doll's recs

The buzz of your phone was an insistent, ugly vibration against your thigh, pulling you from a shallow, restless sleep. You’d muted notifications hours ago, but he’d somehow gotten past that, the call vibrating through. You knew without looking. Only one person called you at 2:17 AM.

You let it ring out, staring at the shifting shadows on your ceiling. The ghost of Max’s cologne still lingered in the air, a clean, piney scent that was nothing like Jake’s.

The phone buzzed again, a single text lighting up the screen.

jake: open up.

A cold knot tightened in your stomach. You hadn’t given him your new apartment number. He must have asked someone. He always found a way. You lay there, paralyzed, the silence after the buzz feeling heavier than the noise itself. Another text.

jake: i know ur awake y/n i can see your light in the window

You got up, your body moving on autopilot, drawn to the window like a moth to a flame. Peering through the slats of the blinds, you saw him. Leaning against his car across the street, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamp. Even from here, in the middle of the night, he looked effortlessly cool. Jeans, a dark hoodie, hands in his pockets. He wasn’t looking at his phone. He was looking directly at your window, as if he could feel your eyes on him.

The memory of the party hours earlier was a fresh bruise. The guy—Max, an art history major from one of your electives—had been sweet and persistent in a way that wasn’t demanding. He’d listened to you ramble about anything and everything. He’d made you laugh, a real laugh that didn’t feel like it was curving around the hollow Jake had carved inside you. And when the music swelled and someone shouted “kiss already!” to the pair of you standing a little too close by the keg stand, you’d done it. You’d leaned in and kissed Max. It was soft, exploratory. Nice, even. The room had cheered, a distant, fuzzy sound. You’d pulled back, seen the genuine, dazed smile on Max’s face, and felt…

Nothing. If anything, just a numb curiosity.

What would it be like to want someone who actually wanted you back?

You hadn’t seen Jake there—of course, you’d scanned the crowd instinctively, a Pavlovian response, and you hadn’t found his sunshine-bright smile or heard his easy laugh. He was probably elsewhere, likely with a girl draped over him, his fingers tracing patterns on her back the same way he did on yours. The assumption had given you a perverse sense of freedom, and you’d left with Max, his hand warm in yours.

The sex had been… fine. Careful and considerate. He’d asked “is this okay?” so many times it started to bore you. You’d moaned, you’d arched, you’d performed the part of a woman being pleasured, all while your mind was a thousand miles away, trapped in another bedroom with another boy. Jake never asked. Jake took, and you gave. The lack of question felt like its own dark, twisted form of intimacy. After Max fell asleep, you’d slipped out to the living room, scrolling through Instagram with a morbid fascination until you saw it: a story posted just an hour ago. A girl filming Jake as he tapped his head to the music from the driver’s seat of his car. Her caption: midnight adventures with my favorite person <3. He was smiling that wide, brilliant smile, the one that made everyone feel like they were the only one in the room. Your smile. The one you’d stupidly thought you had some claim to.

That’s when you’d muted your phone, and the numbness had finally cracked, letting in a seeping despair.

And now he was here.

You didn’t text back—you simply walked to your apartment door and unlocked it, leaving it open a crack before retreating to the center of your living room, arms wrapped around yourself. You heard the soft creak of the building’s main door, then footsteps, sure and familiar, coming down the hall. He pushed your door open and stepped inside, closing it softly behind him.

He didn’t look angry. He looked calm.

That was always more terrifying.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a low rasp. He shrugged off his hoodie, tossing it onto your armchair. Underneath, he wore a thin white t-shirt that clung to the planes of his chest. He looked around, his gaze a lazy sweep of the room. It lingered on the two empty wine glasses on the coffee table. On the throw blanket crumpled on the floor instead of neatly folded over the couch. On you, standing there in just your sleep shorts and a tank top, no bra.

“You’re out late,” you said, your voice surprisingly steady.

“So were you.” He finally looked at you, and his eyes weren’t bright now. They were a flat, dark brown. “Heard you had quite the night.”

You shrugged, the motion feeling jerky. “Just went to a party.”

“Yeah. Saw the Instagram stories.” He took a step closer. The room felt smaller. “Looked like you were having fun.”

“I was.” The lie tasted bitter.

He hummed, a non-committal sound, then walked past you, not touching you, towards your kitchenette. He opened the fridge, took out a water bottle, and drank deeply, droplets of water dripping down as his throat worked. You watched him, tracing the lines of his profile, the habit so ingrained it was muscle memory.

Fuck, you were so pathetic.

“Who was he?” Jake asked, still facing the fridge.

“Does it matter?”

He turned then, leaning against the counter. “Just curious. You don’t usually… you know. Mingle.”

The casual dismissal sent a spike of hot anger through you. “Maybe I feel like mingling these days.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Good for you.” He pushed off the counter and started wandering your apartment again, a predator inspecting new territory. It made you nervous, especially when he paused by the ajar bathroom door and his body went very, very still.

You followed his line of sight.

His gaze was fixed, unblinking, on the small plastic trash bin just inside your bathroom. The lid was askew. And poking out from beneath a crumpled tissue, unmistakable in the harsh, clinical light from the vanity, were two pale, rolled rings of used condoms.

You held your breath.

Jake’s back was to you, his shoulders rigid beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. He didn’t say a word. He just stared.

Then, slowly, he turned his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder. His expression was blank, utterly wiped clean of that practiced, sunny charm. It was a face you’d never seen before: stripped bare, raw, and terrifyingly quiet.

“You fucked him,” he said. It was a flat, dead statement of fact. “Twice.”

You couldn’t speak. Your throat had sealed shut.

He turned fully, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, his arms crossing over his chest. The posture should have looked relaxed, but right now, it just looked like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. “Here. In your room.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

“It’s none of your business, Jake,” you finally managed, the words a weak whisper.

His laugh was a short, sharp exhale through his nose. Humorless. “None of my business.” He pushed off the doorframe and took a single step toward you. Just one. “You let some random fucking art history nerd put his dick in you in the same place I fuck you, and it’s none of my business?”

The crudeness of the sentence, the venom in his usually warm voice, made you flinch. “We’re not even together, Jake, you made that very clear. We’re just friends, I can kiss whoever I want.” you scoffed, mimicking his voice. “Those were your words. So I can—I can sleep with whoever I want, too.”

He was in front of you then, so fast you didn’t see him move. He didn’t touch you—no, he just loomed, eyes searching your face, looking for something—weakness, remorse, triumph—fuck, you didn’t know.

“You kissed him at the party,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp that crawled over your skin. “I saw. I was there.”

Your heart stuttered. “You were?”

“Yeah.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Maybe you would’ve noticed if you weren’t too busy eating his goddamn face,” he grit out.

“It didn’t mean anything,” you heard yourself say, the sad truth tumbling out before you could stop it.

Something flickered in his dark eyes at that—a savage, hungry satisfaction. “No,” he agreed softly. “It couldn’t have. Because you don’t want him.” He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. His breath was hot. “You want me. You’ve always wanted me. Isn’t that right, baby? Since high school, when you’d stare at me in class and think I didn’t notice?”

Tears, hot and shaming, welled in your eyes. You blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall. “Fuck you, Jake.”

He finally touched you then. A single, firm finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his. His touch was electric and horrible. “That’s the idea,” he murmured, his thumb stroking your jawline, a mockery of tenderness. “But first, you’re going to get rid of every trace of him.”

He released you and walked to the bathroom. You heard the lid of the trash can snap open, the rustle of the plastic liner being yanked out. He walked past you, holding the offending bag away from his body like it was contaminated, and tossed it out your front door into the hallway. He left the door wide open.

“The glasses,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stood frozen.

“Now,” he snapped, the word cracking like a whip.

You moved robotically, picking up the two wine glasses from the coffee table. Your hands were trembling. You carried them to the kitchen sink.

“Not the sink,” he said. He was right behind you again, a constant, oppressive presence. “The trash. I want them gone.”

“They’re just glasses, Jake,” you whispered, a last, feeble attempt at resistance.

He reached around you, his chest pressing against your back. His hand closed over yours on the stem of one glass. His grip was hard, forcing your fingers. Together, you lifted it. Then he guided your hand, with a deliberate, punishing force, to slam the glass down onto the edge of the metal trash can.

Crack.

The glass shattered, shards scattering across the linoleum and into the bin. The sound was violent and loud, and you gasped, jumping at the noise. He didn’t flinch. He took the other glass from your numb hand and repeated the action.

Crack.

“There,” he said, his voice back to that eerie calm. “Now it’s gone.”

He turned you around to face him.

“Was it good, at least?” he asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

“Jake—”

“Was. It. Good.” Each word was a chip of ice.

You swallowed, your throat dry. “It was fine.”

“Fine,” he repeated, mocking your tone. “You let some random guy fuck you twice in my bed, and it was fine?”

“It’s not your bed,” you whispered, the protest weak.

He ignored it. He took another step closer, and you had to tilt your head up to look at him. The proximity was a drug, a punishment. Your body recognized his, yearned for his, even as your mind screamed in revulsion. “Did he make you come?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate register that was meant for your ears alone, even as the words were weapons.

“I told you, Jake, it’s none of your business—”

“Did he?” Jake insisted, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, a gesture that had once felt like worship. “Did he get you wet? Did you scream for him? Or were you just lying there, thinking of me?”

The accuracy of the last guess was a physical blow. You flinched, and his grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know he could. “Stop it.”

“Why? You wanted to mingle. I’m just… mingling. Catching up.” His thumb drifted down, tracing the line of your lips. You didn’t open your mouth. “Tell me. I want to know what my good friend gets up to when I’m not around.”

You willed the tears not to fall. “He was nice. He was… gentle.”

Jake’s smile was a cruel, beautiful thing. “Gentle.” He said the word like it was a disease, then scoffed. “You don’t like gentle, baby. You like it when I fuck you so hard you forget your own name. You like it when I don’t ask. You like it when it hurts a little the next day, because it means I was there. No?”

Every word was a lash, and every lash was true. The tears spilled over, tracking warm paths down your cheeks. He watched them fall, his dark eyes following their trajectory with a detached fascination.

“You’re crying,” he observed softly. “Why are you crying, baby? You got what you wanted. You got someone to pay attention to you. Wasn’t that the point?”

“You’re an asshole,” you choked out.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his thumb catching a tear and lifting it this mouth to taste. “But I’m your asshole. And you…” He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. His breath was warm. “…are mine.”

Then his mouth was on yours.

It was hard and desperate and punishing, all teeth and possession. He didn’t ask for entry; he took it, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting you, erasing the traces of anyone else. You made a sound against his lips, a muffled sob of protest that he swallowed whole. Your hands came up, pressing against his chest, but the push was feeble, the muscle memory of wanting him overriding the moral imperative to shove him away.

He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, to drag you back into the dark orbit where only the two of you existed. One of his hands fisted in the hair at the nape of your neck, angling your head back to give him deeper access. The other slid down your back, over the thin fabric of your tank top, and gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him. You could feel him, already hard, pressing against your stomach through his jeans.

The heat of him, the familiar scent short-circuited your anger, your hurt, your resolve. Your body melted into the kiss, your lips moving against his, your own tongue meeting his in a frantic, familiar dance. You hated yourself even as you moaned into his mouth.

He broke the kiss as suddenly as he’d started it, leaving you gasping for air. Your lips felt swollen, bruised. His were slick, his eyes blazing with a fury that had finally found its outlet.

“See?” he breathed, his forehead resting against yours. “This is what you need.”

He didn’t wait for an agreement. He walked you backward, his arms strong around you, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed. He pushed you down, and you fell onto the mattress, bouncing once. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, then pulled his white t-shirt over his head in one swift motion and tossed it aside.

