OFFICE ! JAKE who stays late every night “catching up on reports” but really he’s on his knees under your desk, face buried between your thighs with his warm tongue working you slowly while you finish emails. He stays there for as long as you want, soft and obedient, letting you use his mouth whenever you need.

OFFICE ! JAKE who gets so fucking desperate during all-hands calls that he’ll grind against the seam of his slacks under the table, chasing friction while you speak. Sometimes he cums untouched just from your voice and the humiliation of it —biting his lip bloody to stay quiet while his cock pulses and ruins his underwear.

OFFICE ! JAKE who loves when you keep him denied for days. You’ll edge him in the copy room, fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him slow and sweet until he’s shaking and begging under his breath, then tuck him back in right before he tips over. “Not yet, baby. Hold it for me.” He’ll spend the rest of the afternoon aching and dripping, thighs trembling every time he has to stand up.

OFFICE ! JAKE who melts when you call him your sweet boy, your good fucking boy, your pretty little office slut while you get behind him after hours, stroking his cock from behind. Just filthy praise that makes his eyes water and his whole body shake.

OFFICE ! JAKE who wears a toy to the big client dinner because you told him to. He sits across from you at the fancy restaurant, cheeks flushed, trying to focus on the conversation while the toy presses right against his prostate every time he shifts. By dessert he’s so close he nearly cums in his pants from nothing but the pressure and the smug look you’re giving him.

OFFICE ! JAKE who gets ruined so perfectly when you finally let him cum. You’ll jerk him fast and tight in the supply closet, whispering how proud you are, how well he takes everything you give him, until he’s crying out and spilling over your fingers— only for u to pull back at the last second so most of it just pulses weakly into his ruined boxers, leaving him oversensitive and whimpering.

OFFICE ! JAKE who turns into the softest, clingiest boy after hours. Once the building empties he’ll pull you into his lap in your big leather chair, while you stroke his hair and tell him what a perfect, obedient little thing he is. He lives for the praise, for the gentle kisses pressed to his temple while your hand works slowly between his legs until he’s shaking and cumming again, this time allowed to make all the pretty noises he wants.

OFFICE ! JAKE who keeps a spare pair of slacks in his drawer because he never knows when you’re going to make him cum in his pants like a desperate slut during the workday. He changes in the bathroom with shaky hands, cheeks burning at the wet spot he has to hide, already getting hard again just from the humiliation of it.

OFFICE ! JAKE who is the model employee on paper— polite, hardworking, always smiling—but the second you text him “my office, now” he’s hurrying over with his cock already twitching, ready to drop to his knees between your thighs nd let you use him however you want, because nothing feels better than being your good boy.

OFFICE ! JAKE who squirms in his chair during long meetings because you texted him not to use the bathroom all day. He’s rock hard and desperate, trying to focus while his bladder aches, the humiliation of knowing you control even this making him leak precum into his slacks.

OFFICE ! JAKE who drops to his knees the second you lock your office door, mouth eager between your thighs. He eats you out like he’s starving, moaning into your pussy, tongue working desperately while you praise him—“That’s my good boy, fuck, just like that”—until you cum on his face and he’s whimpering, cock straining untouched.

OFFICE ! JAKE who ends up on your desk after hours with his cock buried deep inside your tight, wet pussy. You ride him slow, grinding down while whispering how proud you are of your sweet boy for holding it so long. The pressure builds until he can’t anymore—he cums hard with a broken whimper, hot piss flooding inside you at the same time in powerful, uncontrollable spurts that mix with his cum and leak out around his cock.

OFFICE ! JAKE who sometimes gets sooo full he can’t hold it anymore. You keep him denied and desperate until he’s begging, then let him hump your thigh in the supply closet. He cums hard in his pants but can’t stop the hot rush of piss that follows, soaking through his slacks while he hides his burning face in your neck, shaking with shame and pleasure.

taglist is open 🫶🏿

released on wattpad and soon on tumblr.

taglist requests in comments !

i recommend reading it on wattpad tho cause its long.

INSPIRED BY : What You Need - The Weeknd

(+ Slow It Down - Ty Dolla $ign)

What could be worse than going to the restaurant with your boyfriend a week after you found out that he’s been cheating on you? Oh right, you don’t know. Ethan orders for himself without asking what you're having first, catches himself halfway through, and asks you anyway. You already know what you want because you always know what you want here.

His phone sits face up next to his water glass. It lights up twice in the first ten minutes. Both times he glances down, thumb hovering, before setting it back exactly where it was. "Sorry," he says, not looking up from the screen the third time. "Work thing."

You nod like that made sense. You've heard about Heeseung's terrible taste in restaurants, about his coworker’s dog, about traffic on the way here ; three separate stories he's started and abandoned mid-sentence because his attention keeps sliding sideways toward that phone.

"You could put it away," you say, tired enough that it comes out flat.

"I know. I will." He actually doesn't.

The waiter brings your food and Ethan eats fast, he’s already somewhere else in his mind. You ask about his sister's move to Daegu and get half an answer before his phone buzzes again and he actually picks it up this time, thumb moving across the screen, brow furrowed like the message requires real concentration.

