whimper left his throat when your lips grazed his skin again but he didn’t say anything, like he was waiting for you to continue. “On this bed, I touch myself every night.”

It was a slight exaggeration. You hadn’t really felt a strong need to touch yourself ever, never having a subject of attraction that left you longing enough that you’d roll around in bed late at night thinking about it, squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

But you were transfixed by the way he immediately tensed again, glancing back behind you towards where your pillows were and then immediately shooting forward and falling to the cross hanging on the wall in front of you both.

“It’s just skin.” You repeated to him again and he sucked in a shaky breath as you said it, bringing his guilty pained eyes back to you. You almost cooed at him, clicking your tongue and holding his chin softly. He leaned into the touch like he wasn’t meaning to and you wondered how touch starved he must be.

Your hand that wasn’t holding his face fell down to his lap, laying flat and still on his thigh as you let him process what you were doing.

He stiffened again and let out a low troubled groan, shaking his head again at himself. You wondered what he was thinking right now, if he was convinced he was heading straight for hell because of his thoughts alone so maybe it didn’t matter if he let you touch him. Or maybe he was seconds away from bolting downstairs and telling your father about what you’d been attempting to do.

“This isn’t right.” He was whispering and still trying to shake his head the best he could with your grip on his face. His repetition was starting to bug you, suddenly feeling impatient as he still hadn’t taken the bait fully.

“But it feels so good.” You purred into his ear, turning his head back to look at the cross and scooting closer so you were pressed tightly against his side. The sensation of this mixed with your hand on his leg was overwhelming and he felt slightly suffocated. “I want to show you Jake, let me show you how good it feels.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds and you considered letting him go, wanting to have him completely might mean waiting some time so you didn’t scare him off.

Then he was surprising you and looking back in your direction, your hand falling to his collarbones instead so he could decide what to do with his head. He gave you a soft nod, looking like he immediately regretted it when you wasted no time, pushing your hand forward onto the center of his pants.

He immediately lurched forward with a loud groan at the feeling of your hand on him and you shushed him softly, using the hand on his face to bring him back up to a sitting position and pet his face lovingly.

“You have to be quiet Jake.” You whispered in his ear and nodded towards your open door. He looked at you with a desperate glance, like he was pleading for you to close it despite his upset at that yesterday. You shook your head softly. “Can you be a good boy Jake?”

You started to slowly knead your hand against him, wanting to smile at the fact he was already hard before you had touched him. Light teasing and your soft hand on his thigh already had him bothered.

He was making small noises and you kept his face turned in your direction with your hold back on his jaw. You were sitting up straighter than him so he was a bit below you, having to look up through his eyelashes as he surprisingly held eye contact with you.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” You murmured excitedly, eyes wild and eager. He didn’t reply verbally, another small whine slipping from his throat and you pressed down hard on his cock through his pants. “I asked a question.”

Now he was nodding desperately, hands reaching out to grip your wrist in an attempt to lessen the pressure you were applying to him. “Good- feels good.”

His voice was strained and raspy like it was crawling its way out of his throat and you smiled with sick satisfaction, leaning forward so you were closer to his face. Your nose pressed against his and you thought about kissing him for just a few seconds, eventually deciding against it.

Jake was writhing on the bed now, desperately moving into your hand with small groans and whines, his hips lifting off the blanket in an attempt to chase your touch every time you removed it. He didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it, a dazed expression on his face.

He seemed out of it until your hand was leaving his face and sliding down his sweater covered chest. He didn’t seem to realize you were doing it until your hand was pressing on his stomach slightly, fidgeting with the singular button on his jeans and tugging on the zipper impatiently.

“No, no.” He was whining, grabbing your wrist to stop you from snaking your hand down his pants, touching him without any layers between. “You can’t do that.”

“Why?” You asked incredulously, leaning forward so you were hovering over him slightly. He leaned back on his hand a bit to avoid bumping into your face and you were a few inches from laying on top of him. “I promise it’ll feel so good Jake.”

The usage of his name made him wince, realizing he liked it far too much when you said it. He’d never really considered his name before, completely indifferent to it until he heard the way it rolled off your snake like tongue.

“You aren’t supposed to do that.” He practically spat the words at you but his tone lacked any anger instead sounding fearful and pained. “You can’t touch me there, you just can’t.”

You felt slightly sorry for him as he hiccuped, his voice breaking around the words as you watched tears collect in his pretty eyelashes. His eyes kept darting to the cross on the wall with a guilty expression.

You took your hands off of his lap, listening to his sigh of longing at the loss of contact. You weren’t quite sure what to do in this situation despite seeing it coming, eventually opting for sitting up further on the bed and pulling him into your neck, wrapping your arms around his shaking body in a hug.

He leaned into it and hesitantly wrapped himself around you, tucking his face into your warm neck and letting out a few sobs, tugging you forward slightly by your lower back.

You let him cry for a while, hushing him softly every few minutes just in case, although you were in a less compromising position now, you still didn’t think your father would be thrilled to find you half in the lap of a sniffling boy who was still hard against you.

“Jake.” You were eventually murmuring into his hair once his hiccups subsided slightly, he nuzzled into your neck further at the sound of your soft tone. “What if I didn’t use my hands?”

He picked his head up at this and furrowed his eyebrows at you, his eyes puffy and red with wet streaks still going down his face.

“I don’t understand.” He looked more puppy like than normal as he said this in a soft breathy voice, voice hoarse from crying and his lip almost jutting out into a confused frown.

“Can I show you?” You kept your voice soft as you spoke to him and he immediately nodded his head. He clearly had found some sort of comfort in your embrace, a connection being made enough for him to fall into this state of vulnerability, willingly to accept what you were wanting to give him now.

You felt a sick rush of adrenaline at his lowered walls, the sudden dumb eagerness in his eyes as he seemed to seek out any sign of contact from you.

You imagined it was a flood of emotions, a confusion and tiring feeling to suddenly be presented with a situation that went against everything your life had been carefully crafted around. Not to mention how addicting it must feel to suddenly learn what was on the other side and how good it felt, having unbothered access to it as the two of you sat huddled on your bed.

Kissing his cheek softly, you slowly slid off the bed onto the floor, suddenly thankful you had a thick rug on your bed side. He watched you in confusion, looking like he wanted to grab you and help you up before you shot him a stern look.

Your hands were back on his jeans now that you were fully situated and he looked like he wanted to object for just a second before lifting his hips off the bed so you could pull them down to pool around his ankles.

You took just a second to admire him, his pretty tanned skin overwhelming you a bit in its sheer amount. His legs were surprisingly thick, muscular like an athlete and you briefly remembered you didn’t know much about him at all.

That didn’t bother you at all, if anything it made you want him more when you looked up at him to see his nervous eyes staring down at you in concern. He looked humiliated and you imagined it had something to do with the fact he was still extremely hard, even after crying for so long.