In the dim light, his torso was a landscape of lean muscle and smooth skin you knew by heart. You’d mapped every dip and plane with your lips, your fingers. The sight of it now, after the night you’d had, was a visceral punch.

“Take it off,” he commanded, nodding at your tank top. You hesitated for a second, the last shred of dignity shivering inside you. His eyes narrowed. “Now.”

Your hands trembled as you grabbed the hem of your tank top and pulled it over your head. The cool night air pebbled your nipples. You lay there, exposed, as his gaze raked over you, hot and possessive, lingering on your breasts, then dipping lower, to your sleep shorts.

“Those too.”

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and panties and pushed them down your legs, kicking them off the side of the bed. You were completely naked now, sprawled before him, completely vulnerable.

He undid his jeans, the sound of the zipper loud. Then he pushed them and his boxers down just enough to free his erection. He was already fully hard, thick and flushed. He didn’t touch himself. He just looked at you, and then at the bed beneath you.

“This where you let him fuck you?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

You nodded, a tiny, miserable movement.

He climbed onto the bed, crawling over you on his hands and knees, caging you in. Still, he didn’t touch you yet, only hovered, his face inches from yours. “You smell like him,” he whispered, his nose skimming the column of your throat. “That cheap crap. It’s all over you.”

“I showered,” you whispered back, your voice trembling.

“Not well enough.” He dipped his head lower, his lips and tongue tracing a hot, wet path from your collarbone down to your breast. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and you cried out, a sharp sound that was torn from your chest. He soothed the sting with his tongue, then gave the same treatment to the other breast, his hand coming up to knead and pinch the one he’d just abandoned.

He was marking you, erasing Max’ touch, Max’s mouth, with his own. The thought should have revolted you, but in its place, a dark, shameful thrill shot through your core. You were getting wet, your body betraying you utterly. And he could feel it, you knew. He always knew.

His mouth moved lower, over the quivering plane of your stomach. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your hip bones, his faint stubble scratching your sensitive skin. He was taking his time, a deliberate, torturous pace. He was making you wait. Making you remember who was in control.

Then he settled between your thighs. He didn’t push them apart. He just looked at you, his gaze heavy and intent. “Open for me.”

You did, letting your knees fall apart. The cool air hit your damp folds, and you shuddered.

He didn’t use his fingers first. He lowered his head and dragged his tongue through your slit, a long, slow, flat stroke from your entrance all the way up to your clit.

You jolted, a gasp ripping from your throat. It was so much more intense than earlier with Max—Jake’s mouth on you was practiced, a skilled, merciless instrument of pleasure. He knew exactly how you liked it: the pressure, the rhythm, the spots that made you see stars. And he used that knowledge now not to please you, but to dominate you, to prove a point. He licked you like he was starved for you, his tongue circling your clit before sucking it gently into his mouth. You whimpered, your hands fisting in the sheets. He hummed against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core. One of his hands came up to hold your hip down, pinning you to the mattress as you began to squirm.

“Jake—oh, f—please—”

He ignored your broken plea. He added a finger, sliding it inside you without preamble. You were wet, so wet for him, and he growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your entire body. “Fucking dripping,” he muttered against your flesh, his breath hot. “All for me. You were thinking about me when he was inside you, weren’t you? Pretending it was me.”

He curled his finger, finding that spot inside you that made you see stars, and at the same time, he fastened his mouth back on your clit, sucking intently. It was too much, too soon, too expertly applied, and pleasure coiled tight and sudden in your belly, a white-hot spring ready to snap. You were panting, your back arching off the bed. “Fuck, Jake—I think I’m gonna—”

“No,” he said, pulling his mouth and hand away abruptly.

The sudden absence was a physical agony. You cried out, a sound of pure frustration, your body trembling on the precipice. You were so close. He’d brought you there deliberately, just to deny you.

Your hips bucked, seeking the pressure that had vanished. A ragged, frustrated sob tore from your throat. “Jake, please.”

He ignored you, withdrawing from between your thighs. He loomed over you on his knees, his erection standing thick and angry against his stomach. He was still fully clothed from the waist down, the denim of his jeans rough against your inner thighs.

“You want to come?” His voice was low, rough. It wasn’t the smooth, charming tone he used with everyone else—this was the Jake only you ever saw. “Beg for it.”

You shook your head, tears of frustration and humiliation mixing on your cheeks. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t give him that.

He smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. “Suit yourself.” He reached down and wrapped his hand around himself, giving his length a slow, deliberate stroke. Your eyes were glued to the movement, to the way the head flushed darker under his touch. He was watching you watch him, his dark eyes hooded. “Can’t believe you—and fucking—what, Max, was it?” He spat the name like it was garbage. “Why the fuck were you smiling at him, huh? You looked so fucking happy with his hands on your waist.”

His words were a lash. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Open your eyes,” he snapped. “Keep looking at me. Look at what you do to me.”

You obeyed, despite yourself.

“I stood there,” he continued, his hand still moving on himself, a lazy, taunting rhythm. “And I thought, ‘she’s never smiled at me like that.’ Not once. You’re always so… fucking tense around me, Y/N. It’s always like you’re waiting for me to break you. But with him?” He leaned forward, bracing one hand by your head. “You were so relaxed. You were so normal.” he gritted out the words. “Shit, it pissed me the fuck off.”

The confession startled you. He was jealous? Of Max? Of the normalcy? The idea was so foreign it short-circuited your shame. He’d always been the one who got to be chill, who got to kiss others, who got to post intimate pictures with other girls. You’d never crossed that unspoken line before. You’d never given him a reason to feel anything but amused, casual ownership. This rage, this raw feeling was so new.

And it was terrifyingly intoxicating.

“So I left,” he said, his breath hot on your face. “I took that dumb bitch home, let her suck my dick in the car thinking about you, and then I came here. To my bed. To my girl. And what do I find?” His free hand came up, not to caress, but to grip your chin, forcing your head to turn towards the open bathroom door. “Proof you let that other motherfucker inside what’s mine.”

“You don’t own me,” you whispered, the protest automatic, weak.

“The fuck I don’t,” he growled. His grip on your chin tightened. “You’ve always been mine. You’re in my fucking system. You think a nice little guy is gonna scrub that out?” He released your chin, and before you could react, his hand that had been stroking himself came up.

He slapped his erection against your cheek. It left a damp, hot stripe on your skin, and you balked, gasping.

He did it again on the other cheek, a little harder. A soft, stinging pat. “You let him put his mouth here?” he asked, slapping his length against your closed lips.

You kept them sealed, trembling.

“Open,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a deadly calm.

When you didn’t immediately comply, he used his thumb to pry your lips apart, pressing against your teeth. The moment there was a gap, he pushed the head of his cock past your lips, resting it on your tongue. The taste of him flooded your senses.

“Suck,” he ordered, his hands moving to fist in your hair, not gently. He didn’t thrust. He just held himself there, a heavy, demanding weight on your tongue. “Show me how much better you are for me than for him.”

Your tongue flattened, swirling around the broad head. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked, drawing him deeper.

A low, gratified groan rumbled from his chest. “There you go. Knew you missed it, baby.” He began to move then, shallow thrusts that bumped the back of your throat. “C’mon take it. All of it.”

He wasn’t gentle, or nice. He fucked your mouth with the same possessive aggression that he’d done everything tonight. His grip on your hair was firm, controlling the pace, the depth. He watched you, his eyes dark and intense, tracking the tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes as he pushed deeper, as you gagged softly.

“Relax your throat,” he instructed, his voice thick with arousal. “You know how. You’ve done it a hundred times.”

You tried, swallowing around him, letting your muscles ease. He rewarded you with a deeper slide, his pubic bone brushing your nose. He held himself there for a moment, buried to the hilt in your mouth, and you breathed through your nose, your eyes streaming. The feeling of being used so thoroughly for his pleasure, sparked more arousal low in your belly. It was so messed up, it was so wrong. And yet, it was the most alive you’d felt all night.

He pulled back slowly, slick with your saliva. “Good girl,” he murmured, looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “Look at you. My pretty little cockslut. You think Max deserves this? You think he deserves to fuck this sweet mouth?” He thrust harder on the last word, making you choke slightly. “No. This is mine. Always has been.”

He picked up the pace, his hips pistoning, using your mouth with a single-minded focus. His grip in your hair was unrelenting, holding you in place for his use. Drool leaked from the corners of your mouth, mixing with his precum, creating a messy, wet sound with every thrust. The obscenity of it, the sheer degradation, should have made you sick, but a treacherous heat continued to pool low in your core. You were an object for his pleasure, and in some twisted recess of your soul, that felt like your purpose.

He was talking, his words filthy and relentless, punctuated by the wet slap of his skin against your lips. “That’s it—hah, take it all. God, you’re so fucking good at this, baby… you were made for this—hn—made for my dick…”

His free hand came down to squeeze your tits, pinching a nipple hard between his fingers. The sharp pain made you moan around him, the vibration drawing a ragged curse from his lips.

“You like that, you fucking slut?” he panted, his rhythm becoming less controlled, more frantic. “You like me using your mouth after you let someone else touch you? Huh? You think this makes us even?”

You couldn’t answer. You could only take him, your throat working, your jaw aching. You looked up at him through wet lashes. His expression was one of intense concentration, his brows drawn together, lips parted. He was close. You could feel the tension coiling in his thighs, the way his thrusts became shallower, more urgent.

One of his hands left your hair and cupped your jaw, his thumb pressing into your cheek, making your mouth stretch wider around him. “Y/N.”

You dragged your watery gaze up to his. He was flushed, sweating lightly at his temples.

“I’m gonna come,” he stated roughly. “And you’re not swallowing it. I’m not wasting it down your throat tonight.”

He pulled out of your mouth entirely with a wet pop. You gasped for air, your lips feeling bruised and stretched. He was breathing heavily, his fist pumping his length rapidly. He shifted his position, kneeling over your chest.

“Arch your back,” he ordered. “Push your tits together.”

Dazed, you obeyed, lifting your hips slightly to press your breasts together, creating a valley between them. He didn’t wait. He positioned himself at the top of the cleavage you’d made.

“This is where it belongs,” he gritted out.

His strokes quickened. You watched, hypnotized, as his muscles coiled, as his abdomen tensed. You knew the signs. You knew him. The air grew thick with the sounds of his ragged breathing and the slick friction of his hand.

“Touch them,” he commanded, his voice strained. “Play with your fucking tits for me, Y/N. Now.”

Your hands rose obediently. You cupped your own tits, your thumbs brushing over your stiff, aching nipples. A weak, broken moan escaped you at the contact. You were so sensitive, so desperate for any touch.

“Yeah,” he hissed, watching your hands on yourself. “Just like that. Make ‘em all pretty for me.”

You squeezed and kneaded your own flesh, a pathetic, erotic display performed under his command. It was degrading. It was unbearably hot. Your hips shifted on the mattress, your own need a throbbing, ignored pulse between your legs.

Jake’s strokes became shorter, harder. “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

His body tensed, a tremor running through him. A low, guttural groan ripped from his chest. And then he came.

The first hot stripe landed across your left collarbone. You flinched at the sudden heat. The second splashed directly onto your right nipple. The third, and fourth, painted a messy, possessive pattern across the swell of your breasts and your sternum. He kept pumping himself through it, his release pulsing out in thick, warm spurts that coated your skin.

You lay utterly still, breathing heavily, feeling the cum seep into your skin.

He finally stilled, his body slumping slightly. He looked down at his work, at your cum-splattered chest, and a slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face. It wasn’t his usual sunny smile. It was dark and triumphant.

“There,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “That’s better.”