You watch him read it. You watch his jaw do a small tightening, and you already know before he opens his mouth. "I have to go in," he says. "They need someone to cover a shift. I'm really sorry, I know we just got here."

Work doesn't call people in at 9:47 at night for office emergencies. You've known things like this for months now, small inconsistencies that don't line up if you actually stack them next to each other, which is why you stopped stacking them.

"Now?" you ask anyway, knowing how it will end up.

"I wouldn't if I didn't have to." He's already reaching for his wallet, already half out of his seat. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."

You tell him it's fine and to go, that you'll finish eating and head home. He kisses the top of your head, distracted, already checking his phone again as he walks toward the door, and you sit there with a plate you've lost interest in and a boyfriend-shaped absence across the table.

Your phone buzzes. Heeseung.

Heeseung [9:54 PM]

you good?

saw ethan's location just switched to "downtown" lol at 9pm

You stare at the message for a second too long before you type back.

Y/N [9:54 PM]

he had a work thing apparently

Heeseung [9:55 PM]

mhm. sure he did

You almost put the phone down.

Y/N [9:55 PM]

please don’t start

Heeseung [9:57 PM]

wasn't gonna say anything. i'm very good at not saying things

Y/N [9:57 PM]

you're the worst at not saying things btw

Heeseung [9:58 PM]

rude.

i've been holding back SO much tonight and this is the thanks i get

You find yourself smiling at your phone, alone at a table for two, food going cold in front of you. Even though you couldn’t care less.

The waiter comes by to clear Ethan's plate and asks if you need anything else, and you're halfway through saying no when your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [10:05 PM]

where are you?

sending someone to get you before you sit there being sad and pathetic

Y/N [10:05 PM]

wdym I’m not sad and pathetic

Heeseung [10:06 PM]

you're eating alone at a restaurant your boyfriend just ditched. what else could it be?

address please.

You give him the name of the place mostly because arguing about whether you're pathetic or not would take more energy than you have left right now. Fifteen minutes later Heeseung walks in wearing a jacket you’ve seen plenty of times, scanning the room until he finds you, and drops into the seat across from you like he's been there the whole time.

"You didn't have to come, you know." you state.

"I know that very well. I wanted to see you sad and pathetic in person." He picks up the menu even though you're clearly done eating, flips through it without really looking. "Also I was bored."

"Comforting."

"I try." He waves the waiter over before you can stop him, orders a drink for himself, and when the bill comes a few minutes later he reaches over and takes it before you can even move your hand toward it.

"Heeseung."

"Yeah?"

"Give me that."

"No." He's already pulling out his card, not even glancing at the total.

"I can pay for my own food."

"Never said you couldn't." He hands the card to the waiter without looking at you, and something about how easy it is for him : he acts like it costs him nothing and like it’s something he has to do but does it naturally. The inside of your stomach is tingling and obviously not because of the food you had earlier.

"I'm being serious, I don't need you to—"

"I know you don't need me to." He lifts his gaze and looks at you with less joking in it than a second ago. "I want to. Learn how it’s not the same."

"That's not the point."

"What's the point, then?"

You freezes, not an answer or a talk back could reach your mind, and he grins like he's won something.

"Aw, look at that," he says. "I missed that face."

"I fucking hate you."

"You don't. You're just annoyed you can't win an argument about who gets to pay for your dinner, which, by the way, is a very weird thing to be stubborn about."

"It's called having self-respect."

"It's called being difficult for no reason, but sure, we can call it self-respect if that makes you feel better." The card comes back and he signs without checking the receipt, tucks it away, and stands up casually. "Come on. I'm parked badly and I will get towed."

"You fucking asshole."

"You keep saying that like it's news." He holds his hand out, not really an offer so much as an assumption you'll take it, and you do.

He gets in to start the car, and has a cigarette lit before you've even got your seatbelt on. The window cracks an inch, cold air cutting through the smoke smell that's already filling the small space.

"You know those are terrible for you," you say.

"Groundbreaking information. Thank you." He takes a drag, one hand on the wheel, not pulling out of the spot yet.

"I'm dead serious. You should stop."

"I should do a lot of things." He glances at you sideways, smoke curling out the window. "You should stop pretending you don't know your boyfriend's cheating on you. We're both just walking around not doing things we should, I guess."

The car goes quiet except for the engine idling. You look straight ahead at the brick wall of the restaurant, at nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say in a breathy tone.

"Sure you don't." He's not looking at you now either, tapping ash out the window, voice even, done pretending along with you. "His location switches off every other night. He checks his phone at dinner like it's gonna bite him if he doesn't. Tonight he left you at a restaurant for a 'work thing' that doesn't exist, and you didn't even ask him to explain it properly. You just let him go."

"That's not—" You stop and start again. "It's complicated."

"It's really not." He finally pulls out of the spot, one hand on the wheel, cigarette still between two fingers. "You don't want to deal with it. Which, fine, your business. But don't sit there and tell me you don't know, because I’m aware for the phone thing tonight too, and you didn't look surprised. You looked like someone who's done the math already."

There isn't a version of an answer that isn't just agreeing with him. So silence is the best option you could have at this moment.

