honey ᥫ᭡.

They’d been on the road too long, dust ground into the seams of their coats, the weight of wanted posters folded in their saddlebags, but money was running thinner than patience. Which was why their ears caught sharp at the words slurred from a table near the back.

A man, red-nosed and loud, slapped his palm against the table. “I swear on my mama’s grave, little thing knows where it’s at. Gold. Money. Been sittin’ there gatherin’ dust since Jed Cartwright got himself shot.” His voice was greasy with whiskey, and his friends howled at every sentence, mugs crashing together.

“You talkin’ about that girl again?” one sneered, spitting tobacco to the floor. “Pretty little thing, always keepin’ her nose clean. She don’t know a goddamn thing.”

The first man barked a laugh. “Don’t she? Saw it with her own eyes, they say. ‘Bout time someone convinced her to lead the way. Could make more use of her than just that treasure, too. Shame lettin’ a body like hers go to waste.” The table roared, laughter ugly and mean, echoing off the stained walls.

Jake’s chair thudded back onto all fours, his smirk gone, eyes sharp beneath the brim of his hat. He flicked his gaze sideways.

Sunghoon hadn’t moved, still toying with his cards, but his jaw ticked. A curl of smoke left his lips slow, deliberate. Their eyes met across the space between them, silent agreement, the kind they’d built from years of outlaw blood and dust.

Find her first.

The piano played on, gamblers cursed, boots scuffed over warped wood, but the world had already shifted for them. Jake tipped his bourbon back, throat working with a slow swallow, then set the empty glass down with a decisive clink.

“Reckon we just got ourselves a lead, partner,” he drawled low, lips curving into something dangerous.

Sunghoon finally laid his cards down, neat on the table, and pushed back his chair. The scrape of wood on wood was quiet, but it cut cleaner than the laughter around them. He crushed the cigar out in an ashtray, eyes still fixed on Jake.

“Then let’s ride before someone else does.”

The two of them stood, dust swirling around their boots as the doors swung wide on their way out. The wind outside was cooler, carrying grit and the distant cry of a coyote. Their horses snorted in the street, restless as if they too could smell the hunt.

And somewhere, not far enough, you were finishing your errands, blissfully unaware that two shadows had already decided you belonged to them.

──────

It had started, like most of their troubles, with gold.

Not a train heist this time, not a poker game gone bloody, but a man with too much money and not enough sense to hide it. Some cattle baron, thick in the waist and dripping in silver buttons, had rolled into Dry Creek boasting loud about the weight of his purse. His stallion was fine-bred, his boots new, and the gold coins he slapped onto the bar clinked loud enough to make the whole saloon turn their heads.

Jake had been the first to notice. He always was, the sparkle of whiskey in the lamplight, the shine of a coin catching his sharp eye. He leaned back in his chair, hat tipped down, and smirked at Sunghoon across the table.

“Tell me you see it,” he drawled, voice low.

Sunghoon didn’t look up from the cards he was shuffling, hands steady. “Man’s a walking target.”

Jake’s grin widened. “Then let’s oblige him.”

It was quick work, the kind they’d perfected after years on the run. A bump in the street outside, Jake apologizing with that honey-sweet charm, hand slipping slick as oil into the man’s coat. By the time Sunghoon called the horses, Jake had the purse heavy in his palm, gold warm from another man’s body heat.

But the baron wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

He’d been boasting, yes, but boasting with hired guns sitting two tables away. Guns who noticed when their boss’s purse disappeared, and who weren’t shy about shouting “Thieves!” loud enough to rattle windows.

The chase through Dry Creek was all dust and shouting. Horses screaming down the main street, pistols firing wild, children pulled off porches by screaming mothers. Jake laughed the whole way, hat flying off, one hand clutching the stolen purse while the other steered his horse through the chaos.

Sunghoon was all grit, jaw clenched, firing back over his shoulder with calm precision. Each shot sent another pursuer ducking for cover, but more kept coming. Too many.

They almost made it, almost cleared the town limits, open desert yawning before them, but a sheriff’s bullet clipped Jake’s horse, sending it crashing to the dirt. Jake rolled, cursing, gold scattering across the ground like fallen stars.

Sunghoon circled back, hauling Jake up, but they were surrounded before they could make another break. Rifles cocked, revolvers steady, half the town’s deputies arrayed against them.

Jake spat blood in the dust, grinning even as the barrel of a rifle pressed against his temple. “Well, hell,” he drawled, “guess supper’s on the house tonight.”

Sunghoon didn’t fight when they shackled him, but his eyes burned cold, calculating. He already knew: prison wasn’t their future. Escape was.

And so, with wrists chained and boots dragged through the sheriff’s door, that’s how they found themselves in the cell, waiting, watching, until a girl with downcast eyes and a rag in her hands walked in and unknowingly tied herself to their fate.

The sheriff’s office smelled of sweat, iron, and old wood, the floorboards sticky with spilled coffee and tobacco spit. Lantern light flickered against the bars of the cells, and a lazy fan squeaked overhead, stirring the warm, dusty air but not clearing it.

Jake leaned against the bars, one wrist shackled, the chain clinking with every shift of his weight. His lip was split from the scuffle that landed them here, but his grin was still cocky, teeth flashing when he tilted his head toward Sunghoon.

Sunghoon sat quieter, hands folded on his knees, hat pulled low so the shadow cut across his eyes. The deputy who’d arrested them strutted like he’d caught prize game, but Sunghoon hadn’t said a word, just watched, steady as a snake waiting in the grass.

Then the door at the back creaked open, and you stepped in with a bucket and rag. The room changed. Your dress was plain, worn thin at the elbows, apron tied neat, hair pinned back, but your face, even half hidden, was enough to make the air crackle. You kept your eyes down, shoulders small, and bent to scrub at a dark stain on the wood.

“Evenin’, sweetheart,” one of the deputies called, leaning back in his chair with his boots on the desk. “Floor looks cleaner every time you crawl on it.” His buddies snorted, one making a crude gesture with his hips.

You didn’t answer, didn’t even flinch, just worked faster, rag moving in quick circles. Jake’s grin faltered into something sharper, eyes narrowing as he looked from you to the jeering men. His drawl rolled out low, amused but edged. “Well, ain’t this somethin’.”

Sunghoon’s gaze was locked on you, unblinking. The rag in your hands, the curve of your jaw, the way you shrank under the deputies’ stares. His jaw worked once before he spoke. “That’s her.”

Jake’s brows flicked up. “The pretty little thing.”

At that, one of the deputies glanced over. “What’d you just say?”

Jake tilted his head, lazy grin back in place, rattling his chains for effect. “Nothin’ that concerns you, lawman. Just admirin’ your choice of… hired help.” His eyes slid back to you, lingering.

You finally glanced up then, just for a heartbeat, eyes wide and wary before snapping down again. It was enough. Jake saw the flash of fear, the sharp intelligence behind it. Sunghoon saw recognition, the kind that said you’d already learned to hide more than you showed. The deputies laughed again, muttering about “outlaws with no sense of respect,” but the sound faded into background noise. For Jake and Sunghoon, the world narrowed to you.

The girl who knew where Cartwright’s gold was buried. The girl every drunk in Blackwater Ridge had been talking about. And she was right here, in the sheriff’s office, scrubbing their goddamn floor.

Jake leaned close to the bars, voice low, pitched so only Sunghoon heard. “Guess we don’t need to search no more.”

Sunghoon’s lips curved, not a smile, but something darker. “No. We just need to get out.”

And with that, the plan shifted. Not escape first, treasure later. Now, it was escape with her. Because they both knew, as sure as the desert sun would rise tomorrow, you weren’t leaving this town without them.

──────

Dawn cracked over Dry Creek in shades of pale gold and dust, the town still rubbing the sleep from its eyes. The sheriff’s office was quiet save for the creak of floorboards and the low murmur of men trading shifts. You were still there, kneeling on the warped planks with a bucket at your side, rag soaked through with yesterday’s filth. They never let you leave until they decided, always more orders barked, more mud tracked across the floor for you to scrub.

You kept your head down, as always. But the silence broke with the scrape of metal on stone.

At first, it was subtle, just a clink, a shift, the sound of chains being tested. Then, a snap. A curse muffled behind bars. And before you could even look up, the cell door slammed open.

Jake burst through first, grin flashing in the half-light, cuffs dangling from one wrist where he’d jimmied the lock. Sunghoon followed like a shadow, movements precise, eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

“Shit—” a deputy shouted, fumbling for his rifle.

The room erupted. Gunfire cracked, men yelled, bullets splintered wood from the walls. Smoke filled the air, sharp and choking. You froze where you knelt, rag slipping from your hand, heart pounding loud enough you were sure they could hear it. But the two outlaws weren’t looking at the deputies, not really. Their gazes had already cut to you.

The girl from the stories. The treasure girl. Sunghoon moved first. He was on you in two strides, one gloved hand snatching your wrist before you could scramble back. You let out a startled squeak, the sound high and soft, and for the briefest instant, his mouth twitched. Adorable. But he crushed the thought down, jaw tightening. No distractions.

“Got her,” he barked to Jake, pulling you up so fast your feet barely touched the floor.

Jake was already vaulting over an overturned chair, snatching a rifle off the wall. “Horse’s out back!” he shouted, firing a shot that sent a deputy diving for cover.

You struggled, kicking against Sunghoon’s grip, but it was useless. He hauled you through the back door like you weighed nothing, the cool dawn air slapping your face as the chaos behind you swelled louder.

Jake had a horse saddled within seconds, reins gripped tight, boots in the stirrups. Sunghoon didn’t hesitate, he grabbed you around the waist, lifted you clean off the ground, and threw you onto the horse’s back. You cried out, clinging to the leather as your skirt tangled, but there was no mercy in the pace.

He swung up behind you in one smooth motion, one arm banding around your middle to lock you against him. His chest was solid, heat seeping through the thin fabric of your dress, breath steady even as gunfire rang out behind.

Jake kicked the horse forward, shouting, “Yah!” The animal surged into a gallop, hooves pounding, dirt and sparks flying as the street whipped past. Deputies poured out of the office, rifles raised, but the outlaws were already gone, three silhouettes tearing down the main street, swallowed by the rising sun.

Bullets whizzed past, one grazing the saddle horn, another sparking off a trough. You squeezed your eyes shut, breath caught in your throat, while Sunghoon’s grip only tightened, his body a shield at your back. “Keep your head down,” he muttered low, voice rough against your ear. “Ain’t losin’ you to a stray.”

The town shrank behind you, shouts fading, smoke rising in the distance until it was nothing but a smear on the horizon. The horse slowed to a hard trot, then to a walk, sides heaving.

Jake yanked the reins, glancing back with a wolfish grin, teeth gleaming in the early light. “Well, sweetheart,” he called, his southern drawl thick with amusement, “looks like you’re ours now.”

Sunghoon’s hand didn’t leave your waist. Even when the dust settled, he kept you pressed tight to him, heartbeat steady against your spine, as if daring you to even think about slipping away.

The horse thundered over hard-packed earth, the town now a smear of smoke in the distance. Your fingers dug into the saddle horn, knuckles white, breath catching with every jolt. Behind you, Sunghoon’s arm was locked firm around your waist, iron and unyielding, keeping you flush against the wall of his chest no matter how you squirmed. His grip was a cage, and you were caught inside it.

Jake rode just ahead, hat tilted low, the red scarf at his neck whipping in the wind. The leather of his gun belt creaked with each shift, revolvers glinting in the dawn light. He looked back at you, and even with dust clinging to his sweat-slick throat and his shirt stretched tight over sun-browned muscle, he was smiling like this was nothing more than a joyride.

“Well now,” he drawled, voice rolling sweet as molasses, “ain’t you just a pretty picture up there.” His accent curled around each word, slow and honey-thick, enough to make your stomach twist even as terror rooted you stiff in the saddle. You shook your head, eyes wide, throat too tight to speak. Jake’s grin only widened.

“No need for them frightened eyes, sugar,” he went on, adjusting the reins one-handed, his other gloved hand loose against the saddle horn. “We ain’t gonna hurt you. Not… unless you give us reason.”

Sunghoon shifted behind you, the heat of his body seeping into your back. He said nothing, but his gaze was sharp, cutting over you like a blade. Analyzing. Weighing. You felt it in the way his fingers tightened minutely at your hip each time you flinched, like he was measuring every twitch, every breath.

Jake tipped his hat back with a flick of his finger, eyes gleaming under the brim. “Reckon you know who we are by now. Heard enough whispers in town, I’m sure. Jake and Sunghoon, men you don’t forget once you’ve laid eyes on ‘em.” He gave a cocky wink, and you swallowed hard, nails digging deeper into leather.

Behind you, Sunghoon’s voice finally came, low, flat, smooth as a knife sliding from its sheath. “Keep your mouth shut, Jake. She’s scared enough without your chatter.”

Jake let out a low laugh, riding closer, close enough that the heat off his horse mixed with yours. “Scared, sure. But fear makes the tongue loose.” He leaned in slightly, eyes locked on yours. “Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

Your heart lurched, but your lips stayed sealed, trembling as you turned your gaze away. Sunghoon’s hand flexed at your waist, pulling you firmer against him, a silent warning not to fall apart, or to run.

The hours stretched long. The desert spread around you, endless and dry, the sun climbing high and burning down until sweat traced lines along your temples. Dust coated your tongue, and every rattle of the saddle left your muscles aching. But neither outlaw loosened their hold, not Jake’s sharp gaze tracking every shift of your shoulders, nor Sunghoon’s grip, steady and grounding, like he could anchor you there forever.

By the time dusk began to settle, the horizon painted deep indigo and gold, stars pricking through the veil of night, the horse slowed to a trot. Jake pulled up, twisting in his saddle to scan the rocky stretch ahead. The land was barren save for a scatter of boulders and dry brush, but it was quiet, safe enough.

Jake hopped down first, boots crunching in the gravel, dust clinging to his trousers where they stretched tight around his thighs. He tugged at the red scarf around his neck, pulling it loose enough to reveal the line of his throat, damp with sweat and dust. The creak of leather straps and the heavy thud of saddlebags hitting the dirt echoed loud in the emptiness, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“Think this’ll do,” he said, voice carrying easy, casual as if they weren’t on the run with a kidnapped girl. He looped the reins around a post of rock, then glanced up at you with a lopsided smirk. “Time to set up camp, sugar. You ever sleep under the stars before?”

Sunghoon followed behind you, silent as a shadow. He slid from the saddle without a sound, landing in one fluid motion, boots barely stirring the dust. His presence loomed at your back, a solid wall of heat, and before you could think to move, his hand curled around your waist. The leather of his fingerless glove scraped against the fabric of your dress as he lifted you down, as if you weighed nothing.

Your feet hit the ground too hard. Your knees wobbled, threatening to buckle, but his grip steadied you, firm and unyielding. His breath brushed your ear when he murmured, “Stand.” The command shot through you, sharper than the night air. You obeyed.

“Don’t wander,” he murmured, voice low, warning.

Jake laughed, busying himself with pulling gear from the saddlebags. “She ain’t wanderin’ nowhere. She’s got two outlaws sittin’ on her shadow now.” He cut you another glance, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Best get used to it, sweetheart. Night’s just beginnin’.”

The firewood cracked as Sunghoon dropped it to the ground, and above, the first sweep of stars lit the endless dark. You stood caught between them, the desert night yawning wide, fear knotting with something heavier in your chest as realization settled in, you weren’t going home.

The desert fell into silence once the horse stopped moving. Dusk had swallowed the horizon whole, inky blue bleeding into black, and the stars came alive, sharp, endless pinpricks scattered across the sky.

Jake crouched by a cluster of dry brush, striking a match against his boot heel. The flare lit his face in gold, shadows cutting across his cheekbones, teeth glinting in a grin as he coaxed flame to life. The smell of sulfur and smoke curled into your lungs, acrid, sharp.

He dropped the match, fire licking through the kindling. The crackle of wood filled the silence, sparks snapping upward to join the stars. The light washed over him, catching in the sheen of sweat along his tanned forearms as he rolled his sleeves higher, exposing corded muscle. His gun belt sagged low on his hips, silver buckle glinting every time he shifted.

“Pretty little setup, ain’t it?” Jake drawled, voice thick, molasses-slow. He stretched back on his heels, watching the fire grow. “Nothin’ but us, the desert, and the stars. Almost romantic, if you forget the law ridin’ our asses.”

Your throat worked, dry, and you hugged your arms around yourself. The fire’s glow danced over your hands, highlighting the dirt under your nails, the tiny tremors running through your fingers.

Sunghoon dropped an armful of wood at Jake’s side, the crack loud enough to make you flinch. He didn’t look at you when he moved to unbuckle his holster, laying it down with quiet precision beside the fire. The glint of steel caught your eye, revolver gleaming dark in the light. Even stripped of the weapon, he looked dangerous, like the gun was just an accessory, not the source of the threat.

Jake noticed your stare. Of course he did. He leaned an elbow on his knee, smirk curling his lips. “You’re starin’, sugar. Like you ain’t sure whether to run… or beg.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you snapped your gaze away. The sound of him chuckling, low, throaty, rich, settled in your chest like smoke.

Sunghoon finally looked at you then. Really looked. His eyes were dark, unreadable, cutting through every layer you tried to hide behind. You shifted on your feet, nails biting into your palms under his stare. He tilted his head, just a fraction, as though cataloguing each nervous twitch, every flick of your lashes.

Jake threw another log onto the fire, sparks crackling high. He stretched out on the dirt, one hand propping him up as he tipped his head back toward the stars.  “Now,” he said, drawl curling sweet, “why don’t we get to know each other a bit? I’m Jake, that’s Sunghoon. You already know that, I reckon. Question is… what’s your name, darlin’?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You couldn’t tell if it was the danger in his tone or the honey wrapping around it that made your pulse race faster. Sunghoon didn’t move, didn’t blink, but you felt his hand twitch where it had rested at your hip moments ago, like he was reminding himself he could hold you down again if you bolted.

The fire popped. Smoke drifted skyward. Somewhere far off, a coyote howled. And you realized, every detail of this moment, from the heat of the flames to the weight of their stares, was branding itself into your memory. You were caught.

Completely.

──────

The fire burned steady now, logs collapsing in on themselves with the occasional hiss and spit of resin. Smoke curled upward in a pale column, drifting into the desert sky. The heat pressed against your shins, a constant reminder that you were too close, too exposed. Every sense in your body was sharpened to a painful point, your ears straining for each scrape of metal, each murmur of breath, each crunch of teeth on food.

Jake leaned back on his elbow, a tin plate balanced careless in his other hand. He ate like he owned the night, messy, loud, unconcerned. Each bite of salted pork was torn with his teeth, the sound tearing through the silence in jagged snaps. Grease glistened on his lower lip, catching the firelight as his tongue darted out to lick it clean. He didn’t look at you while he chewed, but you could feel it, his awareness coiled, deliberate, like a snake waiting to strike. The scrape of his knife against the plate was rough, uneven, punctuating the crackle of the fire like a threat.

Sunghoon was the opposite. He sat cross-legged, posture perfect, his plate steady in his lap. His movements were precise, almost eerily so, the way his knife cut cleanly through bread, the way he portioned out bites as though he were counting them. He never made a sound when he chewed, jaw moving slow and deliberate. But every few seconds, his gaze flicked toward you through the curtain of firelight, heavy and unblinking. You didn’t know which was worse, Jake’s easy lawlessness or Sunghoon’s sharp restraint.

Your own stomach twisted at the smell of food, fat sizzling, bread toasted dark on one edge where Jake had shoved it too close to the fire. Hunger clawed at you, but your throat was locked tight, your body taut with something heavier than appetite.

Jake broke the quiet first, voice sticky-smooth, mouth still half full. “Funny thing ‘bout fire,” he drawled, licking his thumb before wiping it down the edge of his blade. The sound was soft, intimate, and it made your breath catch. “It gets folks to loosen their tongues. Somethin’ about the heat, the dark, the way it makes a body feel watched.” His grin cut sharp as he finally looked at you, eyes glinting. “And darlin’, you look watched. Like you’re waitin’ for somethin’ to snap.”

You gripped your hands tighter in your lap, nails pressing half-moons into your palms. The silence stretched, broken only by the crunch of Jake biting into another strip of meat, the faint clink of Sunghoon’s knife against tin.

Finally, Jake tilted his plate toward you, gesturing lazy. “Now, I’ll make it plain. We know who you are.” His tongue clicked against his teeth. “Treasure girl. Pretty little ghost story folks whisper ‘round the fire. Been a long while since we got so lucky sittin’ across from the very one who knows where it’s hid.”

Your breath shuddered out. The words tangled in your throat, but something in their stares, Jake’s sharp and goading, Sunghoon’s silent and suffocating, pulled them free.

Slow. Careful. Like stepping barefoot across broken glass. “I know where it is.” You muttered.

Jake stilled mid-bite. His chewing stopped, jaw going slack just long enough for the firelight to paint his expression, half-satisfied, half-predatory. Sunghoon didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed, cutting through the shadows until you felt pinned in place.

Your tongue felt heavy, but you kept going, the words dragged from you by something beyond choice. “It’s too far.” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard. “Too far away, and I… I’ve never been outside the town. Not by myself.”

Jake’s brows rose slow. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his plate forgotten. “What d’you mean by that?” he asked, voice soft now, dangerous in its gentleness.

Your fingers twisted in your skirts. The fire hissed, a log collapsing in on itself, sparks spraying upward. It was too loud, too sharp, and you forced the words out before you could choke on them.

“Jed Cartwright and my father… they were brothers.” The admission scraped raw in your throat, but it was impossible to stop now. “Outlaws. They traveled together, stole together. And I… after my mother passed, I was always with them. There wasn’t anywhere else for me to be.”

The air went still, even the fire seeming to quiet. Jake’s smirk faltered, slipping into something unreadable, while Sunghoon’s jaw flexed once, sharp muscle twitching.

You drew a breath that shook. “My father got sick. Poisoned. It was around the same time Jed was away hiding the stash. When he came back and found me alone… he didn’t just leave me.” Your gaze dropped to your lap, shame and memory knotting tight in your chest. “He showed me the treasure. Said when I was alone, I wouldn’t need anyone else to show me what to do. That I could… I could manage on my own. Be strong enough without depending on them.”

Silence swallowed the fire crackle whole. Jake’s knife stilled against the plate, his eyes locked on you with something harsher than curiosity. Sunghoon’s breath shifted, slow and measured, but he didn’t look away.

For a moment, it felt like the desert itself was holding still. No wind. No night sounds. Just the weight of two outlaws’ stares, the smell of smoke and salt, and the crushing realization that you had given them more than words. You had given them yourself.

And neither of them spoke. Not yet.

The silence dragged long enough that your pulse began to thunder in your ears, louder than the fire, louder than their breathing. You could feel the sweat bead at your temple despite the cooling desert air, the way your body begged to flinch at every snap of firewood, every shift of leather creaking as one of them moved.

Then Jake broke it.

A low chuckle, honey-thick and dangerous, rolled out of him as he leaned forward. His elbows rested heavy on his knees, his knife dangling loose in his hand. The fire carved his grin in molten gold and shadow.

“Well, now,” he drawled, each word slow enough to stick to your skin, “ain’t that somethin’. Jed Cartwright’s blood sittin’ right in front of us. And all this time, you been hidin’ in plain sight.” His eyes dragged over you, deliberate, like he was mapping you out inch by inch. The red scarf around his throat caught the light, a slash of color against tanned skin and sweat-slick muscle. “Pretty thing like you, walkin’ around with a secret men’d kill for… Don’t that make you feel just a little bit powerful?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Your throat was too tight.

Jake smirked wider, tongue flicking over his lower lip to chase a glisten of grease. “Mm. Thought so. You’re sittin’ there lookin’ like a rabbit caught in a snare, but deep down?” His drawl thickened, darker now, laced with something that felt too intimate. “Deep down you know you got both our eyes right where you want ‘em. Don’t deny it, darlin’. Don’t waste your breath.”

Your heart thumped so loud it hurt. You wanted to look away, but the weight of his stare pinned you down harder than rope.

Sunghoon finally spoke then, voice cool, cutting through Jake’s velvet heat like steel. “Why didn’t you ever touch the gold?” His words were clipped, precise, but they made your stomach turn because he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear you say it.

You swallowed hard. “I told you. It’s far. I’ve never been outside the town. Not alone.”

Jake’s grin slipped, softer now, curiosity edging in. “Not alone, huh?” His gaze sharpened. “You said you were with ‘em, your pa, Jed. Out ridin’, stealin’, livin’ on the wind. So what do you mean you never been alone? Not once?”

The fire popped, sending sparks upward, and your nails dug crescents into your palms as you forced yourself to answer. “Because after my mother died, I was never without them. My father wouldn’t let me out of his sight. Jed neither, when he was around. And when they were gone… I stayed put. Waited. That’s all I ever did.”

For a heartbeat, neither outlaw moved. Then Jake’s smile faltered, just a fraction, but enough to strip it of its swagger. He studied you, eyes darker now, less like a man toying with prey and more like one realizing the weight of what he held.

Sunghoon’s jaw worked once, slow. His stare didn’t waver, though you thought you caught something flicker, something like recognition, quickly buried.

The silence that followed was unbearable, pressing heavy on your chest. You wanted to shrink into the dirt, to disappear into the night, but you couldn’t. Not with Jake’s smirk crawling back into place, softer now, meaner for how gentle it sounded when he finally spoke again.

“You’re a mystery wrapped in a dress too plain for it, pretty thing.” His voice was low, rich as whiskey. “And now you’re ours.”

──────

Morning broke in a wash of pale gold, the desert still cool under its blanket of dawn. You startled awake at the soft rasp of leather, the faint clink of metal, and when your eyes opened, the first thing you saw was Jake crouched beside you.

The outlaw’s hat tilted back enough for his grin to shine clear in the light, boyish in a way that shouldn’t have existed on a man like him. The scent of smoke and sweat still clung to him, but beneath it lingered something warm, sun-heated leather, the faint sweetness of tobacco. “Rise ‘n shine, pretty thing,” he drawled, voice dipped in honey. “Got a long road ahead, and I’d rather not drag you by your skirts if you can help it.”

Your body jolted with instinctive resistance, but you found yourself nodding anyway, heat blooming in your cheeks at the easy charm in his smile.

By the time camp was broken, the three of you were mounted again. Jake at the lead with the reins, Sunghoon close behind, and you caught between them like a prize neither intended to lose. The desert stretched endless ahead, the horizon shimmering, each gust of wind pulling dust up in soft, curling ghosts.

Hours blurred into one another. The steady creak of saddle leather, the jingle of bridles, the crunch of hooves on dirt, your world narrowed to those sounds. Sometimes, when the sun hit merciless and sweat rolled down your spine, Jake would whistle low, some tune you didn’t recognize, lazy and sweet like molasses. Other times, when the path tightened to a canyon pass, Sunghoon’s sharp voice cut through the silence, his instructions brisk but protective, “Duck your head.” “Stay close.”

The canyon walls rose red and jagged around you, echoing the clatter of hooves until it sounded like an army rode with you. You traced the striations in the stone, ancient and layered, and tried not to think about how you had never stepped foot beyond your dusty town until now.

By midday, you were brave enough to speak. The heat had made Jake loosen his scarf, his shirt sticking to his tanned chest where muscle shifted with every tug of the reins. Sunghoon had shed his coat, sleeves rolled high, forearms corded tight and gleaming with sweat. They looked like men carved out of the land itself, too wild and sharp to belong in any sheriff’s town.

“You’ve… done this a lot,” you said softly, almost swallowed by the wind.

Jake’s head tipped back, laughter spilling out rich and easy. “Darlin’, ridin’ through dirt and stone’s about the only thing we do.” He glanced back at you, his grin catching the sunlight. “Don’t tell me this is your first time stretchin’ those legs past the edge of town?”

Heat crept into your face, and you managed a small smile despite yourself. “I told you. I’ve never been out here. Not like this.”

For the first time, Sunghoon’s voice softened. Still low, still cool, but without the bite it carried before. “Then keep your eyes open. Desert’ll eat the unprepared.”

You nodded, but the words didn’t scare you. Not anymore. Not with the way his gaze lingered, as if making sure you understood he wasn’t warning you out of cruelty, but out of something else.

──────

The sun sank low by the time the mountain pass loomed ahead, jagged teeth of rock silhouetted against a bruising sky. The air grew thinner, sharper, carrying the scent of stone and pine instead of dust. The horses’ hooves clattered on rock, sparking against stone as the path narrowed to a perilous edge.

Jake hummed a tune under his breath, easy even with the drop yawning just feet away, his presence a tether steadying you when your stomach flipped. Sunghoon rode close, his hand brushing your arm when the path tilted too steep, steadying you with a touch that felt more careful than you expected.

By the time you reached the final stretch of trail, dusk had swallowed the land whole. The sky bled from indigo into black, stars pricking through like tiny lanterns, the air crisp with the promise of night. You should have been terrified, of the mountains, of the treasure, of the men who had stolen you away.

But instead you found yourself… breathing easier. You could glance at Jake’s grin without flinching, you could listen to Sunghoon’s voice without shrinking. And when you smiled, small, hesitant, it felt real.

Maybe too real.

The mountain air bit sharper than the desert, thinner, cleaner. When Jake pulled the horses off the narrow pass into a hidden clearing, you felt your lungs drink deep for the first time all day. The stars overhead burned clearer here, scattered bright across the ink-dark sky, and the chill pressed at your skin until you shivered.

Camp built itself in the rhythm of their bodies. Jake crouched low, striking flint until the fire sputtered and caught, smoke curling into the crisp night. He whistled while he worked, that same lazy tune, his hat tipped back, the red scarf at his throat loose like a sin you weren’t supposed to look at. Sunghoon, precise as always, unloaded packs, his every movement economical, the way he staked the horses, the way he checked each gun with a flick of his wrist, oiled metal catching the firelight.

You tried to make yourself small, quiet, sitting just out of the fire’s circle, hugging your knees against the cold. Your ears filled with the familiar soundtrack of them: Jake’s low hum, Sunghoon’s measured footsteps, the clink of belt buckles and gunmetal. Somehow, it had become… comforting.

That was why the crunch of footsteps didn’t register at first. Not until they came from the wrong direction, behind you, from the treeline.

You whipped your head around just as a shadow peeled itself free from the dark. A man, ragged, hat pulled low, a toothpick dancing between his lips. His grin spread slow when he saw you sitting there alone.

“Well, ain’t this a sight.” His voice was slick with mockery, curling cruel around the edges. “Pretty little thing all tucked up in the mountains. Don’t reckon you belong to those two bastards over there, do ya?”

Your heart lurched. Words stuck in your throat, useless. The man crouched, close enough you caught the stench of unwashed leather, old liquor. His hand shot out, fingers grazing your jaw as he tilted your face up. “Mm. Bet you’d fetch better than gold if I took you down the ridge. Or maybe,” his grin widened, cruel, “I’ll make use of you before I—”

The crack of a gun cut the night in half. The man froze, his toothpick snapping clean in his mouth. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as you realized the barrel pressed against his temple wasn’t yours; it was Jake’s.

Jake stood behind him, tall, broad, his revolver cocked and steady. But it was his face that made your breath stop. The grin was gone. Every ounce of honey had burned away, leaving something sharp and feral, his eyes dark with a fury you hadn’t seen yet. “Take your hand off her,” Jake said, voice low and steady, thick with a threat that promised more than death.

The outlaw’s fingers twitched back, but before he could move, Sunghoon appeared from the other side. Silent, efficient, his blade pressed to the man’s throat with a surgeon’s precision. His gaze was ice, unreadable, but the way he angled his body, between you and the intruder, was unmistakable.

“You picked the wrong fire to crawl toward,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice so quiet it made the hairs at your neck stand on end. The man stammered, sweat beading faster. Jake’s gun didn’t waver, and Sunghoon’s knife kissed the skin at his throat until a bead of blood welled.

“Go,” Jake finally said. His drawl was gone, cut down to pure steel. “Run. If you’re still breathin’ by the time the sun’s up, it’ll be by God’s mercy, not ours.”

The man stumbled back, tripping over his own boots before disappearing into the trees, crashing loud through the underbrush. Silence fell heavy.

Jake holstered his gun slow, then turned on you. His grin returned, faint but crooked, his hat shadowing his eyes. He crouched down low until his face was level with yours. “You alright, pretty thing?” His voice had softened again, sweet as molasses, though the steel still lingered beneath.

Sunghoon didn’t kneel. He just stood close, blade cleaned and tucked away, his gaze fixed on you. But you saw the shift, the faint unclenching of his jaw, the way his hand hovered like he wasn’t sure if he should touch your shoulder.

Your heart hammered. The fire crackled. You managed the smallest nod. Jake’s smile widened, boyish again, though it didn’t hide the dark look he shared with Sunghoon over your head. It said what neither of them needed to:

You weren’t just the girl with the treasure anymore. You were theirs.

──────

The fire was still crackling when the silence finally broke. Your breath hadn’t steadied yet, heart hammering against your ribs as though it was trying to escape, and your fingers trembled where they clutched your skirts. You could still feel the ghost of that outlaw’s hand on your jaw, the leer in his voice, and yet the space he left behind was filled just as quickly, by them.

Jake crouched lower, grin tugging at his mouth though his eyes still burned dark. He reached out, a gloved finger tipping your chin up until your eyes met his. “Told ya, darlin’,” he murmured, voice soft but dangerous, “ain’t nothin’ out here that gets to touch what’s ours.”

The words seared into your skin, hotter than the fire, and your lips parted before you could stop yourself. Ours.

Sunghoon said nothing, but the way he lingered just behind Jake spoke louder than words. His shadow stretched long across the firelight, his body angled between you and the tree line like a sentinel. His knife was already tucked away, but you had no doubt he could have it at someone’s throat again before they blinked.

The tension clung long after the man was gone. You tried to inch back toward your own bedroll, desperate for some kind of space, but Jake clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Mm-mm. Not tonight, pretty thing.” He tipped his hat back, eyes glinting with mischief and something far hungrier. “We can’t afford to lose the treasure, now can we? Best you keep close. Safer that way.”

Your heart skipped, and before you could argue, Sunghoon’s voice cut in, low, flat, and absolute. “He’s right. You sleep separate, you’re a target. We stay together. No exceptions.”

The finality in his tone left no room to protest. In seconds, Jake had dragged his bedroll closer, his hands busy with rope and leather as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He tugged you down between them, the heat of their bodies already closing in.

The smell hit you first, smoke in Jake’s hair, the sharp tang of gun oil on Sunghoon’s coat, the leather and sweat clinging to both of them. Their bodies radiated heat like furnaces, surrounding you until the cold mountain air felt far away.

Jake’s arm was the first to drape over you, heavy and possessive, his gloved fingers splaying wide at your hip. “Don’t fret, sugar,” he drawled near your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Just makin’ sure you don’t freeze. Can’t have my pretty thing shiverin’ when she’s supposed to be leadin’ us to gold.”

But his hand lingered, longer than necessary, pressing firmer than casual. Each brush of his thumb sent a tremor racing up your spine.

On your other side, Sunghoon lay stiff, his muscles tense as iron beneath the fabric of his shirt. He faced the fire, jaw clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind when Jake’s hand slid a little lower on your waist. His self-control was a blade honed too fine, threatening to snap with the smallest pressure.

You were hyper-aware of everything, the rasp of Jake’s glove slipping beneath the edge of your blouse, the steady weight of Sunghoon’s breathing, the way their heat pinned you in place.

And this was just the beginning.

──────

The desert night pressed cold against your exposed skin, but the heat trapped between their bodies kept you from shivering. If anything, you were suffocating, smothered in leather and smoke, in the steady weight of two men who never seemed to look away.

You tried to close your eyes, to pretend you could rest, but every small detail made it impossible.

Jake’s arm draped around your middle like it had been there forever. His palm rested firm on your hip, fingers curling ever so slightly each time you exhaled. He smelled of tobacco and sweat, that warm, heady scent that clung stubbornly to your lungs. Each breath of his brushed your ear, his lips close enough you swore he’d touch you if he moved an inch.

On your other side, Sunghoon was a wall of restraint. His posture hadn’t relaxed once, muscles wound taut as a bowstring. His breathing was shallow, controlled, but you could feel the minute shifts of his body every time Jake’s thumb stroked across your waist. The firelight cut sharp shadows into his face, catching the steel in his eyes when they flicked toward you. He didn’t speak, but his silence screamed. The minutes stretched unbearably long.

“You’re real quiet, pretty thing,” Jake finally murmured, voice husky, dragging over your skin like smoke. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, deliberate. “Ain’t scared of us, are you?”

Your throat worked, but words tangled before they could form. Jake chuckled, low and pleased, and let his thumb slide higher, stroking the edge of your ribs now, dangerously close to the curve of your breast.

“See, Hoon?” Jake’s tone sharpened, smug. “Told ya she’d get used to us. Don’t even flinch no more.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer, but his jaw flexed, teeth grinding audibly. His hand twitched against the bedroll, fingers curling into a fist when Jake’s knuckles brushed just under the swell of your breast. You felt everything, every scrape of leather, every hot breath at your ear, every tremor running through Sunghoon’s restraint.

Jake leaned closer, his grin pressed against your cheek. “Warm enough, darlin’? Or you want me to get a little closer?”

His hand slipped lower, settling with dangerous familiarity over the curve of your stomach. He didn’t move further, not yet, but the weight of his palm there made your skin burn.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, a sound caught between a growl and a warning. “Jake.” The name cut through the night like a blade, sharp and edged. But Jake only laughed, soft and amused, fingers tightening possessively at your waist.

And you, caught between them, felt like prey trapped under twin gazes. One playful, one ruthless. Both hungry.

Jake’s thumb brushed higher, grazing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. The touch was hot, unhurried, deliberate. You sucked in a breath, and his smile curved against your cheek like he’d been waiting for that sound.

“That’s it, pretty thing,” he whispered, accent thick, words dragging slow. “Ain’t no need to hold your breath around me.”

His fingers slipped under the fabric with shameless ease, palm flattening against your stomach. Heat spread in every direction, your pulse hammering so loud you were sure both men could hear it.

You shifted without meaning to, a tiny arch of your back that pressed you closer into him. Jake’s chest rumbled with satisfaction.

On your other side, Sunghoon’s stillness finally fractured. He shifted an inch closer, just enough for his thigh to brush yours under the blanket. The touch was fleeting, hesitant, like he hated himself for it. But when you didn’t recoil, when you stayed pressed between them, he let out a breath that sounded almost like defeat.

Jake’s hand roamed higher, fingertips skating just under the curve of your breast. You couldn’t help the tiny gasp that escaped. That was when Sunghoon moved. His hand, cooler, steadier, settled on your arm. Barely there. Just a brush of his knuckles against your skin. Tender, cautious, in stark contrast to Jake’s shameless claiming.

The duality unraveled you, Jake’s bold hunger, Sunghoon’s reluctant gentleness. One fire, one steel. Both pulling you apart.

Jake’s grin widened, knowing. “Feel that, darlin’? Hoon can’t keep his hands off ya neither.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t pull away. His thumb stroked once over the back of your hand, the smallest gesture of comfort, of claim. “You should sleep,” Sunghoon muttered, voice low, almost a growl. But his hand stayed.

And Jake’s kept wandering. Jake’s hand slid higher until his palm cupped you fully, fingers squeezing with a boldness that stole the air from your lungs. The thin cotton of your bra did nothing to dull the heat of his touch; every stroke of his thumb over your nipple made it tighten, straining against the fabric.

A whimper caught in your throat before you could swallow it down. Jake chuckled, low and victorious. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice molten honey, his lips brushing your ear. “So soft. So damn sweet. Knew you’d sound pretty when I touched ya.”

He kneaded lazily, thumb circling, dragging you higher with every calculated graze. Your whole body was on fire, trapped between his brazen hand and the heavy weight of Sunghoon’s stare.

Because Sunghoon was watching. You could feel it, his restraint unraveling thread by thread. His breaths had gone shallow, jaw tight, but his hand hadn’t left yours. His thumb still stroked your skin, slow, shaky.

Until it stopped. And then, he moved. His hand slid up your arm, deliberate this time, tracing the line of your shoulder before settling at your waist. The grip was firm, almost possessive, pulling you subtly back against him.

Jake smirked against your cheek, feeling the shift. “Took you long enough, partner.”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon bit out, voice rough, but his hand didn’t leave you. It tightened, anchoring you against his chest as if to stake his claim. His body was tense, trembling with the force of restraint he’d finally let slip.

Caught between them, your skin felt too tight, every nerve raw. Jake’s palm rolled over your breast again, thumb flicking your nipple through the fabric. Your hips shifted helplessly, pressing closer into the heat of Sunghoon’s body behind you.

The noise he made was sharp, low, a groan buried in his throat. His hand slid lower, fingers splaying across your stomach just beneath Jake’s. Where Jake was shameless, teasing, Sunghoon’s touch was steadier, grounding.

But it burned just the same. Jake’s grin pressed against your cheek as his hand finally slipped beneath the thin band of your bra. Skin to skin.

The shock of heat made you jolt, a sharp breath tearing out of you as his palm covered your bare breast. His thumb brushed over your nipple, soft at first, then firmer, teasing circles until it peaked hard against his touch.

“Lord, darlin’,” Jake drawled, the words low and reverent, thick with hunger. “Feelin’ you like this… sweeter than I dreamed.” His lips hovered so close you felt every word ghost hot against your ear.

You arched helplessly into him, heat spiraling low in your belly, every nerve alight. And then, Sunghoon moved. His hand, steady till now, slid lower from your waist. Down, over the curve of your hip, pausing at your thigh. He hesitated, just for a breath, knuckles grazing the fabric of your skirt. His jaw clenched hard, you could hear it, but restraint snapped in the silence of that moment.

His hand pushed further, fingers brushing along the inside of your thigh. Barely there at first, a whisper of contact that had your muscles tensing. When you didn’t push him away, his grip firmed, spreading against sensitive skin, inching higher.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, raw, frustrated, like he hated himself even as his fingers stroked the tender flesh.

You were trembling, trapped between Jake’s relentless hand kneading your breast, his thumb pinching and rolling your nipple, and Sunghoon’s palm pressing heat into your inner thigh. Two different fires, one playful and taunting, the other dark and restrained, but both burning you alive.

Jake chuckled again, all shameless satisfaction. “She’s shakin’ for us, Hoon. Feels it bad, don’t ya, pretty thing?” He gave your nipple another teasing roll, making you gasp. “Bet you’d beg if I asked real nice.”

Sunghoon’s breath hitched, his hand tightening on your thigh, creeping higher, grazing dangerously close to where you ached most. He leaned closer, voice low in your ear, rougher than Jake’s honeyed drawl. “Stop talkin’,” he ground out. But his hand didn’t stop moving.

And you, you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t decide if you wanted Jake to push further, or Sunghoon to finally close the last bit of distance.

Jake’s hand didn’t stop at your breast. It slipped lower, dragging heat down your ribs, down the soft dip of your waist, until his fingertips hooked into the edge of your waistband.

“Mm,” he hummed, smug and sweet. “Ain’t fair, keepin’ me waitin’ when you’re already burnin’ up for us.” His fingers slid just beneath the band, teasing the heat of bare skin, brushing maddeningly close to where you ached.

You gasped, thighs instinctively squeezing shut, only to be caught by Sunghoon.

Because his hand was there. Firm between your thighs, palm pressing against your core through the thin fabric of your underwear. He didn’t move at first, just let you writhe against the solid heat of his hand, his breath ragged behind you. Then, slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushed, stroking the damp spot already spreading beneath. The whimper that tore out of you shattered what little restraint he had left.

With a guttural sound, Sunghoon’s hand left your thighs, only to grip your jaw and wrench you back against him. His mouth crushed onto yours in a kiss that was all hunger, no hesitation. His lips devoured yours, tongue forcing past your lips as if to taste every sound you made.

The world tilted, sparking white behind your eyes. “Mine,” Sunghoon growled against your mouth, kissing you again, rougher, bruising. “You hear me? You’re mine, just as much as his.”

Jake’s chuckle rumbled against your skin, his fingers still teasing low at your waistband. “Well, ain’t that sweet. Looks like we finally agree on somethin’, partner.” His other hand pinched your nipple sharply, making you moan into Sunghoon’s mouth. “She’s ours.”

Sunghoon swallowed your cries, his kiss turning softer for a split second, almost tender, before he pulled you tighter against his chest, possessive, unwilling to let go.

Between Jake’s fingers slipping lower and Sunghoon’s mouth claiming you, you were lost, caught between them, wanted by both, consumed whole.

The kiss broke only because Jake’s hand slipped beneath your panties, fingers stroking your folds with bold, unhurried sweeps. The heat of his touch had you jerking, breaking against Sunghoon’s lips with a desperate cry.

“Christ almighty,” Jake murmured, voice dripping honeyed satisfaction as he slid one thick finger inside you. The stretch had you gasping, clutching at both of them, but he only smirked. “Tight as a drum. You’re squeezin’ me already, darlin’.”

Sunghoon growled low, catching your jaw again and forcing you to meet his eyes in the firelight. “Don’t you dare fall apart for him alone.” His hand fisted in your hair, dragging your head back so he could kiss you again, fierce and claiming.

Jake’s finger crooked deep, pressing that perfect spot until your thighs trembled. He added a second without warning, scissoring you open, your slick dripping down his palm. His grin curved sharp as he kissed your ear.

“You’re gonna take me, pretty thing,” Jake drawled, thrusting his fingers harder until your breath stuttered. “Gonna ride me like the sweet little whore you were made to be.”

The words burned, filthy and hot, and before you could recover, they were moving you. Jake leaned back against the bedroll, cock already straining against his trousers as he yanked them open. Thick. Long. Heavy veins standing out as he stroked himself lazily, eyes locked on you.

“C’mon,” he said, voice low and coaxing. “Climb on. Don’t keep me waitin’.”

Sunghoon shoved you down toward him, though his own belt was already undone, cock flushed and angry-red. He pulled your head to his lap, his hand tight in your hair. “While you’re ridin’ him,” he muttered darkly, “you’ll suck me. You’re gonna learn how to take both of us.”

Your head spun, body already wrecked from their touches, but Jake’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you down, forcing you to sink onto him. The stretch was brutal, splitting you apart on his cock, every inch making you cry out.

“That’s it,” Jake groaned, head falling back, eyes rolling as your walls clenched around him. “That’s it, ride me, pretty thing. Work that sweet cunt for me.” His hands dragged you up and down, setting the brutal rhythm himself, bouncing you on his cock until slick dripped down his thighs. At the same time, Sunghoon pulled your mouth onto him, shoving his cock past your lips, down your throat. His hips snapped forward, fucking into your mouth with sharp, precise thrusts.

“Don’t slack,” he hissed, the words strained, fingers tightening in your hair. “Open wider, fuck, just like that.” Their voices tangled, Jake’s low moans and Sunghoon’s harsh curses, both of them using you, both refusing to yield.

Jake spanked your ass, a sharp crack that made you clench tighter around him. “She’s squeezin’ me like heaven, Hoon. Bet you wish you were in here instead.”

Sunghoon snarled, shoving himself deeper into your throat until tears pricked your eyes. “Don’t worry. She’ll get my cock next. We’re gonna take turns till she can’t even remember her name.”

You were wrecked, overstimulated, yet held so carefully in their grip, Jake steadying your hips when you faltered, Sunghoon stroking your cheek even as he thrust into your mouth. Rough and protective, claiming every inch of you.

Your body burned, split between them, Jake’s cock pounding up into you while Sunghoon used your mouth like it was made for him. Every thrust stole sound from your throat, every bounce on Jake’s lap wrung slick out of you. You were undone, tears streaking your cheeks, spit dripping down your chin, moans muffled by the cock stretching your mouth.

Jake groaned loud, his hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back just enough for him to watch your face. “Look at her, Hoon. Cryin’ on your cock while she squeezes me tighter than a goddamn vice.” He slammed you down harder, the crack of your thighs meeting his echoing through camp. “She loves it. Loves ridin’ me like this.”

Sunghoon snarled, pulling free from your mouth with a wet pop. Strings of spit clung to your lips as he grabbed your face, forcing you to meet his dark, furious eyes. “Move over, Jake. My turn.”

Jake smirked, still buried deep inside you. “Think you can do better?”

Instead of answering, Sunghoon shoved him hard by the shoulder, pushing him back onto the blankets. His hands clamped your hips and lifted you off Jake’s cock despite your whimper, turning you and bending you forward onto your hands and knees.

Before you could catch a breath, he slammed into you from behind, the force of it knocking a broken cry out of your chest.

“Fuck,” Sunghoon groaned, head tipping back, voice rough and ragged. “She’s so tight. So wet.” His thrusts were ruthless, snapping his hips against your ass until you jolted forward with every stroke. “You think you’re the only one she’ll come for, Jake? Watch me ruin her.”

Jake leaned on his elbow, smirking lazily as he stroked his still-hard cock, watching the way your body took Sunghoon’s brutal pace. “She’s already ruined for me, partner. I broke her open. You’re just ridin’ what I primed.”

Sunghoon’s hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so you arched for him. His teeth sank into your shoulder, possessive, sharp, as he fucked you deeper. “You’re mine,” he growled against your skin. “Say it.”

Before you could even form the word, Jake was there, kneeling in front of you, shoving his cock back into your mouth. “She’s ours,” he corrected with a smug grin. “Ain’t that right, pretty thing? Ours to use, ours to keep.”

The camp echoed with the wet slap of flesh, with your muffled cries, with their overlapping voices, Jake’s honeyed coaxing, Sunghoon’s harsh commands.

You gagged on Jake as Sunghoon bottomed out inside you, his hips grinding against your ass. He groaned sharp and guttural, rutting into you with a possessiveness that made your head spin.

“Gonna fill her,” Sunghoon snarled, words broken between thrusts. “Gonna fuck my claim so deep she’ll never forget.”

Jake’s laugh was low, dark, fingers curling in your hair as he thrust into your throat. “Then I’ll fuck it outta her after. See whose cock she begs for next.”