He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of your head. He dipped his head and licked a broad stripe through the mess on your sternum, his tongue rough and hot. His eyes, which had softened momentarily with release, hardened again with renewed purpose.

“But that’s not enough, is it?” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your wet skin. “He was inside you. In my pussy.”

The crude ownership of the word sent a jolt through you.

“I can still smell him on the sheets,” Jake continued, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he glanced at the bed beneath you. “I can feel him in the air.” he scorned. You’d never seen him this worked up before. “Fucking loser. Bet he came in two pumps.” He moved off you, kneeling between your legs again. He pushed your thighs apart, wider this time, his gaze fixed on your core, which was glistening with your own arousal, a betrayal your body couldn’t hide. He ran a single, teasing finger through your folds, collecting your wetness, and then brought it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a loud, deliberate sound. Then he positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging your entrance. He didn’t push in. He just rested it there. “You wanna know the difference between me and Max?”

You were trembling, a mess of conflicting sensations—the cooling cum on your chest, the ache between your legs, the humiliation, the desperate, clawing need. You shook your head helplessly.

Jake leaned forward, his body covering yours, his mouth at your ear. His voice was low, dripping with a cruel certainty. “Max could never fill you up like this.”

Then he pushed inside of you.

He was bigger than Max. He filled you more completely, stretching you in a way that was both familiar and breathtaking. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. He didn’t move for a moment, just stayed buried to the hilt, letting you feel every inch of him. Letting you feel the difference.

“This is what you need,” he grunted, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “Not some—boy who asks for your permission. You need to be fucked. You need to be reminded who this tight little cunt belongs to.”

Then he began to move.

It wasn’t making love, or even passionate sex. It was fucking, pure and simple.

He set a brutal pace. His hips pistoned forward relentlessly, pulling his thick cock almost all the way out until just the swollen head caught on your fluttering entrance, then slamming back in with a force that jarred your entire body. The bedframe rattled beneath you, the wooden slats creaking in protest as the headboard thumped rhythmically against the wall—thud, thud, thud. Each thrust forced a raw sound from your throat: a sharp gasp as he filled you again, a desperate moan when his girth stretched your sensitive walls, a broken sob when the tip battered that deep, aching spot inside you that made white lights explode behind your closed eyes.

Sweat beaded his skin, dripping onto your chest as he hovered over you, muscles flexing with every drive. Your pussy clenched around him involuntarily, still pulsing from your release, the slick mix of your cum and his pre-cum easing the way even as the friction built that sharp, almost painful pleasure anew. He grunted with effort, his balls slapping wetly against your ass on every plunge. Without warning, he shifted his weight, grabbing your right leg and hooking it high over his muscled arm. The position splayed you open wider, your thigh pressed against his side as he leaned in, changing the angle just enough to sink even deeper. You arched off the mattress, your back bowing as the intensity overwhelmed you, vision blurring, breaths hitching into nothing but frantic whimpers.

Words tumbled from your lips in an incoherent rush. “Yeah—oh god, right there—fuck, Jake—harder—hngh, don’t stop—” you mewled, your free leg trembled, toes curling against the sheets, while your hands clutched at his arms, nails biting into his biceps to keep yourself steady. “Jake—hngh—oh my—God, please—”

“Please what?” he gritted out, his own breathing ragged. Sweat gleamed on his chest, dripping onto yours. “Please go harder? Please fill this tight little cunt until you can’t think straight? Please fuck all that attitude out and make you beg for my cum?”

Before you could form a coherent answer, he leaned down, his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. His mouth crashed against yours in a searing kiss, all teeth and tongue, devouring your cries like they were his due. He tasted of the vodka from the party earlier, his slightly stubble scraping your chin as he angled his head. You moaned into him, the sound muffled as his lips sealed over yours, his free hand tangling in your hair to hold you in place.

His hips never faltered, pistoning forward with that relentless force, thick shaft dragging along your inner walls. Every withdrawal pulled a whine from you, your pussy clenching greedily around the retreating length, only to be slammed back full when he buried himself to the hilt. The new angle let him grind against that swollen bundle of nerves inside, sparks igniting with each brutal stroke. Your clit throbbed untouched, the pressure building from the sheer girth of him splitting you open.

The world narrowed and narrowed and narrowed until it was just him. The distant sound of cars outside faded, the crumpled condoms in the bedside trash forgotten, even the vague memory of the girl in his car dissolved into irrelevance. Max's face flickered once in your mind, a meaningless shadow compared to the man railing into you now, but it vanished under the onslaught. There was only Jake: the musky scent of his sweat filling your lungs, the muscles of his arms caging you in, the unyielding press of his body as he fucked you. He broke the kiss with a growl, nipping at your lower lip hard enough to bleed, his voice a rough whisper against your mouth. “Say it. Tell me what you need from a real man. Not that limp-dicked loser who couldn't even make you wet.”

Your response dissolved into another cry as he angled his hips sharper, the head of his cock battering that deep spot relentlessly. The bed creaked louder under the assault. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red trails that only spurred him on. You were climbing again, the denied orgasm from before combining with the stimulation now to create a feeling that was unbearable. Your inner muscles were fluttering around him, clutching desperately.

“I’m gonna come,” you sobbed, breaking the kiss. “Jake, I’m gonna come, please.”

“Look at me,” he demanded.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His pupils were blown wide. “Come,” he ordered, his voice a guttural rasp.

It pushed you over the edge.

Your orgasm shuddered through you, convulsive, a wave of pure, mind-numbing pleasure that ripped a scream from your throat. You clenched around him, milking his length, your vision tunneling. He fucked you through it mercilessly, his rhythm stuttering but never stopping, drawing out the sensations until they were bordering on painful. As your contractions began to subside, you felt his own control fray.

His thrusts became erratic, harder, deeper again. A low moan ripped from his chest. “Fuck, fuck—Y/N, fuck…” He buried his face in your neck, his body going rigid as he emptied himself inside you with a final, shuddering thrust.

Instead of pulling out, he pushed you down further onto the bed, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his heart hammering against your chest. You were both covered in sweat, breathing in ragged, syncopated gasps.

But eventually, he was the first to move. He rolled off you, onto his back, staring up at your ceiling. You lay on your side, facing away from him, drawing your knees up to your chest. The physical release had left you hollowed out, empty. You couldn’t stop the tears from starting again, silent this time, soaking into your pillow.

You heard him get up. The soft pad of his feet on the floor. The sound of the bathroom faucet running. He was cleaning up. You didn’t move.

He came back to the bed, but he didn’t lie down. He sat on the edge, his back to you. You could see the taut lines of his shoulders in the dim light.

“You can’t do that again,” he said quietly. His voice was tired and flat, drained of any earlier fury.

You didn’t answer.

“I mean it.” He looked over his shoulder at you. His profile was sharp, beautiful, and closed off. You thought, briefly, about how in love you were with him. “This thing we have… it only works if it’s just us. You know that.”

“You were with someone else, though,” you said, your voice thick with tears. “You literally said it, Jake.”

He was silent for a beat. “That’s different.”

“How?” You pushed yourself up on one elbow, the sheet pooling around your waist. “How is it different, Jake? Tell me. Because you get to kiss whoever you want, fuck whoever you want, and I just get to sit here and wait for you to remember I exist?”

He turned fully to face you. In the shadows, his expression was unreadable. “Because you’re you. And they’re just…” He ran his hands through his hair, then swore. “They don’t matter, okay?”

It was the closest he’d ever come to admitting there was a hierarchy, and it was the most gut-wrenching thing he’d ever said.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“Life isn’t fair, Y/N,” he said, standing up. He found his boxers and jeans and pulled them on. He picked up his t-shirt. “Don’t see him again.”

It was an order.

“Or what?” you challenged, a last spark of defiance.

He finished zipping his jeans and looked at you. The streetlight caught his eyes, and for a fraction of a second, you saw something vulnerable and desperate flash in their depths. Then it was gone, shuttered behind his regular, cool-guy facade. “Or this ends.”

He said it like it was the worst threat in the world. (For you, it might well have been.)

He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. He didn’t look back. “Lock up after I leave.”

Then he was gone, pulling the door shut softly behind him.

mona stop writing evil men !!!!! 𝓷𝓸. 𝓲 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓹

“License and registration, please.”

The voice was flat and professional in the sub-zero December air, and it came from a figure silhouetted against the blinding red and blue strobes of the patrol car’s light bar, casting long, accusing shadows across the frosted asphalt of the old county road. You fumbled with the glove compartment, your fingers numb from more than just the cold.

“I’m sorry, Officer, I was just—”

“The limit is forty-five. Radar clocked you at sixty-eight.” The voice cut through your excuse like a knife. It was familiar, in a way that scraped against a memory you’d buried years ago. “Step out of the vehicle, please.”

A gust of wind whipped through the open door as you complied, the cold biting through your thin holiday sweater. You squinted against the flashlight beam he pointed at the ground, finally getting a look at his face as he stepped closer.

The sharp line of his jaw, the severe set of his mouth, the dark, intent eyes under the brim of his patrol cap—

Holy shit. It was all Park Sunghoon.

But… it wasn’t the Sunghoon you remembered. The lanky, awkward boy with glasses and wonky teeth who’d trailed after you in high school calculus, whose notes you’d borrowed and never returned? That boy was gone. In his place was a muscular man carved from duty, his broad shoulders straining against the dark blue of his uniform shirt, his posture rigid with authority.

“Sunghoon?” The name left your lips before you could stop it, a disbelieving whisper.

His eyes, which had been clinically examining your out-of-state plates, snapped to yours. A flicker of something—recognition, then immediate, intense suppression—passed through them so fast you might have imagined it. His expression hardened further.

“Ma’am. This is a traffic stop. Your license and registration.”

The formality was a slap, but you handed them over nonetheless, your mind racing. A speeding ticket. A court date. A mark on your clean record, all while you were supposed to be home for a peaceful, boring Christmas. Your parents would love that. The humiliation of it, especially in front of him, of all people, boiled into a reckless, desperate ache in your chest.

He took the documents, his gloved fingers brushing yours. A static shock jolted up your arm. He didn’t react, turning to walk back to his cruiser to run your information.

“Wait.”

He paused, half-turning, an eyebrow arched.

You took a step forward, closing the distance. The flashing lights painted his face in alternating waves of blue and red, highlighting the harsh beauty of it. It was almost funny how once upon a time, you’d wielded all the power over him. But now—he held it all. And the only currency you had left was the one you’d always had over him, even if you’d never deigned to spend it.

“It’s really you,” you said, your voice dropping, losing its panicked edge and gaining a low warmth you didn’t have to fake. The cold made you shiver, and you hugged yourself, not entirely for effect. “Park Sunghoon. I—I can’t believe it. You look…”

You let your gaze travel over him, slow and appreciative. Over the badge pinned to his chest, the heavy utility belt laden with tools of control, the way his uniform pants fit his lean hips and strong thighs. You looked your fill, and you made sure he saw you doing it.

His jaw tightened. “Please return to your vehicle.”

“Do you remember? Senior year, in Mr. Henderson’s class?” You took another small step. “You always let me copy your notes before the tests. You saved my GPA.”

“That was a long time ago.” His voice was gruff, but it lacked the robotic certainty from before. He was looking at you now, really looking, and you could see the conflict in his dark eyes.

“It was,” you agreed softly. You were close enough now to see the rapid pulse in his throat. “You’ve changed so much.”

“So have you.” The retort was automatic, but his eyes betrayed him, tracing the lines of your face, the curve of your mouth, the way your chest rose and fell with each quickening breath.

“Have I?” You smiled, a little sadly. “Still getting into trouble, apparently. And you’re still… helping me out of it?”