"I'm not trying to make it worse, okay?" he says, softer, some of the edge gone out of his voice. "I just don't really feel like watching you sit through dinners like that and pretend it's normal."

"Why do you even care?"

He takes another drag and lets it out slow.

"Good question," he says finally without elaborating further, yet you don’t want to know more of it, because you're not sure you want to hear the answer any more than he seems to want to give it.

He drives you around the city for a while then turns left instead of right at the light that would've led back toward your apartment. The road opens up eventually, streetlights getting sparser, and then there's the smell of salt before you see the water. He parks in a mostly empty lot facing the beach, cuts the engine, and the quiet that follows feels different from the quiet in the restaurant parking lot. It’s less loaded.

"Why are we here?" you ask.

"I needed air that doesn't smell like your ex's cologne." He's already pulling his jacket off, tossing it into the back seat. Underneath he's just in a black tank top, and it's warm enough out that it makes sense, summer nights here never really cooling off the way you'd expect. "Also I like it here. Don't make it a big deal."

"He's not my ex."

"Give it time." He says it lightly, already opening his door, not wanting to hear you argue back. "Come."

You get out as sitting in the car alone would feel worse than following him. The sand is cool yet the air isn't, and he walks ahead of you toward the water without checking if you're behind him, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose.

"You could've warned me we were going to the beach," you say, catching up. "I'm in the wrong shoes for this."

"You're in shoes. That's more preparation than I did."

"You're wearing actual sneakers."

"Correct. Preparation." He glances back at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up. "Take them off if you're gonna complain the whole time."

"I'm not complaining, it was just a statement."

"Same thing, coming from you."

You shove his shoulder, and he barely moves as he laughs, low and light, as your annoyance is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all week. The water's dark ahead of you, waves you can hear more than see, you can feel the knot in your belly loosening up.

"So this is the fresh air you talked about," you say, kicking your heels off like he told you to, sand cold between your toes. "Very noble of you, considering your lungs are probably black at this point."

"They're totally fine."

"You just smoked an entire cigarette in a closed car ten minutes ago."

"The window was cracked."

"Barely an inch."

He stops walking. He turns to look at you, and there's a specific kind of offense on his face, you can see that’s it’s fake. "Okay, you don't get to smoke-shame me and then act like you weren't the one who wanted to eat a hundred tons of sugar last week."

"That has nothing to do with your lungs."

"It's about hypocrisy, Y/N." He's already crossing his arms, which should've been your first warning. "You wanna talk about people ruining their bodies, we can talk about those candies."

"That's not remotely the same thing, and you know it."

"I don't know anything. I'm just a guy with fucked up lungs, apparently, standing here, getting attacked—"

"I didn't attack you, I made a freaking statement—"

"—run," he says, it's not really a warning and it's already happening, he's moving toward you before the word's even fully out. You don't think and you just run, already laughing three steps away, sand slowing you down and you probably look embarrassing and isn't because he's not much faster, both of you stumbling across the beach. He's close behind you, close enough that you can hear him laughing too, breathless, yet you don't look back and just keep going toward nothing in particular, the water loud beside you and your own heartbeat louder, making you forget why you were sad in the first place.

"Slow down!" you yell back at him, though you're the one speeding up. "Your lungs can't take this!"

"They're taking it fine, actually—" He's gaining on you, voice rougher now from the running, the laughing, both. "Better than yours, probably, all that complaining you do about stairs—"

"I don't even complain about stairs—"

"You complained about stairs yesterday. To my face."

"That building has no elevator, that's a legitimate—" You don't get to finish, because his hand catches your arm, hard enough to throw your balance off, and you're laughing too much to fight it anyway.

"Got you—"

"You didn't—"

He did. Your feet tangle in the sand and his do too trying to compensate, and there's a second where it could've gone fine, where you both could've just stopped, but now you're both going down, and he twists at the last second so he hits the sand first and you land half on top of him, knocking whatever air he had left in those apparently terrible lungs straight out of him.

"Okay," he wheezes, staring up at the sky, chest moving fast under you. "Okay, that one's on me."

You're still laughing, you can't stop, face pressed near his shoulder, sand in your hair, in your clothes, everywhere. "You caught me on purpose."

"I caught you very badly on purpose."

"Your lungs are so fucked."

"Please stop talking about my lungs." He's laughing too, you can feel it more than hear it, his chest shaking under where you're braced against him, and neither of you moves to get up right away, and it takes a second before either of you remembers there's a reason you're supposed to pull away from this.

"Great," you say, still not moving off him. "Now I'm covered in sand. This was a bad idea."

"It was my favorite plan I've had all week."

"You've had bad judgment all week, then." You finally push yourself up, brushing sand off your arms, off your legs, a losing battle. He sits up slower, still catching his breath, watching you try to fix your hair with zero success.

"I'm also thirsty," you add.

"There's water in the car."

"Warm water in a car that smells like cigarettes doesn't count."

He stands, holds a hand out to pull you up, and doesn't let go right away once you're on your feet. He looks at you for a second, he seems like he's deciding something. "Come to mine. Shower, water, whatever you need. It’s better than dropping you off covered in sand at eleven at night."