You couldn’t decide which burned more, the way Jake used you with cocky ease, or the way Sunghoon split you open with sharp desperation. All you knew was you were theirs. Completely, wholly, irrevocably.

And they weren’t going to let you go until they’d proven it.

Your body was wrecked, stretched raw between them, Jake’s cock filling your throat, Sunghoon’s rutting deep into your cunt, the two of them using you like you were made to be shared.

Sunghoon’s pace grew erratic, sharp thrusts losing their rhythm as his groans spilled ragged and unrestrained. His fingers dug bruises into your hips, holding you steady as he buried himself again and again.

“Fuck—” he gasped, the word low and guttural. “I’m gonna, shit—”

Jake shoved deeper into your throat, cutting him off with your gagged cry. “Do it,” he drawled, voice dripping with cocky triumph. “Fill her up, partner. Mark her good. She’ll still be milkin’ my cock after you’re done.”

That was all it took, Sunghoon slammed into you one last time, cock throbbing as he spilled inside you with a hoarse, broken groan. His hips ground hard against your ass, shoving every drop deeper while your walls clenched tight around him, pulling more out of him.

The sensation made you convulse, slick gushing down your thighs as your orgasm ripped through you, violent and consuming. You screamed around Jake’s cock, your whole body trembling, collapsing forward if not for their hands anchoring you.

Jake hissed, hips jerking as your throat squeezed him tight. “Oh, sweet Christ, that’s it—” His cock twitched, and then he was spilling hot down your throat, his hand fisted in your hair keeping you there as he groaned long and loud. “Swallow, pretty thing. Take it all.”

You did, choking on it, tears spilling down your cheeks as you gulped every drop. Sunghoon groaned behind you, still grinding slow, fucking his cum deeper into your sore cunt.

By the time Jake pulled out of your mouth, sticky strings clinging to your lips, you were shaking, boneless between them.

Sunghoon caught you first, dragging you back against his chest, still buried inside you as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Jake lowered himself beside you, brushing sweat-slick hair from your face, his grin softer now.

“Hell,” Jake panted, voice rough but tender now. “Ain’t never had it that good.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering. “You’re ours, pretty thing. You hear me?”

Sunghoon’s lips pressed to the back of your neck, a rare, fragile sweetness in the way he whispered, “Ours.” His arm wrapped around your waist, hand stroking gently where moments before it had been ruthless.

The fire crackled low. The desert night pressed quiet around you, broken only by their uneven breathing. And as your eyes fluttered shut, you felt them both holding you, tight, protective, unwilling to let you go.

Their whispers blurred as sleep pulled you under. Promises. Sweet nothings. The outlaw drawl of Jake’s honey voice tangled with Sunghoon’s low, sharp certainty.

And for the first time in forever, you didn’t feel alone.

──────

You woke to warmth. Not the thin desert sun leaking through the tent canvas, but the heavy, smothering kind of warmth that came from being cocooned between two bodies much larger than yours.

Your thighs ached, your lips were raw, your entire body throbbed like you’d been dragged behind a galloping horse for miles. Except instead of rope burn and dust, you were slick with their sweat, their scent, the dried mess of what they’d left in you.

You shifted slightly, and hissed when Sunghoon’s softened cock slid against your overstretched walls, still sheathed inside you.

“Careful,” his low voice came immediately, awake even if his eyes weren’t open. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. “Don’t move. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Jake stirred on your other side, lazy grin spreading across his face when he cracked an eye open. “Mornin’, pretty thing.” His voice was rough, still deep with sleep, and unfairly charming. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your jaw before murmuring against your skin, “Didn’t dream it, huh? We really fucked you stupid.”

You flushed, pressing your face into Sunghoon’s arm. He huffed, lips brushing the back of your neck, muttering like he couldn’t help himself. “Idiot. Don’t say it like that.”

“What?” Jake teased, shifting closer until his chest was flush with yours. His hand slipped under the blanket, brushing across your belly with lazy familiarity. “Ain’t my fault she was ridin’ me so pretty, moanin’ like she was born for it. Damn near cried beggin’ for more.”

Your breath stuttered at the memory, body already twitching despite your soreness.

Sunghoon groaned, forehead pressing against your shoulder like he was trying to ground himself. “You’re shameless.” But his hand betrayed him, sliding down to cup your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles on your tender skin. “She’s exhausted. Don’t rile her up again.”

Jake smirked, clearly enjoying Sunghoon’s restraint cracking. “Funny, comin’ from the man who nearly fucked her unconscious.”

Your cheeks burned hotter. “You’re both—” your voice cracked, hoarse from last night, “—awful.”

Jake laughed softly, then kissed the corner of your mouth. “Awful sweet on you, you mean.”

Sunghoon only hummed in agreement, holding you tighter, as if you might disappear. His voice was quieter, rough with honesty when he added, “Not lettin’ you out of my sight again.”

The silence stretched, heavy but strangely comforting. The fire outside had died to ash, the desert morning crisp and biting, but inside the tent, you were swaddled in heat, in them.

Jake broke it first, chuckling low. “Well, treasure huntin’’s gonna be a bitch now. She won’t be able to walk straight.”

“Jake,” Sunghoon warned, but you could hear the reluctant amusement under his sharp tone.

“Guess I’ll just carry her,” Jake said, grinning wickedly at your groan. “Wouldn’t mind it. She’s light. Could sling her over my shoulder easy.”

You smacked his chest weakly, mumbling, “You’re insufferable.”

He only laughed harder, kissing your temple. “And you’re ours. That’s what matters.”

Sunghoon didn’t argue this time. He simply pressed another kiss to the back of your neck, whispering it like a vow.

“Ours.”

──────

Jake was the first to move, stretching his arms overhead until his back cracked, his shirt riding up to reveal the golden ridges of his abdomen. The outlaw grin he shot you over his shoulder was as shameless as ever, eyes half-lidded with sleep but glinting with something that made your knees feel unsteady.

Sunghoon was quieter, as always, but no less watchful. He’d already saddled the horses, movements sharp and precise, his scarf pulled up over his mouth against the chill. His eyes cut toward you once, just once, lingering with an unreadable weight before flicking away. But the fact he’d strapped your bag securely to the saddle, adjusted your stirrups without a word, told you more than his silence ever could.

Your thighs ached from the night before, each step a reminder of their hands, their mouths, the way they’d claimed you. You tried to mask it, but Jake noticed anyway. He always noticed.

“Aw, sugar,” he murmured, sweeping closer, his gloved hand settling warm against your lower back. “Ya can barely walk straight.” His grin widened when you bristled, pressing your lips into a thin line. “Could just toss ya on my saddle. Wouldn’t mind keepin’ you close in front of me all day.”

“Jake.” Sunghoon’s voice was sharper than the desert air. His eyes flicked to you, then to Jake, cold but steady. “She can ride on her own.”

“Didn’t say she couldn’t,” Jake shot back, smirking. “Just said I’d like it better if she rode with me.”

You mounted your horse before either of them could argue further, cheeks hot, hands trembling slightly against the reins. Both men watched you, Jake openly admiring, Sunghoon with quiet intensity. When you finally guided your horse forward, their own horses fell into step on either side of you like instinct, one flanking left, the other right.

The desert stretched on endlessly, the morning sun climbing higher until the earth shimmered with heat. Canyons carved sharp shadows across the land, and the air grew thinner as the path rose toward the mountain pass. Hours blurred together, the rhythmic clop of hooves and the jingling of gun belts the only sound.

For the first time since you’d been taken, you felt… lighter. Almost safe.

──────

Jake filled the silence easily, talking about the land, about nothing at all, grinning every time he drew a reluctant smile from you. He teased you for the way you squinted at the horizon, for the way you fiddled with your reins, for the way you hid your laugh behind your hand.

Sunghoon, though, was your shadow. Every time the trail narrowed along the canyon cliffs, he maneuvered his horse so that he was closest to the edge, shielding you without a word. When you slowed on the rocky incline, his hand brushed your ankle, steadying you before you could slip.

By the time the sun had begun to sink, staining the sky in amber and rose, you’d crossed the worst of the desert and reached the jagged mouth of the final pass. The mountains loomed high, dark against the horizon.

They called the night earlier than usual, knowing the trail ahead would be treacherous in darkness. Jake gathered wood, whistling low, while Sunghoon built the fire with efficient hands. You sat close, knees pulled to your chest, watching sparks spit into the night.

You were hyper aware of everything, the scrape of Sunghoon’s knife against flint, the soft creak of Jake’s leather gloves as he tore strips of jerky, the way their shadows loomed against the rock.

When they settled across from you, the fire crackling between, Jake leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His eyes glowed amber in the firelight, smile slower now, softer.

“Y’know, pretty thing,” he drawled, “you ain’t gotta look at us like we’re gonna bite.”

You swallowed, throat dry. “You already did.”

Jake chuckled, low and warm. “Fair point.”

Sunghoon’s gaze didn’t waver from you, sharp as always, but there was something else beneath it now, something gentler, reluctant but undeniable. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “We’re not your enemies.”

Your breath caught. For the first time since you’d left town, you let yourself look at them, not just at the hats and gloves, the guns and belts, the shadows they wore like second skin. But at Jake’s crooked smile, at the warmth in Sunghoon’s eyes that contradicted his words, at the way both of them had placed themselves between you and danger, over and over again.

It terrified you more than their guns ever had. “Then what are you?” you whispered, almost too soft for the crackle of fire to catch.

Neither answered immediately. Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was weighing the truth. Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, the muscle twitching, his restraint taut as bowstring.

Finally, Jake leaned closer, his grin flickering but his voice steady. “Guess that depends, sugar. You leadin’ us ‘cause you want the gold… or ‘cause you want us?”

The fire popped, the sound sharp in the silence. Your lips parted, your heart hammering so loud you swore they could hear it. Sunghoon’s voice was low, almost rough. “Answer him.”

The words left you before you could swallow them back. “Both.” The world stilled. Jake’s grin spread slow, hungry, but there was something softer tucked in the corners of it. Sunghoon exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes closing for a beat like he’d been holding his breath too long.

When you looked away, flustered, Jake chuckled, reaching across the fire to tilt your chin up with one gloved finger. “Knew it. Always knew you were sweet on us.” Sunghoon didn’t argue this time. He only stared at you across the flames, his gaze scorching in its silence, as if memorizing every line of your face.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like their captive at all.

──────

The mountains rose sharp and merciless, jagged teeth silhouetted against a bruised sky. The trail narrowed until it was no more than a ledge carved into stone, a drop yawning black and endless at your side. Every step of your horse made your stomach twist, hooves clattering too close to the edge.

Jake rode ahead, reins loose but gaze sharp, scanning the shadows like he expected the rocks themselves to turn hostile. His red scarf fluttered against the wind, the dark sweep of his hat cutting a bold figure against the ridge.

Sunghoon rode behind you, close, too close. Every shift of your horse, you felt his presence at your back, the metallic click of his revolver safety flicked on and off as his hand lingered near the holster.

The air grew colder the higher you climbed, thin and dry, stinging your lungs. The smell of dust was sharper now, mixed with the acrid tang of iron-rich stone. Silence pressed in, broken only by the groan of leather saddles and the faint whistle of wind through the canyons.

Your skin prickled. Every sound seemed amplified, the rattle of loose pebbles, the creak of shifting stone.

That was when you heard it. A dry hiss. Before your mind caught up, Sunghoon’s voice sliced the air. “Don’t move.”

Your heart lurched. You froze, glancing down, and there it was, coiled near your stirrup, scales glinting dull bronze in the dying light. A rattlesnake, its tail vibrating in a shiver of menace.

Your breath caught in your throat. Jake had already turned his horse, drawing his revolver with practiced ease, but Sunghoon was faster, his hand flashing, the crack of his gunshot echoing like thunder.

The snake’s head snapped back, body twitching, then fell limp on the rocks. Smoke curled from Sunghoon’s barrel, his eyes still fixed cold and sharp on the corpse.

“Jesus,” Jake muttered, sliding his gun back. His eyes flicked to you, softening. “You alright, pretty thing?”

You nodded shakily, though your chest heaved, hands trembling against the reins.

Sunghoon urged his horse closer until his knee brushed your boot. His gaze lingered, unreadable but intense, before he finally spoke, voice low. “Keep your eyes forward. Don’t miss the ground beneath you.”

The rest of the trail was no kinder.

Loose stones tumbled from under your horse’s hooves, clattering into the abyss. Shadows shifted in the canyon walls, every crack a threat. When the wind picked up, sharp enough to sting your eyes, Jake reached back without looking and caught your hand against his hip, grounding you until the gusts died down.

Hours blurred, danger a constant hum. Once, a boulder gave way on the upper ridge, crashing down with a roar. Jake spurred forward, dragging your horse along with his, while Sunghoon fired warning shots into the canyon to scatter whoever, or whatever, had disturbed it.

Every time fear clenched your chest, they were there. Jake’s grin, quick and reassuring, even when sweat beaded on his temples. Sunghoon’s silence, heavy but steady, like iron at your back.

By the time you stopped for the night, your body was humming with exhaustion and adrenaline. Your hands still shook as you dismounted, nearly stumbling when your boots hit the rocky ground.

Jake caught you instantly, strong hands locking around your waist. “Careful, darlin’,” he drawled, softer now, lips brushing close to your ear. “Ain’t no use fallin’ ‘fore we even reach that treasure.”

Sunghoon’s shadow loomed just behind, gaze dark as ever but sharp with something else, something protective, possessive. His voice was quiet, but it left no room for argument. “Stay between us. Always.”

And you realized, standing there in the cold mountain wind, that the treasure wasn’t the only thing they were guarding like hell itself wanted to take it.

──────

The ghost town came into view like a mirage, weathered wood frames leaning into the wind, windows hollow, roofs sagging under the years. The silence there was heavier than the mountain air, pressing down on you until you swore you could hear your own heartbeat echo.

Jake slowed first, pulling his horse to a stop in the center of what once might have been a main street. His hat tipped low against the sun, but his eyes swept sharp over every shadow. Sunghoon rode close at your back, his posture taut, every muscle drawn like a bowstring.

“This it?” Jake asked, voice casual, but there was an edge to it, like a man who already knew the answer.

You slid from your horse, legs trembling as your boots hit the cracked dirt. The air smelled of old wood and dust, a place forgotten by everyone but you. You led them past the skeletal remains of buildings, your fingers tracing the edges of collapsed fences, until you stopped before what had once been a general store. Its roof was half-caved, the windows broken, but the floorboards creaked under your step, still solid.

You knelt, pressing your palm flat to the warped wood. “Here,” you whispered, throat dry. “Underneath.”

Jake crouched beside you, his gloved fingers sliding over the boards. With one sharp tug, he pried them loose. Dust exploded upward, making you cough, and the hollow beneath revealed itself, an old chest, iron-rimmed, its surface scarred but unbroken.

For a moment, none of you moved.

Then Sunghoon stepped forward, his shadow stretching long over the chest. He crouched low, pried it open with the flat of his knife. The hinges groaned, and inside lay exactly what you’d promised, piles of coins, dull with age but heavy with worth, alongside a scatter of gold bars and jewelry stolen decades ago.

The breath you’d been holding rushed out of you all at once. You’d led them here. The secret your uncle had entrusted to you, Jed Cartwright’s last stash, lay exposed under the outlaw moon.

And now, you weren’t sure if you’d live to see another sunrise. The silence that followed was deafening. Jake’s eyes gleamed gold in the dim light, but his grin didn’t reach them. Sunghoon’s expression was unreadable, knife still in hand, his gaze flicking from the treasure to you.

“So,” you said, your voice breaking the tension, fragile as glass. “Is this… is this the end?”

Jake’s grin faltered. His head tilted, and he let out a low whistle, shaking his head slowly. “Darlin’…” His voice came soft, almost tender, but laced with something sad. He glanced at Sunghoon, then back at you. “You really think we went through hell an’ back just for a pile of gold?”

Your chest tightened. “Isn’t that why you took me?”

Sunghoon’s jaw flexed, his eyes locking on yours with a quiet intensity that burned. “At first,” he admitted, voice low and rough. He sheathed his knife with a sharp click, like finality. “Not anymore.”

Jake chuckled, but there was no bite in it this time. He leaned forward, bracing a hand against the floorboards beside you, close enough that his warmth brushed your arm. “We ain’t after the gold anymore, pretty thing.” His drawl lingered, softer than it had ever been, carrying more truth than a man like him should’ve been able to speak.

The confession cracked something open inside you. You looked from Jake’s shameless smirk, softened at the edges, to Sunghoon’s sharp gaze, steady but unguarded for the first time.

Your throat tightened. “Then what happens now?”

For a moment, neither answered. The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of what could have been, what should have been if they’d been the outlaws they pretended to be. They could kill you, leave you, take everything. That was the story you’d prepared for.

But when Jake reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a touch uncharacteristically gentle, and Sunghoon stepped closer, close enough that his presence pressed into you like a shield, you realized that story had already ended miles ago.

“You’re ours,” Sunghoon said simply, firmly, like it was fact carved into stone.

Jake grinned, tilting his hat back just enough for you to see the sincerity in his eyes. “An’ we’re yours. Both of us. Don’t matter if there’s a fortune sittin’ right there.”

You laughed then, wet, shaky, but real. Relief and affection crashed over you all at once, so overwhelming it made your chest ache. “You’re impossible,” you whispered.

“Maybe,” Jake drawled, shrugging, before tipping his forehead against yours. “But you ain’t gettin’ rid of us now.”

Sunghoon’s hand came to rest at your waist, steady and grounding, his thumb brushing just once in a motion so subtle you almost missed it. But it was enough to tell you what his words didn’t. He wasn’t going anywhere, either.

You stared at the chest full of gold, the treasure your father had sworn would save you when you were alone, and realized you weren’t alone anymore. And for the first time since you’d been dragged out of town, you didn’t care about the gold at all.

──────

The chest stayed behind.

It sat there in the dust of the ghost town, iron hinges gaping wide, the dull gleam of treasure catching the last rays of sun. You didn’t even look back when Jake kicked the boards back into place, covering it as if it had never been unearthed at all.

Instead, the three of you mounted up. Your horse snorted, hooves pawing impatiently at the cracked earth, but Jake’s hands were steady as he helped you into the saddle. Sunghoon adjusted the stirrups one last time, silent as always, though his palm lingered against your ankle just a beat too long.

Then you were riding out, leaving the town swallowed in shadow, leaving no proof of you being there, the horizon stretched wide and endless before you.

The desert air had shifted, softer now, carrying the scent of sagebrush and smoke, cool against your cheeks. The sun bled itself out across the sky in a riot of color: scarlet fading into tangerine, gold slipping into deep indigo. The silhouettes of three riders stretched long against the earth, tangled together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Jake rode close on your left, his hat tipped back, a grin tugging at his mouth as he watched you instead of the trail. “Ain’t it somethin’, pretty thing? Feels like the whole damn world’s waitin’ on us.”

You laughed softly, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. Maybe it was the relief, or the dizzying freedom of it all, but for the first time, your voice didn’t tremble when you answered. “Feels like it’s ours.”

Sunghoon, riding on your right, finally allowed the faintest curve of a smile to tug at his lips. His gaze flicked to Jake, then back to you, softer than the twilight. “Then let’s take it.”

The three of you rode on, laughter mingling with the sound of hooves striking hard earth. Jake told a joke that wasn’t funny, and you giggled anyway, hiding your face in your hands. He leaned over, bumping his shoulder against yours, his chuckle warm and boyish. Sunghoon didn’t laugh, but his eyes softened, a flicker of fondness he didn’t bother disguising.

Somewhere along the trail, Jake’s hand found yours, warm and sure. A little later, when the night deepened and the first stars began to prick the sky, Sunghoon’s hand brushed your other side, steadying you against the saddle as the path grew uneven. You didn’t let go of either.

And so you rode, two outlaws and the girl they should’ve left behind, bound not by gold but by something far heavier, far sweeter.

By the time the sun dipped fully beneath the horizon, you were nothing but three dark shapes swallowed by the dusk, laughter echoing like a promise across the wild, endless land.

The End.

masterlist

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands, ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @add-this-to-that,  ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,  ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk  ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,  ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw,  ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy,  ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001  ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq, ⟡ @strawberrykkk1

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

"Sunghoon!"

Headshot, headshot, assist—that's all that's being processed when the front door bursts open hard enough to rattle the empty energy drink cans on Sunghoon's desk. He doesn't blink, even as one of them falls over, rolling around on the floor. He doesn't even stop to think about the remaining drop left in the can that's probably leaking onto the carpet somewhere.

"Sunghoon, get your ass out here!"

He's in game mode, and nobody stops him when he's like that. Not even his roommates, whose approaching footsteps he fails to register. The only thing that matters is the screen in front of him as he lines up his next shot, just waiting for the remaining enemy teammate to peek around the corner. His prey is right there. Right behind that wall. All they have to do is walk into his trap.

Just peek already, you little pussy bitch—

"Sunghoon!"

He yelps when a hand clamps on his shoulder. His arm jerks, aim twitching, and the enemy peeks at that very moment, landing a clean headshot on him. His teammates start cursing at him in the voice chat. A lovely, overlapping chorus of "kill yourself" and "delete the game" as if he hadn't carried them for the past two rounds.

Sunghoon mutes the mic and pulls his headphones down around his neck, glaring behind him at Heeseung, who is practically dragging him up from his seat. He tries to yank his arm away, but then another pair of hands is hauling him out of his seat. He directs his glare back at Jay.

"What the f—"

"Don't act surprised. I literally told you we needed your help an hour ago. It's your fault for queueing a ranked game," Jay states, patting his shoulder. Sunghoon is now on his feet, blinking at him. Annoyed, but... ultimately unable to argue back, given he had ignored all his texts.

"Can't you just get Jake or something?" He mutters.

Jay is already leaving his bedroom, and Heeseung nudges him forward, forcing him to follow. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping him. He moves with begrudging footsteps out into the hallway.

"It's a four-man job. Turns out my grandma's coffee table is heavy as shit."

"Your grandma's coffee table...?"

He's not exaggerating. The thing is solid oak—masterfully crafted, intricately carved, and so extremely fucking heavy that by the time they've wrestled it through the front door, all four of them go down, collapsing to the couch. Jake, already muttering something about needing a drink, Heeseung describing his physical decline in real time, and Jay, heaving in silence.

Sunghoon sinks into the cushions, and his vision blurs, wondering which is more to blame for it: the summer heat or the fact that he's been skipping the gym to play ranked and living off microwave ramen for the past few weeks. His headset is still around his neck, and he can hear his teammates losing without him. He doesn't care. He can't feel his arms.

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel that in my back for weeks," Heeseung announces to the ceiling, then his head lifts, "but look at that—really ties the place together, right?"

He gestures to the room. Sunghoon's eyes glaze over the sight. Bare white walls, curtainless windows, a TV that sits directly on the floor, and a trash bag in the corner full of takeout containers and red solo cups—and of course, now, the beautiful table, sticking out like a sore thumb amid the room's college-boy barrenness.

"We've lived here a whole year now," Sunghoon starts between breaths, not enough energy in him to glare at his roommates. "Not once has any one of us said, 'Oh no, where will I put my cup of coffee?'"

"Who says we have to use it for coffee?"

He blinks. He doesn't know when Jake left the room, but he's now returning with a six-pack of beer, setting it down on the new table. He cracks one open immediately, settling next to him on the couch.

"My grandma's downsizing." Jay reaches forward, patting the table's surface with genuine affection. "She gave it to us for free. You don't say no to a free coffee table."

"Well, it looks stupid." Sunghoon folds his arms, "Really helps the whole we have nothing aesthetic."

"Come on. We're adults now." Heeseung perks up, "Adults have coffee tables. It's about presentation. Besides, I heard chicks dig it. Something about owning real furniture and bed frames just does it for them."

"None of us are bringing girls home," Sunghoon starts, looking at each of them. He sees Jake's mouth open to protest, "And no, your weird situationship does not count."

"Maybe that's 'cause we didn't have a coffee table before," Jay shrugs.

"Yeah, tell the ladies all about your grandma's furniture. I'm sure they'll start lining up the block."

Sunghoon feels a headache starting behind his left eye, and when he hears the game end through his headset at his shoulders, he rips the device from his neck, shoving it to the cushion at his side.

"Shitty ass game," He mutters.

A sweat had gathered at his brow, and he now moves to wipe it as he's reaching for a beer, cracking it open and taking a large gulp like it's water.

"Rough match?"

"Nah. Would've been an easy match," Sunghoon replies, groaning, "Just stressed. Coach has been pressuring me, plus there's that stupid course I have to retake this semester."

"Tough life being Captain of the E-sports team, huh?" Heeseung jokes, "Or what is it you were called that one time? The school's biggest virgin?"

Captain of the E-sports team. A title Heeseung delivers like a punchline. Most people do. Sunghoon, on the other hand, wears it with pride, and had long since stopped trying to explain himself—both the fact that being the best player in the whole school is a legitimate accomplishment, and the fact that he is not a virgin. Effectively explaining either of those things would require Heeseung to actually care, which he doesn't.

Sunghoon had spent his whole life refining his skills for that sort of recognition. He shoots with precision and wins. He reads his opponents to filth, predicting their every move, and annihilates them with ease. He plays Valorant at a level that makes his teammates worship him like a god, and the enemy team start inventing new slurs to type in the chat. That is to say, he was very, very good at it. And very serious about it.

It's precisely why he doesn't have time for moving coffee tables. Or sitting around like this. Or—

His phone buzzes.

His is summer course. Right. The one he'd failed last semester, that his academic advisor had gently but firmly informed him he needed to retake if he wanted to graduate on time. He'd registered for it in a fog of dismissive irritation back in March, figuring it would be easy enough. And then the syllabus had dropped with the word group project, and he'd been assigned a project partner who had emailed him four times before the first week of classes had even ended, asking about meeting up weeks before the deliverable due dates.

He reaches for his phone, scrolling through the feed of missed notifications from you: One shared document link, more than a couple missed messages, and—he squints—a voice memo. Who the fuck sends voice memos about code?

"Is that the project partner you keep complaining about?" Heeseung leans over his shoulder, snatching the phone away, "She sends voice memos. How adorable. Don't tell me you're ignoring those?"

"Give it back."

He doesn't; instead, he hits play, raising the volume to the max so the whole room can hear it.

"Hey, Sunghoon. How are you? Um... I'm here at the library now. I know we agreed to meet at three o'clock, but I got here a little early," he hears you laugh a bit nervously through the speaker. You have one of those that's just a little too sweet, a little too apologetic for no reason in particular. "I booked a study room, so text me when you're here. And... that's all for now. Bye, Sunghoon."

The boys sit there in silence. Glaring in disbelief at their friend.

"Oh my god," Heeseung groans, "Sweet Jesus, your partner sounds like this, and you've been ignoring her?"

Jay snatched the phone, glaring at it, then glaring at Sunghoon, "She sounds like an angel. What the fuck is wrong with you? Like, medically. What kind of mental illness does a guy have to have to end up like this?"

"That's the long-term psychological damage of being a Valorant player," Jake scoffs, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes.

"Play it again," Heeseung demands, and Jay rewinds it a bit, just to hear the breathing and that nervous little laugh through the speaker, a smile forming on his lips, "Is she cute? She sounds cute. She's got the voice. You know the one that some girls have, that makes you think about what other noises they could—"

"I don't know. I haven't even met her—yet." Sunghoon snatches the device back, "She's annoying. She sends like twenty messages a day."

"Twenty messages a day," Heeseung looks at him, "From a girl who sounds like she whimpers when she's nervous. You know what I'd do with twenty messages a day? I'd be jacking off to the typing indicators."

"That's disgusting. Keep that shit to yourself."

"What's disgusting is you having a girl sending you personalized audio content, saying your name like that, and choosing to ignore it."

"Bet he's got it all in a folder somewhere," Jay snorts, "Keeps it hidden away, playing on loop while he queues ranked. Jacks off between rounds."

"I've never even listened to any of these," Sunghoon says flatly, "She sends so many. Seriously. She's like an organized freak. The kind who start projects early and shit."

"Oh, so she's one of those girls?" Jake grins, "super nervous, apologizes for nothing... You know the type?"

"I don't." Sunghoon deadpans, feeling like his friend is about to start describing a porno category rather than an actual person, given the smirk on his face.

"The type that acts all innocent and sweet on the surface," Heeseung nudges him, "you know what they say about them, right? That they're total freaks in bed. Shit, if a girl like that booked me a study room I'd—"

"Actually finish your degree and graduate?" Jake offers.

"I'd graduate with honours."

"She's probably been waiting in the library for how long, now?" Jay shakes his head, "She got there early. Early. She's probably sitting there with her little notes and highlighters and her 'bye Sunghoon' voice, checking her phone every thirty seconds, and you're here drinking beer and complaining."

Today. The meeting was today. He checks the time—forty minutes ago.

"Shit," Sunghoon's on his feet, sprinting towards his room, "Shit, shit, shit."

He starts digging around for his backpack in his room, under piles of laundry, and nearly trips on the can he forgot to pick up on his floor.

"Guys, the library!" he calls out in a panic, "I'm supposed to be at the library. I need a ride. Now. Jay?" "Not my problem." "Jake?" "Nope."

Sunghoon grabs his bag and stumbles back to the living room, bracing himself against the doorframe. Heeseung is already looking at him with that slow, insufferable smile, sprawled on the couch like he's been waiting for this exact moment.

"I dunno," Heeseung says, stretching his arms over his head with a theatrical groan. "I'm feeling pretty tired. That table was heavy." "I helped." "You complained the whole time." "I did not—" "And you kept voice memos hidden from me. From all of us. That's a betrayal of household trust." "I didn't hide anything. You're just a nosy degenerate." Sunghoon's grip tightens on the doorframe. "Are you driving me or not?" "Hm." Heeseung taps his chin. "Maybe if you ask me nicely..." Sunghoon takes a breath. Swallows his pride. "Heeseung." He says through gritted teeth, "Can you please drive me?" "Ah, I like the sound of that." Heeseung pushes off the couch and brushes past him with infuriating slowness. "Fine. But you owe me. I wanna hear more of cute-girl's voice notes, so be nice to her." "Okay. Whatever, you fucking pervert." Sunghoon scoffs, watching him snag his keys off the hook by the door. "Just drive."

The library's fairly empty. It's expected, given it's the middle of summer on a weekend, but it's still jarring as ever to walk past empty tables where people would go to war to get a spot during finals season. And, for the first time in a while, he's thankful to be in an air-conditioned building.

"Hi Sunghoon!" you greet him as soon as he enters the room, seemingly startled by the suddenness of his arrival. He watches you for a moment, how your back straightens, and your immediate, almost rehearsed smile.

She's got the voice. Heeseung's words ring in his mind as he takes you in, you know the one that some girls have, that makes you think about what other noises they could—

"Hi," he answers, slipping into the seat next to you, "Sorry for making you wait. Roommate stuff. Had to move a coffee table. Very adult."

You laugh a little too quickly, and he notes the way your hands tremble in your lap. He also notes the way you refuse to meet his eyes.

"That's okay," you glance towards your phone, which was still face-up with its messages open. You fumble with it, tucking it away. "I was just worried maybe, like, you got lost or something."

Lost? He has to resist the urge to scoff. He's late, and instead of being upset, you decided to make up lousy excuses for him. He looks you up and down again. You're cute, like you sounded over the phone. A nervous-looking mess. The type of thing his roommates would call endearing. Sunghoon, on the other hand, finds it frustratingly pathetic.

"So." You're already turning your laptop to face him, "I've been working on the backend structure. I commented everything, so it should be pretty straightforward. Here's the API setup, and the database schema..."

You click through files as you talk, your voice picking up speed, and he doesn't listen. He tries to. He swears, he does. But his eyes instead follow your posture, and how you sit uptight, spine straight. Your hands fumble around, twitching like you can't keep them still, and your knees bounce under the desk like a nervous habit.

Good god, you look like you'll crumble to pieces any moment. He can feel a headache creeping up on him already. It's exhausting just looking at you.

"...What do you think?"

"Huh?" He blinks, taking in whatever you're pointing to on your screen. You're looking at him all bright-eyed and earnest, as if his opinion would add any sort of valuable insight here. "I... think it looks good. You did well."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he shrugs, "Why do you sound so surprised?"

His question catches you off guard. He suspected it would, that's why he asked it. Not that he was trying to prod around in your anxious little head. Just that you seemed predictable. Now he knows you are.

"I just..." You're tapping the desk now. "I wanted it to be up to your standards. I didn't want to disappoint you."

"My standards?" He repeats. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. Not at you—well, maybe a little at you. But mostly at the absurdity of the most competent person in the room, asking for his approval. "You're something else, you know that?"

You blink. "What does that—?"

"Here," He's still smiling. The headache from earlier has faded. He's not sure when. "Let me show you what you're working with."

He opens his laptop and spins it toward you. His frontend code sits there in all its tragic glory—bare bones, placeholder text, a CSS file with plenty of questionable styling decisions. Your take it all in, and for a split second, you forget to hide the horrified expression on your face.

"See? Trash. Actual garbage. I don't even show up to class. I'm not the guy whose 'standards' you should be worried about. Besides..." He leans back. "You're probably the best student in the whole class."

"I'm sure I'm not," you say, almost bashful, brushing it off as if it were a compliment. It wasn't. He was stating a fact. But you're too self-deprecating to know the difference, he supposes. "And your code isn't trash—"

"It is. We both know it's ass. You don't have to be polite."

"It's... disorganized. And a little rushed..." You hesitate, "Were you busy with something—?"

"Oh my god, you have no idea," he tilts his head back, a sigh of frustration leaving him almost immediately. "Regionals. Scrims every night. Coach breathing down my neck. I'm pretty sure I heard someone call for a flank in my dream last night, and I don't even think I was asleep. Or maybe that was just my roommates fucking with me again..."

You nod along as if you understand, though you definitely don't. You probably don't even know what half those words mean, but you're listening, and for some reason, that's less annoying than it was ten minutes ago.

"Anyway. I know it's rough. But like I said. Don't worry your head over anything else. I'll get to it, I swear."

"I'm not worried. I trust you. We still have another week, so it's not like it's last-minute. We just need to clean up some things here," You nod sweetly, then angle the screen toward him and lean in, your shoulder nearly brushing his. "The class labelling in the HTML is messing with the CSS styling. If you restructure the divs here, it should resolve most of the layout issues. And then here..."

You start explaining—specificity, nesting, the cascade. Your voice is steady now, in your element. You point at the screen with a capped highlighter like a tiny lecturer. He catches maybe sixty percent of it.

What he catches more of is your instinctive forgiveness. He shows up an hour late with half-done work that looks like a middle schooler's first project, and you're already pivoting to reassurance mode. It's okay. It's a good start. We can fix it. It's spineless. A little sad, honestly. It's also nice. You're a nice person. No bite, no sarcasm, no passive-aggressiveness, just pure, unearned kindness.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair, settling in as you continue. He makes himself comfortable as best he can in his plastic library chair, and subconsciously, his legs spread, his knee drifting outward until it presses against yours under the table.

It wasn't intentional, and he's about to mutter a quick apology and draw his leg back, but then you pause completely. Your mouth is still half-open around whatever you were about to say, but nothing comes out. Your eyes drop to the table. Your fingers freeze over the trackpad.

He notices. He absolutely notices all of it. The way you swallow, the way your lip trembles trying to find your next word, the way you glance at him from the side in a panic, checking to see his reaction. She gets flustered when I touch her, he thinks, filing the thought away like data, interesting. He doesn't move his knee. Doesn't say anything or make any sort of face. He just watches you scramble, suddenly feeling a lot less bored than he'd felt a few seconds ago.

"I—" You shake your head, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. "Sorry, what was I—the bullet points. Right. I'll email you."

You clear your throat. Find your place in your notes again, though your hands are fumbling slightly, your crisp efficiency gone. You're scrambling to recover, to be useful again, to reassert the order you're using as a crutch.

"Anyway," you manage, "That's everything from my end. We're in good shape."

You're already packing up. The laptop closed with a decisive click. Highlighters swept into your bag in a single motion. Notebook stacked on top. The organized girl, reassembling her armour. Trying to pretend the last thirty seconds didn't happen.

"You in a hurry?" He has to hold back a teasing grin as you scramble for your words. "No! I mean—yeah. Just. Gotta go, so... yeah. See you next week. Or something." "Yeah. Or something."

He doesn't move. He's thinking about the bus. The long, slow route across campus. The forty-minute wait. Maybe Jay will pick up if he calls. Maybe Heeseung will text him something unhelpful, like walk it builds character.

You're standing, bag over your shoulder, then you pause, noticing he hasn't gotten up. "You're staying?"

"Hm? Just deciding if I want to beg my roommates for a ride, or suck it up and take the bus."

"Oh..." you adjust the strap of your bag, watching him thoughtfully. Your hand is already at the door, ready to go. But you don't. Your mouth hangs open slightly, hesitating on your next word. "Do you maybe want a ride? I have my car. If you want."

He looks at you. Still shrinking yourself. Still avoiding direct eye contact. And you're offering him a ride he didn't ask for. You're offering favours for him—a stranger you don't know. He files that fact away, too.

"Yeah." He stands, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "A ride would be great, actually."

You smile like he's the one doing you a favour, and he smiles back. Not for the same reason. Just because he's feeling really fucking lucky that his project partner is this nice to him.

What a stupid, stupid idea. Really, what on earth were you thinking? Having him, of all people, in your car? In your passenger seat?

Park Sunghoon. You'd read the name about a hundred times in email threads and shared documents. Now that same man is here, in your car, looking out the window with his jawline catching the late afternoon light like it's trying to blind you. Your blood pressure is rising by the second, trying to keep your focus on the road, while your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

Admittedly, you were annoyed at first. You'd spend an hour in the library, checking your phone, re-reading the room booking confirmation, composing and deleting increasingly pathetic messages. Hey, just checking in! No rush!

You even practiced in your head the polite-but-firm speech you'd planned to deliver. It's a new thing you've been trying to do where you don't let people walk all over you—where you set boundaries and explain that your time is valuable. Then he'd walked in.

To call him hot would be an understatement. That man right there is not simply hot. Hot is a word for attractive people who still seem human. Sunghoon, on the other hand, looks like someone photoshopped a male model into your web programming course as a prank.

His hair is dark and slightly messy, like he just rolled out of bed and somehow falls perfectly into place. His jawline, so sharp it could kill you, and when he flashed that dimpled smile at you—that lazy, unbothered, gorgeous smile—your brain had performed a full system shutdown.

You don't offer people rides. You don't even like having your friends in your car. You get stressed by the thought of someone else in your space, watching you drive, listening to your playlist. And now he's in the passenger seat of your car, looking so gorgeous that you're wondering if he's even real, and you're freaking the fuck out. His knee bounces idly as he stares out the window, and your eyes snag on the movement—the way his hand, large and sprawled out, rests loose on his knee. You snap your gaze back to the road.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, sparing him another glance from the corner of your eye. Stop thinking about weird stuff. Stop being weird. Just make conversation or something.

"So," you manage, and the fact that you manage to say it while sounding almost normal is a small victory. "You said you were busy? With, like, a summer internship or something?"

"Nah." He's still looking out the window, nodding his head slowly to the music. You don't even know what song you have playing. The sound of your own thoughts is too loud for you to notice, but a warmth floods your cheeks at the mere idea that he's enjoying your music. "E-sports. I'm on the school team. We've got regionals coming up."

You blink.

E-sports. You suppose it makes sense. He is in computer science, like you. Most guys in your program are into the whole video gaming thing. It's just hard to imagine him as one of them.

You try to picture it in your head: The E-sports team. A group of socially awkward loners who sit in darkened rooms with headsets, shouting at each other. And then there’s Sunghoon who, beneath the old hoodie and messy hair, looks like he's one photoshoot away from a skincare campaign.

"That's—" You search for the right word. "Cool. I didn't realize the school had an E-sports team."

"Most people don't." He shrugs, glancing over at you. "It's not exactly a spectator sport. But we're good. Made regionals last season. Coach says if we podium this year, we might actually get real funding."

He says it less with arrogance, and more in that matter-of-fact tone he seems to always have. There's something about the way he doesn't perform humility or pride, how he states his truth and moves on. It seems easy. You admire that. You also find it deeply unfair that his voice is making you feel all sorts of things while he's just... talking.

"What game?" you ask.

"Valorant. The shooter. With the agents and the abilities?" He glances at you. "You've heard of it?"

"Oh! My younger cousin plays." You think back, laughing a little at the recollection of the time he made you download it to your laptop. "I'm terrible at it. Like, genuinely embarrassingly bad. I panic and shoot at the floor."

He laughs. It's a real laugh, short and surprised, and a heat creeps to your cheeks. "Everyone's bad at first. It's all just practice."

"Right. Practice." You're smiling now, "I'll add it to my schedule. Between the project and avoiding my parents' calls."

"Your parents?"

"Strict. They mean well, but..." You shake your head, letting your words trail off.

You feel the weight of his stare, a soft hum leaving his lips. The intersection ahead goes yellow. You slow to a stop, grateful for the excuse to look away from him.

"So." You pivot, "E-sports. You must be practicing a lot then, right?"

"It's a lot of pressure," he says, and his voice has shifted slightly. Less casual. His brows scrunch together, and he's looking out the window again, passing streetlights catching the angles of his sharp, beautiful profile. "Coach says if we don't podium, our funding might get cut. Again. So I've been practicing nonstop. Scrims every night. VOD reviews."

Scrims. VOD reviews. Words that do not exist in your vocabulary, but you nod your head along like you understand. You think you get the idea, anyway.

"And then there's this course." He gestures vaguely at you, at the car, at everything. "This bullshit that I have to retake it."

"You failed web programming?"

"I was carrying the team through the playoffs. Sacrificed my homework for practice." He rubs the back of his neck, and your eyes track the shift of his shoulder, the way his fingers press into the muscle there, the brief glimpse of his collarbone where his hoodie shifts. You look away before he catches you staring. "Didn't think I'd end up failing, but. Here we are."

You think about his half-finished frontend. The skeleton components. The CSS file, full of god knows what. He'd shown it to you with the sheepish shrug of someone who knew exactly how bad it was and hated it. He hadn't tried to convince you it was better than it looked.

"But it's okay. It's worth it to make it to regionals." He's smiling to himself, "I'll fucking destroy those losers. They won't know what hit them."

You laugh, but he doesn't. You realize it's not a joke very quickly, and so you clear your throat instead.

"And I'll get my work done, of course," he tips his head towards you, his posture shifting. "Can't guarantee my portion will be as good as yours. But you can blame it on me in the group review doc."

"I'm sure you'll do great," you hear yourself say. "Not just the project. The tournament, too."

He turns to look at you. The late afternoon light catches the side of his face, and you have to force your eyes back to the road.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You clear your throat. "I mean, I don't know anything about E-sports. But you're the captain, right?"

"Yeah."

"So you must be good. Like, actually good."

He doesn't answer right away. When you glance over, he's not looking at the road—he's looking at you, head tilted slightly, like he's trying to figure you out.

"I am. I'm the best player on the team." He says it with that matter-of-fact tone again.

You pull up to his place. It's a student housing unit—one of those rundown ones that nobody cares about enough to fix up. Someone inside is yelling, the way guys yell when they're playing video games. You shift into park.

"Thanks," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "For the ride. And for... You know. Not being pissed about the code. Or the being late thing."

"It's fine," you smile. "Really. Don't worry about it."

He pauses with his hand on the door. Looks at you. There's something in his expression you can't read, the hint of a smile that you think might be lazy amusement, though you're not sure what he's amused by. He stops. Shakes his head slightly. "See you soon?"

"Yeah! I'll send the invite. And the notes."

He smiles. That damn smile. And then he's gone, walking up the path to his door, and you're sitting in your parked car with your heart doing something stupid in your chest. You watch him disappear inside. You're warm all over, and there's no good reason for it either. All he did was sit there and talk to you like a normal person, and yet you're here, feeling a deeply humiliating sort of heat forming in your lower stomach the more you think about it.

Through the front window, you can see movement—someone on a couch, the blue glow of a TV. His roommates, probably. You wonder if he'll tell them about you. You wonder if they even know you exist. Then you realize you're still parked outside his apartment, staring at his front door like a creep, and you pull away from the curb.

You have to drive all the way back to campus. It's a route you know by heart, familiar enough that your brain has permission to drift. And drift it does—back to the study room, the way he'd leaned back in his chair, the way his knee had pressed against yours. You'd frozen. Completely, mortifyingly frozen. You'd forgotten your own sentence and stammered through the recovery. And then he'd smiled at you in the car. And now you're smiling. You're smiling at a red light with no one else in the car, like an idiot, and you can't stop.

It's late, past two in the morning, and the place has gone quiet—Heeseung retreated to his room hours ago, Jake's been dead to the world the moment he got home from his summer job, and Jay's probably doomscrolling, given the amount of Instagram reels he keeps sending to the roommates group chat. The only light is the fridge, a dull white glow illuminating Sunghoon’s tired gaze.

Sunghoon stands in front of it, scanning the contents inside, none of it looking particularly enticing, but he just lost a ranked game, and he needs to eat his feelings. Leftover takeout. Someone's half-eaten burrito. A case of energy drinks. He grabs a container that looks decent enough—day-old noodles, probably Jay’s because nobody else in the house bothers to cook. Deciding that dealing with the aftermath of stealing his food is a problem for tomorrow, he shoves it in the microwave.

"Sup."

The floorboards creak behind him, and Sunghoon turns around to glare. Heeseung. Of course. The microwave beeps, and Sunghoon grabs the container, shoving his chopsticks around. It’s still cold in the center.

"Why do you always choose to enter the kitchen when I'm here?"

"Because we run on the same sleepless schedule," Heeseung moves to the sink, waterbottle held under the faucet and turns on the tap. His hair is a disaster, his shirt inside-out, and he watches Sunghoon eat Jay’s leftover noodles straight from the container, too lazy to comment on it. "And 'cause I wanna hear about your little library date. Was she cute?"

"Not a date."

"She drove you home. So it clearly went well." He turns off the tap and fastens the cap back on the plastic bottle. "Were you nice to her?"

"I was nice."

"You better have been. Most women would've called you a loser for being a grown ass man with no driver's license."

"Whatever."

"No, not whatever. I can't believe you." Heeseung points the water bottle at him, frowning, "I can't believe what I'm hearing. She waited an hour for you. Then she gave you a ride home.”

"I know. Real nice of her, right?"

"Too nice of her." Heeseung stares at him, watching him shove noodles into his mouth. "Jay's right. We really should do a scan of your brain. Admit you to a psych ward or some shit."

He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to think about it. But his brain, unhelpfully, is already thinking about it. The project. He should really start working on the project. That's the thought he keeps trying to hold onto. Not because he actually wants to do it, but because of you.

You'd been kind. Genuinely kind. You'd asked about regionals like you gave a single shit. You'd nodded along while he talked about Valorant, even though you don't understand any of it. Then there was his code—his shitty ass code that he knew was trash, that you knew was trash, too. There was no lecture. No guilt trip. Not even a hint of disdain. You just showed him how to fix it. Carefully explained it, even sent him an email after with an organized bullet-point list of all the steps he needed to implement.

An angel. That's what you are. Or a doormat. It’s the same thing, in his mind. A worse person would take advantage of that, wouldn't they?

His phone buzzes on the counter: One new email. An attachment. Then a second notification—a voice memo.

Heeseung's eyes immediately drop to the screen.

"Is that her?"

"Can you not—?"

Heeseung snatches the phone. Again. Sunghoon is too tired to fight him.

"She sent you another voice memo. At 2am." Heeseung's thumb hovers over the play button. "You know what girls send voice memos at 2am for, right?"

He's grinning as he presses play, and Sunghoon digs his chopsticks further into his noodles, ignoring his crude commentary.

"Hi, Sunghoon. Um. Okay, so I was thinking about earlier—about the whole esports thing, and how stressed you seemed about the tournament? And I just... I had some extra time, so I finished up the code. It wasn’t a big deal, really. Only took a few hours.” There’s a nervous laugh, then a pause like you’d forgotten your next words, “Hopefully, this helps? So you can focus on practice and not have to worry about the project on top of everything else… yeah. Just. Let me know if you have questions. I'm always happy to help. Okay. This is getting long. Sorry. Bye, Sunghoon.”

Heeseung sets the phone down on the counter, the movement slow and careful, like he’d just handled a sacred artifact.

"Dude."

"I know."

"This is insane."

"I know."

"You've got a girl doing all your work for you. At two in the morning. Because you mentioned you were stressed about a Valorant tournament. Said she’s always happy to help."

"I said I know. She's nice. Now leave me alone."

"No, I don't think you understand. Do you even realize what this is?" Heeseung is pacing now, the kitchen too small for his indignation. "This is the literal definition of pretty privilege. You literally just sit there, and she’s doing things for you—Holy shit, it's like when Jake was doing some hot chick's homework for an entire semester 'cause he was begging for a crumb of pussy—"

"Jake was manipulated." Sunghoon sets his leftovers down. "I'm not manipulating anyone. I didn't even—I never asked for this."

"Yeah." Heeseung stops pacing and looks at him. "But you could've. That's the fucked up part. You could  ask her to come over right now and do your dirty laundry, and she'd say yes. She'd probably bring her own detergent."

Sunghoon wants to retort that, but... You would, wouldn't you? He drags two hands down his face, sighing as his roommate's mouth continues to run.

"Life's so unfair." Heeseung throws his hands up. "I send a girl one message. One. And she leaves me on read for three days. You ignore a girl for a week, and she's doing your homework, giving you rides home, and sending you audio porn. What is wrong with the world?"

Sunghoon's looking at his phone.

He should type something. Thanks, maybe. Or sorry—sorry you’re doing his work at 2am, sorry he didn't do it himself, sorry he's probably going to keep disappointing you. His thumb hovers over the keyboard.

thanks. you didn't have to do that. Deletes it. seriously thank you. i owe you. Deletes it.

He pockets his phone and walks past Heeseung, leaving the leftovers container behind.

"Where are you going?"

"Bed."

"You're not going to respond? You're just going to leave her on read?" He half-calls out, "You're really gonna act like you're not interested at all?"