“I’m not helping,” he ground out, but he hadn’t moved back. He was rooted to the spot, a statue of conflicted authority. “This is the law. You were speeding, and there are consequences.”

“Are there?” you murmured. You reached out, not touching him, but letting your fingertips hover just above the hard plane of his chest, over his badge. “What if I appealed to the officer’s… discretion?”

His breath hitched. A visible tremor ran through him. “Don’t.” It was meant to be a command, but it sounded like a plea.

“Don’t what, Sunghoon?” you whispered, leaning in. Your lips were inches from his ear. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Don’t remind you that you used to dream about this? That you’d stare at the back of my head in class and wonder what I smelled like?”

“This is wrong.” He hissed the words, a mantra for himself. His hands, which had been hanging at his sides, clenched into white-knuckled fists. But his eyes were locked on your mouth.

“Then give me the ticket,” you challenged, your voice a low, daring thrum. “Write me up. Send me to court. Do your duty, Officer Park.”

You saw the battle rage in him, but at the end of the day: he was just a man. A man who now had the object of every teenage fantasy shivering before him, offering herself up on a silver platter of transgression.

With a sound that was almost a growl, he snapped. One hand shot out, curling around the back of your neck with a firm grip. It was the answer you’d been gambling on.

“Get in the car,” he ordered, his voice a rough, dark thing that sent a lightning bolt of pure, liquid heat straight to your core.

“Which one?” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.

His eyes blazed. “Mine. Now.”

He didn’t wait for you to obey. He guided you, his hand on your neck at a steady, uncompromising pressure, to the passenger side of his patrol car, then opened the door. You slid inside. He followed you in, slamming the door shut, plunging you into a weirdy intimate silence, broken only by the idle rumble of the engine and the muted flash of lights through the windows. The barrier between the seats was down. He was right there.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling heavily. The control was slipping, cracking, and what was emerging from beneath was terrifying and thrilling. “You think you can just walk back into town and play your little games?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m still that pathetic kid you could twist around your finger?”

“I don’t know,” you said, meeting his gaze without flinching, “You tell me.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, with a swift, decisive motion, he leaned over you. You thought he might kiss you, but he didn’t. He reached past you, his body pressing yours into the seat, and popped the glove compartment. When he pulled back, he was holding a single item: a pair of standard-issue metal handcuffs.

He held it up between you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You want to get out of this ticket?” The question was a gravelly challenge.

You nodded, your mouth dry.

“Then you’re going to be very, very quiet,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was the voice of a man used to giving orders and having them followed. “And you’re going to do exactly as I say. This is my jurisdiction now. Understood?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Yes, what?”

The correction was immediate and sharp. You felt a fresh rush of wetness between your thighs. “Yes, Officer.”

A low, ragged breath escaped his lips. “Hands together. On the dash.”

You obeyed, shifting in the seat to press your palms flat against the cool, textured plastic of the dashboard. The posture arched your back, thrusting your chest forward against the thin fabric of your sweater. You heard the metallic click-clack of the cuffs being readied, then the cold, unforgiving circle of steel closed around your left wrist. He was efficient. He pulled your right hand down to meet it, the second cuff snapping shut with a definitive snick that echoed in the quiet cruiser.

He sat back in the driver’s seat, his eyes raking over you, before he finally reached over, his movements slow and deliberate, and turned off the engine. Now, you could only hear the frantic drumbeat of you heart.

“This is so wrong,” he murmured again, but this time it wasn’t a refusal. His hand came up, and he removed his patrol cap, tossing it onto the console between you. His hair was darker, shorter than you remembered, slightly mussed. It made him look younger, and somehow even more dangerous.

He tugged off his leather gloves, one finger at a time, the action slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours, and dropped them onto the floor. Then his hands, now bare, found the hem of your sweater. He didn’t ask. He just tugged it up, the wool scraping softly over your skin. You lifted your arms as much as the cuffs allowed, and he pulled the sweater over your head, leaving you in just your simple lace bra. The cold air in the car kissed your exposed skin, raising goosebumps, your nipples pebbling instantly into hard points against the delicate fabric.

Sunghoon’s eyes darkened, his pupils swallowing the brown of his irises. He stared at your chest, his breath coming quicker. One hand rose, and he traced the lace edge with a single, blunt fingertip. The touch was electric, smooth and cool against your feverish skin. “You used to wear those tight little tank tops to school,” he said, his voice a rough scrape. “Drove me fucking insane. I’d get headaches from trying not to stare.”

“You never said anything.”

“What was I supposed to say?” His finger dipped under the lace, brushing the soft underside of your breast. A jolt shot straight to your core, and you gasped. “‘Please, Y/N, could you cover up? I’m trying to learn about trigonometry but all I can think about is how your tits would feel in my hands’?”

It didn’t matter how crude the words were—spoken in his low, controlled cop-voice, they made you throb. You arched into his touch, and he answered you, unhooking the front clasp of your bra with a flick of his fingers. Your tits spilled free, full in the intermittent light.

A choked sound escaped him. He shed his gloves, tossing them onto the floor. His bare hands were warm, slightly calloused. He palmed your tits, his thumbs sweeping over your nipples in slow, agonizing circles. The sensation was maddening, the contrast of his work-roughened skin against your sensitive peaks making you whimper. He leaned in, his hot breath fogging in the cold air, and took one bud into his mouth.

Fuck.

His mouth was searing hot, his tongue flat and firm as he laved the tight bud. He suckled, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling a deep, needy ache from somewhere inside of you. You cried out, your cuffed hands curling into fists against the dash. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same thorough attention, his free hand massaging and kneading the flesh he’d just abandoned. You were panting, little white puffs in the cold air, your head falling back against the headrest. The world narrowed to the wet heat of his mouth, the demanding pull of his lips, the rough caress of his hands.

He pulled back, his lips glistening, his own breathing harsh. “Still so fucking perfect,” he growled, more to himself than to you. His hands left your breasts and went to his utility belt. Your eyes widened as you watched.

This was it. The point of no return.

He unbuckled it, the heavy leather sighing as he pulled it free, then laid it carefully on the passenger seat beside your hip, the weight of it making the cushion dip.

His focus dropped to your jeans. He popped the button, dragged the zipper down with a slow, torturous rasp. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and your panties and peeled them both down your thighs in one strong, relentless motion. You had to lift your hips, helping him, the denim and cotton catching on your shoes before he tugged them free and discarded them into the footwell. You were completely exposed now from the waist down, the coldness of the seat biting against the backs of your thighs, the warm, wet center of you utterly vulnerable.

Sunghoon’s eyes drank in the sight, but, much to your frustration, he didn’t touch you there yet. Instead, he unbuttoned his own uniform trousers and freed his erection. Your breath hitched. He was thick, long, veined, and already leaking at the tip. Your mouth pooled with drool.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice guttural.

You did, the cuffs clinking softly as you widened your knees, offering yourself to him. He moved between them, his body crowding yours in the confined space. One hand braced on the seat back by your head, the other finally, finally touched you. His fingers slid through your slick folds, and he groaned, a deep, shuddering sound. “Fuck. You’re completely soaked. For me?”

“All for you, Officer,” you moaned, pushing your hips up against his searching fingers.

He circled your clit, once, twice, in a teasing way that made you sob with frustration. Then he plunged two fingers inside you, curling them expertly, taking almost no time in finding the spot that made you see stars. He pumped them, in and out, his eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch, every gasp, every helpless contraction of your inner muscles around his digits. “You used to laugh,” he said, his voice thick with a dark, vengeful pleasure as he fucked you with his hand. “Laugh at me in the hallways, whisper with your friends about how pathetic I was, chasing after you like some lovesick puppy. Remember that? How you'd flirt just enough to string me along, then turn away with a giggle.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, the apology ripped from you, half-sincere, half just a plea for more. “I was stupid.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He withdrew his fingers, shining with your arousal. He brought them to his mouth, sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. “Be fucking quiet.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you. He didn’t push in. He just held himself there, letting you feel the insistent pressure, the promise of fullness. “You want me to fuck you right here, in my cruiser?” he breathed against your lips.

“Yeah,” you nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

He didn’t ease into you. He drove in with one hard, deep, conquering thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt in your tight, welcoming heat.

You screamed, the sound muffled as you buried your face against the stiff fabric of his uniform shirt. The stretch was immense—he filled you completely, it felt like he was carving out a space for his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” he snarled, his forehead dropping to yours. “You’re so—hah—fucking tight, Y/N.”

Then he began to move.

The leather creaked. The handcuffs bit into your wrists. The world outside the windows—the empty road, the falling temperature, the reason you were both here—ceased to exist. There was only the slap of skin on skin, the raggedness of your breaths, and the deep, wet sounds of you taking him inside.

His thrusts were powerful, each one driving a gasp or a moan from your throat. He was in control, and it made your mind drift pleasantly.

One of his hands gripped your hip, his fingers digging in, surely leaving bruises. The other hand came up to tangle in your hair, holding your head still, forcing you to look at him. His face was painted with fierce concentration.

“Look at you,” he grunted, his hips pistoning. “Handcuffed in my car. Taking my cock like you were made for it. You think your little high school friends would believe this?”

But you were lost, utterly gone. “Hngh—ngh—Sunghoon” you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a broken prayer, over and over as his cock plunged deeper, stretching you out. “Sunghoon—oh, hngh—please—hn...” Your body arched, helpless.

He fucked you harder, faster, the car rocking slightly with the force of his movements. You were climbing, a tight, coiling tension gathering at the base of your spine, spreading through your belly. You were so close, teetering on the edge, the friction of him dragging over your most sensitive spots with every deep stroke.

But then, suddenly—

He stopped. He pulled out of you completely, leaving you empty, aching, and bereft. A whine of protest escaped your lips.

“Not yet,” he panted, his own body trembling with the effort of stopping. His eyes were wild, burning. He looked away, to his utility belt lying on the seat, and your heart stuttered as his hand reached over.

He bypassed the key of the handcuffs. For a second, you thought he was going for something else—his baton, his radio, you didn’t know. You couldn’t guess. But his fingers closed around the textured grip of his service weapon. He didn’t draw it from the holster. He simply unfastened the strap and lifted the entire belt, holster and all, placing it on your stomach. The weight was heavy, and the coldness of the holster’s hardware pressed into your skin.

Then, his eyes holding a dark, challenging gleam, he slowly drew the pistol from its leather cradle.

It was black and matte. He held it by the barrel, offering the polymer grip to you. “Touch it,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.

Tentatively, with your cuffed hands, you wrapped your fingers around the grip. It was cool, the texture rough.

“Now,” he instructed, taking the gun back from you. With his other hand, he guided his cock back to your entrance. He pushed in, just the head, a shallow, teasing penetration. Then, holding your gaze with hypnotic intensity, he brought the cold, blunt tip of the pistol’s barrel to your lower lips, just beside where his flesh disappeared into yours.

You flinched at the touch.

“Hold still,” he commanded. He began a slow, shallow rhythm with his hips, rocking into you just an inch or two as he simultaneously used the gun’s barrel to trace your outer folds, to circle your clit, to press gently against your sensitive skin.

It was taboo. It was terrifying. It was, quite possibly, the most erotic thing you had ever experienced.

“Oh my god,” you sobbed, your hips bucking helplessly, trying to get more of him, more of this impossible sensation.

“You like that?” he breathed, his own control fraying. He increased the pressure of the barrel, rubbing it in firm circles over your clit while he continued his shallow, fucking motions. “You like having a cop’s gun on your pussy while he fucks you? While the cop you used to think nothing of fucks you good?”