"Heeseung, I don't need—"

"You keep saying that word like it changes anything about what I'm gonna do anyway." He's already walking back toward the car, keys spinning once around his finger. "Come on."

His apartment turns out to be nothing like you expected, which annoys you a little, because you'd built some idea of his place in your head ; messy, small ; and instead the elevator opens straight into something enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the city, furniture that looks like it costs a hundred racks, which does.

"This is insane," you say, standing in the doorway, still not fully inside. "You live here? Alone?"

"Don't sound so betrayed about it."

"I pictured you in, like, a studio apartment with a mattress on the floor."

"Wow. Thank you for that image of me." He drops his keys on the counter, shrugging like the apartment doesn't warrant comment. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door. There's towels in there. I'll find you something to change into that isn't full of sand."

You still haven't moved from the doorway, taking in the size of it, the quietness of a place too clean to belong to someone who bickers the way he does. "How do you even afford this?"

"Very boring answer. Ask me another time." He's already disappearing down the hall, calling back over his shoulder. "Towels. Bathroom. Go before you track sand into my very expensive rug."

You linger by the counter instead of heading for the bathroom yet, arms crossed, sand still clinging to your ankles. "Okay, but—when am I getting home tonight? I have work in the morning."

He reappears from the hallway with a folded shirt and shorts in hand, tossing them onto the couch for you. "Never. You live here now. I've decided."

"Heeseung."

"It's already, what, eleven thirty? You're covered in sand, your options are a shower here or a shower at home in forty-five minutes of traffic smelling like a beach." He shrugs, entirely too pleased with his own logic. "I'll drive you back whenever. Or you sleep on the world's most comfortable couch and I take you home before work. Very generous offer, considering my lungs are apparently on their way out."

"That's not what I asked."

"Yeah, and I answered better questions in my life." He nods toward the hallway, unbothered. "Go shower. I'm not driving anywhere until you stop smelling like low tide."

You get out of the shower first, dressed in the shirt and shorts he left you, both too big, sleeves falling past your hands. When you find him in the kitchen he's just in sweatpants, no shirt, hair still wet, and you stop in the doorway far too long before catching yourself.

"What?" he says, not even looking up from the glass of water he's pouring.

"Nothing. Put a shirt on, it's weird."

"It's my apartment, and it's hot. I'm not putting a shirt on for you." He slides the glass across the counter toward you, finally glancing over, and whatever's on your face makes something shift in his. "Are you flustered right now?"

"No."

"You're a little flustered."

"I'm annoyed." You grab the glass just to have something to do with your hands, and drink half of it too fast. "Some warning would've been nice."

"A warning for what, my own kitchen?"

"For the— " you point directly at him, at the general fact of him, "—situation."

"There's no situation. This is just what I look like." A shit eating grin appears on his face, fully enjoying this, leaning against the counter. "You can look away if it's that distressing."

"I'm not even looking."

"You're looking right now."

"I'm looking at you to argue with you, and you look so dumb right now."

"Sure it is." He pushes off the counter, grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter, and heads for the balcony door without the will to talk back. You follow, mostly out of spite, and the air outside is warm, the city spread out below, making the apartment's size make a little more sense. He lights up, leaning on the railing, and you stand a few feet away, arms crossed against a chill that isn't really there.

The smoke drifts toward you on the next breath of wind and you cough slightly, covering the lower half of you face with your hand.

His eyes stay on the city while a silent chuckle almost escapes him. He shifts slowly, moving to stand on your left instead, angling himself so the smoke pulls away from you and out over the railing. A quietness installs itself between you.

He flicks ash over the railing, and glances at you. "You want a drink or something? I've got wine, I think there's soju somewhere too."

"Wine would be good."

He disappears inside for a minute, comes back with two glasses and the bottle tucked under his arm, he sets everything down on the small table between the balcony chairs. You sit, and he drops into the chair across from you, pouring without measuring, more in yours than his.

"How did we even meet?" you say, mostly to fill the silence, turning the glass by its stem. "Like, before Ethan and I were even together. I feel like I always just knew you as his friend."

"You did. That's exactly what happened." He takes a sip to give himself time to recoil on the memory. "We met at that party his roommate threw, where it had the terrible speaker system. You spilled something on my shoes and apologized for like ten minutes straight."

"I did not apologize for ten minutes."

"You did. I still remember the shoes, they were new."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm really not, I still have them." He leans back, glass balanced on his knee. "Then Ethan started talking about you nonstop for like a month before he actually got the balls to ask you out. It was unbearable. I heard about your laugh before I heard you laugh."

You laugh a little despite yourself. "That's embarrassing," you say.

"For him, mostly. I didn't say anything." He swirls the wine, not quite looking at you now. "You were different back then. I mean—Not different-different. I just think that you were, like, less careful about everything."

"Careful how?"

"You used to argue with me for fun. Now half the time you're arguing with me because you're arguing with something else and I'm just the nearest target." He says in a chuckle. "I liked the fun version better. Not that this version's bad, though."