He shuts his door. Sits on the edge of his bed, the room dark except for the blue glow of his monitor in sleep mode and with a heavy sigh, he opens the voice recorder. A hand runs through his hair, and he clears his throat, feeling like an idiot. Then he presses record.

"Hey. Got your email. Thanks. You seriously didn't have to do that." A pause. He doesn't know how to end these things. Your voice memos always ended with ‘bye Sunghoon,’ all soft and hesitant-sounding, but he thinks something like that would just sound awkward in his own voice. He then realizes he’s still recording and stammers, "I'll—yeah. I'll make it up to you. Goodnight."

He hits send before he can delete it and stares at it for longer than he should. Girls like that shit, right? The whole voice memo thing. He's not sure. He just felt like you deserve a little more than a thank-you text for doing his work for him.

He tosses his phone onto his nightstand and lies back on his bed, long limbs stretched out from a long day of doing mostly nothing (apart from moving that damn coffee table). His brain, unhelpfully, drifts back to the library. The way you'd frozen when his knee touched yours. The way you'd stammered through the rest of your sentence and then offered him a ride anyway. The way you'd looked at him in the car, wide-eyed and nervous. It's been a while since he'd seen anyone look at him like that.

Not that he's inexperienced with women—unlike what his roommates' constant teasing would imply. It's a lack of interest, something he had discovered about himself in high school with his first whopping three-month-long relationship. He'd gotten bored of her in the first month, and when she asked him to choose “me, or your stupid game,” it really wasn’t a difficult choice to make.

Then there was the odd fling here and there in his first year of college. Again, never lasted long. He didn't have the time or energy to commit. In his defence, he was upfront about his intentions. It's not his fault they never listened.

He stopped bothering after that. Girls are drama. They get clingy and weird. They pout and whine over not getting enough attention, trying to drag him away from his game. That shit is annoying. And he doesn't put up with annoying shit.

A part of him wonders if you'd be the same. You're cute, but insecure. The type to get attached too quickly, he'd assume. But you also listened when he talked about his game. You did his code so he could practice more and asked for nothing in return. That's maybe the most supportive any woman has ever been of his future E-sports career.

You could probably ask her to come over right now and do your dirty laundry, and she'd say yes. He scoffs at Heeseung's voice in his head. Then, a much crueller thought enters his mind: I could probably get her to do the whole project, too.

It's sharp and invasive—so much so that he's rolling over with a groan, burying his face into the pillows. Sunghoon's a lot of things. A shitty project partner being somewhere near the top of that list, but he is not a freeloading whore. He'll be grateful and move on. He'll do his work, he'll win regionals, and when the semester is done, he'll never see your face again.

Sunghoon did not, in fact, do his work.

He tried to—if opening up an empty file and staring at it for five minutes before queuing another ranked Valorant game counts as trying.

Bless your heart, you even sent him reminders. Texts of encouragement with little smiley faces, offers to help, to which he replied with empty promises. Don't worry, I'm working on it tomorrow. I've got it. All good.

All of that, until he woke up the next week with a calendar notification:

deliverable 2 meeting today

It's a weekday, which means Jay took his car to work. Which means he has to take the bus to the library. Which means he won't have time to string something together at the last minute for when he's supposed to meet you.

Sunghoon: can we meet at my place? Sunghoon: got no ride today You: sure :)

He grins at the text. Perfect. That's perfect. All he has to do is sit down, write some bullshit, and hope that you offer to fix it—which he's sure you will. You're nice like that. You're understanding.

But then he's at his computer, and he's looking at the Valorant icon in the corner of his home screen. And then he's queuing another game. Then another. And another... and— The doorbell rings.

Hours. He'd just spent hours playing instead of doing his work like a fucking idiot. And now he's in the middle of a ranked game, clutching up another round.

"Heeseung!" He yells, "Get the door!"

No response. Of course, there's no response.

Luckily, the last remaining enemy peeks, and he finishes the round with another win. With that, he's sprinting to the door. Swings it wide open. A wave of muggy outdoor air hits him, the summer sun beaming down, and you're there smiling slightly, hands gripping the strap of your bag. He doesn't have time to process you.

"Come in," he gestures, sprinting back towards his room. He calls out over his shoulder, "Sorry, I'm in a game. Ranked. Can't leave. Make yourself at home." He's sliding back into his seat, and your footsteps follow tentatively behind him.

“Ranked?”

“Like, if I leave, I’ll be penalized and lose ranked points.”

“Ah.”

You stand behind him, a polite distance away, still gripping your bag. You shift your weight where you stand, squinting at the screen.

"I'll be done soon, don't worry. These guys are easy."

"Okay..." You sound a little confused, leaning over his shoulder, watching him move through the map.

Somehow, the feeling of your eyes on him as he plays feels like a power boost. And something in him feels the urge to show off just a little bit. You watch him easily take out two enemies with precision, and he smiles, cockily.

"Told you. Easy."

A voice perks up in the lobby chat. The enemy team. "Reported for aimbotting. This is fucking bullshit."

Sunghoon presses the button on his mic to talk, "Nah. I'm just better."

The voice on the other end proceeds to start cussing him out, mouth close enough to the mic that it cuts out every few words, calling him every slur and cuss word under the sun and from the corner of his eye, he sees your face drop in horror. He mutes himself for a second.

"It's just trash talk. Don't worry. Happens all the time."

"All the time?"

“Gaming culture. It’s not for the weak.”

He gets another headshot, and another voice joins in, "Yo, asshole, how does it feel being a basement-dwelling, virgin?"

"Wouldn't know.” Sunghoon quickly unmutes again, firing back, “Why don't you tell me about it?"

A third voice, "Don't bother with him. This guy probably jerks off to his own highlight clips. I guarantee he's never felt the touch of a woman."

Sunghoon's about to respond, but then you're leaning forward in one confident stride.

"Oh? You guarantee that?"

The mic picks up your voice loud and clear, and the lobby explodes. Both the enemy team and his own.

"NO WAY."

“WHO IS THAT?"

"Bro has a whole woman in his room, and he's playing Valorant right now."

"She sounds hot as fuck."

"Dude, I'll forfeit if you get her to moan in the mic."

"Can we get a whimper if we win the next round?" His teammate says.

“Fuck off,” He says immediately, glancing over at you. You’re shifting your weight, your arms around yourself, looking incredibly embarrassed, but you’re grinning proudly. He grins right back, unable to resist the urge to rub this moment in on every other loser in the lobby. “She’s a little busy under the desk right now.” Your eyes go wide at the implication, and the voice chat explodes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE MEAN BY—”

The whole lobby talks over each other, and when he gets his final shot, VICTORY printed across his screen, he leans back in his chair.

"Anyway, she’s waiting for me," He glances over at you, his voice terribly smug, and you visibly embarrassed. "Later incels."

The post-game stats load, and finally, there is silence in his headset. He lets it fall to his neck, still grinning.

"Sorry." You start, "I didn't mean to—"

"Sorry?" He raises a brow, "Sorry for what? That was badass. You just destroyed them. Now those guys have to cope with losing and being bitchless. They're gonna be crying over it for the next year, at least."

"Well... good. They deserve it." You say a little proudly, watching him report the guy who called him slurs for bullying. "I don't understand. How can people get so mad over a game?"

"Sore losers," he says simply, "they're mad because they're bad."

"Or they're mad because you're really good," you offer a smile, "I didn't see you miss a single shot. How is that possible?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but the words don't come. Instead, he’s blinking, really taking you in for a moment, because if his eyes don’t deceive him, you actually seem… impressed. Genuine admiration. The kind he only gets from his teammates and other losers in game.

"Practice," he starts, letting his gaze drop, taking you in. The skirt that rides up your thighs, your hands clasped in your lap, and those wide, attentive eyes of yours. "Years of aim training. Game sense. Good instincts."

Something stirs in him, and suddenly he’s thinking about how good you’d look underneath him, making that same wide-eyed expression for an entirely different reason. How nervous that little voice of yours would sound making other kinds of noises for him, what you’d actually look like if you were under his desk on your knees.

You'd give in so easy.

“Anyone can learn it.” He finally says, the intensity of his gaze half-wiped, replaced with something more polite. “It just takes dedication."

"I'm a lost cause with this stuff. Trust me," you laugh, "Anyway. We should probably get to the project."

Ah. The project. The thing he has nothing to show for on his end because he didn't do anything.

“There's a lot more ground we have to cover this time. There are a lot more features that need to be implemented this time and..."

You ramble on as you seat yourself at the edge of his bed, opening up your bag, and Sunghoon gulps.

He could rip off the band-aid and admit it right now. "Sorry, I'm an idiot, and I played ranked instead of doing my work, but I'll get it done in the next week, I swear."

But you already did his work last week. Already spent a whole week sending him reminders and sending sweet little voice notes—all of which he'd responded to with empty promises. He swears he never meant for those promises to become empty. He planned on doing his work. He just... didn't.

Instinctively, he stands, and mid-sentence, he's placing his headset on your head, adjusting it. You freeze up like last time, and look up at him with the most helpless gaze, all train of thought just gone. His train of thought is rather lost, too, if he's being honest.

"Better idea," he says, "What if I teach you how to play?"

"But—"

"You defended my honour in a Valorant lobby. That kind of bravery deserves a reward.” He pulls out his chair for you, "Sit."

You hesitate. He can see the war happening behind your eyes—the good, responsible side of you trying to fight the flustered one that wishes to give in.

"Just one game. For me?" He reaches out and nudges your shoulder. He lets the touch linger a second longer than it needs to, and he watches your breath hitch.

"Just one.”

The gaming chair swallows your frame, and he pushes it in, hovering just a little too close as he leans over you. He puts you in practice mode to start.

"Alright. Basics first. This is how you move." He guides your hand to the keyboard, his fingers deliberately brushing yours. "WASD. Forward, left, back, right. You know that already?"

You nod weakly, moving around, not quite with ease, but at least you know how to do it. He laughs a little at the jerky movements, and your flustered demeanour from him being this close. He's enjoying this.

"Good. Now shooting." His hand covers yours on the mouse. "Left click. Aim for the head."

The bot appears. You click. Miss entirely. Click again. Hit the shoulder.

"See? You're already better than half my ranked teammates."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not, I swear."

He lets you get comfortable with the practice range. You're clumsy but getting the hang of it, your movements less awkward, your aim less panicked. By the time he queues you into a real match—comms and text chat both disabled, he's not having a repeat of earlier—you're at least facing the right direction.

He drags a chair from the kitchen and sits next to you.

"Real game now. Real players. They're going to be better than the bots."

The first few rounds are rough. You die early in the first. Then the second. By the fourth round, you've done exactly zero damage, and the enemy team is up 3-1. Your teammates are probably flaming you. He's glad he muted them before the round started.

"See? I told you I'm terrible."

"No talking. Just play."

Round five. Your teammates are dropping around you. It's a disaster—your teammates rushed in too soon, leaving you behind. And then it's just you. One versus two.

"Stay behind the corner," Sunghoon says, his voice low near your ear. "Wait for them to come to you."

"But our team is supposed to be attacking, right?"

"Yeah, but these players are stupid. They're playing too aggressively. They'll come to you."

His hand lands on your shoulder, and your hands are trembling slightly on the keyboard.

"Keep your crosshair at head level. Right there."

He adjusts your mouse, and you nod. In your ears, you hear footsteps. Then, the enemy peeks. You click. The headshot sound is unmistakable—a clean, crisp dink that echoes through the headphones. One enemy down. Pings explode from your dead teammates.

"Holy shit!" Sunghoon leans forward, grinning. "Look at that! You got a headshot!"

"I—I did?"

"You did. One tap. Clean as hell," he's beaming, "Now, don't lose focus yet. One more to go."

You're staring at the screen like you can't quite believe it. Your hands are still trembling, but you're smiling now—a real smile, wide and bright and unguarded.

Though you don’t have time to celebrate, because a body shot hits from behind you, not enough to kill you, but enough that you scream. You move behind the wall, frantically moving the mouse around.

"Don't panic. They're coming to you. Just wait—"

The enemy appears, and you click, your bullets spraying clumsily, and by some miracle, you outlive them with barely any health left—but you won. You won the 1v2.

"That's my girl!" He's grinning wide, "You're a natural, you see that?"

You play terribly the rest of the game, but your team locks in, their hope reignited by your clutch up, and carries you to a win. VICTORY. It appears in big letters across your screen.

You take off the headset, your smile unwavering, your cheeks warm. "That was... actually kind of fun."

"See? Told you."

"I still mostly did nothing."

"You won. Stop being humble." He nudges your shoulder, allowing the touch to linger. "Most people don't win their first game. Bet I can help you win your second, too."

"Sunghoon." You laugh, gently moving his arm away as he tries to queue another game. "We have to do the project."

"We can do that another time."

"We can do this another time. We need to work."

"Do we really need to?"

"Yes."

He pauses a moment. A beat of silence passes, and your gaze lingers on him.

"Sunghoon," you say again, gently, carefully. Like you already understand where this is going, "If your work is a little messy like last time, I don't mind. I just want to make sure we're on the same page."

"I just..." He looks at you. Still in his chair, still wearing his headset around your neck now, and the way you're looking at him—half-flustered, half-stubborn, trying so hard to be responsible and even going so far as to push back—makes him realize he'll have to try harder than he thought to distract you. "I just think with you, it's always: Project this. Project that. You work so hard. You know it's okay to relax sometimes, right?"

"I—"

"You know what your problem is? You worry too much. Whenever I see you, you're always worrying. What's up with that?"

He leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. Your eyes follow them, how his biceps strain in his shirt, and his knee bumps yours. He stays watchful, analyzing the way your breathing picks up. The way your eyes go wide again.

"I don't know... I've always been..." you manage, shaking your head, "My parents were strict growing up, so..."

"I don't see your parents anywhere."

"Right. I know it's silly, but sometimes it's like I still hear them in my head," you laugh nervously, avoiding his gaze, "it was always study, study, study. No fun, no friends, no boys—"

"No boys?"

All of a sudden, it clicks for him. The shyness. The stuttering. The way you'd frozen in the library when his knee touched yours—not just flustered, but genuinely short-circuited, like your brain had no protocol for what to do. The way you'd offered him a ride, even though you could barely look at him. The way you'd defended him in voice chat, fierce and uncalculated, with no idea of the attention it would bring.

It all makes sense now. Every single thing. You're not just anxious or sheltered. You're completely, profoundly inexperienced. He's likely the first guy who's ever been this close to you—and you’re here, in his room, wearing his headset. Every reaction you've had, every flush and stammer and nervous laugh, it's all because you've never done this before. He smiles, enjoying the thought more than he should. A lot more.

"No boys," he repeats, and his voice comes out slow and deliberate. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means no boys. Like." You're flustered already, and he hasn't even moved. "No dating. My parents were really strict about it, and I just—I never really—"

"Never really what?"

He knows exactly what you're trying to say. He just wants to hear you try to say it.

"Never really... dated?" he offers, tilting his head. "Never really had a boyfriend?"

You shake your head, barely a movement.

"Never really..." He lets the pause stretch. Watches you squirm. "...anything?"

You can't manage another word, so you don't speak. You don't have to. The silence speaks for itself.

"You've never done anything?"

The question hangs in the air. He watches you process it—the implication, and how you can’t hide from it.

"Never even been kissed?" "No." There it is. The confession, small and brave. "It's embarrassing. I know. I never really—" "It's cute, actually."

You look at him, wordless. Maybe he should feel bad. He should feel guilty for prying this out of you, for enjoying how uncomfortable you are and filing all of this away as useful information. Some distant, rational part of his brain knows that. Instead, he's thinking about how nobody has ever touched you. How he’s the first one now to have been close enough to see you all flustered and vulnerable and completely unguarded.

His hand finds your knee. It's innocent enough, not drifting any higher than above it, his thumb moving in slow circles, and he watches in real time as your mind goes completely blank.

He's going to kiss you. Honestly, he knew he was going to kiss you the moment he understood what "no boys" meant, and while part of him is still trying to distract you from the project by getting you all hot and bothered like this, another part of him wants to do it just because he can. Just because you're there, in his chair, looking at him like that, reacting to his touch like this. That kind of power is a drug. It only makes him want to see just how far he can push you.

"Sunghoon," Your voice comes out thin, breathless. Your hand flutters up, not pushing him away, just hovering, like you're not sure what to do with it. "The project. We really need to—"

"The project." He says it flat, like the word itself is a chore. "The project will be fine. It'll get done. Right?"

He tilts his head, lets the implication hang there: You did the last one. You'll do this one, too.

Your mouth opens, but whatever argument you'd prepared dissolves the second his hand moves. It slides up from your knee to the edge of your skirt, his fingers tracing the hem where it brushes your thigh, and you go absolutely still beneath his touch.

"You look cute today, by the way." His voice is low, and his eyes look you up and down. "I like this."

He toys with the hem of the fabric, his knuckle grazing bare skin. Your thighs press together involuntarily, and he catches it. The movement. The sharp little inhale. The way your hands grip the armrests, fingers curling into them.

A sound escapes your throat, something small and embarrassing. A whimper you clearly didn't mean to make. His eyes flick up to your face. Your lips are parted, and you're looking at him like you've forgotten how words work.

"That's it," he murmurs, "You'll be good for me, right?"

Your eyes drop to his lips. You nod. It's a tiny, helpless movement, and the last of your resistance crumbles.

His free hand comes up to cup your chin, tilting your face toward his. He's close enough now to feel your breath, shallow and uneven. Close enough to know that no one has ever touched you like this before, and you're terrified, but you're not pulling away.

He leans in, slowly inching forward, closer and closer and—

"Sunghoon!" The door bursts open, "Have you seen my charger? I think..."

Heeseung's voice trails off as he takes in the sight. You. Sunghoon. The proximity between you. His hand on your thigh. Valorant open on his PC.

"Well, well, well..." he grins, leaning against the doorframe, "do my eyes deceive me, or is that a girl? In your bedroom? Sitting on your throne?"

"Leave."

"And you're making the poor thing play your stupid game. That's no way to treat a lady," he gestures around, then looks to you, "You. Don't tell me you're pretending to be impressed by his KDA ratio?"

You shrink under his gaze, looking like you wished to flee any second.

"Listen, I get it.” He raises his hands in surrender, “He's a good-looking guy. But his personality?" He shakes his head, "He’s a walking red flag. And not in the hot bad boy way. In like, a discord-moderating, redditor way."

"Seriously, get out."

Sunghoon is on his feet now, jaw tight. But you're already up, already grabbing your bag, already not looking at anyone.

"Actually, I should go."

"You don't have to—"

"I'll see you soon." The words tumble out. You duck past Heeseung, out of the bedroom, into the hall. Your footsteps go fast—past the living room where the coffee table sits in all its carved, solid-oak glory.

Heeseung follows you as far as the hallway, leaning against the wall with the lazy confidence of someone who knows he ruined something, but has no idea what.

"Wait!" he calls after you. "Before you leave, what do you think of the coffee table? Real craftsmanship, right?"

The front door slams. Hard enough to rattle the empty energy drink cans still scattered on Sunghoon's desk.

Heeseung turns back to the bedroom doorway, where Sunghoon is standing rigid, hands at his sides.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sunghoon spits.

"Me? What's wrong with you?" He strides on into his room, taking his lost phone charger from the port near his bedside. The one he took yesterday without asking, "You steal my shit, you get cockblocked. Sorry."

"You know that was my project partner, right?"

"I know who it was." Heeseung wraps the cord around his hand, watching Sunghoon with an expression that's sharper than before. "The one with the voice. The one who did your work at two in the morning. I guess now she comes over to stroke your ego too, huh?"

"I was this close to—"

"This close to what?" Heeseung quips, raising a brow. "Finish the sentence."

"This close to... to taking her mind off of worrying. She's a chronic worrier. It's annoying. It's..." his voice trails off.

Silence. Sunghoon notices the look in his roommate’s eyes: disapproving, doubtful.

"You know what I think?" Heeseung says slowly, "I think you're getting a little too comfortable with the amount of kindness she gives you."

"I don't know what you mean."

“The walls are thin, and I’m nosy. I know what I heard,” he scoffs, heading toward the door. "You’re pushing your luck. And trying to tongue your project partner so she can do your work for you is a new low. Even for you."

Sunghoon then gapes at the offensive, downright defamatory implications his roommate is making towards him.

"I didn't—" Heeseung leaves before he can defend himself. And Sunghoon stumbles to the hallway, calling out after him. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

Sunghoon slams the door shut on him, taking a second to breathe. There's a ping on his phone. A new voice note. He clicks it immediately, your voice rushed, the sound of your car running in the background.

"Hey Sunghoon. Sorry for leaving like that. I got kinda nervous when your roommate walked in. But I had a really good time with the game! And with you. And... oh, and about deliverable 2." You pause, then a sigh escapes you—heavy, but hesitant. "I've thought about it, and I know your tournament is coming up really soon, so I don't mind taking it off your hands. Anyway, goodbye for now, Sunghoon."

Sunghoon sinks into his gaming chair. Relief morphs into glee, a short laugh escaping him. He can’t believe it. He can’t believe you. Whatever guilt Heeseung was trying to make him feel fades instantly—easily. Too easily. He queues another game.

The basement is quiet. Still. Peaceful. Just Sunghoon, the ironing board, and his team jersey, steam hissing in the silence. His gamer tag stares up at him from the back of the jersey, crisp and clean. Tomorrow he'll be wearing it on stage. Tomorrow it's game time. Tomorrow, he's locked the fuck in, with his team at his side and everyone there to watch him take that victory.

He's in the zone. Has been all night. Showered, prepped, head clear. No distractions. No thoughts about the final project deliverable due next week that he definitely hasn't started, or thoughts about Heeseung's accusations, or thoughts about you, and your wide eyes, and the way you looked at his lips right before—Nope. He’s not thinking about it.

The basement door groans open, followed by footsteps. Sunghoon doesn't bother turning around. He knows it’s Jay, judging by the heaviness of the tread, and because he’s the only one of them who regularly uses the washer instead of letting clothes pile up until they smell.

"Game's tomorrow?"

"Yep." Steam hisses. Sunghoon runs the iron along a sleeve. "You're still driving me, right?"

There’s a pause. Too long a pause. Sunghoon turns. Jay's standing by the washer, suddenly fascinated by the lint trap.

"Jay."

"Huh?"

"The tournament," Sunghoon says it slower this time, the iron forgotten in his hand. "The thing I gave you the date for a month ago. The thing you swore you'd drive me to. Ringing any bells?"

"Right, right." Jay shuts the washer door. Doesn't meet his eyes. "Well."

"Jay."

"Thing is," Jay scrubs the back of his neck, "my grandma's moving. Already told my mom I'd help tomorrow morning."

“Dude.” Sunghoon blinks, gaping at him, "You promised me first."

"Sorry, man. Grandma over you."

"I gave you a month's notice."

"And my grandma gave me twenty-two years of birthday money." Jay shrugs, already turning toward the stairs. "Can't put a price on that."

Sunghoon sets the iron down with a little more force than necessary. "You could've said something before tonight."

"It's not the end of the world. Just take the bus."

"It's an hour drive. Longer by bus. On a Sunday. That's—"

"Tough luck."

"Jay." Sunghoon's voice sharpens. "This is the biggest day of my—"

But Jay's already halfway up, and the basement door clicks shut behind him. The washing machine hums into the silence. Sunghoon stares at the empty staircase.

The bus is not an option. Absolutely not. He didn't grind all season to show up to regionals late, all sweaty from sprinting across a transit terminal because the Sunday schedule runs once every forty-five minutes if he's lucky. And his teammates? He could squeeze into someone's car, knee to chest, listening to them argue about team comps and whose mom packed snacks. He'd rather walk.

But… there is another option. Someone who's given him a ride before. Someone who is always happy to help. Someone who did his code, who defended him in a Valorant voice chat, who can't resist him, no matter how many times he's proven himself incompetent.

He pulls out his phone. It seems like a shitty thing to do. He knows that. But, it's mutually beneficial, isn't it? He gets a favour, you get to see him. It's a win-win, really. Besides, it's not like he's only calling for the ride. He genuinely does like the idea of you there, front row, cheering his name. Watching him destroy the enemy team live instead of from his bedroom. You'd get all confused, trying to follow the game, and then he'd win, and you'd be proud even though you don't really understand what you're proud of and—hell, maybe he'd finally get to give you that kiss. Maybe more. It's been on his mind too much lately. Your eager, parted lips, your thigh tense beneath his touch, the way you leaned into it like a good little plaything. Always so desperate to please—you'd make him feel like a real champion, wouldn't you? All nervous and untouched and entirely his. His prize, his to guide, his to take. It's a perverse fantasy. It's also not entirely impossible. Though, he shakes his head at himself, not erasing the thought, but putting it back on the shelf. The ride. That's the priority now. Having a pretty girl at his arm is just a bonus.

You press submit. Deliverable two, done. Your portion, pristine, commented, tested, and complete. His portion—the portion you told yourself you wouldn't do—also complete. Also entirely yours. You close the laptop and sit there in the dark of your dorm room.

This is getting out of hand. You know it is. It's been out of hand, actually, ever since the library and the first deliverable that you fixed—the thing you should’ve never done in the first place but did anyway. He didn't do his work again, and this time he didn't even try to pretend otherwise. He just looked at you with those eyes, said ‘It will be fine,’ and you let the subject drop because his hand was on your thigh, your brain had stopped working, and the only thing on your mind was not wanting to let him down.

But what about him letting you down? It’s happened twice now. Not enough times to call it a pattern of behaviour yet, but enough to imply something about his character and where his priorities lie. He's unreliable. Lazy. Probably manipulative, if your best friend's theories are true. That's not the kind of guy you want. That's not the kind of guy anyone should want. You should be furious, actually. You should send him a firm email. You should stand your ground.

He’s hot, though, your brain unhelpfully reminds you. Stupidly, impossibly hot, and he almost kissed you—you think. Sometimes you replay it in your head, and you're certain of it. Other times, you wonder if you imagined the leaning in, the pause, and the way his voice dropped when he said you'll be good for me, right?

You sigh, hand twitching against your thigh. When you close your eyes, it's like you can still feel him touching you there. Every time you think about it, your whole body goes hot, and you think about it a lot—not just about what happened but what could've happened if his roommate hadn't walked in. You can't even keep track of the amount of times you've lied awake, drenched in your own sweat, thighs pressed together, just thinking about his hand slipping further up your skirt and relieving you of the torturous, wound-up feeling that's had you in a chokehold all summer.

Your phone buzzes.

Incoming video call: Sunghoon

You stare at the screen, still recovering from your fantasy. It takes you a minute to actually process that it is, in fact, him calling you and not a figment of your imagination. He's never called you before. Not once. All summer, it's been voice memos and texts and the occasional thumbs-up emoji.

It rings again, and you fumble reaching for it, nearly dropping it on the floor. You pick up, and as soon as you see the FaceTime video loading, you click to turn off your camera.

Your eyes are glued to the screen as you take in the sight of him. He's lying in bed, his hoodie pulled up over his head, shadows cutting across his jaw, and his hair falls over his eyes. You're almost pissed at the fact that someone can look that good so casually.

"Hey." His voice comes through your earbuds low and rough, and it travels down your spine. Your whole body shivers.

"Hi," you manage, small and a little breathless.

"How's my girl doing?"

My girl. That's the second time he's called you that. The first was during the game, when you landed the headshot. You'd assumed it was adrenaline, or a reflex. Something guys said to their duo partners, like "my man" or "my guy". But he's not gaming now. He's in bed. Talking to you.

"I'm good—fine." You swallow. "What about—?"

"Can I see you?"

"See me?" You glance down at yourself. Old t-shirt. Not a trace of makeup. Yeah. That's not happening. "I'm in bed. It's dark. There's nothing to see, so..."

"Hm," he sighs, and you hear the rustling of fabric as he adjusts himself. "Too bad."

"What's up?" You're trying to sound normal, clearing your throat, "Why'd you call?"

"Just wanted to chat."

His free hand finds the drawstring of his hoodie, twisting it idly around one finger. Your eyes follow the movement, staring at the veins, the size of his hand, the length of his fingers and—you drag your eyes back to his face.

"About?"

"You free tomorrow?"

He shifts again, and the camera jostles, this time a light groan escaping him.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you have—nothing. You have absolutely nothing. And even if you did have something, you'd still say you have nothing because it's him who's asking. Your heart skips a beat, a stupid smile breaking on your face.

"Yes," you say, immediately trying to downplay the eagerness in your voice. "Yeah, I'm free. Why?"

"And you can drive?"

"Sure. Why—?"

"Good." He ignores the question again. "Then I'm taking you out."

Your heart does a full stop. "Where?"

"Surprise.”  He smiles. “Just wear something cute, m'kay?"

Wear something cute. What does that mean exactly? Cute how? Cute like a dress? Or is a dress too much? Maybe a skirt. He said he liked your skirt last week. He toyed with the hem and said I like this and you made a sound you're still embarrassed to remember.

"Sleep well," he then says, breaking the long, silent pause with a slight chuckle, "See ya."

And before you can get another word in, he's gone. The reflection of yourself stares back at you in the darkened screen. Maybe you should call him back and ask what 'cute' means. What kind of 'cute'? Dinner cute? Coffee cute? Hanging out at his house, cute? But after a long time of staring at his contact, debating how to even ask, you decide it's too late.

You shower, scrubbing every inch of yourself. Exfoliate. Shave—you shave everything—carefully, methodically, in places you don't normally bother with because usually you're thinking "who's going to see?" But if his hand travels further than it did last time, you do not want to be stuck in your own head worrying about it, so you do it just in case. Just to be prepared.

Then you stand in front of your closet for forty minutes trying on everything you own, trying to decide what feels like too much, and what feels like not enough. You don't know.

Eventually, you settle. A skirt you usually avoid because it rides up your thighs too much. A top that's nice without trying too hard. You look at yourself in the mirror. You feel pretty. Normally, you feel clean, or presentable, or fine. But today, you feel pretty.

It's a dangerous feeling. You're getting dressed up for a boy who hasn't done a single assignment all summer. You're shaving your legs for him when technically you're still not sure what "taking you out" implies. But your heart is racing, and your cheeks are warm, and you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror like an idiot, anyway.

So what if you dressed up for him? You're allowed to feel pretty. You're allowed to want him. You're allowed to hope.

You're shaking when you pull up to his place. Not visibly, at least, as you’re gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hide it. You’ve been talking to yourself under your breath for the last three blocks. Be normal. Be cool. Which would be a lot easier to do if this weren't the first time a boy had asked to "take you out" and you’ve been alone with your own anxious thoughts for so long now that you're starting to dwell on what that might mean again. Dinner, maybe? The thought simultaneously makes your heart flutter and your stomach churn. You're so nervous, you're not sure you could hold down any food. What if he asks why you're not eating—?

You're getting ahead of yourself. Maybe he's right. You do worry too much. You don't even know where you're going yet, and you're already jumping to conclusions.

Predictably, you're early. Of course you are. You'd left your dorm with an extra twenty minutes because you couldn't stand to pace around your room anymore, and now you're pulling up at the curb feeling like an idiot. But, to your surprise, he's already waiting on the porch.

He spots your car before you even have time to honk, jogging down the steps, and you roll down the window, smiling bright and stupid and probably too eager. Then...

Then your eyes drop to his chest. The jersey. The school's E-sports team jersey, to be precise. You know what it looks like because you've stalked the team's Instagram page about a hundred times just to stare at the photos of him on there until they were permanently burned into your retinas forever.

"Hey," he says, pulling open the passenger door. "Right on time."

"Hi," you swallow, smiling politely. "What are you wearing?"

"Team gear." He slides into the seat, dropping his bag at his feet. "Regionals are today. Didn't I tell you?"

Your blood runs cold.

No. No, he did not. He said I'm taking you out. He said to wear something cute. He said it was a surprise.

"Regionals," you repeat. "Right. The tournament."

"Yeah. It's at the convention centre. About an hour drive." He's buckling his seatbelt, "Coach said we could bring anyone we want. Figured I should bring my number one supporter, right?"

So it's not a date. Not at all what you were thinking when he called you late at night with his voice all low and asking if you were available—asking if you could drive. Still, you smile. You smile because even if your heart has sunk into your stomach, you know it's your own fault for thinking this would be anything more than it was. And, well, this matters to him. This is the thing he's been neglecting the project for. The thing he told you he’d been practicing for, talking about it in the car that first day you met him. He’s choosing to bring you to his thing. That alone must mean something... right?

"That sounds fun," you say, and the words feel like they belong to someone else. "I've never been to an E-sports thing before."

"You'll love it. You'll finally see me play for real. Not just some ranked lobby."

"Yeah." Your smile starts to hurt your cheeks. It strains and fails to reach your eyes. "Can't wait."

The drive is an hour. You spend most of it listening. He talks about the bracket, the teams they're facing, and some enemy team player who's been trash-talking him online. He talks about comps and strats and something called a meta. You nod, you smile. You ask questions. You try to seem engaged.

In a way, you are a little. Not because you care about the game, but because it's hard not to feel warm in the face when you see him like this. He's barely able to sit still in the passenger seat, gesturing with his hands, more animated than you've ever seen him, smirking with the kind of confidence you'd expect a star player to have. This is his thing. This is what he's good at. He invited you.

That has to mean something—you're certain of it now. Even if it's not what you thought. Even if you spent an hour getting ready, shaving everywhere and trying on countless different outfits just to sit in a convention centre folding chair.

You glance down at your skirt and your pretty top. All that effort you put into looking like you hadn't put in effort now feels wasted. Maybe people dress up nice for these things, you tell yourself. You've never been to an E-sports tournament, so you wouldn't know. At least, that's what you tell yourself, refusing to believe that he chose those words on purpose, knowing how they'd come across, knowing how they'd affect you. "You look pretty, by the way." Your head snaps toward him. He's looking out the window, and the words slipped out of him so casually that you almost don't catch it. Your heart furiously pounds in your chest, all doubt in your mind momentarily forgotten. "You too." The words tumble out before your brain can catch up, and immediately you want to grab them and shove them back in your mouth. You too? "I mean—you look good. The jersey. It suits you." There's a hint of a smile on his lips, and yours tug into one too—something small and hopeful.

You keep driving, trying to focus less on the quiet ache in your chest and more on the fact that he is here right now, in your car, bringing you into his world.

The convention center is freezing, the kind of cold that seeps through your thin top and settles into your bones. The air conditioning is blasting, likely to prepare for the body heat of the crowd that'll pack this place in a few hours. But right now, it's just you and a handful of other early arrivals and staff members scattered across folding chairs, listening to the distant sound of someone testing a microphone.

He didn't introduce you to his team. Didn't even glance back. Just pointed at the front row and said, "Sit there," and then he was gone—swallowed by a cluster of matching jerseys and equipment bags. You'd stood there for a moment, awkward, watching him disappear, arms wrapped around yourself against the cold.

That was hours ago. Hours in a hard plastic chair, scrolling through every app on your phone until you'd seen every post, every story, every notification that wasn't there. You got up once to buy an iced coffee from the convention center cafe—watery, gone in ten minutes. It did nothing to quiet the growling in your stomach.

You're cold. You're hungry. You're bored. You're wearing a skirt and a cute top in a convention centre full of strangers who smell like they don't shower, and you feel stupid. So, so stupid. But when he jogs over to you, twenty minutes before the tournament starts, everything brightens. Like you're not freezing to death where you sit. Like it all makes sense now, why, against your better judgment, you decided to stay.

He's got his headset looped around his neck, and his eyes have that focused, sharp kind of intensity you witnessed the first time you saw him play in his bedroom. He carries himself like he’s already won. It’s the kind of easy confidence—or arrogance, rather—that others would call obnoxious. To you, however, it’s captivating.

"Hey!" He squeezes your shoulder, just once. The warmth of his hand cuts through the chill. "Still awake?"

You blink up at him, smiling before you can stop yourself. Your head is foggy from too much fluorescent light and not enough food, but suddenly none of that registers.

"Barely.” You laugh, “But still alive. What about you?"

"I’m ready." He grins, that cocky, unbothered grin. "More than ready, knowing that you're here."

Your breath catches. Stupid. It's such a small thing yet the warmth that blooms in your chest catches you off guard, and for a moment you forget about the miserable afternoon you've just had. You just smile back at him, helplessly.

"Don't get too sleepy. I want to hear you cheer. Loud."

"I will." You say without hesitation.

"Good."

He flashes you one last smile, and then he's gone, slipping back toward the stage. You call after him, "Good luck!" He doesn't turn around. Just raises a hand in acknowledgment.

You sink back into your chair, still smiling, still warm from the brief press of his fingers on your shoulder. It's pathetic, honestly. You know it's pathetic. One touch, one sentence, and suddenly the hours of waiting and the overpriced coffee and the cold that's still seeping through your clothes don't feel like such a big deal anymore.

When the tournament starts, you come to realize you know a lot less about this game than you thought. There's a lot of terminology that flies past your head. Strategies you don’t understand. Names you don’t recognize. But you know enough that you understand when his team is winning, and when he's the last one alive on his team, wiping out the enemy team like they're nothing, and you definitely understand why the crowd cheers loudly when he clutches a 1v5.

They win. Easily. It’s not even close, and when the final round ends and the casters are screaming, and his teammates are out of their chairs—you're on your feet too. Clapping until your hands sting. Cheering, though you're certain you'll lose your voice for it.

He finds you the moment his team filters off the stage. One second you're standing alone, scanning the crowd of jerseys; the next, his hand is at your waist, fingers curling against the fabric of your top, pulling you into his side like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he's done it a hundred times. His palm is warm through the thin material, his thumb pressed just above your hip, and he's wearing the world's biggest grin.

The hall is chaos—people talking in every direction, the music playing too loudly, a coach yelling something across the room. You can't really hear what he's saying, just the rumble of his voice near your ear, the occasional word breaking through: ...killed it... ...see that clutch?... You nod, smiling, hyperaware of the heat of his hand and the way his fingers tighten whenever someone jostles past. He steers you toward his teammates with that grip on your waist, guiding you through the crowd like you're an extension of his victory. The other boys are clapping him on the back, shouting over each other. Every time someone congratulates him, his hand flexes against your hip—not quite pulling you closer, but not letting you drift either.

"...You good with sushi?"

"Hm?" You furrow your brows, not quite catching his words still.

"Post-game celebration. Coach is treating us," he leans in right next to your ear this time, his words a little clearer. He grabs your arm. "Let's go."

The sushi place is in a strip mall across the parking lot from the convention centre. Laminated menus, lighting that's too bright for a celebration, and employees who look like they're regretting every life choice that led them to this shift. The sheer amount of noise coming from the table doesn't help.

The team has been going around making speeches—thanking the coach, thanking their friends, thanking Sunghoon, their number one captain and player. He soaks it up like a sponge, leaning back in his chair with the ease of a star player who knows he killed it. The table goes a little quieter when it’s finally his turn.

"I'd like to thank my team, of course, for putting their best foot forward. Coach, for keeping us in line. But most importantly..." He turns to you. His arm slides from the back of your chair to your shoulders. "I'd like to thank this one right here. For the support. For cheering me on louder than anyone." He squeezes your shoulder. "You made my life a hell of a lot easier this semester."

Easier. You're not sure why that choice of words doesn't sit right. Maybe because it felt too cold, or detached. He could've said you made his life better, brighter, happier… and maybe you're reading too much into it. You’re probably overthinking it and jumping to conclusions that aren’t there, like you always do. But easier implies convenience, nothing else, and you don’t really like the way that makes you feel.

He's being nice, you tell yourself. He’s thanking you in front of everyone. It's a good thing.

"Oh, and I got you something." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a jersey. Identical to his own. "My spare jersey. Since you know. I couldn't have done it without you."

You take it, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar in your hands. You open your mouth to say something—thank you, maybe, or you didn't have to—but nothing comes out.

"Put it on."

You do, and the shirt swallows your frame, the hem only a few centimetres above where your skirt ends. His gamertag is printed in bold letters on the back, and on you, it feels like a brand—a mark of his claim. You hold your breath, too overwhelmed by the scent of him, and your stomach does that flipping thing it always seems to when he gives you crumbs of affection like this, except this time with a newfound heaviness resting uncomfortably somewhere within you.

"Looks good," He hums, pleased, nodding to the rest of his team, "Right guys?"

The team cheers, someone whistling while the guy sitting next to him claps his back, and he takes it all in with pride, while you look down at your lap.

"Hey. Don't be shy." He leans in, voice dropping just for you. His knee bumps yours under the table. "I meant it. You do look pretty today."

The heaviness lifts. Just a little. Just enough to put on your brave face again, and the wait staff starts serving up whatever platters they ordered earlier. The boys descend like hawks, piling their dishes high, chopsticks clacking. Two of them fight over the remaining spicy salmon rolls, and someone orders another round of sake; meanwhile, Sunghoon is already talking about the next tournament.

You stare at your plate. You were hungry earlier. Starving, actually—your stomach had been growling through the final matches, but now you just poke at a piece of nigiri with your chopsticks, turning it over and over, watching the rice fall apart.

This isn't exactly what you had in mind when he said he was taking you out… but he thanked you in front of the team. Gave you a jersey. Called you pretty. And his knee keeps bumping yours under the table, making an embarrassing flush creep to your cheeks every time.

He wants you here. That should be enough. That should make you happy. So why do you still feel so hollow?

"Excuse me," a voice appears behind you both. You and Sunghoon turn to face him. "I'm with the school paper. Mind if I grab a few quotes?"

A guy with a press badge and a notebook is standing beside the table. You'd seen him earlier, sitting in the same section near the front as you. Reserved seating. It makes sense. Regionals are a big deal for your school; this is probably the most interesting story they've had in years.

"Yeah, sure."

"Just a few questions about the match. The clutch in finals—what was going through your head?"

"Oh. Easy. I locked the fuck in," he breaks into a smug grin.

Sunghoon talks about game sense. Instincts. Reading the enemy. The reporter scribbles notes, asks a few more questions. Asks about his training schedule, the responsibilities of being the team captain, and the pressure. You continue to poke at your food, assuming none of it involves you, until he glances at you.

"And I see your girlfriend is here. How does it feel to have that kind of support showing up for you?"

Your heart skips. Sunghoon glances at you, but his gaze isn't nearly as panicked as your own

"Oh. She's not my girlfriend." He says it casually. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like the idea had never even occurred to him.

Suddenly, the table is a little quieter, like everyone had hushed their conversations just to overhear. Feeling the weight of everyone's eyes, your fingers tremble around your chopsticks.

"Ah." The reporter looks at you—the jersey, the arm around your shoulder—then offers an apologetic smile, "Sorry, I just assumed—"

"She's more like..." He tilts his head, considering. "My lucky charm."

Lucky charm. Not a girlfriend. Not a friend. Not even my project partner, who gave me a ride here and did all my work for me. A lucky charm. Something you carry around for good fortune and toss in a drawer when you no longer need it. "Or maybe," he starts again, "She's like my prize. You know, you win the tournament, you get the trophy. She's kind of both. Good luck and a good reward. You know what I mean?"

You hear a snicker from across the table, and he laughs too. He laughs. His arm is still around your shoulder, heavy and warm, and his thumb is tracing idle circles against your sleeve like nothing is wrong. Like he didn't just reduce you to an object in front of a reporter and his whole team.

"I'm just teasing. But, really, the closer I keep her, the easier my life becomes. So, you asked how it feels, right? I'd say it feels pretty damn good," he pulls you closer for a second, giving your shoulder another squeeze, "I was telling the whole team earlier. It's all thanks to her."

"Wait, so she's single?" One of his teammates leans over, "Dude, you've been gatekeeping her all night—"

"Fuck off." He snaps, turning back to the reporter, "Next question."

The interview fades to background noise.

Lucky charm. You want to laugh. Or maybe cry.

As if luck had anything to do with it. The only reason he's here, celebrating, getting interviewed, is because of the labour, time and energy that you freely offered him like a fool. And now he's calling it luck.

You sit there in your seat, his arm heavy around you like he owns you. You realize only then that it means nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You slide out from under it. "Bathroom," you murmur, already on your feet.

He doesn't look up. His hand drops to the back of the empty chair without pause, and the reporter is already asking the next question. You walk toward the door, and the bell chimes as you leave.

The parking lot is hot. The heat, humid and suffocating, rises off the asphalt, and the air feels thick in your lungs. Your car is at the far end. Too far away, you think, as you make your way. You walk fast, the jersey still hanging off your shoulders, and it feels like the weight of it is slowing you down. You hate that you're still wearing it.

Behind you, the restaurant door opens, and heavy footsteps follow. "Hey! Hey, wait up—"

You don't wait. Obviously. But he catches up very easily, hand on your shoulder to halt your frantic steps.

"What's going on?" He catches up, slightly out of breath. "You just left. What gives?"

You spin around. "I'm a lucky charm? A prize?"

"What?" His expression shifts—not guilty, but confused. Like he genuinely doesn't understand. He takes a moment to gather himself. "Yeah. Like, it's a compliment. Like, I'm lucky to have you here with me. I mean, what did you want me to say? Project partner? Female friend?"

"Listen." Your voice is shaking. "I'm happy for you. You won. Congratulations. But I want to go home now."

"But why? We were having fun, right? And the team loves you—"

"No." You cut him off. "Your team loves you."

"Yeah, and you're with me."

"I'm with you?" The words catch in your throat. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Your heart thuds, watching him carefully. You hold your breath, hoping—desperately, pathetically—to hear something other than a lucky charm this time. Something meaningful. Something more.

"It means..." his voice is careful, processing every word in his head before he decides to say it, "You're wearing a shirt with my name on it, and I'll be the one taking you home after—"

A laugh escapes you. Not because any of this is entertaining, but because you truly cannot fathom how that is the best response he could come up with.

"You're taking me home?"

"You know what I mean."

"Sunghoon." Your voice drops. The frustration is bleeding out, leaving something softer behind. Something that hurts more. Your hands are trembling. "You told me to wear something cute. You said you were taking me out."

"So that's it?" He asks. You don’t know when he moved closer, or how you allowed him to, but suddenly his hand is at your shoulder again. He rubs it as if to comfort you, and his words tumble out, a little more frantic than he usually sounds, "You wanna go out? We can go out. We can go out right now. Just tell me where you want to go. I'll take you—”

"We aren't going anywhere." You say a little firmer this time, brushing his hand away. "I'm leaving."

You walk toward your car, but he doesn't relent. He came here with you, and his ride is standing in front of him, keys in hand, about to disappear. He can't let that happen.

"Wait."

He grabs your arm, his hand warm and familiar. You hate that it still makes your breath catch.

"Please." His voice is different now. Lower. The arrogance is gone—or maybe just hidden. "Don't go. I'm sorry. Okay?"

"Sorry for what?"

"For..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Calling you a lucky charm? And not taking you on a date? Whatever I did. Just… don't leave me here. Please."

"You don't even know what you're apologizing for," You hiss, your hand curling tighter around your car keys.

"Yeah. Because I'm confused." He tries, "I was being nice all night. I gave you the jersey. I don't know what I did wrong, so tell me. I'll do whatever you want. I'll fix it."

"Sunghoon," you frown, taking in a breath. You're going to do it. This is the moment where you stand your ground. "I am not some doll that exists to give you free rides whenever you want. Or do all your work. Or sit through your gaming tournaments and make you look good in front of your teammates."

"You're not—" his brows furrow, "That's not what you are."

"Then what am I?"

You try to step back, but your back meets your car door. Now you're cornered, and he still hasn't answered. Instead, his hand comes up. Hesitant, not quite sure if he's allowed, or if it's the right choice to make currently in the heat of the moment, but he does it regardless. His fingers brush your jaw, featherlight, just tracing it and his thumb settles under your chin. Everything else around you ceases to exist.

"Tell me what you want me to say." His voice is rough, and he tilts your face up, "What do you want from me? I don't understand what you want."

"Sunghoon—"

"I keep thinking about last week," He exhales, something between a laugh and a breath. His other hand finds your hip, fingers curling into the fabric of the jersey. "What we never got to finish. I know you think about it too."

His forehead nearly touches yours. His thumb still rests under your chin, holding you in place, and his eyes drop to your lips. "One last time," he asks, "What do you want?"

You realize he's doing it again. The thing where you try to talk about something serious—the project, the way he's been treating you—and weaponizes his irresistibility against you. You wonder if he even realizes that he's doing it. Regardless, you can’t help how you stare. He's just so... beautiful. So incredibly irresistible. The warm press of his body, caging yours to the car. The intense look in his eyes. His height, and how he towers over you. It's too much.

"You know what I want,” your voice comes out smaller than you intended. There it is. The part where you give in. You always do. How could you not? You’re just a girl, caged between the hottest man you've ever seen and your car door.

Your eyes drop to his lips. "That's all you had to say," he murmurs.

He kisses you. Your first kiss. It's not gentle. It's hungry, desperate, his hand sliding into your hair, his body pressing against yours. Your brain shuts off entirely. Your hands come up to his chest, and instead of pushing him away like you should, you're gripping his jersey, pulling him closer. You have no idea what you're doing, but the feeling of his tongue in your mouth and his hands all over you has you whimpering under his touch, melting into his arms.

"You're with me." He says against your lips, rough and unrelenting. "Stay here with me."

His hand slides from your hip to the car door behind you.

"Let me make it up to you. I'll treat you so well. I promise."

Your whole body is trembling. He's so close and so warm, and you've wanted this for weeks and—fuck, who are you kidding?

The back seat of your car is cramped, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's above you, his body a warm weight, kissing you, worshipping you with his tongue and his mouth, kissing along your neck. He takes his time, letting you get familiar with the shape of him atop you, his hard cock pressed against your thigh through his pants. You're embarrassed with the amount of slick between your legs and how your skirt has ridden up all the way at your hips to reveal it all. If you thought you could ever try to hide what he does to you before, you certainly can’t do it now.

"Look at you," he murmurs against your mouth. His fingers find the hem of the jersey—his jersey. "You look so good in this. So fucking good."

You can't speak. Your voice is gone. His hand slides up your thigh, pushing the jersey higher. Then he pauses. Looks down. A slow grin spreads across his face. His hand traces over your underwear, smooth skin separated by thin fabric.