“Yeah—hngh—oh, fuck—Sunghoon—”

The combination tipped you over. The coil broke. Your orgasm crashed through you like a filthy wave of raw ecstasy, your pussy clenching and spasming wildly around his thick, bare cock buried deep inside you. Juices gushed out in hot, messy squirts, your walls milking him greedily, sucking at his shaft, begging for his seed, every pulse a dirty, desperate throb that made your thighs quake and your toes curl. A fleeting thought flashed through your mind—he was fucking you raw, no condom, he could knock you up right here with his hot cum flooding your womb—but you didn't care, not one fucking bit. The pleasure was too overwhelming, his cock stretching you so perfectly, hitting every sensitive spot, making you feel alive and used in the best way. Your cuffed hands strained against the steel, the bite of the cuffs digging into your wrists as you yanked futilely, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back. It was so intense that it flirted with the line between pain and pleasure, the sharp twinges from your bound limbs and the cold metal still pressed against your throbbing clit amplifying everything a thousand times. The wrongness of it only made the release dirtier, hotter, your cries turning into whimpers and moans as wave after wave ripped through you, leaving you a trembling, soaked mess impaled on his unrelenting cock.

Sunghoon watched you come apart, but the sight of your ecstasy, the feel of your inner muscles pulsing around his cock, must have been too much, because a second later, with a ragged shout, he came inside you.

You felt the hot, wet release of him inside you, spurt after spurt, filling you, marking you. He slumped forward, his body shuddering, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his breath scalding hot against your neck. The pistol, forgotten, clattered onto the seat beside you.

There was only the sound of your labored breathing mingling in the cold air, and the occasional soft click of the handcuffs as you tried to shift your numb wrists.

Slowly, he pushed himself up. He looked dazed, wrecked, his uniform shirt crumpled, his hair a mess. He looked down at where your bodies were still joined, at the evidence of what you’d done smeared on your skin and his. His expression was unreadable, and it made you feel strangely insecure.

Without a word, he pulled out of you. The loss was physical, a sudden hollow coldness, and you shut your legs together quickly. Sunghoon tucked himself back into his trousers, fumbling with the buttons. Then he reached for the small silver handcuff key on his belt loop. He leaned over you, his scent enveloping you once more, and unlocked the cuffs. The metal fell away, and you brought your aching wrists to your chest, rubbing the red marks left behind.

He gathered your clothes: your sweater, your bra, your jeans and panties from the floor. He handed them to you, his movements stiff, his eyes avoiding yours now. “Get dressed,” he said, his voice hoarse but already edging back toward the flatness from before.

You dressed in silence, your limbs feeling like lead. The sweater felt scratchy now. Your jeans chafed your sensitive skin. You were shivering again, but this time it was from the aftershocks, the adrenaline crash.

He had already straightened his own uniform, re-buckled his utility belt, holstered his gun. He picked up his patrol cap from the console but didn’t put it on. He just held it, staring at it.

Eventually, he looked at you. “Your license and registration are on the dash.” He nodded toward them. “The citation has been voided. Consider it a warning.”

You just nodded, unable to speak.

“Drive the speed limit the rest of the way home.”

“I will.”

He opened the passenger door. The freezing night air rushed in, a brutal shock to your overheated skin.

Heeseung is the sun around which the entire campus orbits.

He’s the captain of the basketball team, the big star whose name echoes through the packed arena during every game. With his lean yet athletic build, dark hair that falls over his sweaty forehead after a match, and that lazy half-smile that screams trouble while charming every girl in sight, he moves like he’s always being watched — and he is. Every head turns when he walks by, the crowd in the hallways parting like the sea for him and his teammates. He loves the attention.

Everyone knows the stories about Heeseung. He doesn’t do relationships — he rotates. A new girl every week, sometimes every day if he’s in the mood. They’re often seen leaving his apartment late at night, or early in the morning if he feels like letting them stay over, hair messy and wearing his team jacket like a trophy.

He usually doesn't appear with them in public, but it doesn't take long for the chosen girl to start gossiping in the hallways about how she's being fucked by him. That doesn’t last long though, because once the thrill fades he ignores them completely, never answering their messages once the weekend is over. "Let’s just have fun," he says, and the girls always agree, secretly believing they’ll be the one to change him.

You’ve been watching him from afar for months, studying the way he laughs too loudly at parties with his arm around whatever girl he’s with at the moment, the way his hand rests on her lower back as he guides her through the crowd, and how his eyes scan the room like he’s already searching for the next target while the current one is still pressed against him. It should disgust you — the casual way he uses people, the trail of broken hearts he leaves behind without remorse. But it doesn’t disgust you. It feeds you.

Deep down, in that secret place where you allow yourself to be completely honest, you want to be one of them. Not just another weekly girl — you want to be the one who breaks the pattern, the one so unforgettable, so incredible in bed and out of it, that Heeseung, the campus player, finally chooses you for good.

The problem is you have no idea how to make that happen.

You’re a virgin, completely untouched. The closest you’ve ever gotten to intimacy was an awkward, too-long hug with your best friend Jake after a tough week of exams. Approaching Heeseung as you are now — inexperienced, nervous, and clumsy — would never work.

"He likes confident girls, experienced ones who know how to dominate and be dominated in equal measure, because he doesn’t waste time teaching the basics. He expects you to already know how to please him." That’s what you heard from one of his teammates.

So after watching him leave the court with yet another girl on his arm, you make a decision.

You’re going to practice.

You’re going to transform yourself into the perfect girl for him — experienced enough to impress him, confident enough to stand out, and irresistible enough that when he finally notices you, he won’t be able to let you go.

────────

You stand outside Jake’s dorm room long enough for your legs to start aching. Your best friend’s room has always been your safe haven — the perfect spot for late-night study sessions, movie marathons, and listening to him ramble excitedly about sci-fi. Jake is kind, a bit nerdy in the best way possible, like a golden retriever with brown hair, a sweet smile, and glasses.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door.

Jake opens it almost immediately and breaks into a wide smile the moment he sees you. "Hey, what took you so long? Come in— wait, are you okay? You look tense."

You step inside and sit on the edge of his bed, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. Jake drops into his desk chair and pulls it closer so he’s facing you directly, his knees almost brushing against yours. "Jake… I need to talk to you about something kind of crazy, embarrassing, and probably really stupid."

He tilts his head, curiosity sparkling behind his glasses. "You know you can tell me anything. What’s going on?"

You tell him everything — how you’ve been watching Heeseung for months, how every time you see him with someone new, something deep in your chest twists, not exactly with jealousy, but with desire. You share the rumors you’ve heard about how he likes girls who know what they’re doing, girls who can match his intensity. Finally, you admit that you want to be the one he chooses — not just for a week, not for a fling, but for good.

"But I’m a virgin, Jake," you whisper, your cheeks burning. "I’ve never even… I don’t know what I’m doing. So if I tried to approach him like this, he’d probably laugh."

Jake’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t interrupt.

"So I’ve decided… I’m going to practice. I’m going to get experience so that when I finally have my chance with Heeseung, I’ll be good enough that he won’t want anyone else."

Silence stretches between you as Jake stares at you for a long moment. He pushes his glasses up, his expression soft — not mocking, not disgusted. Just… Jake. "Wow. That’s… a lot. Heeseung, huh? I mean, I get it, but you’re really willing to do all that for him?"

Biting your lip, you nod. "I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about it. And… I was hoping you’d help me with the first part."

Your voice drops until it’s almost inaudible. "I want you to be my first. I want to lose my virginity with you. You’re my best friend and I trust you. I know you’ll be gentle, you won’t laugh at me or tell anyone. Please, Jake?"

His cheeks flush pink and for a second it looks like he might say no. "You… you want me to what? Oh my God. I don’t even know what to say."

He lets out a nervous laugh, a mix of surprise and something he’s always kept hidden. "I’ve never thought about you like that before or… okay, maybe I have, a little. But you’re serious? This is all for Heeseung?"

"Yes, but right now it’s about learning with someone safe, someone who cares. And that someone is you."

Jake stays quiet for a moment while he thinks, then reaches out and takes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Okay… if we’re really going to do this, I want it to be right for you. Not just jumping in headfirst." His thumb keeps tracing slow, soft circles on the back of your hand. "You’ve never done any of this before, right? Not even… by yourself?"

You swallow hard, staring at your intertwined fingers, and admit softly, "No… I mean, I tried rubbing against my pillow once and it felt good, I think? But I got scared and stopped. I don’t know what I’m doing, Jake. That’s why I need you to help me learn."

Jake nods, adjusting his glasses — a nervous habit — with flushed cheeks, but his voice stays as gentle and patient as always. "That makes sense. But before anyone else touches you, you should get to know your own body first. What feels good, what you like. It’ll make everything easier later… for him and for you."

He hesitates for a second, then adds with a small reassuring smile, "Do you trust me enough to try this now? With me here?"

Your heart races with a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "Yes, I trust you. Just… tell me what to do, please."

Jake stands up slowly and sits beside you on the bed. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple, then to your cheek. "Start by getting comfortable. Lie back, and maybe take off your sweater if you want to and feel okay with it."

You do as he says, pulling off your sweater and setting it aside so you’re left in just your tank top and jeans. "Good," he murmurs. "Now touch yourself under your clothes first, over your stomach, along your thighs… feel how your body reacts."

You slide your hand beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. Your fingers graze the soft skin of your belly, then move higher, gently caressing one of your breasts. It feels strange doing this while he watches, but his gaze isn’t hungry or demanding — it’s warm and encouraging, like he’s looking at something precious. When your fingertips brush your nipple, a small sigh escapes you.

"Right there. That’s good. Circle slowly and squeeze just a little."

As he speaks, his own hand drifts down to the front of his sweatpants and then he starts touching himself gently over the fabric, not even trying to hide it. Knowing he’s getting hard just from watching you makes your breath hitch.

Following his instruction, you circle and lightly pinch your nipple, feeling a warm sensation build low in your belly. "Jake, it feels so good…"

"Tell me," he encourages, his hand moving in slow strokes that match the rhythm of your breathing. "Does it make you wet between your legs?"

"Yes," you sigh.

"Keep going, slide your other hand into your jeans and touch yourself over your panties if you’re not ready for more yet."

With your free hand you obey, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping inside. The fabric of your panties is already damp when you press your fingers against yourself and rub lightly, drawing a soft whimper from your throat.

Both of your breathing grows heavier with every second. Jake pushes his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself, stroking slowly while he watches every movement of your fingers.

"Fuck, that’s beautiful," he breathes, the words slipping out like he can’t hold them back. "Rub your clit. Find the spot that feels best."

You circle your clit, experimenting with pressure and rhythm, rolling your hips when you finally discover the perfect way to touch yourself. Jake’s eyes stay locked on your hand while his own speeds up, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock with every stroke.

"Inside your panties now," his voice still gentle but strained. "Feel how wet you are. Explore your body, learn what it likes so you can show someone exactly what you need."

You push your panties aside and slide a finger along your slick folds. "Slide a finger inside, babe," he says and when you do, a moan escapes your lips — it’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Jake groans with the sight, his hand moving faster on himself.

"Add another finger and curl them a little. Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so good, babe." His praise makes you bolder, so you start pumping your fingers slowly, rubbing your clit with your thumb at the same time, while your free hand keeps playing with your breast, pinching harder as the pleasure rises.

"You’re getting close, aren’t you? I can tell by the way you’re breathing. Let it happen. Imagine how good it’ll feel when I’m inside you." His words push you over the edge.

Moaning Jake’s name, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation, your body tenses and your thighs tremble uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes through you. Waves of heat pulse around your fingers, deeper and stronger than you ever imagined.

"Fuck, don’t do this to me." His hand strokes faster until he groans and comes too, spilling over his fingers with a shaky breath.

For a moment, the room falls quiet except for your shared breathing. Jake leans in and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his glasses tilting slightly. "Hey… you still with me? How are you feeling after that? Overwhelmed?"