You take your time before replying. Your fingers slowly roll the glass between your palms as you watch the wine reflect the light, letting the silence fill the space while you think.

"I didn't notice it happening," you say finally.

"Fair enough. That's usually how it goes."

He gives you time. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, his glass resting against his knee while the distant sounds of the city soften the moment.

"You know he doesn't deserve the amount of patience you're giving him, right?" he says eventually, not looking at you when he says it, trying to make it easier for both of you. "Whatever he's doing, wherever he's going at nine at night—you're sitting there making excuses for him. I watched you do it tonight."

"It's not that simple."

"It’s obviously not simple, we both know that. I'm saying you deserve someone who doesn't make you rehearse excuses for him in your head before he's even said anything." He looks over at you, his gaze serious. "You're smart. You're funny, when you're not exhausted, which lately is rare. You shouldn't be spending this much of yourself on someone who’s always checking his phone at a dinner with you."

"You don't know everything that's going on, so stop—"

"I don't need to know everything. I already know enough." He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "I'm not trying to convince you to do anything, okay? I just don't think you hear it enough, so I'm saying it. You deserve better than what he's giving you. That's it."

You look down at your glass instead of at him, throat tight from what you’ve been holding since you found out.

"Like it matters to you, anyway." you mumble quietly.

He lets the silence settle between you once more. Taking a deep breath, he seems to consider his next words carefully, revealing nothing before he's ready.

"It does," he declares finally. "I'm not gonna make it more complicated than that tonight."

You let the subject rest, and he doesn't volunteer anything more. Together, you sit quietly, listening to the muted sounds of the city while the wine slowly warms in your hands. Somehow, the silence says more than words you could find.

After some time, you both decided to watch a movie to ease everything out. Now, you’re curled up on the couch, the bottle of wine you two polished off leaving a soft warmth in your veins. The TV flickers with some late-night drama that you couldn't force yourself to be invested in even if you wanted to. Your head feels pleasantly light, and whatever usually fuels your arguments has faded, leaving behind nothing more than lazy teasing.

A new scene unfolds on screen : dark lighting, tangled sheets, the actors lost in a heated and sensual moment. The woman arches under her partner’s touch as his hands glide slowly over her body ; caressing, teasing, worshipping. The sounds are low and breathy, filling the room.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and the wine makes you bold. You glance at Heeseung beside you. "I…I’ve never done that with Ethan," you murmur, voice coming out as a whisper. "Not like that, at least."

Heeseung’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide with real shock. "Wait—what? Never? Not even close?"

You shake your head, biting your lip as embarrassment and frustration mix with the alcohol. "No. It’s always been…rushed. He never wanted to explore things or try new things. Like he doesn’t have the patience for it." Your gaze lingers on the screen for another second before returning to him. "Do you…know how to do that? Like, really touch someone like that?"

Heeseung keeps his eyes on you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. Something unspoken passes between you. "Y/N…" he starts, voice low and careful, a flicker of heat in his eyes.

You shift slightly, scooting an inch closer on the couch. "Show me? I want to know everything. Touch me the way he’s touching her. Please?"

He swallows, and finally slowly nods, setting his empty glass aside. "Alright. But tell me when it's too much, okay?" His voice has dropped, rougher now. He reaches out, starting gentle. His fingers brush along your arm, tracing slow lines from your wrist up to your shoulder. "Like this," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Pay attention to how your skin feels under my hand." His palm flattens against your collarbone, sliding down your side in one smooth caress, mapping the curve of your waist through your shirt.

You shiver, the wine amplifying every touch. Emboldened, you lean into him, and he scoots closer too, until your thighs press together. His other hand joins in, fingertips grazing your neck, then trailing down your chest with feather-light pressure.

"Tell me what feels good," he instructs softly, his hand venturing lower, stroking along your hip and the top of your thigh. "Here?" He squeezes gently, then lets his palm glide back up, bolder now.

The space between you disappears as you both shift nearer, bodies turning toward each other. Your hand finds his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, and slide up to his neck. His breath grows heavier. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, caressing bare skin ; warm, exploratory, following the line of your ribs.

You look up at him, lips parted. He meets your gaze for half a second before closing the distance. Tongues meet, slow and deep at first, turning more insistent as your fingers thread into his hair. He pulls you closer, one hand firm on your lower back while the other continues its caress, sliding higher under your shirt.

His kisses grow fiercer, nipping at your lower lip before soothing it, bodies pressing together on the couch as the moment spirals deeper.

You automatically swing your leg over, straddling Heeseung’s lap as the kiss deepens. Your knees sink into the couch on either side of him, bodies aligning perfectly. He groans softly into your mouth, his hands finding your waist instantly, gripping you to steady the sudden movement. "Y/N…" he breathes against your lips, pulling you closer.

His fingers dig in a little too hard at first ; eager, hungry from the built-up tension ; and you yelp sharply against his mouth, a quick flash of pain cutting through the haze of wine and heat. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide with concern, his grip loosening right away. "Shit—sorry," he murmurs. One hand gently rubs the spot on your waist where he’d gripped too tightly. "Didn’t mean to. You okay?"