"You prepped for this?" Your face burns. "All this?" His fingers thumb the lace edge of your panties, "For me?"

"I didn't—I wasn't—"

"You were expecting something." His voice is teasing. "Weren't you? All dressed up. All smooth." He kisses your throat. "Fuck, that's so cute."

A sound escapes you—a whimper you didn't mean to make—and he chuckles, the vibration of it travelling down your neck. His hand is still on your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles against bare skin just above the hem of your skirt. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers splay wide like he's claiming territory. Your hips shift without permission, angling toward him, chasing the pressure he isn't giving you.

Then his hand retreats. Slides back to your waist. His lips capture yours in another open-mouthed kiss, and you make a frustrated little sound against his mouth—half protest, half plea. Your fingers wrap around his wrist and guide it back down, pressing his palm right where you need it, your thighs parting in invitation.

“Hm?”  He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyebrows raised, lips still slick. There's genuine surprise underneath his evident amusement. "You want—?"

“More.”

The word comes out sounding more certain than you expected. His expression flickers, both taken aback and deeply, thoroughly pleased, then his hand resumes its position, palm pressing flat against the lace of your underwear. He doesn't slip beneath the fabric, rubbing only slow, deliberate circles over it, letting the friction build until your hips are rolling into his touch.

It's a lot. The pressure, the heat, the way he watches your face the whole time like he's studying you. You're so sensitive that even just his hand over fabric has your breath catching in your throat.

"Like that?" he murmurs.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve, holding on.

"I've never—"

"I know." There's a teasing lilt to his voice, his lips curving against your throat. He likes this. Likes the way you're coming apart beneath him, all trembling and flushed and brand-new. His fingers don't slow. "You want to stop?" It's a dare. He already knows the answer. His thumb presses down just a little harder, drawing another broken sound from your lips.

"No." The word is torn from your throat too fast. Stopping is actually the opposite of what you want. You've been dreaming of his touch all summer. Even if he's a complete asshole, he's a beautiful asshole, and the ache between your thighs knows where its priorities lie.

"Yeah?" His voice drops, words brushing against your ear, "Then tell me what you want."

"Sunghoon..." you trail off, his thumb still circling your clit over your underwear, "I don't know. Just touch me more, please."

“Begging already?” He smiles against your mouth, and then his hand slides back down, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. His fingers are warm as they brush through your slick folds, gathering the wetness that's been building since he first kissed you. He doesn't push in yet—he circles your entrance lazily, teasing, letting you feel the pressure without the invasion. "You're too good to me."

It's been a while since he's done any of this, but he's always been good with his hands. It’s like facing an opponent: The technique is muscle memory, and the strategy is played by ear. He just has to watch you, learn your weaknesses, and exploit them until he wins. Though when it comes to you, he's learning that you're weak to pretty much everything he does, watching your lips part and your brows scrunch together without his fingers even inside you yet.

“So wet. So worked up. You really wanted this, didn't you?" he whispers, "Don't worry. I've got you."

He pushes one finger inside you—slow, deliberate, sinking deep until his knuckle presses against your entrance. Your back arches, a sharp gasp escaping your throat, and he watches your face as he curls that finger, searching, finding the spot that makes your eyes flutter shut.

"That's it," he breathes. "That's my girl."

He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the wet, slick sound of your body accepting him fills the foggy car. He pumps them in and out, his thumb pressing circles against your clit, and you feel yourself clenching around him, your hips rolling to meet his rhythm. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Feels good?" His voice is in your ear, low and rough. You nod, unable to respond. Breath catching in your throat because you can barely breathe, think or do anything coherent. "Is this all you wanted? Needy girl just wanted my attention?"

In the midst of the fog, it catches your eye again. His cock, hard and untouched in his pants. You want to see him. All of him. And you reach out for the waistband, desperate to feel the weight of him in your hands.

"Wanna touch you, too," you manage, and his fingers slow inside you for a moment.

"Yeah?" He grins, watching you pull the waistband down and palm him through his boxers. He just watches you fumble around, looking up with that awestruck, wide-eyed gaze. "You sure?"

You pull him free anyway. And then you stop, staring for what you're sure is way too long. Because he's—well. He's big. Not that you have any real-life experience to compare him to, but still. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he's impossibly, unfairly big. So much that it makes you wonder if the universe just decided to give him everything: the face, the hands, the voice, and now this. Maybe you should've expected that the literal embodiment of the genetic lottery would have a pornstar cock.

"What's the matter?" He laughs, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better view of your face. "Nervous?"

“No.” You swallow, still staring. "You're just really—"

"Big?" He says it for you, clearly enjoying himself. "Yeah. I know."

The bigger the dick, the bigger the ego, huh?

You watch him grin down at you, and you really do want to pretend like you're not affected by it, but it's actually kind of terrifying and a lot more than you bargained for.

“Don’t think about that right now,” He takes his free hand and encloses it around yours, around him, not showing you how to do it. Just guiding you. “I’m enjoying this.”

Your fingers are gentle and trembling and completely unsure, but he doesn't mind. He takes in the sight, watching you try to please him with your hand while you fall apart on his fingers. You clench around him as he presses inside, finding the right spot that makes your eyes roll back, and you can't help the cry that leaves your parted lips.

"That’s it," he murmurs. "Good girl. Just let go."

You unravel around his fingers, back arching off the leather seat, and he has to press his free hand flat across your hipbones to keep you from bucking against his palm. Your thighs clamp around his wrist, trembling, and his name, broken and breathless, catches in your throat. It’s the most beautiful sound he's ever heard you make. He watches it happen, watches your mouth fall open, and your lashes flutter, watches the tension seize through your body and then release, all at once, around his fingers.

When you come back to yourself, you're still gripping him. Your fingers are wrapped around his cock, loose now, your palm slick with the precome that's gathered at the tip. He's still hard and aching. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving, and for a long moment, he doesn't move—just stares down at the way your hand looks wrapped around him, your delicate fingers against the flushed, heavy weight of his length. Then his jaw tightens, and his hand closes over yours, repositioning your grip.

"Like this," he guides you, pumping your hand up and down his shaft. He tries to show you the rhythm, the pressure, the speed. And to your credit, you're trying. You are. And if he were in the mood to be a little more patient, he'd let you play with him. But currently, he doesn't have it in himself to torture himself any longer.

He closes his fist around yours, harder. Then he's moving, fucking into your hand with short, desperate thrusts. The sound of it fills the cramped car, skin on skin, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's too fast, too ragged to be anything but pure need. You watch him, still dazed from your own release, still sprawled across the back seat with your skirt bunched at your waist and his jersey twisted around your torso. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, and your eyes—wide, glassy, utterly fixed on where his cock slides through your palm—are the only thing he can look at.

"Fuck, look at you," he groans. His head drops forward, hair falling into his eyes, but he forces himself to keep watching his length disappear and reappear through your grip. "All spread out for me. My cute little reward. My prize. All mine."

His rhythm breaks. His hips stutter, and then he's spilling across the jersey with a low, broken groan, something primal and possessive curling in his gut at the sight. You lie there, still catching your breath, wearing his name and his release.

He braces himself above you, breathing hard. His forehead nearly touches yours. The windows are fogged opaque, sealing you both inside this cramped, humid quiet.

Your skirt is bunched at your hips. The jersey is twisted around your torso, damp and clinging to your sweat. You don't move. Don't speak. Just lie there beneath him, wearing the evidence of what just happened, still recovering.

He exhales, long and slow, and his eyes trace over you.

"Shit," he breathes, sounding almost in awe. "You're really something, you know that?"

You don't answer. You're still catching your breath, floating somewhere between the high and the slow, creeping return of reality.

He doesn't notice. He's too busy looking at you and the jersey he's made a mess of—at the way you're sprawled beneath him with something between satisfaction and wonder. All of his doing.

"So," he murmurs, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand traces a lazy line down your arm. "You forgive me?"

"Hm?" Your eyes finally meet his, blinking up.

"The tournament. The project. The stuff I said. Or did." He presses his lips to your jaw, peppering kisses until he meets the shell of your ear. His thumb draws a slow circle on your hip. "You're not still mad, right?"

Your chest rises and falls, not quite finding the words just yet.

"Because I meant what I said. You're with me. This—" he gestures between you, "—this thing we have. I like this."

His eyes are on you—his unfairly beautiful eyes.

It would be so easy to forget the whole night ever happened. Your hands twitch where you hold onto him, warm and solid, and the part of you that's still deeply infatuated with the sight of him like this wants so badly to pull him back down and discover all the other ways he could take you to heaven and back.

But then you look down at the jersey. His jersey. At the stain already drying on the fabric. He'd marked his territory and tried to present it to you as a gift, and you think the worst part of it all is that he really, truly does believe it's something to be grateful for.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes. Your throat tightens. For a moment, you almost let it go. You almost fall back in.

"Also, like... you’ll still drive me back, right?"

Your eyes snap open.

You glare up at him. At his perfect, oblivious face. At the faint smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. He's still braced above you, still warm, still inside the afterglow you were both supposed to be sharing. And for a moment, you wonder who’s more stupid: him or you.

"Get out."

He lifts his head, "Huh?"

"Get out of my car."

"We just—hold on," He pushes himself up, still dazed. "I made you—you literally just—"

"You made me cum. Great job." You shove at his chest until his back hits the door, and he fumbles with his pants. "You’re still an asshole. Now get out of my face."

"You're kicking me out?" He gapes, "You can’t do that to me.”

"There's a bus stop nearby."

Your hand reaches for the door behind him, shoving him out, and he stumbles onto the asphalt. His brows furrow.

"I'm not taking the fucking bus."

"Not my problem." You yank the jersey over your head. Ball it up. Throw it at his chest, and he catches it on reflex—his own name, crumpled, damp, ruined. "Find your own way home."

You slam the door and climb into the driver's seat, ignoring the way he pleads outside the window, knocking on the glass. He's frantic, still recovering from the whiplash, but you don't stop.

You start the engine and back out of the parking spot, speeding away and in the rearview mirror, he's still standing there. Jersey in one hand, watching you disappear.

The ride back to your dorm is quiet. Radio off. Just you and your thoughts, the sun bleeding orange across the horizon.

People always say your first kiss is supposed to be special or that your first time is supposed to mean something. Meanwhile, your first kiss was followed by getting fingered in the backseat of your car in a strip mall parking lot with a boy who treats you like trash, wearing his cum-stained E-sports jersey.

It's a tale as old as time: a girl who doesn't know any better gives everything to a boy who couldn't care less. Maybe you should feel used or ashamed. Maybe it should feel wrong, or cheap, or degrading. Yet, it doesn't really. Because honestly? You'd wanted it all summer. His hands on you, his voice in your ear, touching you in places you've never been touched before. It wasn't special. It wasn't romantic. But it was yours, and you took it.

There is a heaviness in your chest. You can't deny that. But there is something else that shines brighter, that courses through your veins, head to toe. Satisfied. You feel satisfied. A little giddy, even.

Park Sunghoon. Brilliant esports player. Terrible project partner—and terrible person, really. But fuck, if he wasn't good with his hands. And body. And words. And face.

You grin to yourself at the memory of it all, free of the anxiety that used to cripple you every time you thought of him. All those hours you'd spent wondering what he thought of you, if he liked you back. You don't give a shit what he thinks anymore.

He debated for a while who to call. Not Jay, obviously. Jay would take one look at the crumpled fabric in his hand and drive in the opposite direction. He could've called Jake—Jake wouldn't judge him for his sexual failures, given his pathetic history with women, but Jake would certainly judge everything else about the situation. Also, there’s no way he would drive an hour out on a whim just to pick him up. That left Heeseung. The one most likely to actually pick up, only because he’s a nosy little shit and he'll absolutely never let Sunghoon live it down.

Sunghoon finds himself sitting in the passenger seat, jersey crumpled in his lap, staring out the window, and Heeseung takes a loud, dramatic sniff.

"You smell like jizz." He glances at the jersey. "The fuck did you do with that?"

"None of your business."

"None of my business, my ass." Heeseung pulls out of the lot. "I'm doing you a big favour. Think I deserve to know."

Silence.

"Sunghoon. Spill."

Sunghoon exhales. Long. Slow. Staring straight ahead.

"I don't get it. I mean, I don't get her. I was doing everything right. I gave her the jersey. I told the team I couldn't have won without her. I made her feel good. Really good. Like, screaming-my-name kind of good." He pauses. "Not to brag. But I blew her fucking mind. And then suddenly it's 'get out of my car,' and she throws the jersey at my chest and drives off." He turns to Heeseung, genuinely bewildered. "What am I missing?"

"Let me get this straight," Heeseung changes lanes. Checks his blind spot. "She drove you to your game? On top of all the project shit she did for you?"

"She wanted to."

"Did she?"

"...Well, she wanted to see me." He folds his arms, "She had a good time. So I don't get the problem—"

"Sunghoon. Dude." Heeseung sighs, "The whole seduction manipulation thing you're trying to do? It only works if you're hot and smart enough to pull it off. You're just hot."

"I'm not manipulating her."

"Sure you're not."

"I'm not. I'm just trying to keep her happy. Which, judging by how hard she came, I thought I was doing my job right."

Heeseung snorts. "Your job?"

"What?"

"You're treating her like a resource. Like a side quest. Keep her happy, get the rewards. She's a human being, not an NPC, dumbass." "That's not—" The denial dies halfway out of his mouth. Sunghoon stops, brows furrowing at his roommate's words. "That's not what she is. No, she's nice to me. Like, genuinely nice." The corner of his lip tugs, almost involuntary. "She's fun to be around. Laughs at my jokes. She listens when I talk about Valorant. She has this look, like she's all impressed, even though she probably doesn't understand any of it. And man, you should've seen the way she cheered for me. It was like... the best feeling in the world."

He stops a moment, sighing, the memory of you beneath him in the car resurfacing itself. You, falling apart for him. "She's cute," he says, and the words feels a little too innocent for what he actually means, but he probably shouldn't say anything more in front of Heeseung anyways. "She's really cute." He stops. Blinks. His own words catch up to him, and suddenly the inside of the car feels very small.

Suddenly, he feels warm. These days, he always seems to feel that way when he thinks about you. It's annoying. It's distracting. It's—

"Hold the fuck on." The car comes to a screeching halt at a red light, and Heeseung turns. "You like her."

"What?" It comes out too fast. "Yeah, right. You know I don't do dating. Or any of that bullshit. It's a waste of—"

"I didn't ask if you wanted to marry her. I asked if you liked her."

Sunghoon looks out the window, streetlights passing.

He thinks about you. Your laugh, your smile, the voice notes you always leave and how he sometimes finds himself listening to them late at night when he has nothing better to do. He thinks about the way you looked in the crowd, sitting there for him. The way you always show up when he needs you and let him treat you like trash.

For a while, he told himself he was only getting close to you for convenience. Though there’s nothing convenient about the jittery feeling in his stomach right now, is there? He shoves it back down.

"No," he folds his arms. "Obviously no."

Heeseung gives him a long look. A very long look. Then he turns back to the road.

"Then stop bothering the poor girl and do your damn project."

Heeseung turns up the radio. The highway hums beneath them.

Sunghoon stays silent. The jitteriness in his stomach fades into something new. Something that aches. A terrible feeling—an awful one. He wonders how you might feel right now. Worse than him, he's sure.

"I will," he suddenly says. "I'll stop."

He'll do his work. He'll make things right. And next time, when you inevitably come back around, he'll apologize properly.

Sunghoon opens the project folder. Stares at the empty files, the frontend he never built. The CSS that's still mostly placeholder comments.

This should be easy. He'd always told himself I could pass this class in my sleep if I actually tried. But now he's trying, and his brain is a blank wall.

He types a line, deletes it, types again. Wrong syntax. The error at the bottom of the screen glares red and refuses to explain itself. He opens google, checks Stack Overflow, which presents and answer he doesn't understand. He copies the code anyway, slots it in, and five more errors bloom where one used to be.

This is bad. Severely bad. If he fails this course again, his GPA risks dropping below the minimum threshold for athletic eligibility. No GPA, no team. No team, no playing next season. And if Sunghoon can’t play next season, the team loses the tournament, and they lose funding. No funding means the program folds, which means he can kiss his E-sports career goodbye.

His hand twitches toward his phone. It's become a reflex now—reach for you the moment something goes wrong, except now you won’t help him. Because he fucked that up and asked for too much too quickly and made you feel used. And now he’s stuck, watching the errors keep piling up, knowing the deadline is three days away.

Leave the poor girl alone. He grabs his phone anyway.

He can't do it without you. He doesn't know the syntax, doesn't know the structure. You were always there, filling the gaps, smoothing the edges, making it look easy. And he let you. He counted on it. He counted on you, and he didn't even realize it until you were gone.

He needs you. He opens your chat and looks at his messages. Still unanswered. Still unread.

Sunghoon: hey. i'm sorry. Sunghoon: i know you're mad but Sunghoon: idk how to do this without you sent three days ago Sunghoon: hey Sunghoon: i don’t wanna bother you again Sunghoon: but i really am trying Sunghoon: and im stuck Sunghoon: please sent two days ago

"Hey. It's me. I don't know if you're listening to these anymore." He clears his throat, eyes on the timer of the voice recording. He’s sent a lot of these over the past few days, and he’s long since stopped hoping you’ll respond. He treats it almost like a confessional instead. "I'm sorry. For everything. I really am. I tried to do the project. Like, actually tried. And I can't. I don't know how. I never went to class, and I never—I know it's all my fault. And that I've dug my own grave. Just... I hope you know I'm trying. And..." A long silence. The recording meter ticks. "...I miss you—fuck. Sorry. Just. Yeah. Sorry"

He hits send, immediately shoving the device aside and burying his face in his hands. He keeps telling himself he doesn't want to bother you. That he can figure this out on his own. That he should leave you alone. But the cursor's still blinking on an empty file, and his phone's still dark, and the lie is getting harder to hold onto every time he reaches for it. He needs you.

Sunghoon waits outside the lecture hall.

He's never even been to this building before, even had to look up the room number, the time, and the building itself. But now he’s there, leaning against the wall, hood pulled over his head, arms crossed, watching the doors like he's holding an angle. Students trickle out in pairs and clusters. He scans every face.

Then he sees you.

You're near the back of the crowd, and you're not alone. Some guy is walking beside you—boring and forgettable. He's leaning in as you talk, nodding at whatever you're saying, and smiling at you, and Sunghoon wants to call him pathetic, but you're smiling back at the guy. His jaw tightens.

You haven't noticed him yet. You're still talking, gesturing with one hand, your bag slung over your shoulder, looking strangely relaxed. You never looked like that with him. He only knows you as the flustered girl who froze in the library when he knee touched yours. You, who melted into his touch in the backseat of his car. Not... this.

The guy says something, and you laugh, making Sunghoon's fingers dig into his own arm.

Then your eyes sweep the hall, landing on him. You hold for half a second before immediately looking away, starting to walk faster. You brush past him like he doesn’t exist, but Sunghoon’s already pushing himself off the wall, falling into step beside you.

"Hey." His hood falls back over his shoulders. "Can we talk?"

"I have somewhere to be."

"Five minutes. Please."

"Pretty sure she said no," The other guy frowns, then looks at you. "Everything okay? You know him?"

"She's my project partner," Sunghoon practically seethes, not looking at him. His eyes are on you. "Now leave us alone."

"Think that's up to her to decide—"

"She's with me." Sunghoon's voice is flat and final. "Right?"

You stop walking. Your shoulders square and you turn to face him, chin lifting, and for a split second, there's something almost amused flickering at the corner of your mouth. Like you'd been expecting this. Still, your eyes are cold, your jaw set. You’re pissed. He’s never seen you truly, completely pissed. You always hid it beneath a smile.

"It's fine," you say to the guy, your voice calm. "I'll catch up with you later."

The guy hesitates. Looks at Sunghoon, then back at you. He's probably weighing his options, and Sunghoon watches him do the math in real time.

"Yeah. Okay." He scoffs, walking off, "Later."

Sunghoon turns back to you immediately, his jaw still tight from watching that guy disappear around the corner.

"Who was that?"

"Classmate." You say it flat. You’re already walking again, your pace hurried.

"Yeah, right." He scoffs, falling into step beside you. "Does he know that? That he's just a classmate?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"You're ignoring my messages." He avoids the question.

"Okay." You don't slow down. Don't even glance at him. "And?"

"And I'm kind of desperate here," His voice is rising now, frustration bleeding through the cracks. "I've been trying to reach you for days. I need your help."

You stop at the stairwell door, hand on the push bar, and finally, you look at him. Your expression is unreadable, but there's something almost pitying in the tilt of your head.

"You always need things, don't you?"

He blinks, and you're already pushing through the door, your footsteps echoing up the concrete stairwell. He hesitates for half a second, one hand braced against the doorframe, watching you climb, and then he's following, the door slamming shut behind him.

"You're greedy, Sunghoon. I've already given you so much."

"I know." His own footsteps fall heavy behind yours. "I know I don't deserve anything."

"Then stop wasting my time." You snap back.

You shove through the fire door at the top of the stairs, and suddenly you're both outside—the heat hitting him like a wall after the stale cool of the lecture hall, sunlight glaring off the sidewalk. You cut across the quad, weaving between clusters of students without slowing, and he stays on your heels like a shadow. You know he’s there, but you keep walking. Past the fountain. Past the library.

By the time you reach your dorm building, you're both breathing harder from the pace, and when you push through the glass doors into the air-conditioned lobby, he slips through behind you. Slowly, you turn.

"Why are you still following me?" Your frown cuts deep, brows furrowed. "Seriously, this is stalker behaviour."

Sunghoon doesn't flinch. Doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed.

"I won't leave until you help me."

"I dare you to tell that to campus security." You retort, chin tilted up, eyes locked on his.

Then you exhale through your nose, sharp and dismissive, and turn on your heel toward the elevator. You jab the call button with your thumb, harder than necessary.

"I dare you to call campus security." Suddenly, he stands beside you, hands in his pockets, shoulder nearly brushing yours, a ghost of that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You won't."

The elevator dings, soft and cheerful, utterly indifferent to the tension coiled in the tiny space between your bodies. He steps in and stands close enough that you catch the familiar scent of him, and the doors slide shut, sealing you both inside.

"Because you don't scare me," you say, prodding a finger at his chest. He glances down at it, then back up at you, eyebrow raised. "You're like a whiny little toddler. Throwing a tantrum just because I won't give you what you want this time."

He doesn't step back. If anything, he leans into the prod, just slightly, letting your finger press into the fabric of his hoodie.

"Please," he says, and his voice has shifted—lower, stripped of the smirk. "The project is due in three days. None of my code works. I tried. I actually tried. I wanted to do better. But I don't know how to do this. I never learned, because you were always—"

"Always doing it for you." You stare at the elevator doors. "Yeah. I know."

"I'm sorry, okay? I know I fucked up. The tournament. The jersey. The lucky charm thing. All of it." He huffs, a short, humourless laugh at his own expense. "It wasn't very feminist of me. I shouldn't have treated you like an object, or something."

"No." Your voice is flat. "You shouldn't have."

The elevator dings, and you step out fast, keys already in your hand. Still, he's right behind you. His footsteps fall heavy on the carpet, matching your pace, refusing to give you even a stride of distance.

"Stop following me." You say again, firmer this time.

"I told you I won't."

"Well, you can cry in the hallway, then. I'm not dealing with this." You reach your door, and the keys jingle sharply as you slot them into the lock, missing the first time because your hands are not quite steady. You twist the knob and slip inside, already rolling your eyes, already swinging the door shut. "Bye—"

His hand catches it. Palm flat against the wood, fingers curling around the edge, arm braced. The door stops dead, half-open, and you're left gripping the handle on your side.

You stare at his hand. Then at him.

He pushes, though not very hard, and he steps through the gap, his body filling the frame and then clearing it. The door clicks shut behind him, and he leans back against it, his chest rising and falling with breaths that are just a little too fast to hide, like he’s equally as shocked as you are that he just forced himself inside your dorm room.

Your keys are still in your hand. Your knuckles are white around them, and you back up a few steps. Your chest is rising and falling to match his now, and the room feels suddenly very, very small.

“Listen, I just want to—”

"Get the fuck out of my room, or I swear to god I will actually call security."

"What do you want from me?" His voice comes out raw, louder than he meant. He pushes off the door, one step forward, then stops himself. "I apologized. I've tried to do my work. I'm trying to make things right. You want me to get on my knees and beg? 'Cause I will. I'll fucking do it."

"Sunghoon—"

He drops.

The movement is sudden and unceremonious. His knees hit the carpet with a dull thud, and for a second, he just stays there, head bowed, hair falling forward into his eyes, probably in need of a haircut. Then he looks up at you from the floor, hands clasped together.

"Please." His voice cracks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

You stare down at him, distraught. A little horrified. Kind of cringing to yourself, honestly. And for a moment, you just watch him apologize over and over again. He mutters the same things he texted you about already. Missing you. Wanting to be better. Wanting to fix things. Needing to pass the class.

You drop your keys on your bedside table. The clatter breaks the rhythm of his apologies, and he goes silent. His head lifts, tracking the sound, tracking you as you take a step toward him. Then another. He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe, it seems like.

Stopping just in front of him, his clasped hands loosen, fingers uncurling, and then he's reaching for yours instead—slow, uncertain, like he's not sure he's allowed. His palms are warm, a little clammy. His fingers wrap around your knuckles and squeeze, and you can feel the tremor in his grasp. You think this is the first time you've ever seen this man experience any sort of real fear.

You lift his chin with your free hand, fingers pressing into his jaw, tilting his face up. The movement isn’t gentle or kind, as if the frown on your lips wasn't indicative enough of your displeasure with whatever this display is.

"You're pathetic."

"I know."

"You're an entitled, egotistical, manipulative loser."

"I know."

"Get up."

He does, and now you're the one craning your neck to look at him.

"For the last time." You say it slowly, "Leave me alone."

He doesn't move. His eyes trace your face. Your throat. The line of your collarbone. Your lips, still pulled into a tight frown.

"I can't do that." A silence follows. "You don't want me to do that either."

"I do."

"Maybe you do," he clarifies, hand finally reaching out until his fingers meet your throat, grazing your skin until they meet your chin. You lean into the touch. It’s your weakness. Your fatal flaw. You can say whatever you want, but when he has his hands on you, you crumble in his grasp. "But your body wants something else."

His thumb brushes your lower lip. Your mouth parts without permission.

You hold his gaze. Your breathing is shallow, your pulse hammering at the base of your throat where his fingers just were. You hate the way you can't pull yourself away. “Tell me what you want,” He rests leans in closer, his voice rough. "I can make it up to you. I'll make you forget what you were even upset about. You just have to—" You kiss him. Hard enough to shut him up. Hard enough that he makes a small, surprised sound against your mouth before his hand tightens in your hair and he kisses you back. It's different from the parking lot. Slower, a little hesitant because you're still learning how this all works. Desperate still, but less immediately urgent. His hand cradles the back of your head, and his lips work yours like they have something to prove. Your hands come up to his chest, and this time you don't push him away. When you break apart, you're both breathing hard. His forehead presses to yours, his eyes dark and a little dazed. The look of someone who knows they're about to get exactly what they wanted. You despise it.

"Are you really whoring yourself out for grades?" Your voice comes out breathless, undermining the bite you'd intended.

He laughs, low and warm against your mouth.

"If I'm whoring myself out for anything, it's forgiveness." His hand drops to your waist, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip. "I meant it when I said I missed you."

"Oh, I'm sure you do." You laugh bitterly, but his lips are already trailing down your jaw. "I'm sure you miss the way I did all your work and drove you around and—"

"I miss when you were mine." He says it against your throat, the words vibrating against your skin. His hand tightens on your hip. "And not laughing at some other asshole's jokes."

You can feel the shift in him, his possessiveness bleeding through the charm.

"Seriously, who was that guy?"

"Told you. Nobody." Your head tips back as his mouth finds the hollow beneath your ear. "Just a classmate."

"Did you do anything with—?"

"No. Obviously, no." The sigh that escapes you is half-frustration, half-surrender. "Just you. You know it's just you."

"That's right." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and there's satisfaction in his eyes—warm and smug and entirely undeserved. "Just me."

His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

"What we did in the parking lot was just the start." His lips brush your ear, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. "I can do so much more for you. You know I can."

Your back suddenly hits the mattress. You didn't feel him walking you there—didn't register the steps, the turn, the careful way he lowered you down. But now he's above you, braced on his forearms, looking at you with a kind of hunger and hope.

"Let me apologize properly." He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles. "Will you?"

You look up at him. At his jaw. His mouth. His dark, beautiful eyes. You nod without questioning it.

His lips find your throat first. Soft. Slow. He traces the line of your pulse with his mouth, feeling it flutter beneath his attention. Then lower—your collarbone, the hollow at the base of your throat, the warm skin just above the neckline of your shirt. He pushes the fabric aside, just enough, and presses a kiss there. Then another. Then lower.

His hands move with the same precision he brings to his game, but slower. Like he's memorizing the landscape of you as he strips you of your clothes. His mouth traces a slow path down your stomach. You’re near-bare when his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, and he pauses, looking up at you through his lashes.

"Just lay back."

You nod again, not trusting your voice.

He pulls the fabric down. His breath is warm against the inside of your thigh. Then his mouth is there—gentle at first, testing, learning what makes you gasp and what makes you go still. His hands hold your hips, thumbs tracing circles into your skin, steadying you.

"Too much?" He murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver up your spine.

"No," You swallow. "Don't stop."

With that, he's grinning, lowering himself between your thighs.

He takes you apart slowly. Thoroughly. His tongue works in patterns you can't track, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, his voice a low murmur of praise against your skin. So good for me. So pretty. Just like that.

When he feels you getting close, he doesn't speed up. He holds the rhythm steady, deliberate, drawing it out until your hands are fisted in his hair and your back is arching off the mattress and his name is the only word left in your vocabulary.

"Who's making you feel this good?" His voice is rough, muffled against your skin. "Tell me."

"Sunghoon."

"Say it again."

"Sunghoon—please—!"

You shatter. The wave crashes through you, and he works you through every second of it—his mouth never stopping, his hands grounding you, holding you together even as you fall apart. When the last tremor leaves your body, you're gasping, your fingers still twisted in his hair.

He kisses his way back up. Your hip. Your ribs. The curve of your shoulder.

"All mine," he murmurs against your skin, pressing the words into you like a claim.

Finally, his lips find yours. Still slow, none of that frantic hunger that had him pressed against you before you could think in the back of your car. His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and his mouth moves against yours like an apology he doesn't know how to put into words.

But you're not done with him yet. Not even close.

Your hands drop from his chest to his waistband, fingers finding the drawstring and tugging. You fumble—too eager, too impatient—and the knot catches, your knuckles pressing into the hard plane of his stomach as you work at it. His abs tense under your touch. He pulls back, eyes wide, lips still swollen.

"What are you doing?" His voice is rough, caught between surprise and something else. His hand hovers over yours, but doesn't stop you.

"Want you." You meet his eyes and hold them, your chin tilting up. "Inside me."

He nearly groans at the sound of that, dick twitching in his pants. But, for the first time, he hesitates. Even now—even with you laid out beneath him, even with the taste of you still on his lips—there's a flicker of concern in his expression. "You sure?"

"You want forgiveness." Your voice is steadier than you feel. "Show me how sorry you are."

He stares at you for a beat. Something in his expression shifts—surprise giving way to something darker, more amused, thoroughly impressed. A low chuckle escapes him, warm and rough, and he shakes his head like he can't quite believe you.

"You want it that bad, huh?"

You push his hoodie up over his shoulders, suddenly self-conscious of how much skin you’re showing compared to him. He finishes the job for you, peeling off the hoodie and shirt beneath it in one motion, and then he’s reaching for the waistband.

You barely notice how his sweatpants are gone in a single impatient shove, too focused on him; the broad sweep of his chest, the tight lines of his stomach, the way his arms flex as he braces himself above you. Your hands flatten against his chest without second thought.

"How the hell are you so..." You trail off, too stunned to finish.

"Gym. Sometimes." He shrugs, "What? I'm not a complete loser."

"You're worse than a loser." You retort, but your words betray your actions as you find the waistband of his boxers.

"I am?" He's grinning now, watching your hands fumble, "You don't seem to mind."

He shifts his weight as you pull them down, and then you have him—hard, bare and intimidating, grinding against the inside of your thigh. Your breath catches.

"I'm serious, though." His voice drops. His forehead presses to yours, and his hips still. "You sure you want this? It feels sort of wrong. Like..."

"Like what?"

He doesn't answer right away. His thumb traces a slow line along your hip, grounding himself, grounding you. Like you should save it for someone else, he thinks. Someone more deserving. The thought makes him shudder. He can't stand it—the image of someone else's hands on you. Someone else seeing you like this, all flushed and open and unguarded. He's too obsessed with the way you react to his touch. Too greedy to give it up.

"Sunghoon," you sigh, "I literally don't care. Just put it in."

He sucks in a breath.

"Well, I care." He presses closer, and you feel him at your entrance. He doesn’t push in yet, just rests there, heavy and warm. His eyes find yours. "So tell me if it hurts. Tell me—" He pushes in just barely, just the head of him, and your mouth falls open. "—fuck, you're gorgeous."

He's not fully in yet—just working his way inside, pausing to let you adjust to each inch. His thumb strokes the back of your hand in slow, soothing circles. And yet still—

"So big," you whimper, glancing down between your bodies, almost disbelieving. You already feel so impossibly full of him. Your fingers squeeze around his, your other hand gripping the back of his neck. "So much..."

"I know." He whispers it, and you catch the corner of his mouth twitching—trying not to smile too smugly, trying not to let it get to his head. But he's still just a guy, and the way you're looking at him, all wide-eyed and overwhelmed, is doing things to his ego he can't quite suppress. "Too much for you?"

You shake your head in denial, your nails pressing little crescents into his shoulder blade as he sinks in deeper. The stretch is intense, almost too much, but the thought of him stopping is worse.

"I know it's a lot." There's a trace of that smugness in his voice now, but it's tempered by something softer. Something almost tender. "But it feels good when you get used to it, angel. I swear."

He's fully in now. You feel him everywhere—a deep, satisfying fullness that borders on overwhelming. His palm presses flat against your lower belly, and you watch his jaw go slack as he feels himself there, buried inside you, just beneath his hand.

"Fuck," he breathes, almost to himself. "Feel that? That's me. Right there."

You can't speak. You can only nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your body still adjusting to the size of him.

You feel him in your guts, an almost unbearable fullness that borders on pain before it tips into something else. When he starts moving, shallow and careful, it's like your whole body shakes with the sensation. Want. Need. Anticipation. You've wanted him so badly. All summer, every night, every time his knee brushed yours or his voice dropped low. And now here he is inside you, above you, finally, and you're barely able to handle it. The frustration prickles at the edges of your bliss.

A strained sound escapes you with each shallow thrust. Your face is still tight, your body still struggling to accommodate him, but you are so, so determined.

"More," you manage, the word half-demand, half-plea. "You can go harder. Faster. I won't break."

He just laughs, Low and warm.

"Not yet." He purrs. "Not this time. You'll take it like this."

He fucks you slow and deep. His thumb finds your clit and circles it in a lazy rhythm, matching the roll of his hips. The discomfort lingers at the edges from the stretch of him that still borders on too much, but then he shifts, angling your leg slightly higher, and something inside you ignites.

A raw, involuntary noise escapes you, and he catches it immediately.

"Right there, huh?" He does it again, same angle, same depth. You bite back a cry. "Feels good?"

"So good." Your nails rake down his back. "Fuck, it’s so—"

You don't finish the sentence. You cum around him, rather abruptly, a broken cry on your lips, your back arching. He groans, low and strained, and rocks you through every pulse of it, his hips rolling gently, letting you ride out your high.

When your eyes blink open, hazy and unfocused, you stare up at him. At the sharp cut of his jaw. His mouth, still slightly parted. The dark hair falling over his gorgeous eyes. He looks like a fucking pornstar—it's actually unbelievable. Every inch of him is perfect, and it just makes you even more pissed.

And he hasn't finished yet. Still hard. Still inside you. Still watching you with that smug, knowing look, like he's got all the time in the world.

That also makes you pissed.

With a single-minded focus, you’re pushing him to his back, mounting him, your legs still shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm.

“What are you—” His voice is genuinely startled. His hands come up to your hips on instinct, not guiding, just holding, like he's bracing for impact. His eyes are wide, fixed on your face.

You lower yourself onto him, slowly. Sinking down until you’re fully seated there. It’s a lot. A lot more than it was trying to take him from just lying down. You feel all of him, even deeper than before, filling you to the brim, and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to swallow the slight discomfort that still lingers.

“I don’t know if you should—” His voice is strained. He's trying to be decent. Trying to hold still. You can feel the tension in his thighs beneath you, the effort it's taking him not to thrust up into the heat of you.

You start to move. Mostly to shut him up. There’s no rhyme or rhythm. No technique. Only directionless desire. Your hips rock in a shallow, uneven pace because you can't really handle what you're trying to take—the angle is different, and every downward stroke punches a gasp from your lungs. Your thighs burn with the effort. Your balance wavers. But you don't stop.

"Fuck." The word tears out of him, strangled and reverent. He's leaning back against your pillows now, propped on his elbows, watching you with helpless awe. "Just take it. Take what you want. It's yours."

Your nails drag down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake. The sting makes him hiss, but he doesn't stop you—doesn't grab your wrists, doesn't flip you over. He just watches, enthralled, as you claw at him like you're trying to leave a mark he'll feel for days.

You're cursing at him under your breath. Asshole. Entitled. Selfish. Using me. Words he can't quite catch but definitely deserves. Your rhythm stutters and breaks, your hips faltering as the pleasure builds too fast, too intense, and you can't keep the pace steady when every nerve in your body is screaming.

Maybe he should feel terrified that you're clawing at him like an animal, cursing his name with the same breath you use to moan it. But he's captivated. He's never been more attracted to anyone in his life. Your lips are parted, your chest bare and heaving, and you're riding him with zero grace and a summer’s worth of pent-up fury and sexual frustration.

"Shit," he breathes, his hands sliding up from your hips to your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your hipbones. "Look at you. So fucking hot when you're mad. Maybe I should—"

You slap him across the face.

As hard as you can.

It shocks you, even.

It’s not very hard—he's basically a wall of muscle—but the sting is real, and the crack of it echoes in the room.

For one suspended second, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. His head is still turned from the impact, a faint pink bloom already rising on his cheek. Still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you—the girl who stutters over her words and whimpers from a single touch—just slapped him across the face while riding him.

His eyes find yours.

"Shut the fuck up." You hiss.

He should probably feel pissed, right? Offended, maybe? He's never been slapped in his life—not by a girlfriend, not even by his roommates, though he’s sure sometimes they want to. And yet the sting on his cheek is radiating down his neck, into his chest, settling low in his gut where it twists into something insatiable.

His dick twitches, and a sound he's never made escapes him—which he does not have the time to unpack currently. He'll think about it later, probably, when he's alone and confused and trying to figure out what the hell just happened to him.

A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Make me."

You slap him again, and his smile only widens.

His cheek is definitely pink now. He can feel the heat of it, the slight throb, and it's doing something to him. His hands tighten on your hips, not to restrain you, just to keep you there, like this. Steadying your hips.

You're breathing hard, staring down at him, the stretch of him wearing you thin. He splits you open in a way that borders on too much, your body still struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him even now, even after everything. Every inch is a presence you can't ignore, and for a dizzying second, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be completely consumed. Still, you take him. You take what you want.

You finish with a broken cry, your rhythm shattering completely. Your hips stutter, lose their pace, and then you're collapsing forward, forehead pressed to his chest, your whole body seizing and releasing around him in waves that don't seem to stop. His hands find your hips and hold you steady through it, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your hipbones, grounding you while you shudder apart on top of him.

For a moment, he lets you rest there. His hand cradles the back of your head. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek. He's still hard—achingly, painfully hard—and the feeling of you fluttering around him, spent and trembling, is almost enough to finish him right there.

But not quite.

He flips you onto your back.

It's fast. One arm wraps around your waist, and then the world tilts, and suddenly you're beneath him again, your back sinking into the mattress, your legs falling open around his hips. He doesn't give you time to adjust—doesn't give himself time to think. He just drives back into you, burying himself to the hilt in one desperate thrust.

"Hoon—!”

"Take it," he chokes out, hand reaching for your neck, "Don't tap out on me, now. Fucking take it like a good girl."

The pace is different now, a lot less considerate. He's been holding back all night—letting you adjust, letting you set the rhythm, letting you take what you wanted. But now he's wound too tight, every thrust driven by a pure, animalistic need.

His breath goes ragged. His jaw clenches so tight it aches. The hand around your neck tightens, not enough to choke you, but enough to keep you in place, and he fucks into you like he's trying to outrun something—the guilt, the fear, the dawning realization that this isn't just about getting off anymore and that it probably hasn't been for a while.

"I'm—" His rhythm breaks, stutters, and then he's pulling out at the last possible second. His hand wraps around himself. He finishes on your stomach with a low, broken groan that sounds like it's been dragged out of him against his will, and he stares at the image of it all: You, covered in his cum. Finally his again.

He stays there for a moment, braced above you, his arms trembling. His head hangs low, breath coming in ragged gasps. The mess between you is warm and slick, pooling on your skin, and neither of you moves to clean it up. Not yet, anyway.

The room goes quiet, the two of you only breathing.

He blinks down at you. At the mess. The way you're still catching your breath, still flushed, still looking up at him with those wide, unreadable eyes. Something flickers across his face—something almost tender, almost frightened—and then it's gone, replaced by the ghost of that infuriating grin.

"Shit," he breathes, and it comes out half-laugh, half-apology. "Come here."

He kisses you. Soft. Gentle. Nothing like the desperate, driving intensity of a few minutes ago. This kiss says something different—something he can't quite put into words and isn't sure he's ready to. His lips linger on yours for a beat longer than necessary before he pulls back. "You got anything to clean up with?"

You point him to the drawer at your bedside, and he reaches over. A pack of wet wipes. He cleans you up with careful, methodical hands, wiping the mess from your stomach, between your thighs, his touch efficient but gentle. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he's done it a hundred times.

He tosses the wipes toward the garbage bin in the corner. It lands short. He doesn't pick it up. Instead, he climbs back onto the bed and lies down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" He turns his head on the pillow to look at you. His hair is a disaster, still damp with sweat at the temples. "I was trying to be careful, but you were kind of intense. You were a virgin, like, two hours ago."

"A little sore." Your voice comes out hoarse. "I'll survive."

"You sure? I can get you Advil." He's already half-propped up on one elbow, ready to go searching through your bathroom cabinets. "I don't know where you keep your Advil."

"I'm sure."

He nods, settling back down. His arm finds its way around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rests against his shoulder. His hand traces idle patterns on your hip—slow, absent shapes, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"You're staying?"

He looks down at you. The question catches him off guard—not the words, but the way they sound to him. Soft and Uncertain, like you're bracing for him to leave. Clingy already, he thinks, but the thought makes him smile, rather than feel annoyed.

"Come on." He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm not a complete asshole."

"You're not?"

"I'm staying." Another kiss, softer this time. "I'm not going anywhere."

You hum, a sigh leaving your body, head settled against his chest. His heart does something inconvenient in his ribcage—a flutter, a stutter, something he refuses to name. He pulls you a little closer anyway.

"I mean it," he says, and the words start coming faster now, tumbling out in a ramble he hadn't planned. The afterglow loosened something in his chest. "I'm gonna make it up to you. For real this time. Not like the parking lot. I know I said that then, but I mean it now. I'm gonna take you out. An actual date. No tournaments. No sushi—unless you want sushi? But a nicer place than that one. Just you and me. A real restaurant. Not some strip mall junk."

You're quiet, your thumb drawing lazy circles against his chest. It's a soothing, steady rhythm that has his eyes growing heavy.

"And I'll stop calling you a lucky charm or prize or whatever. That was stupid. I shouldn't have said that. I don't even know why I said it. I was just—the reporter was there, and I was still hyped from the match, and my teammates were all listening." He presses another kiss to your hair. "You're not any of that. You're good to me. Really good to me."

Still no response. Your thumb keeps tracing those slow circles, but you haven't looked up at him. You must be tired. Poor thing.

"Oh, and I'll teach you," he adds, a chuckle escaping him. "How to ride me. Properly. Not that I'm complaining. It was cute watching you struggle up there."

A yawn cracks his jaw. He tries to smother it, but it's too late. His body reminds him that he got zero sleep trying to work on the project, and that he just made you finish three times. The adrenaline is gone. What's left is heavy, dragging exhaustion. Almost peaceful.

"Anyway," he mumbles, eyes closing. "I'll be better. I swear. Actual date. No name-calling. Riding lessons. Sunghoon 2.0. The redeem—" Another yawn. "The redemption arc."

You turn your head on his chest. Your voice cuts through the haze of his exhaustion.

"Sunghoon."

"Mm?"

"What did I say about shutting up?"

He blinks. The question catches him off guard, and then a laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest—genuine, surprised, a little bit giddy. A laugh only you seem to be able to pull out of him.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, grinning. "Shutting up now."

You settle back against his chest. Your hand resumes its position over his ribs, but the circles have stopped. He doesn't notice. He's already sinking, the warmth of you pulling him under.

He closes his eyes. The weight of you against his chest is warm and solid and real. His, some quiet, possessive part of him whispers. And the taste of you still lingers on his lips, tasting a lot like victory.

It's been two weeks. Sunghoon has learned a few things about you. He's learned that you're insatiable—and that Heeseung was right when he said something about the innocent ones being the freakiest in bed. He's learned that you like it when he pulls your hair—not hard, just enough. He's learned that you like to pull his hair and dig your nails into him and cuss him out, while begging him to go harder and faster. He's also learned that you still won't let him take you on an actual date. And trust him, he's tried.

"Let me take you out," he'll say, and you're cutting him off with your sweet, irresistible lips. "I'm serious," he'll insist, and your hand is down his pants, teasing him for being hard already. "I'll buy you dinner. Anything you want," he'll try, and you're sinking to your knees, taking his dick down your throat like it’s nothing. Then he forgets whatever he's arguing about.

It bothers him. Not the sex part, obviously—he enjoys that more than he's ever enjoyed anything—but he doesn't want you to think that's all he wants. He's been trying to prove otherwise. Trying to show you that he actually gives a shit. That he's not an asshole. That he's changed. You don't seem to believe him—that's the only reason he can think of why you keep avoiding his advances, anyway. Every time he brings up a real date, you dodge, distract and deflect with your hands and your mouth and the warm press of your body. He's determined to prove you wrong.

Today is no different. You're in his bed, head pressed into the pillows as he fucks you from behind, and he's covered in a layer of sweat. "Shit," he seethes, watching himself disappear inside you, your greedy cunt taking all of him. "So fucking gorgeous." "Faster," you whine, predictably. He almost laughs. "Let me take you out." He slows deliberately, his cock dragging along your walls at an agonizing pace—so slow you can feel every inch of him, the thick ridge of his head catching on just the right spot before he pulls back again. "Tomorrow. Dinner. Real restaurant." "Sunghoon." His name is muffled against the pillow, half-moan, half-protest. Your fingers twist in the sheets. "Somewhere nice." He rolls his hips, just barely, just enough to make you gasp. "No sex. Not before. Not after. Not even a little. Just talking." "You're already talking right now." You push back against him, trying to take him deeper, but his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still. "And it's very annoying." "I'm serious." "So am I. Now faster." "No."

A squeal escapes you as his palm connects with your ass—not hard, just a sharp little crack that makes you jolt forward. The sting blooms warm across your skin. He rubs the spot immediately, his palm soothing over the heat he left behind, and the contrast makes you shudder. "Just say yes." He leans over you, his chest brushing your spine, and you can feel the heat of him, the slick slide of his skin against yours. His lips find the shell of your ear. "Lemme hear it, and I'll fuck you right." His hips rock forward—barely an inch—and you moan at the shallow stretch. Then he pulls back again, leaving you empty and aching. "Fine," you huff, "Maybe." He stops moving entirely. You wait for the next thrust, the next tease, but nothing comes. Then he's pulling out completely, his hands leaving your hips, and the sudden absence of him is so jarring you actually whimper. "What are you—?" "No date, no dick." You crane your neck to glare at him over your shoulder. He's kneeling behind you, cock slick and ready, one hand wrapped lazily around himself. He strokes himself, just watching you squirm. "That's not fair." "It's completely fair." Trying not to grin, seeing the look of frustration on your face, "Seriously, what am I, a piece of meat to you?" "Yes," you don't even hesitate, "So put your dick back inside me and stop talking." "So demanding," he raises a brow, hands leaving his cock to return to your hips. You whine when you feel the tip of him tease along your slick heat, absolutely dripping for him. You huff, dropping your forehead to the pillow. Your body is aching. Empty. You can feel how wet you are, how ready, and he's just kneeling there, smug and gorgeous and utterly infuriating. "Please." Your voice drops, softening. "Please give it to me." He bites his lip, hands gripping your hips tighter as he grinds against you. The begging. You know he can't resist the begging. He sucks in a breath. Don’t give in, don’t give in, don’t— "Want it so bad." You push back onto your elbows, arching your back, presenting yourself to him. "Need you inside me. Need you to fill me up. Please, Sunghoon. Please." "Fuck." He stutters and lines himself up, the head of him pressing against your entrance—just barely, just enough to make you gasp and push back—and then he sheathes himself in one brutal, devastating thrust. "So fucking needy." You cry out, face buried in the pillow, your whole body jerking forward as he sheathes himself to the hilt. He doesn't give you time to adjust, nor does he give himself time to be careful. His hand presses flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the mattress, and his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise. The headboard slams against the wall in a frantic rhythm, his pace punishing. Your fingers curl into the sheets, twisting the fabric, trying to anchor yourself against the force of him. Every thrust punches a broken sound from your throat—half gasp, half moan, muffled by the pillow. He watches himself disappear into you, the slick glide of his length, the way your body stretches to accommodate him, the way you push back against him even now, even pinned, even helpless. "That's it," he grits out, his voice wrecked. "Take it. Take all of it." You're babbling something into the pillow—his name, maybe, or just incoherent pleading. He can feel you tightening around him, your walls fluttering, the telltale tremble in your thighs. He reaches around, finds your clit, and the sound you make when he touches you there is almost enough to finish him on the spot. "Come for me," he breathes, his rhythm stuttering as his own control starts to fray. "Let go. I've got you."