You shake your head and let out a small giggle. "I’m good. Really good, actually." Reaching up, you gently fix his glasses and whisper, "Thank you for being so patient with me, Jake. I know this is probably weird for you too."

He smiles, and it makes you smile back naturally. "It’s not weird. At least not with you. Honestly, seeing you like that… it was beautiful. You’re beautiful." He leans in and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, giving you time to calm down while his hand rests on your hip and his thumb draws slow circles on your skin. "If you want to keep going, I’m right here."

You bite your lip, the mix of nerves and curiosity warms your body all over again. This is supposed to be practice — each new sensation is another skill you’re learning — but right now, with him, it feels like something more.

"I want more," you admit, cheeks burning. "Can you… use your mouth on me? I’ve heard it feels really good, but I don’t know what to expect."

Jake’s eyes widen for half a second. "Yeah, I’d love to do that for you." He moves carefully on the bed, helping you adjust the pillows behind your head so you’re comfortable. "Just relax and tell me what feels good, okay? If anything is too much or not enough, say so. Promise?"

"Promise." You extend your pinky toward him and he does the same, linking them together to seal the promise.

He starts with soft kisses on the inside of your knee, then higher up your thigh. Every touch of his lips sends shivers across your skin. "Your legs are already shaking," he murmurs with a low chuckle against your thigh. "That’s so cute."

When his mouth finally reaches your center, it’s feather-light at first — just his lips brushing against your folds — but it’s enough to make you draw in a sharp breath and grip the sheets tightly.

Then his warm tongue drags upward in one long, torturous lick from your entrance all the way to your clit. The feeling is wet, hot, and incredibly intimate, the texture of his tongue adds a new layer of friction that makes your hips jerk involuntarily.

"My God, Jake…" The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Good?" he asks, pulling back just enough for you to see his glistening lips as he looks up at you.

"Yes… really good. Do that again, please."

With more confidence this time, he explores every inch of you — licking along your folds, circling your clit, then moving down to taste your entrance. The wet sounds of him pleasuring you only heighten the arousal building in your belly.

Jake hums in satisfaction as he finds the rhythm you like best, reading it from your moans. "You taste incredible… so hot and wet."

You reach down and thread your fingers through his soft hair. "Right there, when you suck on my clit, it feels so good."

He listens immediately, sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and applying gentle suction while his tongue flicks against it, making the pleasure intensify, stronger than before.

The smooth glide of his tongue, the occasional careful graze of his teeth, and the way he alternates between lavishing attention on your clit and licking down to dip inside you make heat spread through your core — it radiates outward until even your fingertips feel warm. You grow even wetter, and Jake groans in appreciation, licking up every drop like he can’t get enough.

"Jake, I think I’m getting close again," you gasp, your voice breaking into a loud moan as he sucks harder on your clit. Your hips move against his face instinctively, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he doubles down with his tongue. This orgasm builds differently — deeper, more overwhelming — and when it crashes over you, it hits with a full-body shudder.

You cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure pulse through your center. Jake keeps licking you through it all, drawing out every tremor until you’re panting and oversensitive.

He finally lifts his head, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand before leaning over you again. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes shine behind his glasses, and a proud little smile plays on his lips. "You okay? That looked like it felt really good."

You laugh breathlessly. "It was incredible… I didn’t know I could feel so sensitive down there."

Jake chuckles softly. "Good. That’s kind of the point of all this practice, right? Learning what you like." His hand slides over your body again, stopping just above your mound as his fingers trace lazy patterns across your skin. "Are you sure you want me to take your virginity? Your body’s already experienced so much tonight. Maybe you need a break."

You shake your head, caressing his face. "I don’t need a break. I just want to feel your cock inside me, please."

One of his hands drifts lower until his fingers reach your wet entrance, circling it slowly. "I need to make sure you’re ready for me. I don’t want to hurt you. Relax and breathe out for me."

You do as he says, and he slowly presses two fingers inside you.

His longer fingers create a different sensation. The stretch borders on discomfort at first, making your walls clench tightly around the intrusion. "Ah— it’s tight," you whisper, gripping his shoulder. "It burns a little."

Jake freezes immediately. "Want me to stop? We can wait."

"No! Keep going. I want to get used to it."

He nods and presses a soft kiss to your temple. "You’re doing so well… so warm and snug around my fingers. What if I curl them just a little?" He demonstrates, stroking your inner walls gently until he brushes against a spongy spot that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

"Oh!" Your eyes widen. "Right there… my God, that feels so good."

"I found your g-spot," he says, clearly proud of himself. He keeps the movements shallow and slow, pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb draws gentle circles over your clit. The initial burning fades, turning into something hotter, slicker, and far more pleasurable.

"Add another one, Jake," you say after a few minutes, voice breathless. "I think I can take it."

Jake carefully slides a third finger in, the pressure increases and your walls flutter as they adjust to the stretch. Every curl of his fingers against that perfect spot sends waves of pleasure through your entire body, while his thumb on your clit keeps the arousal building higher.

"Talk to me, babe," he says, eyes fixed on your face. "How does it feel now? Too much?"

"It’s full… stretching me," you moan, your hips starting to move in time with his hand. "But it’s turning into something really good. Faster on my clit— yes, like that. God, Jake, your fingers are so deep."

He picks up the pace a little, thrusting more firmly and creating an overwhelming sensation in the best way possible. The pleasure keeps intensifying until your breathing comes in short gasps and your thighs tremble uncontrollably. "I’m getting close again. Please don’t stop."

Jake leans down to kiss your stomach, murmuring encouragement. "Come on, come on my fingers. Let go for me, babe."

You moan loudly, back arching as the orgasm hits you harder than the ones before. A deep wave crashes through you, making your inner walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. Jake keeps pumping slowly and carefully until the spasms ease, then gently pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth. "Your taste is addictive."

Smiling you reach up to brush a messy strand of hair from his forehead. "Jake… I want to go all the way. I want to feel you inside me, please."

Jake’s breath catches, then he sits up properly and reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.

"You actually have these," you say with a light teasing note in your voice.

He looks at you with a shy smile as he opens the packet and rolls the condom down his length. "Hey, Heeseung isn’t the only one on campus who has sex, you know? A guy can be prepared even if he’s not out at every party." Jake hovers over you, supporting his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. "You look so beautiful like this," he whispers, leaning closer and gazing at your lips.

"Can I?" When you nod, he captures your mouth in a slow, deep kiss filled with desire. His lips move to your cheek, your jaw, and then trail softly down the side of your neck, leaving a wet path that makes you shiver. He takes his time, giving attention to every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth and fingers. Only when both of you are breathing heavier does he settle between your legs and position himself.

"Breathe with me, okay? Slow and easy." You nod, inhaling as he begins to push inside.

The initial pressure is intense — a wide, stretching fullness that makes your breath hitch. Your walls stretch around his thickness in an overwhelming way and your body tenses as he sinks into you inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. "Oh my God…"

Jake stops immediately. "Hey, hey… look at me," he says, his voice full of concern. He kisses you softly on the lips, then your nose and forehead. "Is it too much? We can wait. I hate the idea of hurting you, even for a second."

You shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to ease the discomfort. "It’s a lot… really full and there’s some burning, but I want this."

To distract you from the stretch and help your body relax around him, he kisses you again. It works — the pain slowly turns into pressure, and then into something hotter and more intimate. "Okay, you can move a little more now."

Jake slides forward inch by inch until he’s fully inside you — every part of him is wrapped tightly in your heat, making you feel so connected, so completely filled, with a pleasant throbbing where your bodies meet.

"God… you feel incredible," he breathes, staying still for a moment while buried deep inside you. He covers you with more kisses. "So warm and tight around me. Tell me how you feel, babe."

"Full," you sigh. "So deep… it’s starting to feel really good."

Smiling against your skin, he begins rocking his hips in small, gentle movements. Each shallow thrust glides along your inner walls, brushing that sensitive spot and sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body. Jake keeps his eyes on yours, watching carefully for any sign of discomfort.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. "More kisses," you whisper softly, and he gives them freely — deep, passionate kisses that match the slow rhythm of his hips. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers beside your head as he sinks a little deeper and a little firmer. The pleasure builds gradually, a warm wave spreading from your center outward.

"You’re doing so well," he praises between kisses, his voice full of affection. "Look at you… my best friend, letting me do this. You feel perfect, so hot and slick around my cock." His free hand caresses your breast through your tank top, his thumb brushing your nipple in time with his movements, pulling more moans from you.

"Faster… just a little," you ask, voice breaking. "I want to feel more."

Jake obeys, finding a slow but steady rhythm that lets every thrust fill you completely, the head of his cock brushing that sweet spot over and over again. "Does this feel good for you too?" you ask between moans, wanting to make sure he’s enjoying it.

"God, yes," he groans. "You’re squeezing me so tight, but right now it’s all about you. I want you to come like this if you can."

You roll your hips to meet his thrusts, learning the rhythm and experimenting with how it feels to clench around him. Jake’s glasses are completely fogged up and slipping down his nose, he pauses just long enough to take them off and set them aside, then kisses you deeply as he resumes his movements.

"I’m getting there," you moan against his mouth. "Please don’t stop, Jake."

"I’ve got you." He shifts slightly, sliding one hand between your bodies to rub gentle circles over your clit. The extra stimulation pushes you right over the edge. Your walls flutter and clench hard around his cock as the orgasm crashes through you. You moan loudly, nails digging into his back while your body pulses around him.

Jake keeps thrusting softly through your climax, murmuring praises. "That’s it… so good. You’re incredible." Only when you start to come down does he let himself go. His hips snap a few more times before he buries himself deep and comes with a low, shaky groan, filling the condom.

For a long moment afterward, he stays inside you while both of you catch your breath. Then he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and cleans you both with a warm cloth from the bathroom. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft and full of concern. "No pain? I tried to be as gentle as possible."

You snuggle into the sheets, feeling a pleasant soreness between your legs and a deep sense of satisfaction. "I’m perfect. A little sore, but in a good way. You made my first time really special, Jake. You’re the best friend I could ask for."

The next morning, you wake up in his bed. The ache between your legs reminds you of everything — the careful way he touched you, the gentle thrusts, the tender kisses. It had all been perfect for your first time.

But as you slip out of bed carefully so you don’t wake him, a realization settles in your mind. It wasn’t enough. Not for what you really want.

Heeseung isn’t gentle. From the rumors, girls get pinned against walls, left breathless and marked. He likes control, intensity, rough hands. Jake would never give you that, even if you begged. He’s your best friend who worries about every little sound you make. He would never push your limits the way you suspect Heeseung would.

You also need to practice that side — the rougher kind of sex that leaves you deliciously sore, the kind that teaches you how to take and give back. You can’t show up to Heeseung soft and inexperienced if you want to stand out, if you want him to crave you for more than one night.

So you leave Jake a note on his desk. "Thank you for last night. Let’s talk soon," and head back to your dorm with a new determination.

────────

That weekend, the hockey team is throwing a big party at their off-campus house — an event that always draws a different crowd from the basketball scene. There’s no explosive feud between the teams, just a quiet rivalry and enough tension that basketball players rarely show up at hockey parties and vice versa. It’s perfect. No chance of running into Heeseung or his circle, and you need that space to level up without any complications.

You take extra time getting ready because you want to be noticed. You choose a short black dress that hugs your curves, the hem riding high on your thighs. It’s simple but dangerous — low neckline, thin straps, the kind of outfit that makes you feel powerful when you look in the mirror. You add a bit more makeup than usual, nothing too dramatic, and slip into heels that make your legs look longer.