You nod quickly, still breathing hard, the sting already fading into the warmth. "Yeah…I’m fine. Don’t stop."

Relief flashes across his face, quickly renewed by that same heated look. He leans in again, capturing your lips in another urgent kiss. his time, there's a new caution in the way he touches you. His hands glide slowly along your sides, lingering as though giving you every chance to pull away before one drifts lower. He cups your ass firmly, squeezing with just the right pressure ; possessive, appreciative ; as he pulls you tighter against him.

You moan softly into the kiss, rolling your hips instinctively. His tongue slides against yours, deeper and more demanding now, while his fingers knead your ass, encouraging the movement. The kiss turns messy, breathless, both of you lost in the heat as his other hand stays anchored at your waist, guiding you closer. The undeniable spark between you push everything else away.

You’re both breathing heavily when Heeseung pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and gentle against your ear. "Come off my lap for a second, baby," he murmurs, hands sliding soothingly along your thighs. "Turn around for me."

You nod, a little dazed from the wine and the intensity, and shift off him. He helps guide you, turning you so your back is to his chest. He settles back against the couch, spreading his legs and pulling you between them until you’re nestled against him, your back flush to his front. His arms wrap around you from behind, one hand resting on your stomach while the other strokes your thigh.

"Spread your legs for me," he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "As far as you can. Let me see you."

You obey, parting your thighs wider, heat flooding your face as the position leaves you open and exposed. Heeseung hums approvingly, his fingers teasing lightly along the inside of your thigh, drawing slow circles that inch higher but never quite touch where you’re starting to ache.

"My pretty girl," he whispers, the praise making you shiver. His hand keeps stroking closer and closer until you’re squirming. "Has he ever fingered you?" he asks almost hesitantly, he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head, voice small. "No…He never did. He only ever made me suck his dick and...he was so rushed to put it in."

Heeseung exhales sharply, a mix of disbelief and irritation flashing through him. "Fuck…alright. I’ve got you."

He’s careful ; painfully so. His fingers slide under your clothes, gently parting you before one fingertip circles your entrance, gathering wetness. "Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

Slowly, he eases one finger inside you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. He moves gently, curling carefully, his other arm holding you against his chest. "Breathe, Y/N. I’ll make it good for you."

He adds a second finger only when you start rocking back against his hand, still cautious, focusing entirely on your reactions as he begins to pump them in a sluggish rhythm. His thumb finds your clit, teasing light circles while he fingers you with patient strokes.

You gasp sharply as Heeseung’s fingers suddenly hit harder, the angle shifting and sending a jolt of pain through you. Your body tenses, a small cry escaping your lips.

He freezes instantly, eyes widening in panic. "Shit—sorry, sorry," he blurts, quickly easing his fingers out of you. "I didn’t mean to—fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Y/N." He repeats the apology under his breath, one hand gently rubbing your thigh while the other hovers uncertainly, clearly rattled.

You catch your breath, the sting fading fast in the haze of alcohol. A smirk slowly tugs at your lips as you look back at him over your shoulder. "Are you really sorry?"

"Yes," he says immediately, voice earnest. "Of course I am."

You turn around fully to face him, still sitting between his legs. "Then get on your knees in front of me."

He blinks, then lets out a short disbelieving scoff, assuming you’re joking. "What? Right now?"

Your expression stays serious, eyes locked on his. "I said get on your knees."

The smirk on his face fades when he realizes you mean it. After a beat of hesitation, he slides off the couch and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, looking up at you with surprise and growing desire.

"Come closer," you order softly.

He shifts forward on his knees until he’s right between your spread legs, hands resting tentatively on your thighs as he waits for your next instruction, breath a little uneven.

You lean back slightly, looking down at him. "Lick it."

Heeseung’s eyes darken instantly. Without another word, he leans in, pressing his mouth to you. His tongue drags slowly through your folds at first ; warm and soaked ; before he settles into long hungry strokes, focusing on your clit with just the right pressure. His hands grip your thighs to hold you open as he licks you with focused intent, the earlier apology shifted by eager obedience.

You let the pleasure build for a few moments, your hand threading into his hair as his tongue works you over with growing confidence. But then you tug gently, pulling him back.

"Stop." you say, voice breathy yet firm.

Heeseung pulls away immediately, lips glistening, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a hint of confusion. His chest rises and falls quickly.

You smirk down at him, still holding his hair. "You’re not going to continue until you say sorry…while you’re eating me out."

He blinks once, processing the command, then an almost amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You’re serious?"

You raise an eyebrow, waiting.

He leans back in without further protest. His tongue returns to you before he murmurs the words right against your core, the vibrations sending sparks through you. "I’m sorry," he breathes, licking a long stripe up your folds. "Sorry for being too rough…" Another slow swirl around your clit. "I won’t hurt you again."

He keeps going, alternating between soft apologies and dedicated licks, his voice low and muffled as he eats you out. "Sorry, baby…fuck, you taste so good." His hands grip your thighs a little tighter as he buries his tongue deeper, still repeating quiet "sorry"s between every lick and suck, the blend of submission and hunger making the moment even more intense.

You lean back further, letting him worship you like that ; his apologies vibrating against you with every stroke of his tongue.