You shatter. He feels it—the clench, the pulse, the way your whole body seizes and releases. Your cry is muffled by the pillow, but he hears it anyway, feels it in the way you grip him, in the way you shudder beneath him. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release now, and when it hits him, a low, broken groan is torn from his chest as he spills inside you.

He collapses forward, bracing himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. His forehead presses to the space between your shoulder blades, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your damp skin. Beneath him, you're still trembling—small aftershocks rippling through you. The room is quiet now, just the sound of breathing and the distant hum of his PC.

He stays there for a long moment, letting his heart rate settle, letting the sweat cool on his back. Then he shifts, pressing a kiss to the center of your spine. Then another, higher. Then another, at the nape of your neck. He works his way up slowly, reverently, like he's memorizing the landscape of you.

"Come here." His voice is wrecked, barely more than a rasp. He eases out of you gently and tugs you down onto the pillows with him, pulling your back against his chest. His arm drapes across your waist, heavy and warm. His nose brushes the curve of your ear. But then he’s watching you slip from the bed, and he can’t help but frown. The sheets pool around his waist as he sits up, reaching for you. His fingers catch your arm before you can stand.

"Where are you going?" "Back to my place?” “Why?” “Because.” You break from his grasp, “I’m busy.” "With?"

"Studying. Work. Social life." You're pulling on your clothes with that efficient, no-nonsense energy he's come to recognize—underwear, shirt, the quick twist of your hair into something presentable. "Some of us care about our lives." He ignores the jab, tugging you back toward him. You stumble, one knee landing on the mattress, and he takes the opening—his mouth finding the curve of your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along your throat.

"Sunghoon..." Your voice wavers, a warning and a surrender all at once. "I want to take you out." He murmurs it against your skin, his hand sliding up your arm. "Wanna do more than just this. Wanna do this right." You pull back just enough to look at him. Your expression is hard to read—something between exasperation and something softer you won't name. "This is fine. I like this." "I know. I like it too." His thumb traces your jaw. "But—" "I have to go." You lean down and kiss him. Brief. Almost dismissive. Then you're pulling away, grabbing your bag, and he's left in the bed, still warm from your body, still tasting you on his lips.

He groans, dragging himself upright. Hastily, he’s tugging his sweatpants on, and throwing a hoodie over his head, and he follows you down the hallway, catching up just as you reach the living room.

The usual suspects are in position—Heeseung on the couch, Jake in the armchair, Jay sprawled on the floor doing something on his phone that's making him smirk. Three heads lift in unison as you pass.

"Leaving so soon?" Heeseung calls, not looking up from his phone. "Not even cuddling? Sunghoon, man, don't tell me you fumbled that bad?" "I have places I need to be," you reply simply, not breaking your stride, "Bye, guys—"

He catches you at the door. His hand finds your waist, spinning you back toward him, and then he's kissing you—not the brief, dismissive peck you tried to give him in the bedroom, but something a lot more intentional.

He ignores the wolf whistle from the couch and the “get a room!” comment, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt at the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, and when they part on a surprised breath, he deepens the kiss without hesitation. You make a sound against his mouth—half embarrassment, half something else—and he grins into the kiss, pleased with himself.

"Sunghoon—" You pull back, hand pressed to his chest. "Next time." His voice is low, meant only for you, his forehead nearly touching yours. "I'm taking you out. Even if I have to keep my hands to myself the whole night." "Sure," Your smile is unreadable, but you don't pull away. "Next time." Then you're gone. The door clicks shut, and Sunghoon turns to face the room. Three stares bore into him.

"Bro," Jake says, "That was disgusting." "Downright pornographic," Jay agrees from the floor. Heeseung just shakes his head slowly, "You're down bad. Like, down bad, down bad." "Catastrophically down bad." "You guys don't get it." Sunghoon flops onto the couch. "She's perfect. Like, actually perfect. She's smart, and she's funny, and she puts up with my shit. And..." he cracks a smile as he gestures to his bedroom, "You know." "We know," the three of them say in unison, flatly.

His head falls back, and he sighs, the scent of your perfume still lingering on him. The one trace of you that stays behind whenever you leave too soon. "But," He pauses, his brows scrunched, "I don't think she believes me when I say I want more. I think that she thinks that I'm just trying to get in her pants." "To be fair," Jake says, "you have been in her pants. Multiple times." "And you literally spent the first half of the summer ignoring her while she did your coursework," Jay adds. "And you made her take you to your E-sports tournament, then came on her—" Heeseung starts. "I know. I did a lot of shitty things I regret." He stares at the ceiling. "It’s different now. I want to show her I actually care. That I'm not using her for her body or something. But every time I try, she changes the subject. Or distracts me. Or—" "Distracts you with sex?" Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "That must be terrible for you. Imagine that? Trying to take a girl out for dinner, and she just wants one order of your load down her throat instead. How awful." "I’m serious." "Sunghoon." Heeseung puts a hand on his shoulder. "You're complaining that a girl who's hot and smart and good in bed won't let you take her to Olive Garden. Do you hear yourself right now?" "She's got you whipped," Jay says, not looking up from his phone. "Never thought I'd see the day. The guy who once said 'relationships are a debuff' is now begging for a dinner reservation." "I'm not whipped." He retorts. "I just want her to know that I care. That's all." "Simp," Jake coughs. Sunghoon's head snaps toward him. "Oh, you did not just say that—" "Right message, wrong messenger," Heeseung interrupts him, "You are objectively a simp now. You, the guy who famously chose video games over his last relationship, who once said 'dating is a distraction from the grind'—" "The grind is still important." "—is now begging a woman to let him buy her overpriced appetizers."

Sunghoon would normally fire back with some well-aimed jab about Heeseung and Jay's own nonexistent love life or Jake's shit show of a dating history. But he's distracted. Thinking about you. About next time. About how he's finally going to convince you that he means it. "I am," he says simply, a smile on his face, "I'd buy her everything on the menu if she asked me to." A beat of horrified silence passes, the three boys sharing glances with each other. "Seriously, what happened to him?" Jay whispers to Jake, who shrugs in response, matching his look, "This is terrifying." "I'd almost rather hear him screaming at his ranked teammates." "Or cry over a broken Nintendo Switch controller." "Or talking to himself in the mirror before games. 'You got this, Sunghoon. You're him. You're cracked.'" "It's hard to believe," Heeseung says, lowering his head between them and pulling them into an impromptu huddle, their voices dropping to stage whispers, "but maybe love really did change him." "He's not in love," Jake rolls his eyes. "He's in heat or something." "Yeah, well, it's the closest he's gotten to love in like, what, years?" Heeseung replies, "Look at what he's wearing. That's a brand new hoodie. Clean, pristine condition, not a single stain or wrinkle. When's the last time you saw him in something that didn't come out of the laundry pile?" "It’s like when male birds start doing those weird dances to impress the females," Jay shudders, "Puffing up their chests. Spinning in circles. Except it's Sunghoon doing it. Which just feels—" "Gross?" Jake offers. "Unnatural.” "Wrong.” "A crime against nature." "You know I can hear you guys, right?" Sunghoon deadpans. "Literally everything." "We know," Heeseung says without turning around. "We don’t care. Go back to daydreaming."

Sunghoon opens his mouth to fire back, but his phone buzzes on the cushion beside him. A notification. He glances down, expecting your name on the screen—a text, maybe, or one of those voice notes he's learned to listen to the moment they arrive. His lips quirk up. Then he reads it.

Transcript Updated: Summer Semester — Web Programming Final Grade: F

The smile freezes on his face like a video paused on a single frame. "What?" Heeseung leans over, trying to see the screen. "What's that face? You look like you just watched your favourite vandal skin get vaulted."

Sunghoon doesn't answer. He opens the grade portal. Opens the project submission page. There it is: The final project. Submitted. Your name, alone. His? Nowhere to be seen.

"I failed." His voice is small, hollow. "The class. She took my name off the project." Silence.

Then Jay starts laughing. A sharp, incredulous bark. Heeseung joins in, his shoulders shaking. Jake sets down his controller with the slow deliberation of a man who wants to fully savour what's about to happen.

"No way," Heeseung manages between breaths. "She didn't." "She did." "Oh, this is beautiful." Jay wipes his eyes. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed." “So dicking her down didn’t get you anywhere after all,” Heeseung is grinning widely, “Tried to use her for grades, then caught feelings.” "That's not—” "You thought you had it all, huh? The A, the tournament win, the girl—" He wheezes, "You thought you were out here playing her, and she played you." "I told you it wasn't like that—" "Bro." Jake sets down his controller. "It was exactly like that." Sunghoon stares at the screen. At the F. At your name, alone on the submission page. His chest feels strange. Hollow. Like someone reached in and scooped something out and left a Sunghoon-shaped shell on the couch. He doesn't even have the energy to fight his roommates anymore.

He stands up from the couch, words dying on his lips. One moment he’s there, staring at his phone, and the next he’s walking—feet carrying him down the hallway toward his room. The laughter of his roommates fades behind him, muffled by the closing door.

His room is dark except for the blue glow of his monitor. The Valorant home screen stares back at him, waiting for a queue that won’t come. He sits at the edge of his bed and stares at the transcript notification again, as if looking at it long enough might change the grade.

His thumb hovers over your contact. The last message from you—a short, simple text from earlier that day. On my way. He'd smiled when he read it then. He presses the call button. "Sunghoon." You pick up after a few rings, "What's up?" "What's up?" His voice comes out strangled. "You failed me. You took my name off the project. I thought—I thought we were—" There’s a laugh on the other line. "You thought what?" You ask, clearly amused. "You really thought that because you fucked me, suddenly I'd decide to let you keep your name on a project you didn't contribute to?" "No, I—" He's stammering. "Not like that. But you made me think—" "I didn't make you do anything." "You let me believe—" He runs his hand through his hair, pacing. "Had me under the impression we were good. With each other. That things were fixed. That I apologized and you forgave me." "Oh? Do you feel misled?" You tease, a content sigh, then leaving you, "I never promised you anything, Sunghoon. It's not my fault you assumed things."

His stomach drops. He sits there, in the middle of his dark room, phone pressed to his ear, and the silence stretches long enough that he's not sure why you haven’t hung up on him yet.

"I like you." The words tumble out before he can stop them, earnest and vulnerable and nothing like how he usually is. "I wasn't just trying to get in your pants. I want to take you out. I've been trying to take you out for weeks. I wanted to show you—"

"Oh, I know. You made that very clear." "Then why—" "But I'm sorry to break it to you," you continue, "I don't date guys who can't fix their own broken code." He swallows, phone trembling in his grasp. "Call me when you want to fuck again, 'kay? That's all you're really good for." You say. It’s not smug or cruel. It’s just honest. "Bye, Sunghoon."

note ✰.ᐟ this work exists in the same au as this fic here

"What's up? You seem…"

Under Sunghoon's watchful gaze, heaviness doesn't deter the antsy drum of your fingernails into the kitchen marble counter. Piercing skin into the flesh of your bottom lip, you've been watching him for the better part of the last five minutes. Eyes following the space Sunghoon's frame takes up of the room, presence imposing to the abandonment of your dimmed laptop. He's opted for a sleeveless shirt this time, jacked arms on full display with arm sleeves so loose, they expose pale slivers of skin marked in moon crescents of the very nails you gnaw on, consumed by nothing but the mundane. Observing your boyfriend make his protein shake, giving the bottle forceful shakes to mix its contents and your insides, engorged veins running his arms with the flex of his arms, his Adam's apple bobbing as he washes it down. You don't miss a second of it, not the dart of his tongue as he licks the edge of his lips of its reminiscent, tears nearly brought to your eyes as you stifle a pathetic whimper. 

You should be used to it. The gymrat lifestyle your boyfriend's devoted himself to, the one you've reaped the benefits of and yet, here you are, shuffling in your seat because the sweats against your body are suffocating, skin simmering beneath the material while your boyfriend looks at you. Knowing, a sharp edge to the soft smile he gives, edged canine peeking out.

If only he knew you wanted it to sink into your skin. 

"On edge." 

A natural pause allows you to collect some semblance of composure, closed lids with a chest-emptying sigh before you look up again, sternness cemented into the knit of your eyebrows. Fingernails slowing their rhythm, only accentuating every point leaving your mouth.

"Don't tire yourself out," you say, head cocked to the side. "You've got work to do when you're back."

Amusement pulls his smile wider, inches his eyebrow up too. "Is that so?"

"Yeah."

You shift again, laboured chest rising and falling, uncomfortable with actions so blatantly obvious in his eyes. Must be why brightness streaks in them as he slugs his gym bag over his shoulder, his answer clear as day. "You go ahead and stretch,"

His hand lowers his hat, an overcast in his darkened eyes. "You'll need it."

And he leaves. Half hard through his grey sweats with the ticking time-bomb that is you. 

Which is how you find yourself here, folded into his personal origami as his arms pin your legs to your ears, pounding into you without any regard. 

"Didn't you want this, baby?" Sunghoon coos, ragged chuckle ringing in your ears. "So incessant on me fucking you but look at you now - can't get your big girl words out." 

You gargle on some stupid retort, the sound choked in the saliva pooled in your mouth, lips parted to chase the breaths he won't let you catch. Muscles cry in fatigue, in no way helped by the advice you followed through with by stretching. Nails are left to weak scratches against Sunghoon's forearms, the leverage of the leaned back couch allowing him to knock deepest in you.

"You sat here waiting for me, making a mess of your flimsy underwear ── didn't even let me get through the door to beg for my cock. Is that what you are, angel?" Your head lolls back, swarmed with syrupy thoughts as he fucks up into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. "Some muscle obsessed cocksleeve? Something for me to fuck and use any way I want?"

Energy summons itself to nod your head, agreement sounding amidst the wet squelch of your cunt splashed back onto yours and Sunghoon's thighs. "I am, I am──ngh!" 

His laugh's rich in your ear, cock pulsing in your walls refusing to let him go, body curling into itself to feel him press further in you, a groaned whimper leaving your kissed-red lips. "Well, aren't you a pleasure to use." 

Your nails drag endlessly, streaking into his skin with no remorse, a sick turn of your stomach calling for scattered words. "Hoon, I─fuck, I'm gonna come again."

"Already? I've barely fucked you, baby," his reply comes with a sloppy few thrusts, hitched momentum in the desperate squeeze of your cunt. "Isn't this what you were on your knees for? Nosing along my balls like some dumb puppy," 

"You smelled good," you whine, slap of your ass echoing against his flexed thighs, him holding you like you're nothing. "Feel good too, fuck."

"Got a pervert for a girlfriend. I can't be surprised," he grunts, notching himself particularly hard to the knock of air out your lungs, strained and desperate for life. "Go on, since you're so easy. Come."

As much control as Sunghoon has over the body he sculpts in the gym, he has the same over your own, unearthing the orgasm ripping through you at his command. A scream unleashes the rawness of your vocal chords, dying into sob-like whimpers as moisture clumps your lashes together, body bucking erratically in a hold Sunghoon doesn't so much as flinch at, keeping you pinned and in plac through your orgasm.

Hazy at best is how your consciousness prevails, a mirage of the warm lights in your living room. Afternoon sunset pours through the windows, curtains you didn't think to close, one-track minded when you heard the lock turning at Sunghoon's arrival. 

The arctic cold of the floor straightens your spine, figure having been moved to hunch over the poor coffee table you served tea and cake to friends not even a day ago, now being defiled as your hands splays against the polished oakwood. In the echo chamber of your breath, your ass lifts as Sunghoon's tip collects slick smeared between your folds, electricity lighting your spine. 

"Mind if I fuck you more, baby?" he asks, voice dripping with the sweet condescending nature you latch onto, pleased moan feeding his ego. "I'll even get my arm around you, just how you like." 

That grabs your attention. Instills life into your tired body with arms reaching back, spine bending with fingers spreading yourself for his taking. "Please, Hoonie. I need it, I need it so bad."

"Want my arm around you, hm angel?" his teasing knows no end, cock drenched in arousal as all he does is run his length along you, tip nudging into your hole to chip away at your soul. "Wanna get pumped full of my come?"

Your breasts peel off the coffee table with an insignificant burn, body squirming as your hips try backing into him. "Want it, Hoon. It's all I want,"

"I'll be good," you slur, cheek pressed into the table. Frustration keeps your lashes wet, face scrunched up miserably. "You know I'm good for it." 

"God, you're sin," his patience reaches its limit, tip breaching further into your cunt welcoming him in. "Since you're so good ─ take it." 

No time is spared for a response, his girthy length sliding into the mess of come coating your walls, the glide and stretch of him filling you bringing incoherent expressions of gratitude out your running mouth. He sets a punishing rhythm, folding himself over to press against your back, uniting you as one as his large arm hooks underneath your chin, locked in by the cross of his wrists while he fucks you with no escape. 

It's the highlight of every life you've lived, a single high curling your toes and engulfing your senses and half-baked thoughts in all Sunghoon. He's so close like this, a waft of sandalwood and cinnamon embracing you in a familiar hug, hard ridges of his body sticking to yours with leftover sweat from the gym and now, his favourite cardio ─ stuffing you full of his cock with every bit of joy you voice.

Pleasure sings in every cell of your body, on cloud nine, aided by the restricted airflow given by the unforgiving cram of his arm, sandwiched in between his hard bicep and forearm. If you weren't so out of it, your teeth would make a home in his skin, no rigidness in your slack jaw. 

"Think you're coherent enough to rub your clit for me or you just gonna come taking my cock?" he muses, breath fanning over the shell of your ear. "Talk to me, princess."

Your hand shakes on the table, wanting to move but unable to. "I can't─I can't move." 

"Oh my greedy girl, I'll give it to you. Just keep squeezing me like that," his wrist separates from the other, leaning your body towards its side to keep you in a chokehold, hand venturing between your thighs. They shake from the force of his thrusts, shimmering with your slick and ghosted over before Sunghoon gets his fingers to rub over your clit. You howl in his hold, overstimulation bucking your poor body that begged for this, the simultaneous feel of his cock and fingers sending you to the edge. "Fuck, you're gonna be dripping with my come if you keep doing that."

"I'm close," you whimper, lips quivering with the anticipation building in your stomach, warm and rearranged in every way you love. "Give me your come ─ pleaseeee," 

"How can I say no when you're so sweet for me?" You hear him smile, feel the press of his lips against your sweat-layered temple before he starts rutting into you, pulling you into him as he chases his high. In the desperate pursuit, his fingers rub your clit faster, unearthing high-pitched moans vibrating off his skin as your cunt weeps around him, walls holding onto him for dear life. "You go first, needy girl. Come for me, I've got you."

And you do, so desperately moulded to his whims your body gives in, starlight streaking across your eyes as you come. Beyond the incessant slap of his hips against your skin, all you hear is the rush of your blood flooding through you, so weak to the explosive burst of euphoria your body operates on instinct, teeth sinking into the flesh of Sunghoon's arm, earning you a grunt. 

"God, you're milking me, princess," he moans, words wobbled at their end. "Gonna give it to you - thank me like a good girl."

The 'thank yous' topple out your mouth like a mantra, plentiful and so true to their word, it pushes Sunghoon deep into your sweet spot, flooding your walls with hot come you push out, clenching in a frenzy as Sunghoon pulls out, watching your body shake in his aftermath. 

"My sweet girl," you hear in the distance of your comedown, shoulder blades pressed in an adoring kiss. "Nothing beats you." 

thank you for reading! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated.ᐟ ᰔ

to join my taglist, please fill out this form! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

GENERAL/ALL WORKS TAGLIST  ⨾ @ahnoote ノ@angelhyuka ノ @hwrtoni ノ @user-0703 ノ

He enjoyed the way eyes lingered on the line of his jaw and the curve of his shoulders, absolutely relishing the fact that he was the ultimate prize in every room. He had spent years letting people project their fantasies onto him, taking what he wanted and leaving them wanting more and he was perfectly content being the untouchable standard that no one could actually reach.

The man was perfect—top of his class, a star athlete and a face like that?

So imagine his utter confusion when he brought you back to his dorm after some party, he already had the script written in his head. He'd fucked you into oblivion, with precise movements and be devastatingly thorough, so he’d leave you a shaking and totally breathless mess beneath him. He had fully expected to wake up with you draped over him, perhaps already asking what this meant or clinging to his arm as he tried to get to his eight o’clock class. He was even prepared to be gracious about it, maybe buy you coffee before gently explaining he wasn't looking for anything serious.

But when the sun hit his pillow the next morning and the space beside him was cold. With no note, not even the lingering scent of your perfume, just a neatly made side of the bed and a closed door, Sunghoon didn’t know how to react.

After that came the ghosting.

One week became two and when two became three, Sunghoon found himself checking his phone during practice, scowling at the screen when he saw zero notifications from you. He'd see you in the quad, laughing with your friends and you'd give him this breezy nod as if he hadn't spent four hours exploring every inch of your body twenty one days, six hours, twenty minutes and twelve seconds ago. It was driving him insane, you hadn’t just bruised his ego, you being all blasé had sent him into a full scale identity crisis.

He was sitting in the library, trying really hard to think about anything other than you, when his phone finally buzzed and his heart actually thudded against his ribs.

Y/n: hey. u free tonight? we should link again💋

Sunghoon stared at the screen, willing his irritation to subside. Not even a "How are you?" or a "Sorry I've been MIA." You were just directly requesting for his body, as if he were a some kind of high end vending machine.

He typed back immediately, his thumbs flying across the screen with suppressed fury.

Sunghoon: That's it? three weeks of silence and you just want to ‘link again’?

Your reply came back almost instantly but all it did was make his blood boil even hotter.

Y/n: lol yeah. what can i say? you know how to fuck. my place at 10?

Sunghoon stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the linoleum floor and drew annoyed looks from the nearby students but he didn't care. He was the most sought after man on campus and you were treating him like a convenient late night snack.

He told himself he should text you back no and protect his dignity by telling you he wasn't interested in being your booty call. But even as he told himself that, he was already packing his bag as his mind racing with the need to get you alone again and it wasn’t just because he wanted to fuck, he was now hellbent on making you look at him as more than just a good time. He wanted to break that casual, indifferent armor of yours until you were the one begging for a second date.

Or at least, that's what he told himself as he drove toward your dorm, his heart hammering with both wounded pride and an inconvenient hunger.

Sunghoon knew his pride was a dangerous thing but at this point his delusion might have been working overtime. As he took the stairs to your apartment two at a time, he adjusted the collar of his shirt and had managed to convince himself that he had cracked the code. She’s not indifferent—he concluded, you were playing a high stakes game of hard to get, you obviously just wanted him to work for it. Fine then. He'd play along but he'd win by making this night so earth shattering that you'd be making him breakfast in the morning.

He had a whole plan, which involved taking his sweet time with you, being romantic in a way that only really special people got to see. He was going to go heavy on the eye contact and sweet words just cause he wanted to see you crumble.

But the second he walked through your door, the plan practically disintegrated. You didn't even give him time for a "How was your day?" or a lingering gaze because you were on him immediately, with your hands already pulling at his belt and your lips kissing down his neck hungry and focused. He tried to reclaim the narrative, pushing you back against your bed to eat you out, too keen on showing you a level of devotion that would force a confession out of you.

He only managed to get his tongue on you for four minutes before you were hauling him back up, you clearly didn't want the slow build—you truly just wanted fuck.

Before he could protest, you somehow had him flat on his back on your bed. You straddled him, tossing your head back in a giggle before guiding his thick and already leaking cock inside your dripping cunt in one stuttering motion. Sunghoon let out a sound that sounded like he was choking, his head hit the pillow as he felt your tight heat sucking him in.

He looked up at you, expecting to see the usual worship every other girl or boy would be giving him by now, he expected the flushed cheeks with the wide eyed adoration he received from everyone else. But your eyes weren't really searching his for a connection, you were looking past him or down at where your bodies joined, with your face all intense and concentrated. You were too focused on the stretch of him filling you up and the way you could make yourself cum by bouncing on him so expertly.

He felt like an object. A very, very expensive tool being used for your personal satisfaction, like…a dildo.

"Look at me," he almost pleaded, his hands flying to your waist to try and slow your manic pace. "Come on, look at me."

You barely glanced down, letting out a huffed breath of a moan as you picked up the speed. Your pussy was incredible, gripping him so tight as you went down and spasming around his tip when you came back up with every downward thrust, it was already making him tilt dangerously close to his limit. His hips began to buck instinctively, attempting to meet your movements as he fought a losing battle against his own pleasure.

He was so conflicted he felt like he was splitting in two. On one hand, this was the best sex of his life—again, your body was a masterpiece and the way you moved was driving him toward an humiliatingly fast orgasm. On the other hand, the silence in the room that was only getting broken by the wet sounds of your squelching pussy and your heavy breathing mix with some occasional moans, was driving him mad.

Why don't you like me? the thought screamed in his head as he felt his cum beginning to stir. I'm Sunghoon. Everyone wants me. Why am I just a body to you?

He gripped your hips tighter cause he knew he was at the very edge and as he finally began to spill inside you, he let out a frustrated growl. He was cumming harder than he ever had, completely ruined by you once again but he couldn’t even enjoy it because he knew with a sinking certainty that as soon as he caught his breath, you'd be pointing him towards the door.

You shifted above him and looked down at your joined bodies, watching as the evidence of his orgasm pulsed out of your cunt and slicked your thighs.

You finally looked at his face and pouted at him. "I didn't even get to cum," you muttered, more to yourself than to him but then your eyes flicked to his like you just got them to focus. "Can I sit on your face?"

Normally, that would have been a hard line for him. The logic of his perfect persona dictated a certain level of decorum and the thought of eating his own cum out of your pussy was something he would have considered beneath him—a massive no in any other scenario. But as he looked at you and he saw the indifference in your expression, the way you were already preparing to stand up and end the night, like you were fine either way, that sent a surge of pathetic desperation crashing over him.

He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay with you, he wanted you to need him, to realize that no one else could satisfy you like this, that no one was like him. He was one of one.

Without a single word of protest, Sunghoon reached up and used his large hands to manhandle you with a sudden urgency, he gripped your waist and pulled you off him cock with a squelch and down the length of his body until your stuffed heat was hovering directly over his mouth.

You let out a startled giggle as he settled you firmly against his face. The sound cut through his pride like a knife but he didn't care, by now he was too far gone.

He dove in with a fervor that was borderline manic, not minding the mess or the taste. The man just wanted to hear you moan his name instead of looking at him like a stranger. His tongue moved with so much focus, swirling it through the creaminess and the slick of your pussy, he was intent on erasing that pout and replacing it with the kind of broken screams that would prove he finally had a hold on you. He used his hands to spread you wide, his thumbs digging into your hips as he worked, worshiping the very part of you that treated him like an afterthought.

When your moans started bouncing off the walls of your room, his pride started to swell again, it was exactly what he had been fighting for. As you gripped his hair and your back arched when he latched his lips on your clit to suck it into his mouth, he felt that familiar confidence starting to return. He was doing it, he was breaking through that cool exterior of yours, making you lose control the way everyone else did for him.

But then, in the heat of your approaching orgasm, you let out a breathless sob. "Ah—Sungmin! Sungmin, right there!"

Sunghoon froze, lips stopping and all, just laying there for a beat with his lips just an inch from your pussy, he was struggling to process the name that definitely didn't belong to him.

Sungmin? He didn't even know a Sungmin.

He slowly pulled back even further, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked up at you. You were blinking down at him, your eyes glazed with lingering pleasure, looking almost confused by the sudden halt in his ministrations.

"What?" you asked in an airy voice. "Why'd you stop? That was so gooood."

Sunghoon's brow furrowed more he didn't just feel used like a dildo now—he felt completely anonymous.

He suddenly moved and shifted you once again, pushing you down his body so you landed between his legs, before he sat up to look right at you with wounded disbelief. "Who the fuck is Sungmin?"

Your eyes widened in a way that let him know you weren’t just fucking with him, you genuinely thought his name was Sungmin. "Oh…you—No way! Is that not your name?" You laughed right in his face.

"No," he answered slowly with anger and real hurt in his voice. "That is absolutely not my name."

He leaned in closer, his nose almost touching yours, his dark eyes searching your face for even a hint that you were joking. But you just looked back at him with that same casual, slightly bored curiosity.

"This is the second time we’re hooking up," he hissed, his grip tightening just a fraction. "I literally spent the last three weeks wondering why you weren't calling me and you're telling me you don't even know who I am? You don't know my name?"

The fact that the most popular guy on campus was currently having an existential crisis over a booty call didn't seem to faze you. In fact it was like you didn’t know he was the most perfect popular guy in your school. You just tilted your head. "I thought it started with an s. At least I was right?" You offered weakly.

"It's Sunghoon," he snapped. "My name is Sunghoon." He suddenly shifted away from you, throwing his legs over the bed as the wind was completely knocked out of his sails. He looked at you, his eyes shimmering with a vulnerability he hadn't shown anyone since his primary school days. The rejection was now existential and there was no saving him.

"Why don't you like me?" he asked, hoping you didn’t hear the way his voice cracked. He sounded less like the campus heartthrob everyone knew and more like a bewildered boy who had just been told his favorite toy wasn't actually his.

You reached out, your hand trailing down his neck. "What are you talking about? Of course I like you. I like that dick. It's easily the best I've had all year."

"No!" He flinched, batting your hand away and scrambling backward until his back hit the headboard. "Don't...don't touch me. Not if that's all it is." He wrapped his arms around his chest, looking genuinely pained. "Why don't you like me...as a person? Like, as Sunghoon?"

You finally sat up properly, pushing your hair back to giving him a look of unfiltered honesty. "Oh. Well, to be totally fair, I don't really know you that well."

"Well, no fucking shit! Because you ghosted me for three straight weeks after our first time!" he burst out, his voice rising in pitch. "I waited for a text. I was checking my phone every ten fucking minutes. I even walked past your building coincidentally three times in one day and you just...you didn't care!"

You let out an amused laugh and stood up, reaching for your discarded hoodie. "What did you actually expect? Honestly?" You pulled the sweater over your head, looking at him with an arched brow. "Let me guess. You wanted me to be the clingy girl, didn't you? You wanted to wake up and find me in your kitchen making you breakfast and looking at you like you're a god, just so you could get a nice little ego boost before you kicked me out to go to practice?"

Sunghoon opened his mouth to defend himself but his face flushed an embarrassed crimson. "I...I mean..." He stammered, the truth catching in his throat. "Yes! But—no! I mean, not just that!"

He looked away with his shoulders slumping. He couldn't even lie to himself anymore or look you in the eye. He had wanted the validation of your obsession but instead, he'd ended up obsessed with the fact that you didn't have any for him.

"I just wanted you to remember me," he muttered quietly, looking so deflated it was almost cute. "Is it really that much to ask for you to know the guy who’s making you cum?"

"Oh please. Making me cum is a stretch." You rolled your eyes at the wash he gasped. "No! Don’t do that. Your attitude threw me off today. That’s all. I don’t need you to tell me, I know I am a good lay."

"Whatever, bro."

Bro?

You stood over him, silhouetted by the dim light of the bedroom and leaned in close enough to see the real panic in his dark eyes. "Admit it," you said, "You only care this much because for the first time in your life, you're the one being looked past. It's driving you crazy that you can't have me hooked on you the way you want."

The silence stretched thin and his pride battled with the dangerous reality of the last three weeks, until he finally snapped.

"Fine! Yes!" The confession came spilling out of him in a desperate rush. "It drives me insane. I've spent every goddamn day wondering why I wasn't enough to make you want to stay. I don't know what it is about you—if it's the way you look at me or the way you actually don't—but I have never felt like this."

He reached out and curled his fingers into the fabric of your hoodie, to hold you there and make you hear him out. "I'm Park fucking Sunghoon," he whispered but it sounded like a plea. "People literally line up just to look at me and here I am, practically begging for a crumb of your attention. It's fucking humiliating. So please...just stop treating me like an object. Stop treating me like I'm just a body you can call up when you're bored or horny."

He looked up at you and all you saw was someone utterly wrecked. "Talk to me. Ask me a question. Ask about my day. Tell me your favorite color. You can’t just have me leave this room thinking that if I disappeared tomorrow, you'd just find some other guy with an 's' name to replace me."

You let out a low laugh and crawled back over his legs with a hungry kind of grace. "Well," you whispered, closing in until your lips brushed against his heated ear, "maybe you're just going to have to fuck your feelings into me, Sunghoon."

His breath caught at the sound of his name, his actual name finally leaving your mouth. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his soft length and started palming him with a soft touch until he was straining against your hand, thick and pulsing with a newfound grit.

Sunghoon looked up at you with so much desperate devastation, as if he was completely stripped of his usual arrogance. It was the most pathetic he had ever looked and ironically to you, it was the most attractive thing about him.

"You know," you admitted, your voice thick with sudden heat as you guided his tip to your entrance, "seeing you like this...so this ruined over me...it might be the first real thing I actually like about you."

A jolt of something dark and possessive ran in his gaze at your words. You began to sink yourself onto his cock again, the stretch making your eyes flutter shut while he tore your hoodie off you but you didn't get to find your rhythm.

Before you could even settle your weight, Sunghoon's hands shot out like lightning and gripped your waist with an unforgiving force. With something close to an animalistic growl, he flipped you over and your back hit the mattress with a heavy thud that knocked the air from your lungs. He didn't give you a second to recover, he was between your thighs instantly, his body was a nearly suffocating weight as he drove himself into you with a punishing thrust.

"You're a such a bitch," he snapped, sounding completely unhinged as he started pounding into your pussy. He was done being composed and rational, this was straight up anger fueled by three weeks of bruised ego.

He gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, his hips slamming against yours so hard your headboard rattled against the wall. "Who the fuck is Sungmin anyway?" he hissed, his thrusts becoming even more frantic, more desperate to mark you. "Is he better than this? Does he fuck you this good? Call me his fucking name again while I'm pounding this pussy, I dare you."

You couldn't even get a coherent word out, your was head tossing back and forth against the pillow as your breath came in short sputters. Your brain had turned into complete mush, just entirely focused on the way his cock was ruthlessly bullying its way into your pussy. It felt like he was trying to reach your very soul with every bottoming out thrust, determined to leave a mark that no guy or anyone else could ever erase.

He adjusted your position mid stroke, pushing your legs up until your knees were pinned beside your ears and he was crushing you into a mating press. The shift in angle sent him even deeper inside you and had his cock hitting a spot that made your toes curl and your vision go white.

Sunghoon seemed to have lost his grip on reality entirely. As he pounded into you, his eyes were blown wide and hazy before he started mumbling to himself like a man possessed.

"What the fuck do you mean you don't like me?"

"I'm Park Sunghoon. I'm the Park Sunghoon. You have to like me...everyone fucking likes me. It's supposed to be easy."

His movements were unruly, from both his athleticism and now his ego driven desperation. He reached down between your bodies, making space for his thumb to find your swollen clit and begin to rub it with an unending pressure that synched with the pace he set with his hips.

The double assault was too much and you started trembling violently, the pleasure turning into something so sharp it almost felt like pain. "S-Sunghoon...oh fuck," you sobbed, hot tears finally spilling over as your body began to break under him, making you dig your nails into his back. It was too good—so good it was damn near terrifying.

"Shit, Sunghoon! Sunghoon—Fuck! It’s so deep!" you cried out, your voice finally catching on his actual name, over and over again.

Hearing you scream his name with that much genuine pleasure seemed to flip a switch in him and he responded with a groan, his pace becoming even more eager. "That's it," his sweat was dripping onto your chest as he looked down at your fucked out face.

"Say my name again. Forget everyone else. Just me. You're going to remember this name for the rest of your life."

Sunghoon felt you hit that special peak when the internal muscles of your pussy clamped down on him and you squirted a little, the wetness slicked his thighs but he didn’t let up. Driven by a crazed desire to be the only thing on your mind, he shifted again, leaning back with your legs over his broad shoulders so you were completely open and vulnerable, where you were pinned beneath his heavy body.

He thrusted back in, his thick cock finding that perfect angle again. You started screaming as your head was thrashing against the sheets as well cause you felt yourself teetering right on the edge of you cumming. "I'm close—Right there, Sunghoon! Please, I'm so close!"

But suddenly, the frantic pounding stopped and you seemed to think you’d gone deaf when the sounds stopped before you realize he’d slowed down his movements to an agonizing crawl, transitioning into a slow grind right against your most sensitive parts. He stayed deep inside you, rotating his hips in a way that kept the pressure constant but denied you the friction you needed to actually fall over the edge. You started shaking again, your hands clutching and slapping at his forearms while you begged him to keep going. "No, no, no—Sunghoon, don't stop! Please!"

He looked down at you, his face flushed and his eyes dark with a possessive kind of power.

"Say you like me," he commanded in a steady voice, despite his own labored breathing.

"What?" you gasped, your mind spinning.

"Say you like me or you aren't cumming," he repeated, his hips giving you one more delicious slow roll against your internal sweet spot. "Say you like Park Sunghoon. Not just my dick. Say you like me."

By this point, you're completely delirious and the sensory deprivation of the delayed orgasm is making you sob. You were sobbing and your whole body was vibrating with the need for release. You'd say anything to make him move again.

"I like you! I like you, Sunghoon, I swear!" you cried out, the words tumbling out in a broken rush. "I like everything about you, please just—just let me cum!"

The validation hit him like a drug, he knew you’re probably just cock drunk but that didn’t stop the triumphant smirk that pulled at his lips when he finally resumed his brutal strokes. He didn’t hold back now, hammering into you with everything he had and in no time, he had you screaming his name as you squirted your juices all over his cock, your body arching off the bed in a violent, shrill climax.

Sunghoon watched you cum as his ego was finally fed by the sight of you completely ruined by him, he let out a groan and pulled out, his own cum hitting you hot and thick across your stomach. He collapsed beside you, chest heaving, looking at you with the gaze of a man who finally thinks he's won.

Sunghoon was still glowing from your frantic confession, his heart finally settling into a steady but prideful thrum. He had done it. He'd broken the code.

"My favorite color is blue," you said randomly in an airy and exhausted voice while you stared up at the ceiling.

Sunghoon's head snapped toward you, a boyish expression spreading across his face. He felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the sex. You were finally talking to him, you were actually giving him a piece of yourself, however small.

"Blue," he repeated, committing it to memory like it was the most important piece of data he'd ever acquired. "Okay. That's good to know. We should go on a date this Saturday."

He was practically beaming, already planning the most perfect, over the top date in history to ensure you never ghosted him again.

He reached out to touch your cheek, in an uncharacteristically tender manner.

You let out a mischievous giggle that made his stomach flip. "Okay, Sung—"

You cut yourself off, letting the syllable hang in the air for a painfully dramatic second. Sunghoon felt his entire body stiffen, he swore his heart stopped beating and he felt the familiar prickle of panic rising in his chest. His eyes searched yours, losing his mind over the fact that you’d forgotten his name again, wondering if you were about to shatter his heart all over again.

Hoon? Or...Min

"—hoon," you finished, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

Sunghoon let out a long breath of relief, his shoulders slumping as he realized you were just teasing him. He rolled his eyes, a huffed laugh escaping him as he pulled you into his side, tucking your head under his chin. "You're a brat," he muttered, though there was no heat in it. "A complete brat. But you're going on that date with me and I'm going to make sure you never forget my name again."

"Mm. We’ll see." You teased

"Please stop that."

nene’s note ── i was fully cackling when i was typing this cause not sunghoon in his kokomi teruhashi era. i’ve had shit wifi/network all weekend so i haven’t been able to complete any of my smaus😔 and i know i said i wouldn’t post but im sure you guys are used to my little white lies by now! enjoyyyyy, you know i love feedback!💋

taglist i ── @fancypeacepersona @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @gabrielinhaa @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @lovel1z @kristynaaah @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon @yazmike @ravenslocked @enhxlvr @mangoescrazy @hees-h0e @stayalittlelonger143 @hazevelyn @sour-chaos @skzenhalove @mochi-mika @simjakersss1009 @isagistar @baedreamverse @jvngw0nlvr @deobitifull @prettygirlthings-world @ravenslocked @ricecakeslove @lenolalalie

© nephynes 2026

it was a long day and you needed to distract yourself, and what better way to do that than get your boyfriend to help you out?

he was now spread on your shared bed while you were on top of him, his cock deep inside your wet cunt.

“fuck, darling. you fill me up so well,” you softly moaned, your hips slowly grinding on his lap.

jake was a mess already, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he struggled to keep himself still, wanting to be good for you.

noises of pleasure escaped his lips every few seconds, his eyes fluttering up to watch you.

you quickened your pace without warning.

watching how his lips parted with a moan, his eyes moving down to watch how his cock slides in and out of you, the sounds of your wetness filling his mind.

“doing so well for me, such a good boy.” you breathed, your hands going to rest on jake’s chest before you began bouncing on him, his cock getting deeper into you.

“oh god—“ jake whimpered, his nails digging into your skin as he slightly moved his hips upwards into you.

“puppy.” you warned, your tone strict but laced with love. jake whined loud, a rope of “sorry”s leaving his mouth as he laid still once again.

“let me please you, can i?” jake begged.

he loved pleasuring you, he loved making you feel so good your mind went blank, he loved when he can visibly see how well he does.

you thought for a moment before nodding, and within seconds jake was flipping you both over, his cock sipping out in the process.

he whined at the loss of connection before he spread your legs in front of him, positioning himself right back to where he belongs. he pushed himself inside and let out a cry, instantly moving quick.

his thrusts were sloppy, but good. you loved how desperate he gets when he’s with you, how much it shows, the pleasure he gets from just being close to you.

“f-fuck, just like that, puppy.” you moaned.

jake whimpered as his hands went to the sheets beside your head and gripped them, his thrusts now rough, long and deep.

he pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, a strangled cry leaving his mouth again.

jake always gets drunk on you, drunk on your pussy, drunk on your skin, he just loves you so much.

“more, do it more.” you moaned, watching as jake took your words in, he continued his rhythm, but it was getting too much for him, you could see.

“im close, im so close, please,” he begs, his hips snapping quickly into your cunt, begging to be able to release, to fill you up.

“cum for me, pretty boy.” you pulled him down for a kiss, latching your lips onto his roughly as he whined against them, his hips stuttering before you felt him cum, his hips not stopping.

jake was too far gone in the pleasure now, he needed more. he needed to please you more.

he didnt stop, he pulled away from the kiss and watched as you came with him, how your body was twitching from the release, but he couldn’t stop.

“oh my god.” he whined, his hands moving back to your hips as he positioned himself closer, his hips fucking into you quickly, as quick as he could.

you saw stars, his tip hitting all the spots he needs to and when you looked down, you swore you could see a bulge in your stomach, the outline of his dick.

you were released from your thoughts as you heard a sob, looking up to see jake crying.

you giggled. he was feeling too good, he started to cry.

the wet sounds of his cock fucking into you drove him crazy, he was on a high.

“d-darling, you okay?” you moaned loud, you loved when he cried, how desperately he tries to please you.

“‘s so good,” he cried, already feeling like he needs to release again. “close,” he moaned.

“cum again for me,” you breathed out heavily, your legs twitching from the overstimulation.

jake nodded quickly and gave a few more thrusts before he was filling you again, his hips staying deep inside you as he fell onto your chest, his hips twitching.

“good boy..” you moaned, cumming along with him. you watched him lie there as he was out of breath.

“you did so good, always so pretty when you cry.” you praised, wiping the tears from his cheeks, he blushed.

like the time jake got stupidly drunk at a house party at the age of seventeen, and jay had to haul his half–conscious ass back through the window of his bedroom while sunghoon knocked on the front door and entertained jake’s father from finding out.

or the time jay accidentally broke the school’s window and to prevent him from getting suspended and kicked out of the football team, jake stepped forward and took the blame—”i threw it too hard to impress a girl, sorry.” he flashed that innocent puppy smile and accepted the week’s detention without complaint. jay never forgot it and paid him back by covering his shifts for two whole weeks.

but the real payment was the tighter bond between them.

“ride or die,” sunghoon had said once. and in a world where friendships were shallow and people stabbed each other in the back, the three of them were unbreakable. like a stream of water, it cannot be cut—

but even the strongest stream can be diverted when the faucet is turned.

——

 funny enough—the first time jay saw you was during one of his football friendly matches. 

it was a casual friday afternoon game, nothing serious, just the medic faculty versus the business for bragging rights and free drinks afterward. jay was on the field in his number 99 jersey, sweat already soaking the back of his neck under the orange sun.

his girlfriend, minji, was sitting in the small bleachers with a couple of her friends, waving at him every time he glanced her way. he’d blown her a kiss before the whistle, the perfect boyfriend move that made his teammates tease him later.

and you weren’t even supposed to be there for him. 

you were merely just a friend with one of the strikers in his team—and had come along because he (martin) had begged you to at least pretend to cheer so he doesn’t look like a loser. you sat on the grass near the sidelines, knees pulled up in those pretty shorts and prettier top. 

you weren’t attention seeking or loud, but jay found his eyes travelling to you more often than he’d like to. light, genuine laughter that cut through the noise of the field and scored him square in the chest. he almost lost the ball.

and if it wasn’t after the match that everyone gathered near the benches to talk about what happened and martin pulled you in to join the conversation. you, being youself—ever so friendly and talkative you, even prettier up close and funnier than most girls he know—chatted with the rest of the boys like you’d known them for months.

jay stood there, still catching his breath, tower slung over his shoulder, watching you. the conversation flowed naturally and he found himself grinning wider than he should, eyes lingering on the way your lips curved when you smiled.

“you played so well. even if your team totally got lucky on that last goal,” you commented, casually sitting next to jay on the bench. jay laughed, humming. “yeah? that never happened by the way—so it was probably your luck.”

you raised an eyebrow, amused, turning your body slightly toward him. “you think so?”

the way you said it made something in his chest tighten in the best way possible. most girls would either just giggle or try too hard, but you looked like you were genuinely enjoying the back–and–forth. 

he leaned back on the bench, resting his elbows behind him. his jersey clung to his chest, damp with sweat, but neither of you care. for once, he was grateful his girlfriend wasn’t around.

“maybe,” he replied, that smirk tugging at his lips. “or maybe you’re bad luck for the other team. every time you cheered us, their defense fell apart. i saw it.”

you let out the laugh that got him almost distracted on the field earlier—and shook your head. “you’re so smooth, jay. do you use that line on every girl who watches your game?” 

uh, oh. 

his smirk faltered for half a second. he let out a quick, awkward laugh and rubbed the back of his neck to play it cool. “of course not,” he said, chuckling a little too loudly. “that would be way too cheesy. i swear i’m not that kind of guy.”

you tilted your head, studying him with glint in your eyes. then, casually, almost too casually, you dropped it—

“i thought so! you kept blowing kisses to a girl earlier. i saw it.”

jay went quiet.

the easy smile on his face froze. his fingers tightened slightly around his water bottle as the words landed. he swore—he swore—he didn’t mean to come off as flirty or anything, but it just… came out naturally. 

like it was just you.

for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. he hadn’t even realised you’d noticed that. 

“yeah, well…” he started, voice trailing off. he looked away for a second, heartbeat drumming fast, searching for the right words that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete asshole. 

before he could finish, you broke into a soft giggle and waved your hand lightly in front of him. “i’m just joking, hehe,” you said, mischievous. “relax. you don’t have to look so guilty.”

jay let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the tension in his shoulder easing as he laughed along. you were teasing him, but the way you said it so playfully made his tummy flip. 

he finally met your eyes, watching the way your lips curved when you smiled like that. relax. you don’t have to look so guilty. then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to you. 

“put your number in,” he said, smoother and calmer now. “next time we play, you could be our lucky charm again.” 

you’re not stupid. if anything, martin would’ve invited you to the next matches anyway. but you took the phone anyway—fingers brushed against his. you saved yourself as yn, followed with a little soccer ball emoji and handed it back.

“don’t blow me kisses though,” you teased lightly as you stood up, brushing invisible dust from your shorts.

jay watched your back as you walked away, phone warm in his hand, your contact staring back at him. it’s harmless—it’s just a number and you’re just a girl who was easy and fun to talk to.

but the further you got from him, the more it’s clear to jay that he was going to text you tonight. 

and the first turn of the faucet happened—quietly, and completely without anyone knowing, not even jay himself.

——

“oh my gosh, my player,” you moaned sensually, tipping your head back as jay lifted you up around his waist with ease. 

his strong hands gripped the back of your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin as he pressed you against the cool metal locker. the contrast between the cold surface on your back and the heat of his body made you shiver.

jay’s mouth was on yours instantly—hungry, deep, messy, and horny. he kissed you like he’d been starving from it since the first whistle was blown, tongue sliding against yours while low groans rumbled deep from his chest. 

“fuck baby, you feel so good like this,” he rasped between kisses, grinding his hard cock against your bare pussy. the thin fabric of his shorts was the only thing separating you, and you could feel every inch of him throbbing, already leaking like a little boy for you. 

“my little reward.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his damp hair as you rocked your hips against him, chasing the friction. “hngh—you did so well… how are you so good at everything?” another sensual moan slipped from your lips when he shifted and rubbed the head of his cock against your swollen clit. 

“am i?” his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and biting lightly, leaving faint marks he knew he shouldn’t but couldn’t stop himself from making. one hand stayed under your thigh, holding you up effortlessly, while the other squeezed your tit, thumb flicking over your perky nipple until you whimpered. 

“look at you,” he murmured against your skin, voice hoarse with list. “so fucking wet and ready for me after i won. you like being my secret celebration, baby?” 

you nodded eagerly, pussy twitching and clenching around nothing but the idea of jay’s thick cock inside. sensing that—he pulled his shorts down just enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, tip glistening with a bead of precum. 