The hockey house is already packed when you arrive. Hockey players in their varsity jackets, girls in tight dresses, and red solo cups everywhere. You grab a drink and wander through the crowd, heart racing with anticipation.

That’s when you see him.

Sunghoon, the captain of the hockey team, is standing near the kitchen island, leaning against the counter like he owns the place — and he does. He has a cold, almost untouchable aura that makes people shiver when he walks by. His teammates laugh around him, but he only offers a slight, distant smile, like he’s above it all.

Your eyes meet across the room and he doesn’t look away. Instead, his gaze slowly travels down your body, taking in the dress you chose so carefully, before returning to your face. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips — not warm like Jake’s, but something sharper, more predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t look away either. After all, that’s exactly why you came.

He pushes off the counter and makes his way through the crowd toward you. The suffocating tension hits you the second he stops right in front of you, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. "You don’t usually come to our parties," he says, his voice low as he tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s already halfway to solving. "Or are you from the basketball crowd, doll?"

You take a sip of your drink to steady yourself. "Maybe I was waiting for the right night… Plus, hockey parties have a certain reputation."

A faint smile tugs at his lips as he steps a little closer, invading your space enough to make your pulse race. "Reputation for what, exactly?" He’s so close now that you can smell his cologne — something fresh and expensive that makes your head spin.

You shrug, trying to look calm. "Good music, strong drinks… You’re Sunghoon, right? The captain of the team. I’ve heard a lot about you." The words come out bolder than you expected, but they hit something in him and his gaze darkens.

He raises a thick eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, making his impressively attractive biceps stand out. "I hope they’re good things."

You smile slightly. "Depends on who you ask. Some say you’re intense. Others say you’re… hard to keep up with."

Sunghoon studies you like he’s deciding something. The air between you grows heavier, and you can feel the pull — the way his eyes drop to your mouth, then lower, before sliding back up. "And what do you think? Do you think you could keep up?"

The question makes your breath hitch. "I think it depends," you reply, taking a small step closer, letting the tension build until it feels almost unbearable. "Are you offering to find out?"

He leans in even closer, his lips hovering near your ear so only you can hear him, his warm breath brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. "Careful. Talking like that might get you more than you bargained for."

You turn your head just enough that your cheeks nearly touch. "Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for."

His hand settles on your lower back, firm and guiding, pulling you subtly closer. "Come upstairs with me," he says, his voice steady as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. "There’s a room up there. Quieter. We can… talk more."

This is it — the next step.

You nod, letting him guide you through the crowd toward the stairs with his hand still resting on your back as you climb the steps.

The door clicks softly shut behind you, and the room instantly feels much quieter than the chaos downstairs, lit only by the soft glow coming through the open window. Sunghoon leans back against the door without saying a word, simply watching you with a playful smile on his lips.

"So," he begins softly, pushing away from the door and walking toward you, "you showed up at a hockey party dressed like that, with your eyes on the captain. You’re either really brave or really curious. Which one is it?"

"Maybe both."

Your back hits the wall before you even realize you’ve been moving backward. "Bold. I like that, I don’t waste time with girls who don’t know what they want." He towers over you, his presence intense and dominant.

You swallow hard. "I know exactly what I want tonight. Someone who won’t hold back."

He leans in closer, one hand settling on your hip, fingers pressing firmly enough for you to feel his strength. "Careful what you wish for… You look like the type who melts easily, and I think I’d really enjoy finding out."

His gaze drops to your mouth, then returns to your eyes, dark and hungry. Without another word, his lips crash against yours in a deep, overwhelming kiss right from the first second. Sunghoon doesn’t take it slow like Jake — he claims your mouth completely, his tongue sliding against yours with raw intensity while his free hand moves up to caress the back of your neck, tilting your head exactly the way he wants.

You try to match the intensity of his kiss, but it’s overwhelming — he devours every sigh and gasp that escapes you. When he finally pulls back enough for you to breathe, his eyes are darker, his lips slightly swollen. "Not bad," he murmurs, voice rough. "But you can do better, doll."

Before you can respond, he kisses you again, slower this time, pressing his body against yours so you can feel the hard line of his cock straining through his jeans. Your stomach tightens with a mix of nerves and excitement.

"Come here." He takes your hand and guides you away from the wall toward the bed. Sitting on the edge, he pulls you close until you’re straddling his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs, your dress riding up as you settle against him.

He pulls you into another deep kiss while one hand slides up your body and the other grips your thigh. You rock lightly in his lap, feeling him grow even harder beneath you, and he lets out a low groan into your mouth. "You’re so fucking hot. I want to see what else that pretty mouth can do." His fingers trace your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Get on your knees for me. Show me what that mouth is capable of."

Your heart stutters because his words hit you hard — part excitement, part panic. On your knees. Sucking him. You’ve never given a blowjob before.

You slide slowly off Sunghoon’s lap and drop to your knees, your hands shaking as you reach for the button of his jeans and try to pull down the zipper. Reality crashes over you: you’re on your knees for the hockey team captain, about to give him head with zero experience.

His eyes narrow the moment he notices the tremor in your hands and the hesitation in your movements. A low, cruel, mocking laugh escapes him. "Wait." He reaches down, gripping your chin with two fingers, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You’ve never done this before, have you?"

Biting your lip, you shake your head. "No… I’ve never done it."

Sunghoon’s expression doesn’t soften with pity. Instead, it sharpens with something darker — satisfaction mixed with pure control. He releases your chin and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, looking down at you like you’re a player who needs to learn the drill.

"Good, I like honesty. So you’re going to listen carefully. I’m not in the mood for guessing games tonight. You want to learn? I’ll teach you, and you follow my instructions. Got it, dol?"

You swallow hard and nod again.

"Words," he commands, cold and firm. "Use your words when I ask you something."

"Yes," you repeat, your voice steadier this time. "I understand."

He gives a small nod of approval. "Good girl. Now unzip me."

You obey, slowly pulling the zipper down. Sunghoon lifts his hips slightly to help you tug his jeans and boxers low enough to free his cock. It springs out, hard and heavy, the tip already glistening with precum.

His hand rests on the back of your neck, not pushing, but guiding. "Look up at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t just stare at it like you’re lost. Wrap your hand around the base and feel the weight."

Your fingers are still trembling as you obey, curling them around his thick length. He feels incredibly warm and heavy in your palm, the skin smooth over steel. You give an experimental squeeze, watching his reaction.

"Yes, just like that," he praises coolly, like he’s directing a teammate on the ice. "Now stroke up and down. Keep a firm grip. That’s it— good. Don’t be shy."

You pump your hand firmly, finding a rhythm that makes Sunghoon’s breathing grow a little deeper, but he keeps complete control, his eyes locked on you the entire time. "Spit on it, get it nice and wet. Good girls make it sloppy."

You gather saliva and let it drip onto the head, using your hand to spread it all over his length. The wet sounds that follow make your face burn even hotter, but the way his cock twitches in your grip sends a shiver through you.

His fingers twist into your hair with enough force for you to feel it, then he pulls you closer to his throbbing length. "Now use your mouth. Start with the head, wrap your lips around it, no teeth. Suck gently while you swirl your tongue."

Your heart races as you wrap your lips around the tip, tasting a man’s cock for the first time — slightly salty, but surprisingly good. Your tongue moves in slow, hesitant circles, trying to find the rhythm you think will feel best for him.

"Eyes up," he orders sharply. "Look at me while you do it. That’s good, but take me deeper now. Relax your throat, don’t force it. Move your head slowly and keep stroking the part you can’t reach."

You open wider and take him deeper. It feels strange at first — the stretch of your jaw, the way he fills your mouth, the occasional gag when you go too far, causing tears to gather at the corners of your eyes.

"Relax your jaw and breathe through your nose. Faster with your tongue on the underside. Use your hand in sync with your mouth."

You follow every instruction carefully, the clear commands making it easier despite your inexperience. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds as your mouth works on him — licking, sucking, and your hand sliding smoothly along his cock. Sunghoon’s thighs tense under your free hand, and his voice grows a little rougher, though still tightly controlled. "Hollow your cheeks more when you pull back. Take me deeper whenever you can, I want to feel the back of your throat."

Pushing yourself, you take him deeper until your nose brushes his stomach, triggering a light gag. You try to hold it, but end up sliding back up, gasping for air. A thick string of saliva connects his cock to your mouth, and his grip tightens in your hair, the slight sting only heightening the moment.

"Not bad for your first time. Now focus on the head again. Suck harder while you move faster. Yeah— just like that. You’re gonna make me come if you keep going."

You throw yourself into it completely, determined to get better so you can do this perfectly for Heeseung one day. Your hand and mouth work together, faster and sloppier now, until Sunghoon’s breathing turns heavier and his abs tighten visibly.

"Fuck— keep your eyes on me," he growls, his voice dropping lower. "I’m close. When I come, you swallow. Every drop. Understand, doll?"

You murmur something unintelligible around him, the vibration drawing a low groan from deep in his throat. His hand guides you with a little more firmness now as his hips begin to rock, meeting your mouth with each movement. His dominance is intoxicating — no endless questions, no overthinking, just clear and commanding direction that pushes you exactly where he wants you.

With one last deep thrust into your mouth and a low groan, he comes. Hot spurts hit the back of your throat as you swallow desperately, trying not to gag while you take everything he gives you, your hand still gently stroking him through it.

Sunghoon holds you there for a few more seconds before finally releasing your hair and letting you pull back. You release his cock with a wet pop, your lips swollen and glistening. He looks down at you with that same cool satisfaction, his thumb brushing a stray string of saliva from your chin. "Clean every inch with your tongue."

You nod and obey, licking him carefully with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue until he’s completely clean.

"Good," he says, his voice satisfied. "Now come here."

He pulls you up from your knees and back onto his lap, guiding you into a deep kiss that’s slower and less aggressive than the one against the wall, yet still possessive. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting himself on you, letting out a soft groan against your lips.

"You did well for your first time," he praises quietly as he pulls back, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "A little messy, but eager. I like that. You look even better with that flushed face after sucking me off, doll."

The praise sends a warm flutter through your stomach, and before you can respond, Sunghoon moves, flipping you onto your back on the bed. He hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other slides up your thigh, pushing your dress higher. "You’ve never sucked a cock before… so I’m going to ask. Are you a virgin?"

You shake your head quickly. "No, I’m not."

A flash of relief crosses his face, quickly replaced by a darker, almost predatory smile. "Good. That’s actually perfect. It means I don’t have to be gentle with you." His hand glides along your inner thigh, spreading your legs apart. "I hate holding back."

Two of his long fingers press against your entrance, finding you already soaked from everything that’s happened. He pushes your panties aside and slides them inside you in one smooth motion. His fingers are noticeably longer than Jake’s, reaching places that instantly make your breath hitch.

"Fuck, you’re so tight. You sure you’re not a virgin, doll? Because you’re squeezing me like one." He starts moving right away, no slow buildup, no endless questions about how you feel, just his fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm — faster and deeper — while his thumb rubs firm circles over your clit.

You gasp, arching your back off the bed as his long fingers reach so deep that they stroke that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. "Sunghoon—" you moan, clutching his shoulders.

"Eyes on me." His free hand pins your wrists above your head while the other moves faster, scissoring his fingers to stretch you further. He watches every reaction on your face, adjusting the intensity until you’re writhing beneath him. "You’re already soaking my hand, doll. Come on, let me feel you come around my fingers."

He adds a third finger, pushing deeper and curling harder against that spot while his thumb presses firmer circles on your clit. The combination is overwhelming — fast, deep strokes that tighten the pleasure in your core until your thighs start trembling around his hand.

"I… oh God…" Your words dissolve into a moan as the orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench hard around his fingers, pulsing with every wave, but Sunghoon doesn’t slow down, he keeps going until you’re shaking and gasping, hypersensitive and completely spent.