You slide your fingers deeper into his hair, gripping it firmly as you pull him closer against you. Heeseung’s eyes flutter half-closed ; sleepy and hazy with lust ; his ears flushed a pretty shade of pink from the heat and the wine. The sight makes something wicked twist in your lower belly.

"Well, would you look at yourself," you tease, voice breathy but filled with amusement. "On your knees, ears all pink, eyes looking half-asleep like a fucking loser."

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, a lazy smirk spreading across his face despite the grip you have on his hair. His sleepy eyes narrow playfully. "Loser?" he scoffs, breath hot against your skin. "Says the one who’s been missing out for months and is now dripping all over my face. If I’m such a loser, why are you pulling my hair like you never want me to stop?"

You tug his hair a little harder in response, and he lets out a low, amused chuckle, vibrating right where you need it.

"Keep talking shit and I might actually stop," you warn, though your hips roll forward, chasing his mouth.

Heeseung’s smirk only widens, pink ears burning brighter. "Yeah? Then I guess this loser better shut up and keep saying sorry…" He dives back in with renewed energy, tongue pressing flat and slow, murmuring one last muffled "Sorry, baby" against you before focusing entirely on making your teasing backfire.

You feel it building fast ; the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core while his tongue works you relentlessly. His sleepy eyes stay locked on yours whenever he pulls back for air, pink ears still burning, that smug little smirk never fully leaving his face even while he’s buried between your thighs.

Your grip in his hair tightens, hips rolling against his mouth as your breathing turns ragged. "Heeseung—fuck, I’m—"

Right as the orgasm crests, right as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back completely. His mouth leaves you with one last slow, teasing lick before he sits back on his heels, lips glistening, looking far too pleased with himself.

You let out a frustrated whine, thighs trembling. "What the hell—"

He chuckles lowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are sleepy-lidded, but sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough. One finger lazily traces up your inner thigh, barely brushing where you need him. "You were talking so much shit earlier about me being a loser…thought you could handle a little teasing."

You glare down at him, still panting, the denied orgasm leaving you aching and frustrated. He leans in again, pressing the softest, almost innocent kiss right above your clit, then another on your thigh ; carefully avoiding where you’re throbbing.

"What is it?" he teases, voice low and amused. "All worked up and squirming. Were you really about to cum that fast on my tongue? Cute."

He blows a gentle stream of cool air against your wet folds, making you jolt, then gives you one torturously light lick before pulling away again.

"Beg a little nicer and maybe I’ll let you finish," he says with a smirk, pink ears still flushed as he watches your reaction, clearly enjoying edging you way too much.

Your hand tightens in his hair again, torn between wanting to pull him back in and wanting to throttle him for stopping.

You’re still catching your breath on the couch, legs shaky from the cruel edge, when Heeseung rises from his knees. He climbs over you, hovering above your body with his hands braced on either side of your head. His face is flushed, those sleepy eyes dark with want as he looks down at you.

You bite your lip, heart racing. Slowly, you lift one leg and slide your foot up between his thighs, pressing the sole against the obviously hard bulge straining through his sweatpants. You rub it teasingly with your toes, pressing on it with gentle pressure, feeling him twitch under your foot.

His breath hitches sharply, hips jerking forward into your touch. "Y/N," he warns, voice low and strained.

You look up at him with soft, fakely innocent eyes, a sweet little smile playing on your lips even as your foot continues its lazy; pressing, rubbing, tracing the outline of his cock through the soft fabric.

"What?" you murmur softly, batting your lashes. “You edged me…seems only fair I play with you a little."

He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. His arms tremble slightly as he holds himself up, clearly fighting the urge to grind harder against your foot.

"Fuck, you’re evil," he breathes, with only affection and raw desire. His eyes flutter half-closed again as you keep rubbing him so gently, the contrast between your soft gaze and the teasing pressure of your foot making him groan quietly above you.

The air between you crackles, thick with tension as he hovers there, letting you toy with him.

You’re still looking up at him with those soft eyes when he suddenly pulls back. He stands just long enough to shove his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside. His cock springs free, hard and flushed. Before you can fully process, he’s back on the couch, gently turning you around again so your back is pressed to his chest ; just like earlier.

You blink in confusion, still wobbly. "Heeseung, what are you—?"

While staying silent, he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. With his free hand, he guides his cock, rubbing the thick head slowly up and down your soaked core. The pressure is heavy and hot as he glides it between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, letting you feel every inch of his length sliding against your sensitive skin.

"Just feel it," he murmurs against your ear. "Gotta get you used to me first."

The grind makes you whimper, your body tensing as the blunt head nudges at your entrance. Then he pushes in ; slow and gentle. The stretch is intense. You yell out at the burn, your hands flying back to grip his thighs.

Heeseung stops instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I know, baby, I know," he whispers soothingly, voice dull and tender. "You’re doing so good." One of his hands slides down to caress your lower stomach in comforting circles, trying to ease the discomfort. "I’ve got you, Y/N. I’m right here."