“i want you—fuck me, please,” you cry out, leaning to kiss him.

without another word, jay lined himself up and pushed inside you in one slow, deep thrust—stretching you open, filling you completely. a broken moan tore from your throat as he bottomed out, walls clenching tight around him. the guy buried his face in your neck, groaning loudly at how perfectly you took him. 

“shit… so tight,” he breathed, staying still to let you adjust—but not for long before he started moving, sensual, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his cock against every sensitive spot. “oh god, yesyesyes, just like that,”

the locker rattled with every thrust. your legs tightened around his waist, heels dragging into his lower back as he fucked you against the cool metal, mouth never leaving your skin. he kissed, licked, and sucked at your neck and collarbone while his pace gradually picked up, turning deeper and harder.

“mine tonight,” he whispered roughly, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles on your wet, sensitive clit. you moaned louder, bud ticklish and feeling like you were going to squirt—which you did, just seconds after. 

jay’s so good and gentle with how he’s treating you it’s making your chest flutter. “yours, jay, yours,” you gasped as the head of his cock knocked against your cervix—jerking your body upwards with each pound.

“my pretty little trophy… taking my cock so well after the game.”

your moans grew louder, more desperate, echoing softly in the empty, locked, locker room as he drove into you again and again and again—sensual, hot, sinful, and so fucking good.

jay’s breathing turned ragged, forehead pressed to yours as he chased both your highs, the wet slap of your skin and your shared gasps filling the air. the player ended up cumming—shooting ropes and ropes of warm jizz on your pretty little face, landing some on your head.

seeing how well you’re cleaning his cock—jay realised he was far from done with you.

——

for sim jaeyun, everything had its place, neatly stacked in order of importance.

first came his family—always. then his friends (sunghoon and jay at top, then the rest of the people he knows). layla, his border collie, squeezed into that top tier too. studies came strongly after that because he believed it’s 100% his future—

and finally, only then—way down the list—came fun.

and fun included his girlfriend, chloe. she was sweet, understanding, and never complained when he told her he had to study late or hang out with the boys. jake liked that about her—she knew her place in his priorities, and she respected it.

he never meant to rearrange that list. 

“sorry we can’t do this at my apartment,” jake said, rubbing the back of his neck. “my girlfriend’s been staying over a lot lately and… yeah. i didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

you and jake shared multiple classes since the start of the semester, sitting in the same lecture halls but he’d never really talked to you. not until the professor paired you two together for a major project that counted half of the final grade.

now here you were—tucked away in a quiet, secluded corner of the library on the third floor. jake sat across from you, laptop open, highlighter between his teeth as he scribbled notes. you leaned back in your chair, legs crossed, a small knowing smile playing on your lips.

unlike the easy friendliness you’d shown jay, something about jake brought out a slightly different side of you—a bit more teasing, more… dominant? like you enjoyed watching the good boy squirm a little. 

“that’s okay, jakey,” you replied, tilting your head, eyes locked onto his. “anywhere is fine at least we get it done, right?”

jake blinked, caught off guard by the nickname but didn’t comment on it. his cheeks warmed slightly, but he laughed it off. “yeah… exactly. studies first, you know? gotta keep priorities straight.” 

you hummed, leaning forward on your elbow, chin resting on your hand as you watched him. jake had to do everything just from glancing at your cleavage sticking out from your shirt. the way your gaze lingered made the air between you feel a little heavier, more intimate—and jake figured this was why most girls wouldn’t want their boyfriends around a girl.

a pretty one at that too.

“that’s good. keeping everything in order like that, hehe.”

the words slipped out casually but jake’s ears turned pink anyway. he shifted in his seat, suddenly hyper–aware of how secluded this corner was—no one could really see the two of you back here.

he tried to steer the conversation back to the project, pointing at the screen as you scooted closer beside him. “so… for this second, i was thinking we could—”

“oh—you typed quantitative wrong here—” 

you leaned in and pointed at the typo on his laptop screen. in the process, your chest brushed against his arm, soft and warm through your thin top that jake swore he felt the sponge of your bra. 

jake froze.

his breath hitched, eyes widening for a split second as he felt the brief press of your chest against his bicep. a rush of heat shot straight through him and you felt the way he tensed up.

“oh—shit, sorry,” you said quickly, pulling back a little, though your voice didn’t sound even an ounce of guilt if he was being honest. “didn’t mean to interrupt you like that.”

his mouth went dry. he could still feel the ghost of the touch on his arm, and his brain was suddenly struggling to form normal sentences. “n—no, it’s okay,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks now matching the pink of his ears.

“don’t worry about it.”

you bit your lip to hide a small smile, watching the way composed jake was suddenly flustered. the good boy who kept his priorities straight was starting to crack a little. instead of moving back, you stayed right where you were—shoulders almost touching his, close enough that your perfume filled his nostrils. 

you pointed at the screen again, this time more carefully, your nails tapping on the lcd. your voice dropped softer, with a hint of light dominant slipping through.  

“see? right here. fix it, jakey.”

jake swallowed hard, nodding quickly as his fingers moved to the keyboard. but it was hard to focus on the project anymore—not when every time you shifted even slightly, he became hyper–aware of how close you were, and how dangerous his mind was playing at.

that damn cleavage and top.

maybe it was because jake met you during one of his ‘studying’ sessions, but you were quick to climb up his carefully built hierarchy. just like jay, you were easy to talk to, quick with your thoughts, and somehow jake liked… being told what to do. shamelessly.

“you’re so good at this,” you hummed softly, scooting your chair just a tiny bit closer until your knee brushed his under the table. “what’s something you’re not good at?” 

you meant the project—but you also knew men like jake would divert the meaning elsewhere. something jake’s not good at is probably standing on his morals and keeping his priorities straight. 

not when he’s easily swayed like this.

——

just two months after that, jake’s stacked priorities crumbled.

parked in a quiet, dimly lit corner of the campus parking lot at 11:49 p.m., the backseat of his car fogged up. he had a chemistry exam the next day—yet here he was. 

“jakey…” you whispered against his mouth, voice low and teasing as you cupped his cheeks, fingers tapping against his skin. “you’re thinking too much again.” you continued, straddling his lap and brushing your lips against his.

“it’s late…” he breathed, even as his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you down harder against the obvious bulge in his jeans. “test t’morrow… chloe… fuck, this is so wrong.”

you pouted playfully, rolling your hips and grinding against him in the meantime. “but you’ll ace the test tomorrow anyway, why bother?” you hummed, pressing your lips against him. jake groaned, head falling back against the seat. you purposely ignored the latter problem.

his morals screamed at him, but his body betrayed him completely.

clothes were pushed aside rather than fully removed—your skirt flipped up, panties pulled to the side, his jeans shoved down just enough. he had you on all fours, exactly how he liked it best: doggy style.

as all up for him to watch as it jiggles—yeah, fuck yeah. jake’s hands gripped your hips tightly as he pushed into you from behind in one, full, deep thrust—instantly burying himself deep with a broken moan.

“shit—you feel so good, yn,” he gasped, forehead pressing between your shoulder blades for a second. the angle was beyond perfect—the cramped car, and your tight, wet, cunt while being so deep he could feel every clench around him. 

“uh huh? what else?”

he started moving, savouring the way your back arched for him, the way you pushed back to meet every thrust, the way your ass jiggled when his pelvis slapped ‘em. “so tight, your pussy’s so tight, yn,” he rasped, picking up his pace. jake’s hips snapped harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the space of the car. “i love it—love your pussy,”

jake’s cock was probably the longest you’ve had, reaching so deep your fingers, toys, and other boys had never been able to. “oh god, jakey, you’re so good,” you moaned aloud, palms flat against the fogged window.

“you’re ruining me,” jake groaned, one hand sliding up to push you down lower, chest pressed against the seat while your ass stayed up for him. “can’t stop thinkin’ about this—about you.”

his balls slapped against your wet pussy, dragging you velvet walls with each time he pulled out. you moaned sensually, gripping the edge of the seat as he fucked you faster, coming close. “then don’t stop, just do me all the time.”

that pushed him over the edge. 

the boy’s grip tightened. he pulled you back onto his cock, deep with every thrust. the car rocked with his movements. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted, sweat dripping down his temple, morals completely shattered as he took you exactly how he loved—deep, rough, playful.

“want your cum, gosh—fuck, cum all over me,” you gasped, saliva leaking out from the edge of your mouth. your pussy squelched with every thrust, juices splattering on the leather seat. what a shame to the girlfriend, really.

he leaned over you, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other braced beside your head, pounding into you harder as he began chasing his end. “shouldn’t… i really shouldn’t…” he groaned, voice strained and broken.

“c’mon, be a good boy—give it to me, cumcumcum,”

the praise pushed him over—with a final moan, jake pulled out of your dripping pussy. he flipped you onto your back in one motion, trapping you between his knees. his hand pumped his slick, wet cock furiously, eyes dark and wild as he hovered above you.

you looked up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes—lips parted, chest heaving, already arching your back and pushing your tits together for him. his abs tensed, jaw clenched tight.

“shit—i’m cumming—!”

thick liquidity, warm ropes of cum shot across your chest in messy spurts, painting your tits and collarbones white. some landed right on your nipple, dripping slowly down the curve which only caused jake to cum some more.

fuck, that’s so fucking hot—he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat as he kept stroking himself through it, milking every last drop until his cock twitched empty and his whole body shuddered. 

you licked around your lips, smearing jake’s cum all over your pretty tits. it looked like you were lactating his cum. 

“fuck… am i good enough, yn?” he murmured, chest heaving. “look at what you do to me.”

——

saturday night and sunghoon’s at a popular off–campus club with a group of his classmates. while he’s not much of a party guy, he came because one of them kept dragging him anyway, and he knew he couldn’t keep rejecting their advances for so long.

he’s sitting in the booth area, nursing drunks, bored, and detached while everyone else is loud and drunk. sunghoon doesn’t dance. doesn’t flirt. just watch.

that’s when he saw you.

you’re on the dance floor with your girlfriends, just being effortlessly sexy and attractive—the way your body swayed, hair sticking on your neck from the heat, the same curve of your smile that jay was starstrucked with. 

and that damn black dress that hugged your curves just right.

sunghoon’s eyes locked on you instantly, he didn't smile when your eyes met his as well across the floor—just watching. instead of looking away shyly, you held his gaze for a few seconds, then your eyes travelled from the top of his head down to his shoes, and  gave him a slow smile before turning back to your friends.

that was all it took for him.

sunghoon stood up, leaving his classmates’ drinks and stuffs on the table, and walked straight onto the crowd. he didn’t say anything at first—just slid in behind you, one hand slightly resting on your waist as he spun you around to meet him. 

“hey,” he murmured, tall frame towering over you. “what’s that about?”

you tilted your head slightly, a playful, faux innocence smile playing on your lips. “what’s what about?”

his eyebrows furrowed just a fraction, but the corner of his mouth twitched—the tiniest hint of amusement and a thought of, wow, the audacity. his hand stayed on your waist, thumb pressing lightly into the fabric of your dress, holding you in place. 

“that look you gave me,” he said, shrugging. “are you daring me?”

you let out a soft laugh that almost sounded like a scoff, eyes sparkling and laced with a kind of bratness that he never knew he was into. you didn’t pull away but instead stepped a little closer, letting your chest brush against his as you looked up at him through your lashes.

“and if i am?” you replied, sweetly. “what are you gonna do about it?”

morality had always been quite a blur to sunghoon.

he never lost sleep over it but rules, right and wrong, loyalty—they were just concepts that applied to other people. as long as it didn’t affect his image or his life or his close circle greatly, he didn’t care enough to draw hard lines.

and tonight, those blurry lines had just walked out of the club with him.

sunghoon didn’t say much as he guided you toward his black sedan by holding your hand in his. you glanced up at him, still wearing that same little smile. “you always drag girls out of clubs without asking their name?”

he unlocked the car with a soft beep and opened the front door for you. his eyes met yours—completely unbothered. “sunghoon,” he said simply. “and i don’t bring girls out anywhere.”

you let out a hum, but still slid into the front seat without hesitation. he followed right after, closing the door behind him. the inside of his car smelled strongly of his cologne, and as he started the engine, he didn’t bother with small talks. didn’t ask where you lived, nor did he offer to take you home. 

sunghoon pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the city centre with his one hand occasionally brushing your thigh. you watched the streetlights flicker across his jawline and the way his expression said nothing eventhough the tension between you two in the car reeked with want.

“so… where are we going?”

“a hotel. closer than my place.”

——

the door had barely clicked shut before sunghoon had you pressed against the wall, mouth crashing into yours in a deep. hungry kiss. there was nothing gentle about it—his lips moved against yours with need, tongue sliding in immediately to taste you as one hand gripped your jaw, and the other pressed on your hip. 

and you—you kissed him back just as greedily, fingers digging into his shoulders, tugging at his shirt like you wanted it off yesterday. “ngh—hngh,” you moaned into his mouth, tongue intertwining and sucking on one another.

sunghoon broke the kiss only long enough to pull your dress up and over your head at once, letting it drop to the floor. his hands were on you instantly—squeezing your tits, sliding down to grip your ass, yanking you flush against him so you could feel how hard he was through his pants.

“fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice low. he bit your bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue before kissing you again, deeper this time. 

you moaned into his mouth, hands working frantically to unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. the moment his bare chest pressed against yours, sunghoon groaned and lifted you up. your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried you across the room, lips still on yours.

he dropped you onto the bed, the mattress dipping. before you could even catch your breath, sunghoon was crawling over you, shoving his pants and boxers fully down to free his thick, heavy cock.

and jesus—unlike jay or jake’s, sunghoon was packing. 

“you’re so hot,” sunghoon licked his lips, hooked his fingers into your panties, ripped them down your legs, and spread your thighs wide open with his knees. he looked down at you for one brief second, then lined himself up. 

“are you gonna fuck me? without even knowing my name?”

sunghoon paused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a cocky smirk. finally, he didn’t look cold. he pushed just the tip inside you, teasing, before answering.

“i know you, yn,”

your eyes almost widened, a mix of surprise and arousal flashing across your features. 

“how?”

he leaned down closer, one hand gripping your thigh as he slowly sank another inch deeper, stretching your tight cunt open. “i overhead your friends,” he murmured, hissing through his teeth as your pussy engulfed him. 

you let out a soft moan, back arching as the familiar burn of being stretched came back to you. “fuck… you’re really something, hoonie.”

sunghoon bottomed out with a groan, burying himself to the hilt inside you. for a second, he stayed still—letting you feel and adjust every inch of him, his grip on your thighs tightened. you arched your back, eyes half–lidded as you looked up at him, that spark still burning bright behind your eyes. 

“fuck me good, hoonie,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip as you began palming and playing with your tits, tweaking the perky buds. “make it worth me leaving my friends for you.”

“shh—shut up and let me do the work.”

that night, sunghoon fucked you for hours—the bed creaked loudly beneath as he fucked you deep and fast, hips snapping against yours with every thrust. his hands held your thighs spread wide, keeping you open as he pounded. the wet sounds of your bodies echoing in the hotel room.

“fuck—your cunt feels s’good,” sunghoon moaned, tipping his head against the headrest, jaw clenched tight. you hovered right over his hard, slick cock. sunghoon’s eyes never left yours as you sank down onto him, taking every inch until your ass met his lap.

a broken moan left your lips at the deeper angle. sunghoon groaned too, his fingers digging harder. “look at you,” he murmured, eyes roaming over your face, your bouncing, marked, tits, lips parted in pleasure with your tongue sticking out. 

fuck. this is why sunghoon loved cowgirl. watching every lewd, pretty expression, every flutter of your eyelashes, your mouth opened to moan his name—because of this cock. 

you started moving, rolling your hips in sensual circles, then bouncing on his cock with more force. his hands guided you, but he let you do most of the work, just like he liked it. his gaze stayed locked on your face the entire time. 

“you’re so big, hoonie, oh jesus fuck,” you moaned eagerly, biting your lip. with each time you bounced on it, the head of his cock kissed your cervix sweetly and it felt so fucking good. he pulled you down closer by the nape of your neck, and kissed you deeply while you rode him. 

“that’s it… just like that, baby,” he rasped against your mouth, kissing the corner of your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw. “ride my cock like a good girl—let me see how pretty you look when you cum on me again.”

his free hand moved between your bodies to circle and pinch your perky buds. the combination made your rhythm falter, thighs shaking as you bounced faster, chasing the high. 

sunghoon kept watching you—obsessed. he kissed you again and again, swallowing your moans, occasionally bucking his hips to meet your movements and driving himself even deeper.

“cummin’ soon, babe?” he murmured against your lips, now moving his hand to rub that sensitive, wet, clit. “cum on me—then i’ll fill you up.”

you could only moan his name as the pleasure built higher and higher, your hips moving desperately. 

sunghoon, who never thought he’d ever cheat on sooha, let alone creampie another girl he just met raw—watched your face with almost possessive gaze. he had always been careful, even with someone who has little to no morals. 

and you—who had literally never let anyone cum inside you before—were seconds away from letting him be the first.

your thighs shook as the orgasm crashed over you. “fuck—!” you cried out, clenching hard around him, hips stuttering as you came and squirted all over his cock. the feeling of your pussy pulsing and gushing around him pushed sunghoon over the edge. 

thick, hot spurts of semen flooded inside you, filling you up the very first time. he kept thrusting through it, pushing his cum deeper. 

one night stand—this won’t ruin anything for sunghoon.

right?

——

“so,” jay started, leaning back against the railing with that smirk of his, “valentine’s next week. you guys already got plans locked in?” 

jake nodded, smiling. “don’t even say it. i booked the restaurant last month because i know she’ll kill me if i forget. we’ll probs just have dinner together.” he shook his head, sipping his canned beer. “gotta keep the girlfriend happy, right?”

sunghoon took a slow sip of his as well, shrugging and unbothered as ever. “i’ll probably just take sooha out on a breakfast and shopping. i got plans that night.” 

jay raised an eyebrow, turning to him with curiousity. “oh? what are you doing that night?”

he didn’t even flinch, just stared down at the small puddle of water around the can opening where his mouth kissed it. “bringing yeji out,” he said, absentmindedly swirling the alcohol in the can. “she’s been begging me to take her out. figured valentine’s night is as good as any.”

jake let out a laugh, completely buying it. “damn, she’s gonna milk you dry.” he commented, then glanced at jay from where he’s sitting. “what about you? something big again?”

“nah, think minji wants something intimate this time.” he hummed, looking out at the yard—people were chatting, dancing, and drunk to their heads. “maybe i’ll cook and we’ll spend the day at mine. who knows.” 

“what a romance.”

the three of them continued talking easily—hopping from one topic to another—arguing whose girlfriend was more demanding, whose more whipped, and reminiscing about things they’ll never get back. 

none of them even knew that they each shared the same secret—and little did they know, she was walking around the party downstairs right under their noses. 

down in the crowded kitchen, you leaned against the counter, red cup in hand, while heeseung stood in front of you—close enough that his arm rested on the counter beside your waist. 

“oh, i don’t have a boyfriend,” you replied, taking a small sip from your cup while holding his gaze. heeseung grinned, leaning in a little closer and lowering his voice so only you could hear him over the loud music. 

“good. because i’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now. you’re always so hard to catch alone.” his fingers lightly tapped the counter next to your hip. “what do you say? let me take you somewhere nice this valentines?”

you bit your lip, pretending to think about it—

but before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the noise. 

“yn?” 

sunghoon.

he was frowning. the usual expression on his face didn’t change much except for the tightness of his jaw, and the way his gaze flicked to heeseung’s hand near your hip.

heeseung turned his head, still smiling. “oh, hey man—”

sunghoon didn’t let him finish.

without a word, he reached out, wrapped his fingers around your waist and firmly pulled you away from the counter and away from heeseung. “come with me,” he said quietly, already leaving the kitchen.

you barely had time to shoot heeseung an apologetic smile before sunghoon guided you through the crowd, up the stairs, and into one of the empty guest rooms on the second floor. he closed the door—but didn’t lock it—the party noise instantly muffled.

“the fuck was that?” he asked, frowning and confused. “heeseung? really? you let him get that close to you?”

sunghoon took a step closer, towering over, eyes narrowed. 

“i thought we had an understanding,” he continued, laced with unfair possessiveness. “you didn’t even tell me you’d be here—then i caught you with some dude flirting?” 

before you could form a reply, his hand came up to grip your cheeks, forcing you to meet his gaze. “you couldn’t wait till i take you out on valentines?”

you looked up at him, a scoff escaped you—and a small smile tugged at your lips. “so you can have fun with sooha… but i can’t do the same with heeseung?”

his jaw tightened; and for a second, he just stared at you, thumb brushing over your lower lips. he let out a low, breathy scoff, almost a laugh—but there was no humour in it. “you’re really testing me,” he murmured, clicking his tongue.

“sooha’s my girlfriend. she gets breakfast and shopping because that’s what keeps everything quiet. you…” he paused, free hand slid down to your waist where he squeezed the flesh. “you get me at night. isn’t that better? i’m about to fuck you all night and you’re gettin’ jealous over some fucking breakfast?”

he tilted your head slightly, fingers digging into your flesh. 

“don’t compare yourself to her. and don’t let another guy put his hands near you again.”

he crashed his lips against yours in a hungry, possessive kiss, gripping your jaw tighter as he devoured your mouth. the kiss was messy and intense—tongues sliding, teeth grazing, low groans between you.

you kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers threading into his hair and tugging hard, making him groan into your mouth.

“fuuuccckkk,” he grunted between the kiss—turning and walking you backwards until your legs hut the edge of the bed. without breaking the kiss, sunghoon pushed you down onto the mattress and climbed on top of you, body pressing into the sheets. 

his hands roamed greedily—one sliding under your dress to grip your thigh, the other pinning your wrists above your head. “oh my, hngh,” you moaned softly, arching up into him as he ground his hips down against you. sunghoon bit your bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue.

“always pissin’ me off—”

his phone suddenly started ringing on the nightstand.

sunghoon ignored it initially, lips moving down to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark as the ringing continued. “jesus—shut the fuck up…” he murmured, merely glancing at his phone. he assumed it was just one of his friends, or just anyone but—

“sunghoon, you in here—?”

jake’s voice died in his throat. jay stood right beside him, phone in his hand—both of them froze in the doorway, eyes wide as they took in the scene. 

you lying on the bed, dress hiked up, lips swollen from kissing. sunghoon on top of you, one hand under your dress, his lips glistened from saliva, hair messy from your fingers.

for a long, suffocating second, nobody moved. 

sunghoon’s head snapped up, eyes widening in genuine shock, his expression completely shattered—he was caught. fucking caught. by his own bestfriends. they weren’t supposed to fucking know that he’s not loyal to sooha. the same two guys he swore loyalty to since teenangers.

the colour drained from his face. 

jake and jay stared, wide–eyed, stunned. 

“...yn?” jake breathed out first, voice barely above a whisper, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. jay’s mouth opened, then closed—replaced by pure disbelief. instead of addressing the elephant in the room—which was sunghoon fucking cheating—your name came out first. 

the realisation hit them both at the same time—how the fuck did all of them came to know you? if jay knew you because of his affair, and jake knew you too—and sunghoon too—then were they all having an affair with you?

they’d been secretly fucking the same girl for months—?!

you, still pinned under sunghoon, felt your stomach drop.

“oh my fucking gosh…” you whispered, eyes wide, a nervous laugh bubbling out of you before you could stop it. you propped yourself up on your elbows, hand flew up to cover your mouth, but it was useless. 

the shock, the absurdity, the fact that you had been playing all three of them without any of them knowing… it was all crashing down at once. 

sunghoon finally pulled his hand out from under your dress and sat up slightly. he looked between his two bestfriends, voice strained. “look—this isn’t what it looks like.”

jake let out a broken, disbelieving laugh. “you’re on top of her, dude.”

jay’s grip tightened—he stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time. 

“you.. and sunghoon?” his voice cracked. “how long has this been going on?”

the room was thick and silent for half a second.

then it clicked. 

sunghoon’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked at jay—then slowly turned his head toward jake. the realisation hit him. “wait…” he muttered. “how the fuck do you know her?”

jake’s face went pale—he blinked rapidly and swallowed the lump in his throat. “yeah… how do you know yn?”

jay’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. his gaze flicked between you and sunghoon, confusion turning into dawning horror. sunghoon sat up straighter, but not off you. all three boys were now staring directly at you.

“how do you know jay?”

“and how the hell do you know jake?”

“you and sunghoon—?”

now the focus shifted entirely on you.

you were still lying on the bed, dress rumpled, lips swollen, heart hammering in your chest. three pairs of eyes—shocked, jealous, and confused—were locked on you. 

“i—” 

you tried to sit up, tugging your dress down with shaky hands. “i—i didn’t know? ah, i swear… it just… happened? i mean—”

you were clearly flustered, words tumbling out in a nervous rush. “i never thought—i didn’t know you guys knew each other—?”

before you could finish, jake reached behind him and closed the door with a soft click, locking the four of you inside. both of them walked closer to the bed, their expressions shifting from confusion to something more of—betrayal and disbelief.

jay ran a hand through his hair, letting out a short laugh. “wow… you’ve been fucking all of us?” his voice was low, eyes wide. “our own friend group?”

why didn’t they blame each other—? you thought, swallowing the lump in your throat. you guys were the asshole cheaters in the first place! so they could cheat on their girlfriends, but god forbids a girl have fun with multiple guys?

“have you been playing us the whole time? jake asked. “letting jay fuck you, me, now sunghoon pinning you down like that?”

just as you were about to open your mouth, sunghoon squished your cheeks together and slammed his lips against yours roughly—teeth clashing and grazing your lips. you whimpered into the kiss, hands instinctively grabbing his shirt. 

when sunghoon finally pulled back, you grasped for air. his thumb dragged across your botton lip. “there’s no point hiding anymore, is there?”

the tension snapped. 

jay moved first, climbing onto the bed and grabbing your wrist, pulling you toward him. “c’mere, baby.” jake was right behind him, kneeling on your other side. sunghoon stayed where he was, between your knees, watching as his two bestfriends started touching you.

in seconds, your dress was being yanked up and over your head. hands were everywhere—jake’s mouth on your neck, jay’s hands squeezing your tits, sunghoon’s fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your legs. 

you were panting, head spinning from the sudden overload.

“look at her,” jay murmured, voice thick as he pinched your nipple, eliciting a moan. “pretty little side chick… been taking all three of us like a whore.” jake groaned, kissing down your chest. “and we thought we were the only ones… fuck, that’s so hot.”

sunghoon gripped your jaw again, turning your face toward him. “open your mouth.”

the second you did, and he kissed you again—rough and deep—while jay and jake worked together pleasing your tits. jay’s hand wandered along your tummy—down to your bare, wet cunt. 

his fingers slid between your folds, groaning when he felt how wet you already were. “shit, so soaked.”

“fuckin’ dripping for us already,” sunghoon said, moving to give jake a space to settle between your spread legs. “turn over,” sunghoon ordered, commanding as he grabbed your hips. “on your hands and knees now, c’mon.”

your body obeyed before your brain could catch up—which shocked jake a little since with him, you were never this obedient. you were flipped onto all fours in the middle of the bed, ass up, back arched, completely exposed.

jake gripped your asscheeks, spreading them wide enough as he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly from your clit, all the way up to your dripping hole. “fuck, taste s’good,” he moaned, his cock beneath his pants twitched. he dove back in, licking and sucking messily while jay knelt in front of you. he tilted your chin up, hard cock already freed from his pants, thick and leaking. 

“open that pretty mouth, baby.”

you parted your lips and he instantly pushed the head of his cock past them, sliding deep into your warm mouth with a satisfied groan. “oh, fuuuuck… your mouth always feels s’good…”

sunghoon stayed at your side, one hand already palming and stroking his cock while the other reached underneath to rub circles on your clit as jake french–kissed your pussy. “look at you,” sunghoon murmured. “what a slut… taking all taken men at once. this what you wanted, isn’t it?”

jake hummed against your pussy and you felt the curve of his mouth forming into a smile—the vibration making your thighs quiver. jay thrusted into your mouth, hand tangled in your hair. “been screwing each of us behind the other’s backs…” jay groaned, pushing deeper until you gagged. 

“greedy little girl.”

your muffled moan around jay’s cock was the only answer they needed. 

jake was the first to pull back from between your legs, shiny with your juices. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swimming with pure need. “i’m going first,” he said, settling behind you. “been dying to fuck you again since the last time.”

sunghoon and jay didn’t argue. they simply shifted positions.

jake moved behind you, gripping your hips tightly and lining up his hard cock with your dripping entrance. without any warning or heads up, he pushed in with one deep thrust—bottoming out in a single stroke. 

“oh, fuuuck…” he groaned aloud, head falling back as your tight walls clenched around him. “still so ’ tight… missed this pussy so much.” jake started thrusting—deep strokes that rocked your body forward.

at the same time, sunghoon knelt in front of you. he grabbed your hair gently but firmly, guiding your mouth to his cock. “open up,” he ordered quietly. you obeyed, lips parting as he slid his thick length into your mouth. sunghoon let out a groan, eyes half–lidded as he watched you take him inch by inch.

jay moved to your side, kneeling close enough that his cock was right next to your face. your hand instinctively wrapped around his length, stroking his wet cock while you sucked his best friend’s. 

the room filled with wet, porno sounds—jake’s hips slapping against your ass as he fucked you from behind, the slick sounds of your mouth working sunghoon’s dick, and your hand pumping jay’s length. every now and then, jake would slap you ass—gripping, squeezing, and spreading and watched as your asshole twitched. 

“aw, pretty baby,” jay grunted, wrapping his bigger hand around yours as he guided you through it out. “taking all three of us so well, mm? perfect girl.”

next to him, sunghoon scoffed. jake panted and runted like a dog—gripping your hips harder as he pounded into you. “oh—hah—you feel so good, oh fuck, i missed this so much—missed you so much.”

sunghoon glanced at jake before his hand tightened in your hair, guiding your head as he picked up his pace fucking your mouth. “that’s it… suck me just like that—how you’d do with all the other guys, babe.”

jay groaned, hips twitching into your fist. “yeah—? do you have other guys you’re fucking aside us, yn?”

you instantly shook your head as much as you could with sunghoon’s cock buried in your mouth, a desperate, muffled, “mm—mm” vibrating around him. 

“right,” sunghoon clicked his tongue. the memory of you getting hit on by heeseung playing in the back of his head. if you were able to hide jake and jay from him for months—who knew who else?

every thrust from jake pushed you forward onto sunghoon’s cock, forcing you to take him even deeper down your throat. you were gagging around him, drool slipping from the corners of your mouth but you kept sucking.

jake’s rhythm started to falter. his grip on your hips tightened almost painfully as he fucked you harder from behind. “hah—i’m close, oh god,” he groaned. “wanna fill you up—i can fill you up, right? hngh—you’ll let me?”

he slammed into you a few more times, deep and desperate, burying himself to the hilt. now—jay and sunghoon never knew jake was someone who’s into this but who were they to judge? the contrast between how you were with jake, sunghoon, and jay made them want to laugh.

with jay, you’re treated as the princess of the princess—sweet, gentle, kind words—like you’re the girlfriend. with jake, you got to order and command—and he’s always so fucking into being called a good boy. with sunghoon? with sunghoon—you’re the brat that needed some punishment. 

you nodded your head and that was all jake needed. 

“hah—cumming—” he rasped. you felt the first hot spurts of his cum flood deep inside you. the puppy boy kept grinding into you, milking every drop as he creampied you, his cock twitching. a low whine escaped your throat, muffled.

when jake finally pulled out, a thick trail of his cum leaked from your cunt.

“next,” jake panted, voice hoarse as he moved aside.

they filled you onto your back. 

the player immediately took his place between your legs, but instead of fucking you missionary, he turned you slightly onto your side. he lifted your top leg, hooking it over his hip, and instantly slid his throbbing cock into your cum–filled cunt in one thrust. 

“ah—! jay!” you moaned aloud, followed by jay’s groan. the warmth from jake’s cum wasn’t helping the situation at all. it felt so fucking good. “she’s so slippery with your cum, jake… so filthy.”

he started fucking you from the side—deep, rolling thrusts that let him hit every sensitive spot. you’re beyond embarrassed at this point. your creamy pussy that gushes cum with each thrust, how exposed and bare and wet you were for the other two boys to see. 

you wondered if this was the consequences of your actions. 

jake moved up beside your head, still breathing hard. he groped your tits greeding—how he loved them—squeezing and kneading, pinching your sweaty nipples as he leaned down to kiss and bite along your neck.

‘hngh—yn, i love these so much,” he muffled, sucking and tugging at your boobs. “so soft, you’re so squishy.” 

sunghoon shifted to your other side, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. his tongue slid against yours while jay continued fucking you from the side, the wet sounds of his cock plunging into your creampied pussy filling the room.

sunghoon kissed you like he couldn’t bear not doing anything while the other two boys had their fun. he was almost annoyed and pissed that they just had to interrupt him having you all to himself earlier. 

“is this what you like?” jake murmured against your neck, his hands never stopping roaming. he groped your breasts, rolled your nipples between his fingers, then slid one hand down to rub your clit in lazy circles while jay thrusted into you. “taking jay’s dick right after i filled you up… you’re so hot, yn.”

“hngh—jay, oh fuck, you’re so big—” you moaned into sunghoon’s mouth in which he instantly shut you up. jay groaned, picking up the pace, hips snapping harder. “fuck. i can feel your cum every time i push in, jake. poor sweetheart, do you like this, baby?”

sunghoon pulled back from the kiss just enough to let you breathe, lips brushing yours. “answer him while he’s fucking you.”

your body trembled between the three guys as you answered: “yes, yes, yesyesyes—! i—i love all three of you, oh my fuck!” you cried out, chasing sunghoon’s lips as you began sucking his bottom lip. you moaned shamelessly into his mouth while jay’s cock dragged against your walls.  

“we love you too.”

behind you, jay smirked—and jake couldn’t help from smiling. 

“show us how much you love it, please?” jake murmured against your nipple, his fingers never slowing down—pressing and rubbing your clit. “squirt for us—make a mess all over jay’s dick.”

he began rubbing harder—and the pressure coiled fast. too fast.

before you knew it, your thighs started shaking uncontrollably. your back arched sharply as jake’s fingers and jay’s cock worked you together. “oh, i’m gonna—!”

you didn’t even get to finish. 

with a loud, broken cry, you squired around jay’s cock. clear fluid gushed out of you, soaking jay’s hips, the sheets, and jake’s hand. your whole body convulsed, pussy clenching and pulsing violently. 

“fuck—!” jay groaned, eyes rolling back as your walls squeezed him like a vice. the feeling of you squiring all over him while still full of jake’s cum pushed him over the edge. without any warning, he buried himself deep and came—thick ropes of cum shooting right inside. 

he kept grinding into you through his orgasm, pushing every drop deeper as your squirt continued to leak around his cock. 

sunghoon watched the while thing, still kissing you through your high, swallowing every broken moan and whimper. 

when jay finally stilled, panting against your shoulder, the room was filled with heavy breathing and the obscene sound of cum and squirt dripping onto the sheets. jake leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your nipple while his fingers slowed on your oversensitive clit.

“good girl…” jay murmured, kissing your temple. “such a perfect girl.”

jay pulled out slowly, another mix of squirt and both their cum leaking out of your used cunt like whipped cream, jay smirked, giving your ass a squeeze. 

“my turn.”

sunghoon didn’t waste a single second.

he moved between your legs, pushing them wide open as he settled on top of you in full missionary, his frame caged you in, eyes locked onto yours that always made your tummy flip. without warning, he slid two fingers deep into your cum–filled pussy, curcling them instantly.

“hah—hoonie—!” you gasped, back arching off the bed as he started fingering you—fast and deep, wet sounds loud and filthy as he stirred jake and jay’s cum inside you. “feel that, babe? he muttered. “so full already—yet so slutty for more.”

he pumped his fingers harder, scissoring them, pushing the mixed loads deeper while his thumb rub your swollen clit. your legs trembled around him, overstimulation making tears prick.

only when you were whimpering and gasping did sunghoon finally pull his fingers out. he brought them up to your mouth.

“clean ‘em.”

you obediently opened your lips, sucking his fingers clean of the messy mix of cum while he watched. then, he lined up his thick, needy cock—and pushed into you in one deep thrust, slow enough to let you feel every inch and veins of him. 

a broken moan tore from your throat.

sunghoon bottomed out, holding your hips. “shit… so warm and wet,” he breathed, and began to move. his thrusts were hard and deliberate, hips snapping forward with every stroke, driving jake and jay’s cum even deeper.

he kept you in missionary the whole time—face to face, eyes locked, his body pressed flush against yours. one hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider. the other slid up to wrap gently around your throat, holding you there.

“open your mouth.” 

you obeyed instantly, lips paring, tongue slightly out naturally.

sunghoon leaned in first. he gathered spit in his mouth and let it drop slowly onto your tongue, watching with a smirk as it landed right on your tongue. jake moved in simultaneously, hovering above you as he spat directly into your open mouth, a thick string of saliva mixing with sunghoon’s. jay too—tilted your head upward gently before spitting into your mouth as well. 

all three of their spit mixed together on your tongue—so fucking humiliating in the best way. 

“swallow, baby, c’mon,” jay murmured, kissing your cheek. sunghoon tightened his grip on your throat just a little, you swallowed the thick saliva, throat bobbing under his palm. the taste of all three of them made your pussy clench hard around sunghoon’s cock.

“fuck, she just squeezed me,” sunghoon groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you harder. “such a nasty little cumslut.”

jake chuckled, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth as he palmed your tits. jay’s hand slid down to rub your clit as sunghoon pounded into you deeply—”nasty little girl, look at you,” jay murmured, caressing your hair.

“you love being used like this? who taught you to be so slutty, baby, hm?”

sunghoon’s eyes never left yours—your half–lidded, crossed, rolled to the back glossy eyes. he fucked you relentlessly, wet squelching sounds of his cock stirring the mixed cum inside you filling the room. his hand stayed around your throat as he fucked your cunt like a fleshlight, claming while jake had his fun with your tits, and jay continued teasing your clit from the side.

you were a complete mess—trembling, moaning, drooling… barely got to focus on the moving ceiling above. your tits bounced and jiggled with every thrust—a sight jake could cum alone. 

sunghoon’s thrusts grew sharper, deeper, and more desperate. his grip on you throat tightened just a fraction as he groaned against your lips. “fuck… ‘m cummin’—”

he straightened up, canines digging into his bottom lip as he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. the hardest he’s ever ejaculated. thick, hot ropes of cum flooded and washed over deep inside you, mixing with the cum from jake and jay before. 

as usual, he kept grinding into you, pushing every drop as deep as possible while his cock twitched inside your overused, overfilled pussy.

at the same time, the two boys kneeled on either side of your head—jerking themselves off furiously above you, breathing heavily. “shit, shit, shit,” jay rasped, thick spurts of cum landing across your tits and collarbones. 

“oh, gosh, yn, please,” jake whimpered, following just right after as he painted your face and chest with more warm cum. their softened cocks rested on your chest, with jay’s twitching again as it rubbed your nipple.

you lay there, panting, body covered in their cum—tits glistening like you milked out semen, pussy leaking a creamy mix of all three of them, throat marked from sunghoon’s hands and jake’s bites, lips swollen from jay’s kisses. 

the room was silent except for heavy breathing and panting.

sunghoon pulled out—agonisingly slow—watching his thick cum drip and burst out from your stretched hole. fuck—what a sight, he thought. he wasn’t sure if this would be the last time. your pussy twitched and spasmed around nothing, thighs trembling with orgasm as you shivered. 

jay leaned to press a chaste kiss on your cheek. jake’s softened cock caressed your other cheek as the owner pumped the mixed cum back inside your puffy pussy with his fingers. sunghoon pressed a soft, loving kiss to your lips. 

“you’re our secret girl now.”

you lay between them—as the three sworn, soulmates bestfriends who used to swear they had no secrets finally agreed on one secret: they would share their perfect little side chick—away from their girlfriends, and away from all the other guys out there.

unprotected sex, gangbang, squirting, fingering, oral (f&m receiving), marathon sex (kinda), creampie, double vaginal penetration, spitting, face/throat fucking, let me know if i missed any.

The September air was still thick with the residual heat of summer but the breeze cutting through the quad was already carrying the first sharp hint of the ice that would soon define your semester. Two weeks into freshman year and the campus already felt smaller than the brochures had promised. In all honesty you felt suffocated by the weight of a legacy neither you nor Zoya could escape.

Zoya walked beside you, constantly twisting her fingers in the strap of her bag. "I haven't slept in like three days," she admitted in a strained voice. "Tryouts are next week and I swear I can feel my heart in my throat every time I see a pair of skates."

"Zoya, breathe," you said. "You've been training for this since we were six. You're more prepared than anyone else in that rink. Stop stressing."

Your friendship with Zoya was a constant bond forged long before you understood what a legacy even meant. Your mothers had met in the very halls of this university, dressed in the same blue and white uniforms you were now expected to fill. You had spent your childhood in the back of dance studios and cold arena bleachers, two shadows following the footsteps of women who had once been part of the university's most celebrated icons.

"I don't know how you're so calm," she glanced at you. "If I don't make the cut, my mom might actually disown me. Your mom isn't exactly going to be thrilled if you aren't on that roster, either."

You shrugged, feeling like the weight of the expectation had just become a dull ache you'd simply learned to live with. "I'm sure she'll manage. Besides, it's just a team. There are more important things than whether or not we look good in sequins and skates."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered as you both found a stone table in the quad, sitting next to each other while the noise of the campus humming around you. "They only take five girls each year. Five."

"Because they have to maintain the twenty girl balance, Zoy," you countered, squinting against the sun. "Five seniors graduated so they need five new freshman and you can only try out in your first year. It's simple math, not a conspiracy. It's no biggie."

Zoya went quiet then, her expression shifting from nervous to something more focused. She leaned into your space and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper that forced you to pay attention.

"Have you heard the gist lately? In the dorms?" she asked. "It's not just about who's the best skater anymore. Everyone is talking about the tradition. The real one."

You felt an internal groan. "That rumor? Again?"

"They say the hockey team picks one girl from the five new recruits," she said with her eyes wide and dead serious. "One girl who has to give it up at the tryouts welcome party. That it's a requirement. A gangbang for the guys who run the rink."

You rolled your eyes and let a sharp, dismissive sound escape your throat. "Zoya, please. That is the most tired, misogynistic urban legend on this campus. It's locker room bullshit meant to scare us or make the guys feel like they have more power than they actually do. It's just a rumor. Stop letting it get in your head."

"Like for fucks sake. Am I meant to be excited at the thought of a bunch of guys fucking me?"

But Zoya didn't back down, if anything she just leaned into closer, darting her eyes around as if the very trees were wired. "I'm serious! It's not just some ghost story, I'm telling you. My roommate's cousin's TA has a niece who was the girl they picked last year."

You stopped mid sip of your drink and lowered it to look at her with mocking disappointment. You let the silence hang for a beat too long just so she could sit with what she just said, then you started repeating her words back to her, dripping your voice with deliberate sarcasm.

"So...let me get this straight," you began ticking the points off on your fingers. "Your roommate's...cousin's...TA's...niece?" You asked her and watched her resolve start to crumble at the corners of her mouth as the absurdity of the so called source finally hit the air.

"When you put it like that, it sounds—"

"It sounds like a game of telephone or Chinese whisper played by people who have spent way too much time inhaling zamboni fumes," you finished for her.

She let out a frustrated whine while reaching to grab your shoulders. "Shut up! You're so mean!" she laughed and started to shake you back and forth. Her grip was firm as she swung your body in rhythm with her protests. "Take me seriously! I'm trying to prepare us for potentially having to take dick!"

The physical drama of it was too much to resist, you really tried to keep your face stoic but the sight of Zoya looking so genuinely panicked over a fourth hand story about a TA's niece broke you. A bubble of laughter escaped and soon you were both giggling like the kids you used to be.

The week of tryouts had been a blur of synthetic light and the rhythmic scrape of steel on ice. For Zoya, it was a slow motion descent into madness, she was a whirlwind of nervous energy in the locker room, retying her laces until her fingertips were raw and changing her skates three separate times because she convinced herself the blades weren’t right. You had watched her from the bench, already laced up and ready, trying to offer a calm anchor in her storm of superstition.

When your turn finally came, you didn't really overthink it. You moved through the routines you'd practiced since you were tall enough to reach the rink boards, you remembered all the crossovers, the synchronized lunges, the power pulls. It was muscle memory at this point or a birthright clicking into place. To you, it wasn't a performance—it was more of another day at the office.

Now, a week later, the tension had migrated from the ice to the stifling atmosphere of Zoya's dorm room. You were sitting criss cross on her bed while your phones sat like two ticking time bombs on the mattress between you.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Zoya whispered, staring at the dark screens. "If I don't see an email in the next sixty seconds, I'm dropping out of college and moving to a farm."

"You hate dirt, Zoy. You'd last barely an hour," you muttered, trying to be calm even though your own pulse was beginning to thrum against your ribs.

Suddenly, both screens lit up simultaneously and two identical notifications from the university athletics department banner appeared.

Zoya shrieked, launching herself off the bed as if she'd been electrocuted. She paced the small rug with her hands over her mouth. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Okay. Okay, don't open it yet. We do this together."

You picked up your phone, your hands shaking but still steadier than hers and stood to meet her in the center of the room. "On three?"

"On three," she breathed as her finger hovered over the screen.

"One."

"Two."

"Three!"

The light of the screens reflected in your eyes as you both scanned the text.

"We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the 2026 Ice Girls roster..."

"WE GOT IN!" Zoya screamed, the words overlapping with your own as you read the confirmation out loud. She tackled you back onto the bed, you didn't even get through the second sentence before the room exploded. You hit the mattress with a thud as her weight pinned you down, her face buried in your shoulder as she vibrated with pure, unadulterated adrenaline.

"We did it! We actually did it!" she shrieked into your ear, her joy was infectious enough to finally break through your cool exterior and you couldn't help it. It was like the tension of the last week finally evaporated into a fit of breathless giggles. You lay there on the bed, tangled in limbs and phones, laughing up at the ceiling while Zoya squeezed the life out of you. And for that one moment, the weight of your mother's expectations and the dark whispers of campus rumors felt miles away—eclipsed by the simple reality that you were officially in.

The calm excitement of the afternoon was short lived though, quickly replaced by hurricane Zoya in a state of social crisis. Your dorm room looked like a textile factory had exploded, there were clothes draped over your desk lamp and jeans strewn across your bed as she dove head first into your closet for the third time in twenty minutes. "The welcome party isn't just a party, Y/N," she muffled from behind a row of your hangers, her voice strained with the familiar, high pitched anxiety that always made you want to both hug her and laugh at her. "It's like a hierarchy. The hockey team is going to be there and the resident ice girls will be judging our every move. We can't just show up looking like we're headed to a late night study session in the library!"

You laid there on your bed, watching her with an amused tilt of your head. Zoya was always a perpetual mess of nerves, she was a beautiful disaster but you loved her to death for it. Her intensity was the only thing that could actually make you feel the weight of whatever was ahead.

"Have you actually seen the hockey team in person? Like up close?" she continued, finally surfacing with a grunt of frustration. "They’re not a human, they’re like filtered ai images come to life. And don't even get me started on Heeseung—the captain. If I have to stand next to him, I refuse to do it in a crewneck sweatshirt." She tossed one of your favorite oversized hoodies onto the floor with a look of annoyance. "Seriously? You have nothing sexy in here. It's all...functional."

"I was just going to go in what I have on now," you said, gesturing to your simple jeans and tee.

Zoya let out a gasp of such genuine horror you thought she'd actually been wounded. "No way, Y/N! You are not going to embarrass us! This is our debut!"

Before you could protest, she lunged for the overstuffed duffle bag she'd lugged over all the way from her own dorm and with a dramatic flourish, she hoisted it over both your heads and dumped the entire contents onto your bed. A mountain of lace, silk and leather tumbled out in a heap.

"Pick," she commanded, pointing at the pile with a manic twitch in her eye. "Pick right now or so help me God, I will pick for you and I promise you it will involve something tiny."

Giving in to the inevitable, you sighed and reached blindly into the middle of the mountain. Your fingers snagged onto the strap of a dress, so you pulled it out—a short, form fitting black dress with delicate straps and a neckline that was definitely lower than anything you owned.

Zoya's eyes went wide and her frantic energy instantly shifted into a predatory sort of pride. "Ooh...okay, okay! That one is hot," she purred, clapping her hands together. "The I don't care but I look incredible look. It's perfect. Go. Put it on. Eeek! I can’t wait, Y/N!"

You’re not surprised the party ends up being a far cry from the chaotic, floor shaking rages you'd been attending in the freshman dorms. This was something different, it was controlled and suffocatingly exclusive.

You let your eyes scan the room as you hoisted yourself up onto the kitchen island, slowly realizing the rumors about the inner circle weren't exaggerated. There were exactly twenty two hockey players and the twenty ice girls, including the five of you who had just been initiated. The air felt heavy with a specific kind of social politics you weren't sure you wanted to play. Zoya, however, was of course a natural and about twenty minutes ago, a guy with a sharp jawline and an observant gaze called Jungwon had detached himself from a group of upperclassmen and navigated the crowded living room with a focused sort of grace, landing right in front of Zoya.

"Was it a requirement for this year’s ice girls to be extra gorgeous?" he'd asked her with a voice smooth enough to make Zoya's usual nervous energy vanish into a flattered blush. He looked into her cup before speaking again, "Want to help me find something that isn't cheap beer?"

Zoya had glanced back at you, her eyes wide with a silent 'Is this okay?' question. You'd given her a small, reassuring nod, the green light she needed to finally enjoy the night she'd spent weeks stressing over.

Now, you were alone sat on the island while the hem of Zoya's dress rode up slightly as you adjusted your seat. The fabric was sleek and undeniably hot, as she'd put it but it didn't stop you from feeling like an outsider looking in.