He stays still inside you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin while his fingers keep gently rubbing your stomach. Gradually, the pain starts to melt into a deep ache. When your breathing evens out a little, he begins to move. His thrusts are slothful at first but quickly turn sloppy, messy and uncoordinated from the alcohol and the overwhelming heat of the moment. Wet sounds fill the room as he rocks into you from behind, one arm banded around your waist while the other continues caressing your lower belly.

"Fuck…sorry, it’s—shit, you feel too good," he groans, the pace erratic and desperate, hips snapping up into you with needy and imperfect strokes.

His thrusts are getting sloppier, hips stuttering as the dizziness makes his pace messy and desperate. Next, on one particularly eager push, his cock slips out completely with a wet pop, loud enough to be heard in the entire living room.

You squirm hard in his lap, a needy whimper escaping you at the sudden empty feeling. Your body instinctively rocks back, searching for him again.

Heeseung lets out a breathy chuckle against your neck. "Easy, baby…"

He grips the base of his cock and gives it a couple of lazy slaps against your soaked cunt; wet smacks making you jolt and moan. The head nudges your clit with each tap, fooling you until you’re trembling.

And without warning, he lines himself up and pushes back in with one thrust, burying himself deep into you cunt. You gasp at the sudden fullness, your back arching against his chest as he groans deeply.

"Shit…that sound," he mutters, voice rough. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place while his other hand returns to caress your lower stomach. He starts moving again, still sloppy and uncoordinated, but deeper now ; each thrust punctuated by the wet sounds of skin meeting skin.

He kisses along your shoulder, whispering hotly, "You’re so fucking wet…hear how you take me?"

His hips snap up messily, cock sliding in and out as he keeps you pressed tight against him, lost in the pleasure of it all. You’re lost in the flow of his cock sliding in and out of you, the filthy sounds of your pussy filling the room with every sloppy thrust, when your phone starts ringing on the coffee table. The screen lights up with Ethan’s name.

You notice that it doesn't stop Heeseung from doing his work. If anything, his hips snap up harder, driving deeper as he reaches over and grabs your phone. You try to protest through a moan, but he answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting it down nearby.

"Hey, man," he says casually, voice only slightly strained as he keeps fucking you tirelessly from behind. The squelching sounds are loud and clear.

Ethan’s voice comes through, sounding worried. "Heeseung? Where’s Y/N? She’s not home yet and she’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?"

"Yeah, she’s right here," Heeseung replies, one hand gripping your hip tighter as he thrusts up into you again, making you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. "She’s a little busy though."

You squirm in his lap, embarrassed heat flooding your face even as pleasure keeps building. Heeseung leans closer to your ear and whispers, "Let him hear how wet you are," before picking up the pace.

The obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into your soaked pussy echo clearly through the speaker.

Ethan pauses. "What the fuck is that sound? Is she okay?"

Heeseung lets out a low chuckle, still thrusting deeper. "She’s more than okay. I’m fucking her right now, bro. That’s the sound of her pussy taking my cock."

You moan despite yourself as he hits a particularly good spot, unable to stay quiet.

"Can you hear that?" Heeseung asks tauntingly, angling his hips so the wet noises get even louder. "Hear how soaked she is? Those are her moans too. She’s been missing this for a long time."

Ethan’s voice cracks with shock and anger. "What the hell, Heeseung?! Y/N—!"

Before Ethan can finish, Heeseung cuts him off, still buried deep inside you, voice low and possessive as he speaks directly into the phone :

"You might be what she wants…but I’m clearly what she needs."

He hangs up quickly, tossing the phone aside. His arms wrap around you tighter as he resumes fucking you with intensity, mouth pressed to your neck.

"Focus on me, baby," he murmurs hotly. "Just feel how full you are."

The sounds continue as he drives into you, the interruption only making him more eager. You barely have time to process the call ending before your phone starts buzzing repeatedly on the table. Message after message from Ethan lights up the screen ; vibrating angrily one after another.

Heeseung glances at it but doesn’t stop. His hips keep rolling up into you in that same relentless pounding, cock stretching you open with every wet thrust.

"Damn…he’s blowing up your phone," he mutters with a dark chuckle. One arm stays banded around your waist, holding you firmly in place on his lap while his other hand reaches down to rub slow circles over your clit.

He keeps fucking you through the mess. Your phone vibrates again and again ; texts popping up rapidly.

You moan helplessly, eyes fluttering as pleasure overrides everything else. "Heeseung…he’s—"

"I don't fucking care," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "Let him text. You’re mine right now."

He angles his hips and thrusts up hard, making you cry out as the head of his cock hits that perfect spot over and over. The phone keeps buzzing but Heeseung only fucks you harder, the sounds of your bodies utterly drowning out the vibrations.

His hand on your lower stomach presses down gently, making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out. "Hear how loud your pussy is for me?" he groans, voice rough. "Keep taking it, baby. Just like that."

You’re a mess ; moaning, squirming, gripping his thighs as he continues pounding into you from behind, unbothered by the nonstop stream of notifications. The phone eventually goes silent for a few seconds only to start vibrating again. Both of you wouldn't care less. Heeseung’s only focus is the way your walls clench around him as he fucks you through it all.

So that's what you've been missing out all this time.