Through the pulse of the music and the low hum of athletic egos clashing, your mind drifted toward your dorm. You could almost feel the weight of your oversized weighted duvet and the silence of your room. You were halfway through the mental calculation of how long you had to stay before an early morning excuse became socially acceptable, when the stool next to your legs slid back and the scent of expensive cologne hit you before he even spoke.

"You look remarkably bored for someone who just clawed their way onto the most exclusive team on campus," his voice came, all deep and smooth, holding a hint of a challenge.

You looked up and met a pair of intense eyes. He was striking with sharp angles and cool composure. Normally, you might have given a dry retort about the music volume but you caught sight of Zoya across the room, laughing at something Jungwon said. You knew her mentals would never recover if you started your tenure by being rude to one of the hockey gods.

"I’m just a bit tired," you said and forced your lips into a polite smile. "It's been a long week of skating."

He tilted his head and studied you a little as if he were reading a play. "Fair enough. I'm Jongseong but everyone just calls me Jay."

"Nice to meet you, Jay. I’m Y/N" you replied. You were just about to settle into a rhythm of light banter when a second presence came crashing into your peripheral vision.

"And who is this cutie?"

The newcomer leaned against his palm with his elbow the marble counter, he was radiating a completely different energy from Jay, so warm and dangerously charming. He looked like the kind of guy that had never had a bad day in his life.

Jay didn't even glance at him, his dark eyes somehow stayed locked on yours and his voice dropped an octave as he answered for you. "Y/N," he said your name and made it sound like a claim and not like an introduction.

The new guy grinned, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Well, Y/N, I'm Jake. Huge congratulations on making the ice girls. That’s a big deal."

You offered an amused huff. "Thanks. Though I'm surprised you even know I'm new. I figured we all looked the same to you guys in those practice uniforms."

Jake let out a short laugh and shifted closer until he had his head nearly in your thighs. "Oh please," he murmured, letting his gaze travel over your face with a boldness that made the back of your neck heat up. "I would've spotted you months ago if you were already around. You're far too stunning to go unnoticed on this campus."

Before you could respond to Jake's blatant flirting, a third figure cut through the conversation. He didn't look at you, well at least not at first. He directed all his attention entirely to Jake. "Heeseung is looking for you," the newcomer said a little bit like a warning. "And he's already pissed. You were supposed let the delivery driver with the drinks in and now he’s gone…with the extra drinks."

Jake didn't look remotely intimidated, if anything he actually looked bored as he rolled his eyes and let his hair tickle your arm. "Heeseung gets pissed at everyone, Sunghoon. It's his default setting by now."

The name Heeseung had been floating around the dorms like a title of nobility for weeks but the way they spoke it made him sound like a force to be reckoned with. "Who exactly is Heeseung?" you cut in, managing to keep your voice steady despite the triple threat of hot guys surrounding you. "And should I be staying clear of him?"

That was the moment the new guy finally acknowledged you. His gaze drifted down and landed on you with a clinical kind of interest that felt like you were being scrutinized.

"He's our captain," Jake answered quickly, with a playful smirk returning to his lips. "And whether you stay clear of him or not isn't really up to you anymore, is it? You're an ice girl now."

"This is Sunghoon," Jake added, gesturing vaguely to the cold eyed newcomer.

Sunghoon didn't smile at you but the intensity of his stare softened just a fraction. "So, how does it feel? Being one of the chosen five?"

You opened your mouth to give a diplomatic, it's great response but your gaze snagged on a movement across the room, where Zoya was stood still with Jungwon distracted by the person he was talking to over her head. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly agape at the sight of you sat at the center of a triangle of hot guys.

She caught your eye and mouthed, "What the fuck?!" her expression was a blend of genuine horror and curios thrill.

You caught her eye and gave a subtle, helpless shrug, you didn't have an answer for her, damn—you didn't even have an answer for yourself. Ten minutes ago you were thinking about your bed and now, you’re the center of gravity for some sexy strangers.

Just as Jay was trying to pull you back into the conversation with a question about your major or something, a voice came from nowhere. "Jake. Come on, man. I told you to let the drinks guy in." The voice was low and authoritative, lacking any of the playful warmth the others had shown.

Heeseung didn't even look like a student in the best way possible, he looked like the architect of the entire room. His presence was heavy like a physical weight that made the banter from a moment ago feel suddenly juvenile. He didn't even acknowledge you, his eyes were fixed entirely on Jake with a look of tired discipline.

"He left and now we’re low on drinks," Heeseung added but Jake didn't miss a beat and instead of shrinking, he finally just placed his whole head in your lap as he flashed a boyish grin at his captain.

"Can you blame me, cap?" Jake countered, the tone was light but his eyes were dancing with a hint of challenge. "I was just doing my job. Making our newest recruit feel welcome. You wouldn't want the ice girls thinking we aren’t hospitable, would you?" He spoke as if you were the ultimate get out of jail free card.

Heeseung's eyes finally shifted, they traveled slowly from your face down to where your hands were resting in Jake's hair, then finally up to your face again. His eyes weren't hungry like Jake's or intense like Jay's, they were just insanely observant, tracing your features quietly in a way that made your breath scatter.

He let out a long sigh and you could see the tension in his jaw flicker for just a second before he looked back at the three guys flanking you.

"Of course," He said. "I should have known. You three always did have a habit of gravitating toward the prettiest girl in the room."

He stepped closer and invaded the space the others had already carved out, letting his shadow fall over you. "The problem is," he said, shifting his eyes to lock onto yours with a finality that made the myth Zoya was going on about suddenly feel real, "they usually forget that the prettiest ones are the hardest to keep in line."

His eyes searched yours for a crack in your nonchalant exterior. "So," he murmured, "are you going to be a problem, doll? Hard to keep in line?"

The weight of the four of them was suffocating, it made you lose trust in your own voice, so you simply shook your head, a subtle movement that felt like signing a contract you hadn't even read.

A satisfied smirk pulled at Jay's lips so he let his shoulder brush yours. "In that case," he said, "we're moving to a more...private after party. Just us. You wanna come?"

He didn't phrase it like a question, to you it sounded like it was an invitation or a command. You hesitated and your mind flashed back to the quiet safety of your dorm but Jake was quick in sensing your retreat. He reached out and let his thumb graze the back of your hand where it rested on the marble now since he lifted his head from your lap.

"Come on," he coaxed with a honeyed voice. "The night's just getting started. You don't want to be the only recruit who tucked herself in just before the real fun began, do you?"

"I...I can't leave Zoya," you managed to glance over their tall frames toward the dance floor. "We came together. I can’t just leave her alone."

Heeseung didn't even bother looking over his shoulder, as if he already knew exactly where everyone in the room was positioned. "Zoya’s in safe hands, Jungwon is the sweetest. He'll look after her."

You followed his gaze to the center of the room where the lights caught Zoya, who clearly wasn't checking for you anymore. She had her back pressed firmly against Jungwon's chest, her head tilted back as his hands gripped her hips. She looked flushed and lost in the heat of the moment, completely oblivious to the fact that you were being cornered right now.

The rumors Zoya had whispered about at the stone table suddenly didn't feel so ridiculous anymore. Looking at her, then back at the four sets of eyes waiting for your answer, you realized you had to make a choice. But maybe it wasn’t even like that, maybe they were just being really good wing men for Jay, who was the first to approach you. And if you’re being honest you didn’t mind the either of flirting with him more in a more quiet location.

That line of reasoning was exactly how you ended up sat between Jay and Sunghoon in the backseat of a massive truck you’re suspecting Jake owns, seeing as he’s the one driving with Heeseung in the passenger seat.

The fabric of Sunghoon's expensive jacket brushed against your left arm while Jay's solid frame pressed into your right, leaving you with nowhere to lean but forward.

The blue light of your phone screen felt blinding in the darkness of the car as you quickly typed out a message to Zoya.

You: I left with Jay. Didn't want to interrupt you and Jungwon. Text me when you're back?

You watched the read receipt appear instantly, trying to ignore how you conveniently left out the fact that you left with all four boys. A second later, a heart reaction popped up over the bubble, the girl didn’t even bother typing back, she was clearly occupied and it made you snort.

But before you could lock the screen, a large hand reached over and plucked the device from your fingers. Jay didn't even look at the screen as he pocketed it in his jacket with his gaze fixed on the side of your face. "Relax," he told you. "I promise you, Jungwon is a real gentleman. He'll make sure she gets back safe."

"He's right," Sunghoon added from your other side but when you looked at him, he was staring out the tinted window at the passing streetlights. "Jungwon is the best of us. No need to worry."

Jake caught your eye in the rearview mirror and flashed you his perfect white teeth, the engine roaring as he accelerated down the road.

The drive felt like it was happening in a different dimension, the hum of the engine was drowning out by the predatory focus of the men surrounding you.

Jay shifted his weight so his large frame crowded into your personal space until you were pinned against the leather seat and Sunghoon's solid side. "You have no idea how much I've been thinking about this since you walked into that kitchen," he said, "You're so fucking gorgeous, it's insane."

He moved closer, letting his nose brush yours and you could feel his warm breath on your lips. "I'm going to kiss you now. Is that okay?"

Your words had abandoned you, the sheer fervor of his gaze made you dizzy and all you could do was nod. He didn't wait to be told twice, crashing his lips onto yours in a kiss so hungry and demanding, it made a tiny whimper escape your throat, muffled by his lips as his tongue traced yours.

From the front, Heeseung's amused voice cut through the haze, he glanced back over his shoulder at the sight of Jay nearly on top of you, pushing you further into Sunghoon. "Control yourself, Jongseong," he said with no real bite to his words. "You're always so impatient. We aren't even off the main road yet."

Jay definitely wasn’t listening, deepening the kiss instead and letting his hand grip your waist. That’s when you felt a sharp spark of electricity as a different hand began a slow trail up the hem of your dress, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh.

Your head snapped to the left with wide eyes to meet Sunghoon's gaze, who wasn't looking out the window anymore, whose lips were now pulled into a pout. "And what about me?" he whispered, "Where's my kiss, Y/N?"

Caught between the two of them, you leaned over and pressed your lips to Sunghoon's in a softer kiss. The moment you did, Jay groaned into your ear and grabbed your waist to hoist your leg over his lap, forcing your legs apart in the cramped space and making your dress ride up dangerously high.

Jay's fingers danced along your inner thigh, inching upward until they hooked under the delicate edge of your lace panties. The sensation sent a jolt through you and as Sunghoon began to trail wet kisses down the column of your neck, your breath hitched in a jagged sob.

You were sure you would faint if they both kept going but the vehicle came to a halt and Jake's voice drifted back from the driver's seat, "We're hereeee."

Trying to get out the truck, your legs felt like water when your heels hit the gravel of the driveway, making you stumble.

"Woah, easy there," Sunghoon caught you and before you could find your balance, he moved with the strength of an athlete. In one swift motion, he hooked an arm around your waist and hoisted you upward, flipping you over his shoulder like you weighed less than a hockey stick.

That forced a whimper out of your lips and your hair cascaded toward the pavement while the hem of Zoya's dress rode up even further. Blood quickly rushed to your head, mixing with the lingering dizzy spell Jay had started in the backseat.

SMACK.

The sharp sound of his palm connecting with your rear echoed in the quiet night. "Shh," he shushed you with his hand lingering for a possessive second on the curve of your hip. You could hear the others following behind him as he carried you into the house. Jake let out a low laugh from somewhere behind you. "Careful with the cargo, Hoon," he teased but there was no real concern in his voice.

"She's fine," Jay countered, speaking for you and reaching up to trace a slow line down your exposed calf.

Heeseung led the way and punched a code into a glowing keypad of the door, the mechanical click of the lock sounding like a gavel hitting a sounding block. He stepped inside and held the door open, his eyes tracked your inverted form on Sunghoon’s shoulder.

"Try not to make too much noise, doll. The neighbors think we're such studious boys."

Sunghoon dropped you carefully, setting you down on the couch and the first thing you registered was the interior of the house, it was even more imposing than the truck—all dark leather and the kind of minimalist luxury that felt cold until the four of them surrounded the couch where you sat. They stood in a semi circle, before Heeseung stepped forward with an expression so unreadable, it stripped away the playful banter of the car ride.

"Before we go any further, let's be clear," he started, speaking in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. "We're going to fuck you. All of us. If you don't want that, if you've changed your mind, say it now. We won't be mad and we won't make it weird. Jake will drive you back to your dorm and we'll go back to being normal hockey players and ice girl on Monday. No questions asked."

The rumors weren't just true, they were standing right in front of you, tall and extremely expectant.

But as you looked up at them you didn't feel fear Zoya had spoken of this very moment with. The adrenaline from the car ride was still singing in your veins, drowning out any hesitation.

Without a word, you reached up, hooking your fingers under the thin spaghetti straps of the dress. You watched their eyes track the movement as you slowly slid the fabric down, letting it pool around your waist until your breasts were fully exposed in the dim light of the apartment.

"Fuck yeah," Jake breathed, already reaching for the buckle of his belt. "I told you she was the right choice," he muttered.

Heeseung didn't have an outward reaction but the corner of his mouth ticked upward in a smirk—the first sign of genuine approval you'd seen from him all night. "Good girl," he said but now his voice carried a heavy sexual weight.

It was as if they had been waiting all night to tear into you, Jake didn't wait for a second invitation, he dropped to his knees by your legs before burying his face against your chest. "Fuck, I love tits," he groaned, the sound muffled against your skin before his mouth latched onto one nipple. He sucked with a greedy pace that sent a lightning bolt of heat straight to your core, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak until you were arching your back off the leather cushions.

Above you, Jay was already crowding back into your space, ready to continue what he started in the car. He gripped your jaw and tilted your head back for a bruising make out that had you gasping for air, his hands found your hair to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

While Jake and Jay claimed your upper body, Sunghoon moved with a surgical focus. He didn't say a word as he reached down, hooking his fingers into the lace of your panties and tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion. He tossed the scrap of fabric onto the expensive floor without a second glance.

He looked at your pussy with a smirk pulling at his lips. "Look at that," his voice barely cut through the sounds of Jake's wet suction and Jay's heavy breathing. He reached out with two fingers to graze your folds, coming away coated in your evidence. He held them up to the dim light, showing you how much you were already leaking. "You're absolutely soaking. Such a little slut for the team, aren't you, baby girl?"

The words hit you in a way that made your toes curl and sent a whine into Jay's hungry mouth, your hips instinctively rolled upward toward Sunghoon's hand or face, desperate for the friction you knew was coming.

From the edge of the couch, Heeseung watched with a calm satisfaction, his arms crossed over his chest, taking in the sight of his teammates dismantling the newest ice girl.

"She's perfect," Heeseung noted. "Jay, move."

You were pinned to the plush leather of the sofa like a living sacrifice to the tradition you had only joked about five hours ago.

Heeseung leaned over you, letting his large hand cup the side of your face so he could claim your mouth. His kiss was deep, slower than Jay’s and tasted of dark intentions. But the moment his tongue met yours, you felt like you could fall in love with him, that thought was quickly pushed out of your head when a pair of hot, wet lips latched directly onto your clit with a suction so precise it felt like a machine.

"Ah—!" Your back arched violently off the cushions as you broke away from Heeseung's mouth, only to look down and find Jay's dark hair between your thighs. He didn't look up, his hands gripped your hips with bruising force to keep you still while his tongue worked with in rhythmic motions. He was fucking your pussy with his mouth, swirling his tongue and flicking it against the most sensitive parts of your cunt until you were sobbing into the quiet of the room. "S—Slow down!"

You tried to tug at the roots of his hair to ground yourself but there was no use. On either side of your chest, Jake was still relentlessly toying with your breasts, moving his mouth from one nipple to the other and grazing his teeth on the swollen peaks until they were raw and sensitive.

Heeseung didn't let you stay away for long, his hand shifted from your cheek again before sliding down until his fingers curled firmly around your throat. It wasn't enough to choke you, just a steady, pressure that forced your chin up and pinned you in place while he leaned back in to reclaim your lips.

"Stay still for me, mama."

With a hand on your neck, Jake's mouth on your chest and Jay's tongue devouring your cunt, you felt like you were being pulled apart. You became a mess of whimpers and little breaths while your body twitched with every flick of Jay's tongue as the four of them began the process of breaking you in.

Heeseung pulled back just enough to look down at you, his thumb tracing the line of your lower lip, which was now swollen from his kisses.

"Do you know how to suck a dick, doll face?" he asked, to which you could only nod with your eyes wide and glazed over from arousal.

He took hold of your jaw with a firm grip, maneuvering your head like a piece of equipment he was testing for the first time. You were forced to turn away from the wet sounds Jay was still making between your thighs and suddenly you were face to face with Sunghoon’s cock. He stood right at the edge of the sofa with his jeans already pulled down. His cock was thick and pulsing with a life of its own, there was a perfect bead of precum trembling at the crown. It looked lethal in that light, it looked way too big and ready, completely unapologetic.

"Open up."

Your mouth fell open in a silent invitation that he accepted instantly as he guided his length past your lips. The salt heavy taste of him flooded your mouth and you found yourself choking out a muffled whimper when he slid in deep, bottoming out against the back of your throat on the very first thrust.

He wasn't gentle, he lacked the patience Jake liked to pretend he had, he reaching down, he tangled his fingers into your hair at the roots to steady you or perhaps just to keep you from pulling away then began to fuck your face with a bruising rhythm.

It was complete sensory static, you had Sunghoon's weight invading your throat, Jay's tongue still ruthlessly fucking your pussy below and the heavy pressure of Heeseung's hand on the back of your neck. Every time Sunghoon thrust, his hips bumped against your nose and the scent of him suffocates you in the best possible way.

You were drowning in them, drowning in the friction of the leather sofa against your back and the dual assault on your body, you could barely find the air to breathe. It made you reach out and dig your fingers into Sunghoon's quads for some kind of leverage, you felt the rock hard muscle jump under your touch as you doubled down on the suction.

"God, look at her," Jake's voice drifted from somewhere above your chest. "She's taking him so well. Such a pretty thing."

Sunghoon wasn’t offering any ounce of mercy, his movement turned into something frenzied as he crowded into your space. He used your hair as a tether, pulling your head back to meet every punishing lunge, the friction of his length against your tongue and throat becoming a choking heat. You were swamped in the taste of him, making your eyes water cause his hips snapped forward with a certainty that left you with no room to breathe.

Determined to wrestle back some semblance of control, you reached up and clamped your hand around the very base of his cock, letting thumb press firmly into the heavy vein on the side, you tried to anchor him in place, circling your tongue around the head with laser focus. You started to suck and choke on him in a pace that had his knees buckling against the edge of the cushions.

The controlled grunts he had been making finally fractured. "Fuck," he gasped, something genuine and high pitched ripping from his throat as his head snapped back. The cold look he’d been attempting to wear all night was completely replaced by a wrecked expression that bordered on pain. He leaned his full weight into you, bracing one hand against the wall behind the couch, his fingertips raked against your scalp cause he was losing the battle to stay composed.

He looked down at the others, his voice a jagged rasp that ripped through the wet sounds of Jay still eating your pussy so messily and the squelching of his own cock fucking your mouth. "Heeseung...oh fuck my life, she's actually s—so fucking good at this."

Jake’s chuckle was appreciative from where he was still occupied with your chest, his thumb flicking your nipple with a punishing pinch that made you jump. "I told you. She's got that quiet desperate energy. They're always the nastiest."

Jay hadn’t even come up for air from the slick mess between your thighs, his tongue was still hitting your clit with sharp flicks that made your hips buck weakly into his mouth.

Heeseung's hand was tracing the frantic pulse in your throat, he watched the way your cheeks hollowed out when you doubled down on Sunghoon, his expression shifting from calculated observation to something much hungrier.

"Damn," "What a sight."

You fought for every bit of air while stilling working your throat around Sunghoon with a needy drive that you were determined to maintain until he finally came. You wanted that win, you wanted the feeling of him losing his composure completely as he spilled into your mouth but the sensation coming from Jay was starting to break your focus.

Two thick fingers suddenly shoved their way past your entrance and stretched you wide with an abrupt force that made your eyes roll back instantly. At the same moment, a hot mouth seized your clit again, sucking with an intent pressure that had you wanting to shriek.

The rush was too much, it was a violent collision of pleasure that had you trembling on the couch. You tried to pull back, shaking your head as you attempted to dislodge Sunghoon just to let out the scream building in your lungs. But Sunghoon wasn't having it, he forced you back down until you were buried to the hilt once more, snapping his hips forward with an unchecked urgency.

"Come on, baby girl...I'm so fucking close. Take this cock for me. You’re a good girl, right?"

You tried to obey, hollowing your cheeks so you could double down on the suction but the fingers inside you were merciless. They pushed deeper, reaching past depths you didn't know you had and hooking upward to find that one receptive spot to stay there, pulsing against it until your entire body went rigid.

The dam within you didn't just break, it completely shattered, leading to a hot wave of fluid erupting from you, soaking the hand buried inside you and splashing against the expensive cushions. You were squirting around those fingers in quivering jets, your gummy muscles clenched in an uncoordinated pulses that you couldn't stop if you tried. Every muffled whimper and sob was swallowed whole by Sunghoon's length, leaving you to shake helplessly as you were essentially being consumed from both ends.

"No way," Jake's excitement reached your ears through the haze, he stopped his assault on your breasts just to stare down at the slick mess soaking into the dark leather. "Holy shit, she's a squirter. Hee, did you see that?"

Jay let out an elated sound while his fingers were still buried deep to catch every last twitch of your orgasm. "I see it," he muttered. "I feel it. You’re ruining the couch, angel."

Even through their words and the force of your organs that had you shaking, Sunghoon’s hips were unstoppable. It was like he had lost his grip on reality and you could tell he was on the edge of his own climax.

His hand tightened in your hair with a pushing force as a string of broken curses tore from his throat. "Holy fucking shit—Fuckkk baby girl." "Sh—Shit! You’re gonna make me cum."

It was as if it was too much for him but he didn’t pull back, he pushed further into to your mouth, the phallic head of his cock assaulting your throat.

His hot spurts of cum shot down, making you gag and the cum overflow but he wasn't done, he somehow managed to keep thrusting, trying to fuck every last drop back into you with so much heat that your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

"Easy, Hoon. You're going to choke her," Heeseung's voice broke through the fog, still calm but carrying that undeniable authority. He reached forward, wrapping a hand around Sunghoon's shoulder and physically hauling him back.

The moment the pressure vanished and you heard the squelch of his cock pulling out from your mouth, you collapsed forward on the sofa. You couldn't seem to catch your breath, the air was whistling in your lungs as you coughed uncontrollably. Strings of white, pearly cum trailed from the corners of your mouth, dripped down your chin and carved wet paths through the sweat on your neck.

Jay moved over to catch your jaw, he started to pull at the hem of his shirt and made an effort to wipe the mess from your face but it was a lost cause—you were completely ruined. He looked down at you, his thumb tracing the swollen line of your lower lip and his eyes went soft for a minute. "You okay? We can stop if you've had enough. You're shaking like crazy."

The room went still for a heartbeat and all four sets of eyes tracked the way your chest heaved. You swallowed hard, still tasting Sunghoon heavy on your tongue and looked up through your lashes. A defiant smile making its way to your lips, even though a stray tear from overstimulation rolled down your cheek.

"No," your voice was barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat. "You haven't even fucked me yet. Isn't that what you promised?"

A charged silence followed your words before Jake let out a sharp laugh that sounded more like a bark. "Jesus Christ," "She's a total fucking freak. I love it."

Before you could even think to retort, Heeseung's hands were on your hips hauling you up and flipping you over, forcing you onto all fours in the center of the sofa. Your knees sank into the plush leather and your head hung low, making your hair shield your face as you felt the cold air of the room hit your exposed pussy.

Heeseung seemed to love keeping you suspended in that agonizingly sharp moment of anticipation, your breath wouldn’t stop hitching as your patience dwindled, you felt the blunt head of his cock begin to drag along your wet folds. He was taking his time, coating himself in the mess Jay had left behind, teasing the entrance until you were mindlessly rolling your hips back to find him.

"D—Don’t tease!" You shrieked at him, so desperate to be filled, he finally pushed in slowly, it was so intrusive that you felt like you were being split wide from the inside out. His size was unforgiving and every millimeter he gained seemed to stretch your walls to their absolute limit. You were starting to tremble, your elbows buckling as you tried to stay upright and in a moment of total overstimulation, you twisted your neck to look back at him.

That was a mistake.

The second your eyes met his dark, blown out ones, completely hollow of any pity, his face hardened and he reached forward, large hand wrapping firmly around the front of your throat, not to choke you but to force your head up and arch your spine, causing a violent surge of his hips that buried his cock all the way inside your pussy.

"FUCK!" You screamed straight from your lungs, the impact was so sudden it knocked the air out of you, leaving you gasping as your walls squeezed down around him in a reflexive grip.

"Nngh—fuck," he grunted, dropping his forehead to the space between your shoulder blades at the feeling of you clenching. His fingers tightened slightly on your neck to hold you steady against the force of his own intrusion. "You're so fucking tight. Doll, are you sure you’ve been fucked before?"

Regardless of his pussy drunk concern, he didn’t give you a second to adjust, picking a speed that had him bottoming out with every single thrust, making the world blur into a cloud of white light and the steady slap of skin meeting skin.

You found a way to open your eyes and were immediately met with Jay standing just inches from your face with his hardened dick in his hand, stroking at the view in front of him. The sight of him with completely unfiltered hunger in his eyes made you reach out to try to grab him yourself but your fingers grazed his thigh instead.

"Yeah? You want this too, angel?"

You couldn't even find your voice, you could only bob your head in a nod while Heeseung's hips collided with your ass.

"Say please," Jay commanded.

"Ah—nhh, please..." you whined, the sound breaking into a jagged sob as Heeseung bottomed out again. "Please, Jay...please fuck my mouth."

He kneeled on the couch on the space between your hands, the heat of him hit your face before he tapped the heaviness of his length on your outstretched tongue. You were a complete mess, your hands clinging his thighs for balance while your body was tossed back and forth between the two of them.

Heeseung shifted his angle and suddenly he wasn't just pounding into you anymore, he began to grind into that spot that had your toes curling into the leather. It wasn't the raw friction Sunghoon had used to fuck your face—it was a slow and deliciously exact pressure that made you pull off Jay’s cock for a second.

"Oh my God! Right there! Fu—Ah!" A broken string of moans escaping you, you looked up at Jay with your eyes glazed and watering. "Jayyy, Heeseung...Heeseung’s fucking me so good...It’s so good, Jay!"

Jay watched your face contort with the pleasure Heeseung was providing. "Yeah?" Jay rasped with an instant competitive heat and pushed his way back into your mouth, forcing you to take him deep but not as deep as Sunghoon. "You like that? You like how he's stretching out your little pussy?"

Just as you were starting to manage the dual invasion of Jay and Heeseung, a new spark ignited at your core. Someone had reached beneath you, finding your clit with his fingers and rubbing down until he heard you moan.

"W—Wait! Too much!"

The scream was raw and echoed off the high ceilings as you realized Jake was the source of the new pleasure. A new pleasure so overwhelming it turned you into a delirious mess of babbles.

"Thank you—fuck—thank you so much!" You cried, your head thrashing against the sofa cushions, completely abandoning Jay’s dick. "It’s so big...my pussy! Oh my God! Heeseung, it feels so good!"

You dug your fingers into the leather and began to throw your ass back with an erratic force, you were weaponizing your own body, slamming back against him so hard that he let out a choked off grunt, his hands scrambled to find purchase on your waist cause you had completely hijacked his rhythm. He was losing his control, it made his breath come out in ragged, stuttering hitches as you ground your pussy on his fic harder and harder.

"Wait—oh shit—doll, slow down," Heeseung managed to say but his voice a mess. He was trembling and muscles were all corded and tight with how hard he was struggled to keep up with your manic pace. "I'm gonna...fuck...can I cum? Can I cum inside you, doll?"

"Yes! Yes!" you keened. "Give it to me, Heeseung—fill me up, please, please just do it! Please give me your cum!"

Maybe Jake was starting to feel felt out or neglected, maybe that’s why his eyes got this strange kind of glee in them when he delivered three stinging slaps directly to your swollen clit.

The impact was the final straw and you knew you didn’t stand a chance, your vision went dark at the corners and for the second time in less than an hour a wave of fluid erupted from your pussy, soaking Heeseung's thighs and the sofa in a hot jolt. At that exact moment, Heeseung lost the battle, letting out a guttural roar and having his fingers bruise your hips when he surged forward one last time and pinned you down, dumping his entire load deep inside your overstimulated cunt.

The expensive fabric of Zoya's dress was now a lost cause, it was a ruined topographical map of cum streaks and the translucent evidence of your own multiple orgasms. You were slumped against the leather with your skin hot when Jake leaned into your space. He looked down at you with a fake pout, his bottom lip tucked out in a way that would have been endearing if his eyes weren't so eager.

"You look absolutely undone," Jake said softly, a little playfully too while he traced a smudge of Sunghoon's cum on your cheek. "Are we done? Because you haven't even touched me yet and I'm starting to feel a little neglected over here."

Heeseung was a complete afterthought at this point, slumped back against the sofa cushions with his chest heaving, he looked entirely fucked out and content to just watch the rest of them continue to use you. Jay snorted as soon as he saw his captain sidelined before he reached out and tugged you toward him.

He didn't give you a choice in the positioning, quickly sitting back and pulling you onto his lap so that your back was pressed against his firm chest, your legs straddling his thick thighs in a reverse cowgirl that left you bare and vulnerable.

"I can be a bit rough, angel," Jay warned in a low voice that traveled straight through your spine. He leaned forward and let his lips graze the shell of your ear. "Just tap my arm if you need me to slow down, okay?"

You were able to give him a weak nod but right before you could even settle into the new position, the dynamic shifted. Jay's hands slid down, hooking the firmly under your knees and hauling your legs upward until your thighs were pinned against your chest. He shifted his grip and locked his fingers behind your head in a makeshift full nelson that made your chest thrust forward and your pussy completely bared to the room.

Jake quickly stepped in and helped Jay's guide his length to your entrance. The thrust of him was so creamy and squelching due to the mixture of Heeseung's and your cum but it didn't stop the way your pussy still felt stretched and overstimulated.

"Oh fuck—!"

You were completely at his mercy, pinned between his solid frame and the air, with no way to pull back or adjust the depth. Jay didn't waste a second of your shock, snapping his hips forward with animalistic strength that made your entire body jostle with every strike.

You became a passenger in your own body, your head lolling forward cause you had no choice, he ruined what was left of your composure with a speed you had no hope of escaping.

The sound Jake's loud commentary and the heavy, satisfied sound of Heeseung's laughter became nothing more than background static the moment Jay's lips grazed the damp skin of your earlobe, to whisper like he didn't want anyone else to hear. "Look at you," he hissed and words rattled in your skull.

His arms tightened under yours, pulling your chest even tighter against the position so he could fuck into you with sickeningly perfect thrusts. "Taking all of me like a champ while they just watch. You're so fucking wet, I can hear it every time my dick goes inside you. Do you like being our little showpiece? Do you like how much of a mess we've made of you?"

You tried to gasp, tried to find some response but he caught your ear in his teeth in a sharp nip. "Answer me, angel," he ordered and you couldn't help but clench harder at the sound of his sexy voice in your ear. "Tell me how good it feels to have me giving you this good dick. Tell me you're never going to be the same after tonight."

The way he spoke was so different from Sunghoon's cold commands or Heeseung's calculated dominance. He seemed to be utterly depraved while he detailed exactly what he was doing to your body, using words that made you feel like you were going insane.

"Nnh—Jay—"

"Yeah, that's it," he rasped, increasing his pace until you were bouncing helplessly in his grip. "Keep saying my name like that. Let them watch you cum apart for me. You're so fucking perfect, I'm gonna lose it if you keep squeezing me like that."

You were a complete disaster in his arms, like his words were actively bypassing your brain and heading straight for your pussy. He was pinning you to his chest and whispering every filthy thought he'd had about you since he first spotted you tonight, and with every word, he pushed you closer to the edge of your third orgasm you weren't sure your body was ready for.

The physical barrier of Jay's body didn't stop Jake, he seemed to be a creature of opportunity and when his eyes caught onto the wet frothing friction of Jay’s cock pounding into you, he darted his tongue out to trace Jay’s cock, catching the pearly drops of cum that had pooled at the base of him, and then he made a torturous trek upward. He licked right over the tension of your stretched entrance with his tongue firm and flat, before landing straight on your clit.

"Mmm—Jake—NO—!"

Your scream was harsh, heavy with the evidence of total sensory overload that vibrated through Jay's chest. You weren't just getting fucked anymore, they were taking you apart from the outside in. Every time Jake's tongue swirled over your now extremely sensitive nub, a fresh jerk of aching pleasure sang through your whole body to the point where all you could do was kick your feet and moan. "Oh my God! Oh shitttt! Fuck!" "Nggh—My pussy!"

"Look at you," Jay said into your ear so lowly that no one could hear him over the sound of your cries. "She's losing her fucking mind, Jake. Look at how she's shaking."

Jake didn't answer him with words, he just doubled down, mouth sucking, spitting and slurping until your vision was spotting. He was working in perfect tandem with Jay—the blunt force of the thrusts bottoming out inside you while Jake’s wet mouth kept you on the very edge of another violent climax.

You were a mess of incoherent sobs and frantic hitches as the room blurred into a haze of salt and the overwhelming scent of four men who were determined to see exactly how much you could take before they finally broke you for good.

"Hey," "You think you can handle more? You think that pretty little pussy of yours can take two cocks at once?"

Your brain was mid short circuiting from the overstimulation of both of them leaving you totally incapable of actual thought. You just wanted to be good for them, you wanted to be the perfect, ruined thing they so badly desired.

"Yes," you sobbed into the quiet of the room, making eye contact with Jake who had with tongue flat out so Jay was brushing up against it too. "Yes, please...I can take it."

Jay eyes locked onto Jake's with a competitive look. "She says she wants both, Jake. Get in here."

Jay didn't stop, but he did shift his rhythm, slowing the full nelson into a heavy grind that still kept you anchored while Jake stepped into the space between Jay's spread legs. Jake was vibrating with a feverish drive, his eyes were blown wide when he looked down at the slick mess of your pussy, mostly from him spitting and slurping all over it.

He spat a dollop directly onto your pussy again and the heat of it was a stark difference to the cooling fluids already coating your skin. Looking at him above you, all you could notice was how he was undeniably the heaviest and thickest you’d seen all night but you didn’t even get the chance to appreciate it before he decided to slap the heaviness of his cock directly on your swollen clit.

"Ah shit! Fuck Fuck Fuck—!" Your toes curled mid air.

He was massive in a way that made Sunghoon and Heeseung look manageable by comparison and who had struggled to take them, so how would you manage this?

"Look at you," Jake mocked, guiding the thick weeping head of his cock into your pussy, right alongside where Jay was still buried deep and grinding just on that spot. "You’re already stretching out for me. You’re such a good little slut, aren’t you?"

He began to push his way in, not waiting for your body to adjust around two massive cocks inside you. The stretch was agonizing, you felt like your walls were being pressed flat against your pelvis. You were being split in two, the two of them worked in sync to draw out the high pitched whimpers from your throat, bullying their way into your pussy until you were stuffed to the brim.

"That's it," Jay whispered in your ear, tightening his arms to keep you from collapsing under the weight of them both. "Take these cocks, angel. Show us how much you can really take."

His words made the room start to blur in a spectrum of light and the heavy thud of the sofa hitting the wall. Jay and Jake had found a devastating coordination—a seamless tag team assault where one was bottoming out against your cervix just as the other was pulling back to the entrance. You were never left empty, never given a second to recoil or catch a single, clean breath.

"God, Jay, your cock feels amazing," Jake barked out in a manic laugh while he watched the way your walls buckled and pulled taut to accommodate both their lengths. "I can feel you pulsing right against me inside her. She's so fucking tight." "You always this tight, babe?"

You were barely tethered to reality not to talk of attempting to respond to him, he was asking like he and his teammate weren’t both fucking your little pussy at the same damn time. "I can’t! You’re—I’m gonna cum again! Please!"

In a moment of panicked overstimulation, you tried to blink through the sweat stinging your eyes to search the shadows for Heeseung's grounding presence or Sunghoon's cold, watchful gaze. But the living room had swallowed them whole, they were nowhere to be found, leaving you entirely at the mercy of the two most insane.

Jake had seemed to develop a fresh obsession with your clit. It was like he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out for the twitching bundle of nerves with his fingers. The shock of the cold metal of his rings against your feverish, hot skin sent a violent tremor through your entire frame.

"Ah! Wait—! N—no!"

"No? I bet you fucking love it?" "I bet you love being fucked by four random strangers, oh shit."

"I bet this is the best—oh fuck!—I’m going to cum."

"This is the best night of your life. Say it."

"Holy shit! Yes yes yes! This is the best night of my fucking life!"

"You're going to be such a pretty little ice girl for us, you know that? You’ll be the sexiest thing on the ice. Everyone's gonna to look at you and have no idea you were fucked like this, shit, like a whore on a Friday night."

The mention of the ice, the mention of the world outside this suffocating living room felt like a distant dream. Your vision started to tunnel and the edges of the room started to fray into darkness as the dual friction of their bodies and the icy bite of Jake's rings pushed you toward a ledge you couldn't come back from.

A third and what you could tell would be your most violent orgasm of the night was already beginning to bubble up in your stomach, the feeling threatened to short circuit your entire nervous system. Your walls clutched at them with a crushing strength and for a terrifying, blissful second, the world went completely silent as you felt yourself starting to slip out of consciousness right at the peak of your pleasure.

The world didn't just blur, it splintered. Your third orgasm hit you with so much force you sat on the edge of unconsciousness, you tried to hold onto the overwhelming fullness of them both but your vision had started to dissolve into static.

Through the ringing in your ears, you heard a sharp grunt when Jake suddenly pulled out. The loss of his heavy weight was a shock to your system and you were left choking for a breath you couldn't quite find.

"Fuck—"

A second later, you felt the heat of his cum splashing across your chest, the weight of it soaking into the ruined fabric of the dress and landing on your sensitive nipple. He didn't stop, his hand tugging his cock in a final rhythm to coat your skin in the evidence of how much you had ruined him.

At the exact same moment, Jay let out a low moan but he didn’t pull out, if anything, he shoved his cock deeper just as he unlocked his fingers from behind your head and you immediately felt his cum beginning to fill you up, a heavy, internal tide that pushed you over the final ledge.

The heavy sound of their breathing was the last thing you registered before you slipped into a dark, unconsciousness, completely and utterly spent.

Is that a bird? You thought. No way that’s a bird but there was a chirp piercing through the fog of your consciousness. You winced as you tried to blink the world into focus, the ceiling above you was familiar, the off white and the faint water stain in the corner were familiar but the context was all wrong.

You were in your own dorm room.

The confusion hit like a physical weight and made your heart hammer against your ribs. You felt clean too, with the lingering scent of a citrusy body wash clinging to your skin but when you managed to push yourself up, the fabric of what you were wearing felt heavy and oversized. It wasn't your silk slip of Zoya’s dress, it was a thick, grey hoodie that smelled faintly of Jay's cologne and a pair of soft athletic shorts that definitely didn't belong to you.

A sharp ache blossomed in your lower back the moment you shifted, followed by a dull soreness between your thighs that made you hiss through your teeth. So you definitely didn’t dream up last night, the memory of all four of them, from Sunghoon fucking your face to Heeseung’s grip on your throat and the brutal weight of Jay and Jake stretching you to the brink, everything came rushing back in a vivid flood.

You reached up to trace the sensitive skin of your neck. Even without a mirror, you could feel the tender heat of the hickeys littered all across your collarbone and neck. You pulled back the hem of the oversized hoodie and gasped at the blossoming bruises on your hips, they were perfectly symmetrical to where Jay and Heeseung had grabbed you.

"How did I get back here?" you whispered to yourself and reached for your bedside table, expecting to find your cracked phone screen and a half empty water bottle. Instead, your hand brushed against the wicker of a massive, overflowing gift basket. It was filled with things that had no business being in a college dorm room—high end skincare, a silk robe, a plushie and boxes of artisanal chocolates.

But sitting right at the center and gleaming under the morning sun, was a pair of professional grade figure skates looking like something you would never buy cause of how expensive you knew they were. The white leather was pristine, the blades polished to a lethal shine and as you pulled them closer, you saw your initials—your initials—expertly embroidered into the heel in silver thread.

Tucked into the laces was a small card. You opened it with shaking fingers to read the scribbled words.

Thank you for the lovely night, doll face.

— The Hockey Team

These boys had seen you at your most ruined, they had taken apart every bit of your composure until you literally blacked out in their arms and then they had washed you, brought you back to your own bed and tucked you into bed like you were something precious.

You were tracing the silver embroidery on the skates when the door to your dorm swung open with a violent bang. Zoya practically vibrated into the room in a whirlwind of excitement and messy hair, her voice was already at a pitch that made your sore head throb even more.

"You will not believe him!" she shrieked, collapsing onto the foot of your bed without even looking up. "Jungwon is—god, he's actually the sweetest human alive. He sent me like five texts checking if I got in okay, even though he walked me back and now we're going on a date tonight? I'm going to throw up, I'm so nervous. You have to help me, I need to breathe, I need—"

She stopped mid sentence when her eyes finally landed on you. Her jaw dropped as she took in the oversized hoodie, the tangled mess of your hair and the undeniable hickey just above your collarbone. Then, her gaze drifted to the massive basket and the gleaming skates.

"Oh my," she breathed, her voice dropping into a stunned, reverent whisper. "Wait...is this from Jay? Stop, that is actually so hot. Did you guys...did you actually have sex? Tell me everything!"

"Yeah…we did. Something like that."

"No way! You're kidding! And he sent all this!?" Zoya shrieked, lunging forward to tackle you into the pillows while you wracked your brain for a less insane version of the story you were going to feed her, a version where you had sex with just Jay.

Exactly three weeks later, it was hockey season and the biting chill of the practice rink felt like a sanctuary these days rather than a chore. You glided through a series of warm up laps with the other ice girls in the brand new skates that now felt like a natural extension of your own body. They were perfectly broken in, like a silent reminder of a night that still felt like a fever dream every time you closed your eyes.

Zoya was a few feet away in a blur of focus and grace. She tucked into a tight, centered spin, her arms pulling in as she gained a dizzying amount of speed. It was genuinely impressive, she had the kind of technical precision that usually took years to master and you couldn't help but pause to watch her finish with a sharp flourish. "Show off," you teased her.

She laughed but her attention was immediately pulled toward the far end of the rink when the loud thud of the gate opening echoed through the arena, followed by the aggressive clack-clack of blades hitting the ice. The hockey team was filing out for their scheduled practice and their presence instantly shifted the energy of the room from quiet focus to something loud and electric.

Jungwon didn't even bother wavering the moment he spotted Zoya, he skated straight to her in fluid movements despite the heavy pads. He caught her by the waist and leaned in to press a quick kiss to her lips that had her giggling like a schoolgirl.

"See you after?" he asked loud enough for you to hear, before skating off toward the center circle. As you watched him skate away, your eyes drifted to the rest of the team and you found Jake almost immediately. He was leaning against the boards with his helmet tucked under one arm while he watched you with those eyes. When he realized you were looking back at him, he didn't look away, instead he let his eyes drop to the silver initials on your skates before snapping back to yours with a wink that said everything and nothing at all.

Zoya’s head whipped toward you, her eyes wide cause she caught the tail end of the exchange. "Woah, woah—what was that? Jake? Seriously?" She skated closer and poked your arm with a gloved finger. "Does Jay know his teammate is giving you those kinds of googly eyes? Are you trying to start a locker room war?"

A slow heat curled in your gut but didn't say a word. You just looked at her and held her gaze for a beat, then made a deliberate show of zipping your lips together and throwing away the key with a flick of your wrist.

"Stop! You are so mean!" Zoya squealed, grabbing your shoulders and spinning you around in a circle. She started whining, her voice echoing off the high ceilings as she begged for just one little detail. "You can't do that to me! I tell you everything about Jungwon! Is it a thing? Is it a secret thing?"

You just laughed, the sound bright and clear against the ice, enjoying the way she was spiraling into a hysterical frenzy. You watched the guys start their drills—Heeseung’s effortless authority, Jay’s raw power, Jake’s erratic energy and Sunghoon’s cold precision.

Zoya could have her dinner dates and her sweet texts with Jungwon, this was a secret that no one else needed to know—except, perhaps, next year's chosen ice girl.

God help her.

taglist i ── @fancypeacepersona @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @gabrielinhaa @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @lovel1z @kristynaaah @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon @yazmike @ravenslocked @enhxlvr @mangoescrazy @hees-h0e @stayalittlelonger143 @hazevelyn @sour-chaos @skzenhalove @mochi-mika @simjakersss1009 @isagistar @baedreamverse @jvngw0nlvr @deobitifull @prettygirlthings-world @ravenslocked

© nephynes 2025

Even before getting any experience, he'd been aware of just how comically large his dick was. He'd known ever since he had to go out of his way to search for porn with ‘massive cock!’ in the title for it to look anything like his, and even then he often found himself thinking they had to be exaggerating a bit for the sake of clicks.

Turns out, the comparison with real life average sizes is even more ridiculous.

He knows it sounds silly, there are hordes of men out there that would pay good money to swap places with him—his dear friend Jake being the first in line.

Sunghoon still cringes when he remembers the first time he'd oh so innocently asked Jake for his opinion on the matter. Truthfully, all he wanted to hear from his bleached blonde friend was some reassurance, maybe how it was all in his head, or how at the end of the day the right person would love and appreciate every part of him no matter what, or whatever you tell people in situations like these. His first mistake was believing Jake out of all his friends would do the most tactful thing.

“That thing’s like—fucking huge!” Jake shrieked, grabbing Sunghoon’s phone out of his hands, every protest falling on deaf ears. “There’s no fucking way, man.”

“It’s not that b—” Sunghoon tries to speak, but Jake stops him before he even gets a sentence in, calling Jay’s name at the top of his lungs. 

“What are you—”

“WHAT,” Jay yells back from the kitchen, over the deafening sound of the food processor in use, annoyed by Jake’s continuous interruptions that day. Of which at least four were to show him some nasty looking recipe he found on tiktok.

“You gotta come take a look at this!”

At the time, Sunghoon was still vaguely uncomfortable around Jay. He was nice enough, and he was a great roommate, so there was that at least. It was a good trade off because the other option was staying at the way too crowded shitty dorms, and he liked the privacy that this deal got him. He wasn't always on board with it, Jake had to talk him into it when high school ended, but he swore him and Jay would be the bestest of friends if only he could let his reservations behind for a little, at least give him a chance.

Sunghoon moved away halfway through the second year of high school, and for a while it felt like Jay had swapped places with him and taken the life he was supposed to live for himself. First his best friend, Jake. Then the girl of his dreams, the one he never found the courage to confess to, you.

Thing is, while Sunghoon could recognize Jay had done absolutely nothing wrong to him per se, he still felt betrayed by him in a way. Truly it was just envy.

The food processor comes to an abrupt halt, and all that can be heard from the other room is a deep sigh, followed by the sound of dragged footsteps as their tall friend walks into the messy—in the way only college boys living spaces can be—living room with resignation. “Fine. But this better have nothing to do with Cheetos or tacos.” 

“Much better.” Jake winks at him, nudging Sunghoon’s hands away with his elbow, the younger hissing in pain. “Behold,” he turns the phone towards an unassuming Jay, aware of the fact he's about to change the older's view of Sunghoon forever.“Sunghoon’s monster of a cock.”

Jay’s hands stop on his apron, (the ridiculous one with a bodybuilder torso and cheetah boxers Jungwon got him for a secret Santa) and his mouth hangs open for a second too long, before he comes back to his senses and notices how Sunghoon slumps back on the couch, cheeks burning red. Jay swats the phone out of Jake’s hand. “What the fuck is your problem, dude.”

“What? I’m just saying it’s way larger than average!”

“He’s uncomfortable.” Jay says, going back to drying his hands on the apron. “Leave him be.”

This only makes Sunghoon’s cheeks redder, his ears a bright pink too. Jake scoffs, eyeing him suspiciously. “Sure. I’m sure having a porn star cock must be so mortifying. Who even complains about stuff like this?” he snickers before making his voice a pitch higher. “‘Poor me! My dick’s too heavy! What will I do!”

“Oh my god,” Sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, pulling the ends a bit. “It is not that big.” He looks at Jay for support, expecting him to disagree with Jake.

Jay’s gaze falters to his pants for a split second. His mouth twists but he remains silent.

“Not you too.” Sunghoon's hands now hold his face as he sinks into the cushions further, legs spreading. “Just say what you wanna say.”

“I mean…” Jay gestures towards Sunghoon's crotch. “I suspected you were big but… that’s crazy, man.”

“It’s not that cra—”

“Yes it is! You’ve got a fucking gas storage tank in your pants and you wanna sit here and tell us it’s not crazy?” Jake says, exasperated by that point. “And stop playing dumb. It’s big. That’s good. I’m sure the ladies go crazy over it. Or the gentlemen. Or whoever it is you fuck.” He kisses his teeth, muttering under his breath. “Lucky bastard.”

“Jake’s right, Hoon. I don’t know why you're so… negative about it. It's a good thing."

“I wouldn’t know,” Sunghoon mutters under breath, more to himself than to the guys, but it’s still loud enough for them to catch it.

“Oh? Then whenever the time comes, you’ll see how much they’ll love it,” Jay says.

"I'm just worried." Sunghoon tries his best to avoid both sets of eyes staring intently at him. "What… what if I end up hurting someone?"

Jake coos, then moves closer to Sunghoon on the couch, his breath fanning over his ear as he whispers, “Always so concerned about other people. Aren't you such a cutie pie?”

The boys weren't exactly wrong, but with big dick come great responsibilities—as Jake said. Yup, roll your eyes at him, not Sunghoon. He's innocent—like having to finger and eat out your partners for what feels like an eternity before even trying to push the tip in, which is not exactly the best situation to be in as a virgin. Current Sunghoon thinks that's the best part, but it took a while to get here.

Sunghoon has always been a very patient man though, a gentle giant in every sense of the phrase. The last thing he would ever want to do is inflict pain accidentally on another human being.

When he got his first actual girlfriend, he'd been so nervous and honestly quite scared to have sex with her. So he got on Google whenever he had free time to study ways to make it as comfortable as possible, watching all kinds of video explanations or reading through feminine pleasure blogs written by women for women specifically, because that's where Jay told him the good stuff was at.

By the time he got to actually have sex with her, his mind was so overwhelmed by all this information that he essentially forgot how to even think. It was anything but romantic, so deeply embarrassing Sunghoon still cringes even after all this time when his mind betrays him and reminds him of it while trying to fall asleep at night.

And then, to add insult to injury, his girlfriend cheated on him and left him for this guy she'd only just met, because 'it might not be as big, but at least he knows how to use it'.

Heartbroken and with an hurt ego, Sunghoon did that thing all boys do when their first relationship doesn't work out: hit the gym and promise themselves they're never gonna fall in love ever again.

That second part ended up failing, because from the moment you showed up at his doorstep to visit (your now ex boyfriend, but a beloved friend nonetheless) Jay and Jake, five different bags around you, with eyes as big as saucers and staring at him like he had invaded his own apartment, all the feelings younger Sunghoon had for you hit him like a brick to his nape all over again.

You two dating came as a shock to everyone around you, mostly because while you were aware of Park Sunghoon's existence and vice versa, you'd never given it too much thought. You remembered him as the scrawny kid with the cute moles from math that you used to always catch staring. He was often around Jungwon because they were neighbors, but was way too shy to even say hi to you. That, and he was also always around Jake—who you were not exactly fond of, given his reputation—so you steered clear of him when you could manage to.

Then, when the third year of high school started, you stopped seeing him around, and Jungwon told you he had moved away to follow his dad's business. You wouldn't admit it at the time but the hallways seemed duller than usual for a few days, but that probably was also due to Jake not being as loud and energetic with his best friend gone.

Last year of high school, you went on a few dates with Jay from history class, and while he was the closest you have ever thought a man to be perfect, you both agreed you worked better as friends than anything more. Usually that means 'you're cool but I'm gonna try my best to not have to say hi to you if I see you around', but Jay is so wonderful, you actually kept in touch and became quite close, even if platonically.

By the time the year ended, you had a very tight group of friends consisting of yourself, Jungwon, Jay, and even Jake—who, for the record, isn't nearly as bad as all the crazy rumors make him out to be. It saddened you that it took so long to find your group, but you were grateful you had one nonetheless, a lot of people never get that luxury, so you weren't about to let a little graduation get in between you all. You spent a good five days consoling Jake that no, no one was going anywhere and yes, you will all be best friends for life.

But then college started, and it became difficult to stay in touch because Jay and Jake had to move. Jake reassured you that you and Jungwon would be more than welcome to visit and stay over at their apartment—which you found funny because that is technically not Jake's apartment at all, at least not until Hoon moved in too and the three of them started sharing the costs, but he has a way of making every place he steps foot in his, like he's meant to be there, so Jay let it slide.

So the first thing you did when you finally had some free time was getting on the cheapest flight available to go visit your friends. Heavy luggage in hand and stained sweatpants on, you were dumbfounded when the one who opened the door for you was none other than Park Sunghoon, and not Jay like you expected.

He was no longer the shy kid you remembered him to be, and he had grown nicely into his features, his hair now a jet back instead of the brown you were accustomed to see. Over those two weeks you realized that while you have know Sunghoon all your life, you had never really seen him, and it made you want to go back in time and hand a little paper note to the shy boy always staring at you during class.

Your head sinks further into your pillow with a whine, the case enveloping it sporting gray spots of wetness, where your tears and drool had accumulated over the last torturous half an hour Sunghoon spent fucking you open with his fingers. You don't know what he means, because you feel like you could take his entire fist by now, that's how wet you are. If your pillowcase is such a mess, you don't even wanna think about what your bed sheets look like.

"I can– take you," you protest, breath hitching mid sentence at a particularly deep curl of his fingers inside you.

"Yeah?" Sunghoon quirks an eyebrow at you, moving his thumb to suddenly hover over your clit. It's not a full touch, nor does he really move it from there, but just the expectation of it has your walls involuntary flutter around his digits. A wicked grin overtakes his face, in a way you think it would clash with his prince-like features. But it looks right at home on him, the canines poking out only adding to his devilish charm.

"Then what's this? Gripping me even tighter," he says against your lips again, like he can't pick between kissing you or speaking, like anything he does he needs to do it with your taste on his mouth. He shakes his head, pouting at you before you get the chance to retort. "Squeeze me this tight when I'm inside you, and I'll believe you're trying to push me out, baby."

The press of his length against your thigh doesn't help, and when your eyes roll to the back of your head, half the reason is the new spot he's now reaching making you see stars, the other is your frustration with him. You know he's huge, and you know he cares about your comfort above all, but a little sting as he bottoms out inside you would be a hundred times better than the 'prep' he's subjecting you to. It took so long to even get here, and now he plans on making you wait even more? You have half the idea to push him off of you and get on top of him, take what's yours. If he's not gonna believe you can take him, you might as well just show him.

Of course, that wouldn't work, because Sunghoon is infinitely stronger than you are and the only thing you would accomplish is looking stupid thrashing under him as he keeps you pinned down. Probably with one arm only too, to really get his point across.

"Add another finger then." There's a certain bark in your tone that makes him chuckle. That's all it is: bark and no bite. You can do nothing but demand, and demand, and demand again, but if he's not willing to give it to you, there is close to nothing you can do about it. And it makes Sunghoon's cock twitch against the slick skin of your thighs. He loves knowing he has you at his mercy.

"Woah!" he gasps, and the fake surprise only irritates you further. Or at least that's what you tell yourself, because Sunghoon doesn't miss the way you clench around his fingers whenever he talks to you like this. "Missy, you're so bratty today… where are your manners?"

The retort is ready on your tongue, but the words mold into a surprised hiss when he actually prods your hole with a third digit, feeling around for a way to slowly ease it into you. You fear it won't be as easy as you hoped, but you also don't want to back down now that he's giving in.

"Just put it in." You angle your hips to give Sunghoon easier access.

"Easy there." He leans back on his knees, and you hate how you're so needy. Even when he's still so close, fingers pumping in and out of you at a torturous pace, you crave for every inch of your body to be touched by his, for your breaths to mingle for as long as possible. You wonder how it's possible to miss someone who's right in front of you, but your heart yearns to hear the rhythmic beat of his own against your chest all the same.

You don't get to dwell on it too long, because the sensation of something wet dribbling right where Sunghoon's fingers meet you rips you out of your thoughts.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize what's happening, but when it sinks in, your mouth slowly hangs open in a moan, eyes closed to relish the feeling.

"You like that?" Sunghoon asks, and for once you can't bring yourself to care about the cockiness in his tone. In fact, it's the last thing you could care about—not when his digits are working to spread his spit all over you, and his third finger is slowly making its way inside you right next to the others. It's a tight fit, and Sunghoon can't really move his fingers like he wishes to, but it'll do for now. He can always do it over and over again until you're ready, as long as you keep making those faces for him. "Look at you," he continues. "You were so demanding earlier, now you're falling apart and I'm barely just getting started."

You clench around him hard, body all tensed up as you accommodate the sudden change in thickness.

Sunghoon bends down again when he notices you're not easing up, trailing his way back up your body with pecks, giving you a few on your lips once he reaches your face. "Does it burn, baby?" he asks, the playful edge in his tone from earlier completely gone, smoothed down to the usual soft timbre you love so much. "Do you want me to take it out? I'll make you cum with two fingers, it's okay."

You shake your head. The stretch does burn, but you also want to prove to him that you can take him.

"You sure?" The murmur vibrates against your ear, the sound of his voice close enough to have you arching your back, pushing your stomach against his harder figure. If you had any sort of reservation about continuing, it's totally gone now. His insistence to make you comfortable always ignites pure want in you.

You nod, but your eyes are still screwed shut because of the burn, so it's not enough for Sunghoon to let go yet.

He slows down his movements, trying to help you out, but the whine you let out is enough to let him know you actually want what he's giving you and more. Still, he needs to hear it. "Use your big girl words, I know you can."

"Wanna keep going."

"Aaand?"

"Please, Hoon." You know you're far gone when you don't even care about how whiny you sound, you would get onto your knees and beg if he asked you to right then. You would want to forget about it right after, but still, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Thankfully, your boyfriend is very nice to you, so 'please and thank you's are enough to keep him satiated, at least for now.

"Good girl."

The praise goes straight to your cunt, further tightening the grip you have on his fingers. Sunghoon is flattered, but that's not what you need in that moment. So he reminds you.

"Take deep breaths, baby. It's only gonna hurt more if you don't ease up."

"Hoon, want more."

"I know baby, I know. But it'll feel better if you stop tensing up. Here, follow my breaths and let go." He kisses both of your shut eyelids. "Eyes on me, pretty. Okay?"

You obey him like it's second nature, but when you open your eyes and you're met with the downright angelic sight of your boyfriend, black strands of hair framing his face and his chain dangling slightly from his neck, you don't understand how you're supposed to calm down. He starts taking deep breaths, ones you try your best to mirror. And despite what you thought, the focus on your chest rising and falling and the warmth in Sunghoon's eyes does make the stretch a lot better. You were enjoying yourself before too, all things considered. Now it's different, you're struggling to keep your sounds in, and any other time you would be mortified by how much wetness is seeping out of your cunt, but Sunghoon's presence is relaxing in a way no one else's has ever been for you.

The more you explore each other's bodies, the more you start to think that maybe, just maybe, there is not a single thing you could do with Sunghoon that you would ever regret. The safety of a judgment free zone with someone who obviously cares deeply for you makes the experience so much better than you could have ever imagined. What other people did to you, no matter how pleasurable, just didn't measure up to what Sunghoon does with you. And you haven't even gone all the way in.

"Theeere we go, see how much better it feels when you're not being a brat?"

Sunghoon is careful with you, watching your every reaction and studying your expressions so he can learn exactly what makes crumble and what brings you closer to the edge, what makes you forget you have to breathe and when to pause so he can drag your pleasure out for as long as he wants, for as long as you can handle. His cock is rock hard, casually rutting against you from time to time. You have half a mind to reach into his boxers and help him out, but you're not sure you could do a good enough job at it, not when he's starting to bend the tips of his fingers to reach right where you need him.

You can feel yourself getting closer, so you grab his wrists—whether to stop him or push him further, you don't know yourself. What you do know, is that just fingers have never felt this good before, and if you had the choice to feel like this forever, you would take it.

The sudden grip doesn't deter Sunghoon, it encourages him instead. His movements are faster, deeper, but still just as precise. It's like he already knows the ins and outs of what brings you pleasure. "Gonna come all over my hand, baby? I know you're close."

You nod desperately, throat too raw and dry to produce sounds more complex than little whines—which Sunghoon finds adorable, he can't wait to find out what sounds you make when he's splitting you open on his cock. He coos, and that alone almost makes you cum. Almost, because what really does you in is his thumb moving to finally circle your clit, really touch it.

Your body tenses up again when your vision goes a searing white, but Sunghoon's other hand finds your thighs right away to prevent you from caging his hands between your legs. He worked hard to make you cum, so you're not gonna take the sight of your fluttering pussy away from him, not when he has rightfully earned it.

"You did so well," he says, his hand caressing the skin of your inner thigh as a reminder to relax your muscles, his thumb slowing down its movement on your clit as your walls flutter around his digits at longer intervals each time.

You eventually even out your breathing, your vision still a little fuzzy, but you feel lighter and content. Once Sunghoon is sure you're okay, he pulls you in for a sweet kiss, like he wasn't just rearranging your guts with his fingers alone moments ago.

"Perfect, you're so perfect," he whispers between kisses, landing a wet smack on your nose when you scrunch it in response. "You're always gorgeous but this—fuck, you're beautiful." He keeps kissing you, each kiss waking up a different butterfly in your stomach. You feel giddy like you haven't ever since you were a kid running through the meadow on a spring evening. You giggle when he reaches the valley of your breasts, and run your fingertips through his hair, his head resting on your chest.

"I love you," Sunghoon whispers, and for the first time in your life you know those words to be true, no hidden intention behind them, no cruel joke waiting for you at the end of the line. It feels right when they're coming out of Sunghoon's mouth.

"I know, I love you t—what are you doing." It's much more of an accusation rather than a question, because you see the little wicked glint in his eyes as he resumes kissing his way down your body—first down your navel, then between your thighs.

"Showing you how much I love you, duh." He spreads your legs as open as he can get them before you start protesting again. "Besides, I haven't gotten a taste yet."

You should stop him, because suddenly you're reminded of how he still hasn't come yet, and you would feel bad to neglect him. The look in his eyes though—needy, almost feral— keeps you pinned right in your spot. "What… about you?"

Sunghoon looks at you, genuinely confused. "What about me?"

"Yeah, I should be… helping you out." You glance down at him, and the wet patch on his boxers makes you clench around nothing. Had you not witnessed first hand how messy Sunghoon can get, you would assume he cummed already. Knowing that's only pre though, makes saliva flood into your mouth at the mere thought of your boyfriend's cock pumping load after load down your throat. Screw 'not hurting' you, you would be happy gagging and choking endlessly around him if it meant you got a tiny little taste.

"Oh baby, but you are helping me out. Just lay back and let me." Sunghoon pops two of his fingers in his mouth, tasting the residues of you high still lingering on his skin, rich and divine on his tongue. "So good, now let me get a real taste."

He trails his wet fingers up your body, relishing in the way you shiver under his touch when he brushes over your nipples. He grabs your face once he reaches it, and forces you to look at him. "Wanting to please me… aren’t you such a generous girl? So, so good for me. So eager to please, you’re so cute.” He doesn't miss how your lip twitches in response to his words, and how your hand slides between your thighs and how they close around it. “But, I'm still not done.”

“But—”

“Shhh,” he silences you right away. He parts your lips with his thumb, and your response to it is immediate, sucking on it without needing to be told what to do. You swirl your tongue around his finger eagerly, as if trying to show him what he is missing by not letting you take his cock out his pants. “See? So perfect for me. Such a pretty and obedient girl, am I right?” 

You nod subconsciously, like he has you under a spell, ready to comply with anything he asks out of you. Maybe he does.

“I know that’s right.” Sunghoon takes the thumb out of your mouth, coating your lips with your own spit as he caresses them with it. “Then do what you’re told and lay back. I can fuck you another time. Now spread those legs for me mkay? Yeah, just like that. So much we can do in the meantime."

"I just don't get why he won't stick it in me."

"You have such a way with words."

You throw a fry at your best friend, only to get more irritated when he catches it midair with his mouth. Jungwon chews it loudly with his mouth open—because he knows it annoys you to death—then washes it down with his coconut milkshake that he won't let you get a sip of because 'using the same straw as me counts as cheating now that you're dating Sunghoon'.

"Okay but why? You're a man. What's the thought process behind this? Tell me."

"Girl, it's your boyfriend. You tell me."

"What if he doesn't fine me att—" A fry hits you right on your forehead, and it's like the impact activates your brain cells, because of course Sunghoon finds you attractive, that is not the problem.

"Now, let's be honest with ourselves please. None of that shit."

Your back hits the bed with a soft thud, arms spread out as you stare at the very familiar ceiling of your room. A sight you've been taking in quite often recently, while trying to come up with a plan to get Sunghoon to dick you down good.

Jungwon shoves a fist of fries in his mouth, barely chewing before speaking again. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."

You roll onto your side, facing the blonde little gremlin occupying the space next to you. "It's a big deal because— why is your ass on my pillow. Jungwon get—"

He silences you by feeding you a handful of fries from the container on his lap. "You were saying?"

You gulp them down quickly before replying, because you're civilized enough to do so, unlike someone else. "We've done it all, and I know he's scared of hurting me, but I can also tell he's holding back. I'm ready– I've been ready. It's just… whenever I think it's gonna happen he pulls back so suddenly, like he's restraining himself."

"Mhh… you've talked to him about this, right?" Jungwon looks at you in a way that feels entirely too judgmental, like skipping the communication part is something you do often enough for it to be a pattern. Something he needs to check off of a list before he gives you more advice.

He's not completely wrong. As in, at one point in your life you had made an habit out of assuming people's thoughts and intentions, but that is in the past. And those people are not your Park Sunghoon.

The polaroids messily scattered on the wall above your desk, like someone had dropped them and they'd defied gravity to stay there, glimmer as the sun starts its golden descent into the horizon. Old, more ruined around the edges ones you took right after Jungwon got you a polaroid camera with his very first salary from working at an ice cream shop over the summer. Pictures of sunsets and dumb words carved into sandy beaches, of thumbs digging into teenager Jungwon's dimples. Newer, glossier ones that you took when Sunghoon gifted you a new camera, after the one Jungwon got you finally broke down after years. You'd cried so hard that day, because it had felt like growing up.

The charger is still hidden under all the mess of receipts in your comforter's drawer, you still hope one day the pink sticker covered camera will turn on if you charge it long enough.

But some things are meant to stay in the past, and better ones are always hiding behind the corner, ready to come your way.

You aren't the young girl with the pink polaroid camera anymore, just like you're not the girl that is scared to voice her thoughts and troubles any longer.

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"Won, he just tells me I need more prep. I've had plenty of that, trust me. Like, he's spent the last month using this toy on—"

"Okay, okay I get it. I trust you, spare me the details."

"—Point is, I'm more than ready. I know it's gonna be uncomfortable and a bit painful at first, he's like… so huge it's—"

"I get it."

"—but that's a given with how big he is. I think it's just… him being nervous, really."

"Have you… tried to, uhm. Take charge? Maybe you calling the shots would make it easier for him to let loose." Jungwon looks down on his lap as he plays with the rings adorning his fingers. You wouldn't say he has ever been particularly shy per se, not when it comes to discussing your sexual life, even in heavy detail. He was the boy your mother made you take a bath with after a whole day of rolling around in dirt as a kid, because his wasn't around a lot of the time. The same boy who has seen you toothless and with horrible haircuts, who has seen all your embarrassing phases. Talking to Jungwon was much more akin to talking to yourself rather than venting to a diary, because he stored secrets in his heart that you would never be comfortable writing down on paper. Except he also calls you a dumbass when he needs to.

It's been a little different ever since you started dating Sunghoon freshly out of college, but you imagine it can't be helped since Jungwon is also very close to him.

You take a deep breath, shoulders slumping with the motion. Yeah, like that would ever work. "He doesn't give up dominance ever, really. I have tried a few times but…" you trail off, thoughts suddenly plagued with images of Sunghoon putting you back in your place instantly whenever you tried to take charge. You have already given it some thought, a lot of thought, actually. What wouldn't you do to have Sunghoon under you and at your mercy, so responsive to every touch, perhaps even tied down. Yeah, you're gonna have to bring it up more seriously to him, maybe then he would let you—

"Are you seriously fantasizing about dominating your boyfriend right in front of my cheddar fries?"

But you're gonna continue that thought another time.

"Let's see then…" Jungwon continues, evidently determined to find a solution to your problem. "Maybe act out? Would that work? Mhhh… I don't know, you're already very annoying day to day and he puts up with that…so."

Jungwon genuinely looks like he is putting so much thought into it, somehow it makes it more offensive.

"Yeah. And who grew up next to him? You. Exactly. You trained his patience, if anything," you retort, but Jungwon doesn't even give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it, because you both know that you do love to be a nuisance to your boyfriend whenever you get the chance.

"Wait." Jungwon perks up after a seconds of deep thought, making the plushies on your bed fall on the floor, but the situation is so dire that you don't scold him. Instead, you cast a hopeful glance in his direction. Please let his brain cells work for once in his life.

"Isn't Hoon like, terribly jealous every time someone brings up that time you and Jay dated in high school?"

The cogs in your brain turn, and if someone was to walk into the room at that moment they would be able to smell the fumes coming out of your and Jungwon's head.

Jungwon continues, though he doesn't need to, because you have caught what he is hinting to already. "You need him to snap? What better reason to if not some good ol' jealousy. Am I right?"

But of course he is, that little gremlin genius.

"And, it just happens that a few high school acquaintances are organizing a get together soon. You know people will bring up you and Jay, just drag Hoon along. It's fate."

"Have I ever told you that you're my bestest friend ever and that I owe you my life, Won?"

Your plan is not working out as expected.

Getting everyone on board took you and Jungwon some time, but they all eventually agreed to come along. Sunghoon himself was the one with the most reservations, since he moved away halfway through high school and he missed a good chunk of it. Most importantly, he missed how you and the others became friends in the first place, so he's always been a little bitter about it.

Calling it a plan was an overstatement. You wore a skimpy little outfit, black miniskirt and sheer thighs, and bet on someone bringing up how you and Jay used to date in front of Sunghoon. You hoped that would make him jealous enough to grab you and drag you home, maybe teach you a lesson that you would inevitably learn nothing from.

Instead, you get sulky Sunghoon with a beer in his hand, looking at you like a kicked puppy as you and Jay make conversation with your old acquaintances. It doesn't help that Jungwon refuses to pick up his phone so you two can come up with something quick to stir the night towards your desired outcome.

The call goes into voicemail again, and you sigh for the hundredth time that night as you end it and open up his chat to type in another text.

"No answer yet?" Jay asks, smoothing his pink dress shirt. He's always the classier looking guy in the room, no matter where he goes, but the hue of pink he chose for the night makes him stand out further in the sea of swarming bodies.

You shake your head. You're in a quieter corner, away from the thumping speakers, but your throat is sore after all the screaming you did over the deafening music. You thought you would get used to the volume when a few of the people at the reunion suggested moving to a club across the street to end the night with a bang, just like the old times, but it somehow got progressively worse instead.

From your side, Jake puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles to catch someone's attention, and when it doesn't work, Jay laughs at him.

"Sunghoon looks bored, I think we should call it a night," Jay says.

"Bored? He looks like he's gonna murder the next poor soul that steps too close to Y\N," Jake takes a swing of the drink he's holding, something that looks like aged whiskey. Very much unlike anything Jake would order. He hisses after the liquid burns his throat, even when diluted by the melted ice. "Jay, my man, your taste is so ass."

You give the interaction a half hearted laugh. Despite your original plan, you hate seeing Sunghoon so uncomfortable, especially when you know he only came along to make you happy. He insists he doesn't belong surrounded by people who pretend to remember who he is and keep bringing up stuff that happened in the past expecting a glint of recognition from him. You tell him there are multiple people with a similar experience to his even when they attended all years, you tell him he belongs anywhere as long as you and the other guys are there. He tells you those are the people that don't get invited to these sort of events.

"It's getting late anyway, maybe we should just go," you say, checking your notification bar for any sign of life from Jungwon. Still nothing.

"I'll go get Won." Jake throws back the remaining drink, scrunching his eyes and hissing at the bitter taste he still isn't accustomed to.

You take a second to scan your surroundings, and the swaying mass of sweaty bodies makes you nauseous. You used to love getting rocked back and forth by the music, uncaring for a single thing in the world if not the overwhelming love you felt for everyone and everything around you when alcohol buzzed through your system. When you were younger, it felt like ibuprofen for your soul. Now, it only amplifies the hurt in your chest when you think about how heavy this night must have been for your boyfriend.

Before you can make your way to him, someone grabs your attention.

"Jay! And you over there, it's been a while."

You instinctively turn towards the loud voice, finding a vaguely familiar face cockily grinning in your direction.

"She has a name." Jay takes a deep breath and gives you a look, his jaw tense, and that alone is enough to let you know right away the guy in front of you is nothing but trouble.

The guy continues as if you weren't even there to listen to the conversation. A ghost. "Doesn't matter, being your girlfriend is all she was known for back then." He takes a swing of his beer, taste as bitter as his voice. He's very obviously drunk out of his mind, words slurring and step unsteady, but his words annoy you anyway.

"Excuse m—" you try to interject, but he speaks right over you.

"You two back together?"

Jay looks like he's seconds away from punching him, but you simply shake your head no. "Oh! No, and I'm not single actually. My boyfriend's here—" you turn around to look for Sunghoon where you last saw him, and beam when you find him right as he walks up to you. His shoulders relax just the tiniest bit when he notices how relieved you look when you meet his gaze, the way you reserve that look to him only, the way you light up as soon as you spot him. "There he is! Perfect timing, baby."

Sunghoon slides a hand around your waist possessively, placing a soft kiss to your temple to really get the point across. "I was looking for you."

Truth is, he wasn't. He had his eyes on you the entire time, but you were playing with your rings and kept readjusting your clothes as the conversation was unfolding, and Jay looked uneasy too, so he figured nothing good was being said.

"Yeah, sorry! Just catching up with friends from back in the day. Y'know, reminiscing and stuff. Have you seen Won around?" You want to diffuse the situation before the idiot in front of you says anything he might regret. You want Hoon to be a little jealous, not for him to get you all kicked out of a party because someone decided to run their mouth a little too much. Your hand finds his exposed biceps, and it looks like he made the right choice by stepping in, because now that he is all up in your space, you're visibly more comfortable.

Sunghoon shakes his head. Last time he caught a sight of Jungwon in the crowded space was when the night had barely started, and he wore a cowboy hat as he shoved his tongue down some girl's throat. Good for him. "He's probably… catching up with acquaintances too."

You look like you are about to say something, but the nameless guy interrupts you before you get a single word out. It gives Sunghoon all the more reason to dislike him, even before he listens to what he has to says. "And you are? I don't recall seeing you around."

"Oh! Hoon just moved to a different school halfway through high school, but we're all friends," Jay replies instead, familiar with his best friend's feelings about his high school years.

"Then why is he here?"

Sunghoon's jaw clenches. You squeeze his arm as if to remind him you are next to him, and he melts instantly into your touch.

"I'm here because my girl and my friends are. Now if you'd be so kind, we are trying to have a nice night, and you're interfering with that." Sunghoon turns around, holding you against his chest as he starts to make his way to the bar to grab another beer.

"Yeah? You know your friend and your girl used to fuck? Maybe they still do."

Sunghoon was raised to be a patient man. One that counts to ten before reacting, a man who wouldn't even hurt a fly. So it must be the alcohol fueling his actions, because before he realizes what he is doing, he grabs the guy by his shirt, knuckles white as a ghost making the material wrinkle in his hold. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Sunghoon knows he is being provoked, but not even Jay trying to step between them can do anything to calm his anger, not when the poor bastard spits on his shirt, then says something that he really shouldn't have.

"I mean look at her." The man laughs, and it's bitter, filled with something more sinister than mere disgust. It's envy. "Are you surprised? She's dressed like a whore."

Sunghoon moves before you have the time to grab him, right fist colliding with so much force against the man's face, his lip breaks on contact. He wobbles a bit, hit taking him by surprise, but he just gathers the blood dripping inside his mouth and spits it by Sunghoon's feet.

"Hey! Hey." Jay grabs the guy's arm, roughly yanking him back as a crowd of people starts to notice the commotion, heading to take a look at what's happening, a few bodyguards included.

"So tough," the man starts a laughs interrupted by winching when his broken lip curls too much. "Take that out on your so called friend—"

Your voice drowns out the rest of the sentence. "Baby, please."

Sunghoon looks at you, and for a second you doubt he sees you. There's so much anger in his eyes, like he wants nothing more than to rip the little bitch in front of him to pieces. They're almost unfamiliar in a way that send shivers down your spine. You hate the fact that you can't tell if it's fear or lust. But the storm behind his gaze clears out for a second when he sees the alarm on your pretty face, just the one you need. "I wanna go home."

No matter the anger coursing through Sunghoon's bloodstream like venom, thick black poison inciting him to turn back and finish the job, his conscience always prioritizes your well being and what you want. So when you take his hand a make a beeline for the exit, he follows without a single complaint.

The car ride back home is uncomfortably silent.

Sunghoon doesn't hum the random tune playing on the radio like he usually does, he doesn't hold your thigh nor does he even spare you a glance, and you start worrying he might be mad at you.

The words said about you earlier sting, but they don't hold a candle next to Sunghoon's silence. You want to speak up, fill the void that is so uncharacteristically awkward, but the words die in your throat the second you try to push them out.

A ding! followed by your phone screen lighting up signals a new notification, and you swipe through your phone to find out if Jungwon has finally made his existence known.

It's a text from Jay. You notice how Sunghoon's eyes dart to your phone for a split second before going back to focusing on the road ahead, his jaw twitching under the street lights.

00:27 AM. Jongie <3: You guys made it home yet?

00:28 AM. you: not yet, you? did you find the others?

Last thing you heard as you dragged Sunghoon out of the club was Jay arguing with both the still nameless guy and two bodyguards who had been notified of commotion next to the bar. Your main goal was to get your boyfriend the hell out of there before he broke someone's face in, but now that you're away from the mess and the dizziness from the alcohol has started to die down, leaving your muscles and bones tired, you worry for your friends too.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Heading back now, Jake texted me he found Won.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Wasted, ofc. But apparently Jake's taking care of him now.

00:31 AM. you: don't know if i like the sound of that. will they ever let us back in there?

00:33 AM. Jongie <3: Yeah no chance, Won won't be happy when he finds out.

00:35 AM. you: how did him and jake even get home?

You lock your phone for good after Jay confirms Jake mumbled something about a really nice girl with a great rack driving them home, deciding you'll deal with their bullshit another day, when you're completely sober and not worried about what your unusually silent boyfriend might be thinking.

Just in time for Sunghoon to pull into his driveway. He doesn't remind you to take your bag with you as he always does, he doesn't wait for you to be out of the car before heading straight towards his front door. Truth be told, you're more shocked he didn't just drop you off at your own apartment because now you're really sure he must be upset with you.

It's dumb, really. What that guy said is anything but your fault. But your panicked mind makes up scenarios in which Sunghoon knows you wanted to make him jealous, wanted to get a reaction out of him for something as silly as getting him to properly fuck you. It convinces you he has every right to be upset.

His hand twitches in pain for a second while unlocking the door, dried blood—both his and not—staining his pristine knuckles, and it only aids in making you feel worse. You follow him through the entrance, and he waits for you to walk inside before locking the door for the night. It's now or never.

It takes all the courage you can find within yourself to speak, and still your voice comes out uneven, shaky, things your voice has never been when talking to Park Sunghoon. "I'm really, really sorry."

He turns back to you like you just said the most shocking sentence he's ever heard in his life, and he quickly grabs you by your hips when he notices just how scared you look. He quickly realizes you must've mistaken his silent attempt at calming down his anger at the situation for coldness towards you for some reason, and his heart breaks a little at the thought of having made you doubt yourself. When he answers, it's the softest you've ever heard him. "What for, pretty girl?"

Tears well in your eyes when you fail to find the words. You're sorry for so many things, you don't even know where to start. You're sorry for dragging him somewhere he didn't even wanna be in the first place, sorry for taking advantage of his kindness for your own benefit, you're sorry his knuckles are raw and bloodied just because he had to defend you. Above all, you're sorry for being so damn selfish.

Sunghoon carefully caresses your face with his clean hand, so none of that bastard's blood goes anywhere near your pretty features. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip like it's second nature, silently waiting for you to say what's on your mind. He searches your gaze, but you're too busy trying to not burst into tears right there in front of him, so he lowers his hand to your jaw and gently angles your head upwards.

His eyes are kind and warm, no hint of the searing coldness they held mere minutes ago. "None of what happened today is your fault," he speaks slowly, sincerely. He makes sure every single word leaving his lips is loud and clear, no room for misunderstanding or doubt. Sunghoon is smart, he knows you like no one ever has put in the effort to. "I'm sorry if I made you doubt yourself back there, I should've said something. I'm sorry." He sounds secure and confident in what he's saying, but the little unsteady breath and the sharp swallow that come right after betray him. His hand slightly trembles on your skin, and it makes your heart sink even more.

Something else to add to the list. You're also sorry for making Sunghoon feel guilty over your emotions when he never did anything wrong to begin with.

You still struggle to speak, especially when Sunghoon is looking into your eyes as one would towards the light shining through the water surface after holding their breath in far too long, like it means being able to breathe again. There's a devotion in him you've never seen, something actors on a stage cannot replicate, something you don't think words to describe it have been spoken out yet. Something purely unique to you and him.

When your words fail you, you show him your own devotion in a different way.

There's a medication kit Sunghoon got forever ago solely to patch up Jake and Won whenever their Jake and Won antics get them hurt (very often, comically often). Never in your life would you have imagined Sunghoon to be on the receiving end of the care, but here you are.

Sunghoon follows you wordlessly to the couch, giving no protest when you point to sit down while you take your spot next to him.

The saline stings as you carefully clean the wound, but Sunghoon makes no show of it. You finally have a reason to look at somethings else other than his eyes as you gather your thoughts, but he doesn't lose sight of the frown deepening on your face.

Sunghoon watches you intently through his now messy bangs as you hold his bigger hand in yours as if it were made out of the most precious, frail glass. His fingers are way thicker than yours are, but you brush against his knuckles with the cotton just as softly as he kisses your forehead seconds before you let yourself be taken by slumber in his arms every night. He sees all the expressions fluttering on your face, he gives you the time he knows you need. He knows there's something you need to get off your chest.

When the blood stains the cotton instead of his skin, you speak up, "Does it hurt?"

Sunghoon hums in disagreement, the sound dry in his throat. You press into the raw skin a little harder, earning a low hiss from him. "Don't lie to me. We don't lie to each other."

"We don't, but you're hiding something from me." He stops before continuing, his voice a mere whisper, "what's wrong?"

"You got hurt because of me."

"That's not—"

"Yes you did." And once the river of words tumbling out of your mouth starts, it can't be stopped any longer. "I know how you feel about high school and—"

"It's not that—"

"But it is. I don't care if it was five years ago or ten or fifteen, I know you feel a certain way about it and don't lie to me to spare my feelings because it makes me only feel worse. You feel a way about it and I still went out of my way to take advantage of it for such a stupid reason and now I feel like a fucking idiot. And it also got you hurt."

"Baby," Sunghoon says after a moment of quiet, only filled by your heavy breathing. "Hey."

You busy yourself by grabbing the gauze in the little med kit next to you, but you make the mistake of glancing at him for a second, and the little smile dancing on his lips keeps your eyes glued to the sight.

"It's only a few scratches. What's all this really about?"

"I just… fuck, I'm never living this down." You stretch the white bandage over Sunghoon's wound, wrapping it a few times to fully secure it. You take a deep breath, buying yourself more time by inspecting your boyfriend's fingers like they're the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life. He playfully taps his index against your palm. It makes you smile despite your best efforts not to. "I just wanted to make you jealous."

You say it so quietly even Sunghoon, barely inches away from you, almost misses it. Almost, because you hear the teasing in his tone loud and clear. "Jealous?"

Cat's out of the bag anyway, so you might as well explain yourself. "Before you say anything, Won gave me the idea."

"Of course."

"I just, y'know. Best friend stuff," you say, as if it's the answer to everything.

"Best friend stuff… as in?" Sunghoon keeps prodding, and the faint smile you hear as he speaks without having to take a look at him simultaneously makes you want to grin and roll your eyes at him. You bite your inner cheek instead.

"As in… complaining about my boyfriend…"

"Oh, you must have so much to complain about."

"Well, for starters, my boyfriend doesn't want to fuck me—"

Sunghoon erupts in a fits of boyish giggles when he finally figures out what's going on, delighted to see how embarrassed you are by this whole ordeal. He grabs you by your hips and sits you right on top of his lap so suddenly you let out a little shriek of surprise. "Trust me, your boyfriend would love nothing more than to fuck you through the mattress."

Your hands rest on his shoulders, and you lower your chest against his, noses brushing each other. "Then what's stopping him?"

Sunghoon's warm breath tickles your lips when he whispers, "Maybe he thinks your pretty little pussy can't take it yet."

A warm feeling travels through your body, settling into your lower abdomen, and just when you think he's gonna kiss you, he pulls back and rests his back on the cushion behind him, sinking further into the soft couch and pulling you down with him.

"Hoon—"

"Mh-mh. You haven't told me what Won's idea was yet."

"You know it." You raise your hand to playfully hit his chest, but he's faster than you are and catches your wrist midway with his injured hand.

"I don't know a damn thing," Sunghoon says as he brings his lips to the back of your hand, letting them brush gently against your soft skin before placing a small peck. "Go on, enlighten me."

You pout, but Sunghoon's set on making you talk, and even though you're stubborn and embarrassed, you know he won't let it go until he's satisfied with your response.

And, the slowly growing hardness under your exposed panties, combined with the residuals of alcohol still buzzing through your system are making it hard for you to stand your ground. Not when Sunghoon looks as good as he does with his bangs messily covering his eyes, and fitted short sleeve highlighting his hard chest underneath the cotton. Unfortunately for you.

You move on his lap, adjusting your position so you can feel more of him through the thin material covering you. You crave the harsh coarseness of his jeans on you, for the heat seeping out of him to envelope you fully. You're on top of him, thighs straddling his, yet you feel the invisible push to be even closer. As close as you physically can be.

Sunghoon sees the hunger in your eyes, he has all this time. He too is barely hanging on by a thread, and the self restraint he's miraculously managed to keep until now is dwindling by the second. All the times you've begged for him, all the times he's fucked your pretty pussy open with different toys, bigger and thicker each time. All the times he's had to take cold showers after seeing the raw need for him to claim you fully reflected in your eyes, even after coaxing orgasm after of orgasm out of you. You're so insatiable, but he might be even worse. Once he gives in, he doesn't think he'll be able to let you go ever.

Sunghoon knows you've felt ready for a long time, and even if he thinks you could use more getting used to bigger sizes before he allows himself to finally sink into you, the temptation gnaws at him all the same.

He just needs a little confirmation.

"Tell me, what was this master plan of yours?" he speaks with his mouth pressed to your palm, softly running his nose down to your wrist, allowing himself to bask in the warmness of the scent you chose for the night.

"Won's, not mine."

"That you willingly agreed to."

"I just… wanted to make you jealous." You finally admit, avoiding Sunghoon's gaze at all costs.

"How so? Wearing this tiny little dress?" His voice is lower, more dangerous. He slides his free hand to grab a handful of your barely covered ass, the skirt having ridden up to your waist almost completely. "You know I like it when the attention's on you. They can look all they want, you're mine." The movement causes you to jerk up against his crotch, earning a low grunt from the man beneath you.

"Tell me, baby," Sunghoon rocks you slowly against his hard bulge, caging his bottom lip between his teeth as he takes in your needy and embarrassed form. "How did you plan to make me jealous? Why?"

Your hand slides down his chest and dips under the thin shirt before caressing just over the waistband of his underwear peeking out of the dark jeans. "I thought it would be a smart idea to drag you along to the get together, and I guess I hoped someone would bring me and Jay up. I know how you feel about it and I wanted to use it to my advantage, but I also didn't consider how you'd feel surrounded by strangers reminding you of all the time you and the guys lost. All the time we lost. You came to make me happy and I was being selfish the entire time. You even got hurt because of me—"

"Not because of you. He should be thankful you were there to stop me or I would've broken his ugly face in."

"Still. I'm so sorry. It was childish."

A beat passes without either of you saying anything, and you twitch uncomfortably in his lap.

"Why?"

Your lip trembles, and your heart sinks at the thought of having angered your angel of a boyfriend. Tears well up in your eyes before you even attempt to explain yourself, but Sunghoon gently angles your chin toward him until you're met with his gaze. It's intense, darker than you've ever seen in all your time knowing him. He searches your face for something, and you realize it's not anger casting shadows behind his eyes. It's pure, unfiltered lust.

"Why did you want me jealous?" His voice is raw, like it pains him to produce a single sound, like whatever you answer him with is the honey that will soothe it.

You twitch again, and this time you're not scared, but your insides twist all the same. He rest heavy and hot under you, and you don't know how you'll handle another rejection if that's what this is leading to.

"I wanted you to fuck me, really fuck me. I hoped it would be enough to push you to the breaking point, Sunghoon.“ You swallow hard, and the saliva in your mouth feels thicker than usual. Maybe it is, maybe you're just more aware of all the sensations within your body. "I need you to break."

It's all Sunghoon needs to hear.

He lurches forward to capture your lips with his, harsh and messy, like an animal that has finally broken out of the restraint keeping it chained. His hands roam all over your body, eager to explore every single inch as if it's the first time he ever does.

You reciprocate him with just as much hunger behind every movement, hands slipping from his body to his hair to pull his head back. You grind your hips against his, moves deliberately slow compared to the feverish kiss. "I need you. I don't wanna wait anymore."

Sunghoon moans into your mouth when you release his hair, and he doubles his efforts, sliding his fingers through the wide gaps of the fishnets covering your thighs, big palms fully working you on top of his bulge.

"You want it so bad, baby?" He says between open mouthed kisses, full lips raw and red from the fight with yours. "I'm gonna give it all to you."

Uncaring for the mess of knocked over stuff you two leave in your wake, from Sunghoon's keys loudly hitting the ground to your heels abandoned somewhere on the carpet, you make your way to his room without ever letting go of each other. All around you is just background noise and things you'll think of later, the only thing that seems to matter is to get in bed and get rid of all the pent up frustration clouding your minds.

The door shuts closed and soon your back hits the bed with a soft thud, Sunghoon's hands heavy on your hips and mouth hot on your neck as he carves a wet path on your sensitive skin, caging you between his hard chest and the mattress. He wraps your leg around his middle, and when your cores touch again, you both sigh in relief.

You've spent all this time on the cusp of finally getting something more, waiting—albeit not so patiently on your part—for the right moment, and now that you both know you're just moments away from it, seconds seem to stretch out into hours and even the slightest teasing feels unbearable.

That's what you think, at least. Because Sunghoon is nothing but a tease at heart, and he has very different plans in store for you.

You take advantage of the little moment of pause to undress yourself, but Sunghoon stops you as soon as he notices what you're trying to do.

"Keep it on," he murmurs along your neck, feeling your pulse quicken right under his full lips. He kisses along your collarbones, to your shoulder, exactly where the strap of your dress rests. His teeth graze the material, and he draws back slightly before letting it snap back into place, the slight sting making you jump just the tiniest bit in his hold. "You wanted to make me jealous in this? Then I'll fuck you in it." He mouths his way back up, until he reaches your ear, teeth gently biting right where he knows it makes shivers spread all over your body. "Next time you wear it, my cock is all you'll be able to think about."

You can't hide the way your body reacts to his words, thighs pressing together from the sheer excitement.

Sunghoon toys with the strings of your fishnets, and for a moment you think you should take them off, but he just rips a hole through them, allowing his hand to finally slide underneath them and grab your ass as harshly as he wants. "These were getting on my nerves."

"I can take them—"

Sunghoon silences you with a kiss, slower than the previous one, calculated and meticulous but every bit as passionate. His teeth sink into your bottom lip until you gasp against his mouth, his tongue gently licking away at your lip to soothe the sting. He pulls your core closer to his, unabashedly moaning into your mouth as he ruts his hips into yours.

The tights start to frustrate you the more he works himself against your panties. You want to be closer, you need to feel him push against you completely, and they're in the way. So once again, you try to rid yourself of them.

Sunghoon keeps you still. "These stay on until I tell you to take them off." His tone is commanding, but not abrasive, muffled by your skin. "Understood?"

You barely nod when suddenly he's bending you at his will like you're his to drag around as he pleases, and while usually you would've fought back just for the sake of it, you play nice this time, doing anything to not have him changes his mind and leave you hanging once again.

He sets you on your knees, facing the headboard of his king sized bed, a sturdy and thick thing, wood carved with elegant loops and twirls all around the edges. They gleam and cast shadows alike when Sunghoon reaches over you to turn on the bedside lamp.

The same hand steadies your hip as he lowers himself onto you, pressing his chest to your back and littering kisses from your temple to your neck. "Aren't you such a cute little thing?" he whispers into your ear, chucking when he feels you shudder under his weight. "So needy and desperate, making up plans just to have my cock in your tight pussy." He's so big, so warm. So strong. It makes your knees weak, and you would crumble on the soft mattress if not for his large hand keeping you still. "Should've just come to me right away, should've begged for my cock like the good girl I know you can be." His other hand starts to travel down your body, and your thighs instinctively spread open to accommodate him.

Pride blooms in Sunghoon's heart. You're so pliant for him, sweetly allowing him to touch you all over, your body responding so well to his slightest touch, to his softest word. The trust you have in him makes his cock harder in his pants, but he's always been a patient man. A man that enjoys taking his time playing with his meal before sinking his teeth into it.

That, and you still have a lesson to learn. "But you've been bad, so bad." He bites your earlobe as his fingers hook onto one of the little holes in your tights, right over your throbbing core, so needy and ready to be claimed by him. You hear a loud rip before you realize what's going on.

His fingers immediately find your panties, slick and stuck to your drooling lips, and he starts touching you over them like all the teasing he's subjected you to until then isn't enough to satisfy him. "You'll make it up to me, yeah? You'll make me proud and happy." He licks along the shell of your ear, and your thighs shake, spreading open once more to coax him into touching you better. "I'll only fuck you when I'm satisfied with how sorry you are."

"Hoon—"

"Don't worry, baby." His fingers dip under the fabric, finally really touching you for the first time that night. He slides two fingers between your lips to coat them in your juices as he keeps talking to you in a tone that almost seems belittling, the pout in his voice too heavy and pronounced for it to be honest. "I'll make it worth it. All the time we waited will be worth it. I just have to get you nice and ready, dripping for me."

You have half a mind to turn around and fight him, because you don't understand how you could physically get wetter even if you wanted to be patient and take it. "I'm already wet," you say, and it comes out a little harsher than you intend for it to.

"Look at you," Sunghoon mocks you, the bite in your response only making him chuckle lowly in your ear, the vibrations from the sound make wetness pool on his digits, much to his amusement. "Can't keep the brattiness in check even when you should feel sorry. How can I take your apologies seriously?"

You open your mouth to answer, but his fingers pinch your clit before you get a single word out, replaced by a shriek that sounds something right in between pleasure and pain.

"Less talking." Sunghoon doesn't stop or lessen his touch on your poor sensitive bundle of nerves. Instead, he rolls it between his fingers, coaxing loud moans out of you with every single movement. "More of this."

The bed creaks under Sunghoon's knees as he detaches from your already quivering form and gets up to grab something. You complain with a little whine at the sudden loss, but just a quick glance in his direction tells you to stay still and be patient.

"Where's your phone?" Sunghoon asks. It sounds a lot more like an order.

"My… huh? My phone?"

"Your phone. Where is it?"

You gawk at him for a second, still in the same position despite the dull ache in your knees slowly but surely setting in, your mouth agape as you try to rack your brain for an explanation as to why the fuck Sunghoon needs your phone since he doesn't seem to be planning on offering you one. "In my bag. On the couch, I think."

It's only a few seconds before your boyfriend returns with your phone in his hand, and throws it carelessly on the bed next to you. He returns to his previous position, the warmth radiating from his body soothing you even when you don't know what to expect next.

You'd be lying if you said you don't enjoy this stricter version of your ever so loving and doting boyfriend, thighs clenching at the thought of the danger lurking behind his sweet demeanor.

"Unlock your phone and open Jay's chat." Sunghoon's calm facade is completely gone, replaced by pure fire.

"What?"

"You heard me." His grip on your thighs tightens, possessive and angry. "You're gonna open Jay's chat and record while I fuck your pussy with my fingers, and you'll have him hear how good I make you feel."

You're breathless, adrenaline pumping through your system and ears ringing at the thought of doing something so obscene, with one of your best friends on the other end of it no less. "Hoon, Jay didn't have anything to do with this… we shouldn't—"

"I don't care." Sunghoon bites your neck, sharp canines poking you just enough to elicit a gasp out of you. "You'll do as I say and tell him you won't ever go back."

He sounds so possessive, so unlike any version of him you have experienced, and just this little taste has you obsessed. You love the soft spoken, big sweetheart he always is, and you love the sleeping beast hidden just beneath the surface too. You love the anticipation of what's to come, not knowing which side of Sunghoon you're gonna get.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the phone, his is sure and steady as it makes its descent down to your wet pussy again. Sunghoon takes his time, letting his fingers ghost on your thighs for a little before sliding the panties off of you. You hear him moan behind you, and you're glad you don't get to see what you suspect is him licking off the wetness off the fabric he just rid you of. That would be way too much for you in the moment, you think.

The Jongie <3 contact in your favorites section seems so silly now that you're mere seconds away from letting him hear how your boyfriend fucks you, so you take a few deep breaths in preparation. As if sensing your hesitation, Sunghoon quickly places a gentle kiss to your temple, and just like that, he's back to his caring self. "You said you're sorry, baby. You should show me, but you don't have to."

You press the voice message recording button moments later, heart thrumming loudly in your ears as you slide your finger up so it keeps recording hands free.

"Such a brave girl. So, so good for me." Sunghoon praises you, and it soothes some of the anxiety you feel, his tone thick and sweet as honey, you barely recognize it as the same one that was giving you harsh commands earlier.

The downright filthy sound of Sunghoon's digits spreading your pussy lips open has you cowering in embarrassment, but your boyfriend doesn't care. He needs Jay to hear how absolutely soaked you are. He wastes no time, pushing in three fingers inside you.

Your mouth is hung open in a silent moan, eyebrows knit together and eyes closed, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden sensation. It stings, even when you're so wet it's dripping down your thighs by now, but his fingers are so long and thick the initial stretch is always uncomfortable, despite all the training.

Sunghoon doesn't like that, so he gives you no time, no warning, and just starts pumping in and out of you, curling the tips just like he does when you're about to cum and need the tiniest push. He's unfair, so unfair, because how are you supposed to keep your sounds down like you planned to when he's finger fucking you like it's his life mission to have you come undone in record time?

You don't know if it's an ego thing, or he just wants to make your punishment that much harder. It must be both, because within seconds you're moaning and gasping out in pleasure for him and Jay so beautifully, really putting on a show for the both of them. But it's so hard to focus and remember what you're supposed to say, and the longer the voice message is, the more mortified you'll be in the morning.

For now, satisfying Sunghoon's thirst for punishment and placating the jealousy you yourself caused is your top priority. You'll think about the consequences another time.