Only then does he pull his fingers out, bringing them to his lips for a quick taste while he looks down at you with dark satisfaction. "You taste so good, doll."

Without wasting another second, he shoves the rest of his pants and boxers down and climbs fully on top of you. "Arms up." You lift them without hesitation and he pulls your dress off, tossing it aside somewhere in the room. Your bra follows immediately, exposing your breasts to the cool air. In the same motion, he squeezes one firmly, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens, then leans down to suck it, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

"These are perfect," he murmurs against your skin before moving to the other. His free hand yanks your panties down your legs in one swift pull, leaving you completely naked beneath him. Sunghoon sits back for a moment, his eyes slowly roaming over your bare body with cool appreciation. "Perfect. You’re perfect, doll."

He positions himself between your spread thighs, one hand gripping your hip while the other guides his cock to your entrance. Only then do you realize there’s no condom. This is going to be the first time you feel someone raw. "Wait, Sunghoon…"

"I’m clean," he says dryly, reading your hesitation perfectly. "We’re good." He doesn’t say anything else, simply pushing forward and sinking the thick head of his cock into you with one precise thrust.

With no latex barrier, you feel every inch of him — hot, hard, and completely bare. The stretch is more intense than it was with Jake, deeper and fuller in a way that makes your walls flutter and clench tightly around him. A low moan escapes you as he sinks even deeper, filling you completely until his hips press flush against yours.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Sunghoon groans, closing his eyes for a brief second before locking his gaze on your face again. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust, starting to move with long, deep strokes that brush every sensitive spot inside you while he watches your every reaction, every gasp, fucking you with firm control.

You grab onto his arms, your nails digging crescent moons into his skin. "Sunghoon… it’s so deep like this." Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs.

He kisses you hard again, swallowing your moans as his hips snap forward faster, growing more intense. The pleasure feels stronger than your first time because there’s nothing between you, but after a few minutes, Sunghoon suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and whimpering.

"On your knees. Face down, ass up," he orders. "I need to go deeper. I want to watch this ass bounce while I fuck you stupid."

You get on all fours, feeling incredibly exposed with your ass up and back arched. The vulnerability of this new position you’ve never tried before sends a fresh wave of nerves through you. Sunghoon kneels behind you, his hands spreading your cheeks slightly as he lines himself up again.

He thrusts into you hard, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. The new angle lets him go incredibly deeper, the head of his cock pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed. You cry out, fingers clutching the sheets tightly. "Oh my God, it’s so much deeper like this."

Sunghoon groans in satisfaction. "That’s exactly what I wanted." His hands grip your hips firmly as he starts fucking you with more intensity. His thrusts are relentless, hips snapping forward with a force that makes your entire body shake.

One hand slides up your back and fists in your hair, pulling your head back sharply and arching you even more. "Fuck, look at you taking it so well like this."

His other hand comes down hard on your ass, a firm slap that makes the flesh jiggle and sting deliciously, drawing a loud moan from you. He spanks the other cheek, then again, alternating while he keeps pounding into you.

Without a condom, you feel every vein, every ridge, the way his cock stretches and fills you completely with every powerful thrust. "This ass looks even better when it’s moving for me," he says, landing another harder slap. Your arms tremble, barely able to hold you up as the pleasure builds hotter and tighter in your core. "You’re clenching so fucking hard. You like it rough like this, don’t you?"

"Yes," you moan, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Harder, please."

He obeys without hesitation, fucking you with punishing force that makes the bed creak beneath you and his balls slap against you with every deep stroke. "Touch yourself, rub your clit while I fuck you."

You slide a hand between your legs, circling your swollen clit. Another sharp slap lands on your ass, the sting spreading hot across your skin and making you clench hard around him. "Fuck, do that again, doll." He delivers one more firm spank, then squeezes the reddened flesh possessively. "You’re dripping all over my cock, soaking the sheets like a good girl."

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm, the sharp tugs on your hair, the stinging slaps, and the overwhelming depth of this position, push you straight over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard, your walls pulsing and contracting tightly around his bare cock as waves of pleasure crash through you. You moan loudly into the mattress, your whole body shaking.

Sunghoon doesn’t slow down at all — he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, chasing his own. "I’m gonna come," he growls. After a few more deep, powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and groans as he fills you with hot pulses of cum, spilling deep inside you for the first time. The sensation is new and overwhelming — warm, wet, and so intimately raw that it makes your mind spin.

Sunghoon collapses beside you on the bed and pulls you against his chest, lazily stroking your back. "You should come to our parties more often. Those basketball idiots don’t deserve someone like you at their parties."

────────

Not everything is about the plan. After all, you are still in college — assignments pile up and deadlines approach without caring about your personal obsessions. When the professor pairs you with Jay for the next project, you don’t think much of it, you just need to finish the work as quickly as possible so you can get back to your plan.

The second-floor library was strangely quiet that night. Most students have already left, and the few who remain are buried in their books. You and Jay sit at a secluded table in a corner, surrounded by tall bookshelves that give you a sense of privacy.

Jay sits across from you, looking effortlessly attractive in a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his veiny forearms. You’ve been discussing the project for nearly an hour, but the conversation slowly drifts away from the assignment and becomes more personal.

"You always seem so put-together," you say with a small smile. "Even during finals week. How do you do it?"

Jay chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. "Coffee. A lot of coffee… You’ve been glowing lately. There’s a new confidence in class. It looks good on you."

Your cheeks flush slightly. "Thank you. I’ve been pushing myself out of my comfort zone lately."

"I noticed and it’s honestly really attractive." The compliment is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Jay’s voice drops lower as he continues. "You know, it’s easy to talk to you… and easy to look at, too."

You laugh, quickly glancing around to make sure no one is nearby. "You’re not bad yourself. Always so polite and charming... It’s kind of dangerous."

His smile widens, and then he reaches across the table, lightly brushing his fingers against yours. The touch is gentle but sends a spark through you, making the library feel even quieter now, like the rest of the world has disappeared and only the two of you remain behind the shelves.

Before you can overthink it, Jay leans forward over the table. "Come here."

You meet him halfway, and the kiss starts soft and sweet at first — a gentle brush of lips that quickly deepens as he tilts his head. Jay kisses with care and skill, one hand gently cupping your cheek while the other rests on the table for balance. It feels good, warm, and surprisingly right.

When he finally pulls back, breathing a little faster, he whispers. "No one’s around… Come sit with me."

He gently pulls you around the table and onto his lap. Your legs part over his thighs, the skirt riding up as he settles you against him and wraps one arm securely around your waist.

"Jay," a nervous laugh escapes you as you glance at the shelves surrounding you. "We’re in the library… Someone could walk by any second."

"It’s okay," his hand traces slow circles on your lower back while the other rests on your thigh. "Look around, it’s almost empty, and the shelves block most of the view." He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw. "We’ll be quiet. I just want to be close to you for a little while… if you’re okay with it."

Sitting on his lap like this in a public place feels incredibly bold, but Jay’s gentle confidence makes your hesitation melt away. "It’s okay," he whispers, kissing you again, slower this time. "Just relax. It’s just us right now."

You kiss him back, and it doesn’t take long for your hips to start moving almost on their own, grinding against the growing bulge in his jeans. The friction feels good even through your clothes — a slow, delicious rhythm that builds heat between your legs. Jay lets out a low hum of approval against your mouth, his hand squeezing your thigh encouragingly.

"That’s good… really good." His hips continue moving in deliberate circles, letting you feel him hardening beneath you — the thick outline pressing right against your core.

The kiss deepens as he traces your lower lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, and you open for him. "Yeah… keep doing that." One of his hands slides up to your cheek, tenderly stroking it with his thumb, while the other guides your hips, helping you find a rhythm that feels even better. "You’re driving me crazy doing this… it feels so good."

Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his gaze is dark with desire but still incredibly gentle. "Do you want to do this here?" he asks, thumb caressing your hip. "We don’t have to… but if you’re comfortable, I need you right now."

You quickly glance around — there’s still no one nearby. "Yes." The certainty in your voice surprises even you. "I want to."

He pulls you into another kiss, deep and reassuring, before reaching between your bodies to push his pants and underwear down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out — long and incredibly thick, the head flushed red and already glistening. It’s bigger than you expected, heavy, with prominent veins.

Your eyes widen in surprise and nervousness. "Jay… you’re really big. I don’t know if I can take all of that."

He cups your face with both hands, noticing your nerves. "Hey… look at me. We don’t have to rush anything, and if it’s too much, we stop, I promise." A soft, caring expression takes over as thumbs gently stroke your cheeks. "We’ll go really slow… I’ll make sure it feels good for you."

You nod, biting your lower lip. "Okay. I trust you."

One hand stays on your waist while the other guides his thick cock, rubbing the head against your soaked panties, teasing your entrance through the fabric. "Move your panties to the side for me."

With trembling hands, you hook your fingers under the fabric and pull it aside. The cool air hits your wet folds, making you shiver. Jay helps by tugging your skirt up until it’s bunched around your waist. Only then does he position himself at your entrance — the blunt head of his cock brushing against your slick pussy. "When you’re ready."

You take a deep breath and start sinking down, the stretch is immediate and intense — almost too much. His thickness slowly pushes your walls apart as you lower yourself, inch by inch. A soft moan escapes your lips from the burning sensation and the way he fills you so completely. It’s deeper than anything you’ve felt before, his huge size presses against every sensitive spot inside you.

Jay groans, tilting his head back for a moment. "Fuck… you’re so tight. Take it slow, angel. You’re doing so well."

You pause halfway, breathing deeply to ease the burning feeling. It’s almost uncomfortable, but the raw heat of him, bare and deep, sends sparks of pleasure through the stretch. Determined, you continue lowering yourself until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, your walls fluttering as they try to adjust to his enormous length.

For a few seconds, you stay still, adjusting to the feeling of his cock pulsing deep inside you. Jay’s arms wrap around you, holding you close as his lips brush your temple. "You’re perfect, angel. Taking me so well... Tell me when you want to move."

You start experimenting, at first moving simply — rising and sinking as you’ve seen in porn videos. The motion drags him along your walls, creating delicious friction, but it feels a little awkward. It feels good for him, his groans make that clear, but it isn’t quite hitting the right spots for you.

"This is incredible," he says honestly. "But I want you to feel good too. You don’t have to just go up and down. Grind on me… roll your hips in circles, and when you bounce, use your whole body. Let me guide you, angel."

He gently guides you with his hands on your hips, and you follow, shifting from simple up and down movements to a smooth, rolling grind. The change is instant — his thick cock now rubs perfectly against your front wall, pressing hard into that sensitive spot with every circle of your hips, making a sharp moan escape you. "Yes, just like that. Feel how deep I am when you roll your hips? Now try bouncing while you do that."

You combine the movements — lifting and dropping while rolling your hips on the way down. Each bounce takes him incredibly deep, his cockhead dragging against places that make your toes curl. The stretch remains intense because he’s almost too big, creating a delicious burn.

Jay groans louder, and one hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck as he kisses you again. "Yes… fuck, you’re riding me so well. Look at you, angel." His other hand stays on your hip, guiding you to bounce harder.

The praise makes you bolder. You brace your hands on his shoulders for balance and start bouncing faster, moving up and down while grinding. Jay is so big that you can feel his cock reaching deep into your stomach, creating a profound pressure that makes your head spin.

Your newfound confidence makes him throb inside you as Jay starts thrusting up to meet you, the added force sending waves of pleasure through your core. "Deeper… like this," you moan.

Jay’s hands roam all over your body — squeezing your ass, caressing your breasts over your shirt, pulling you down for more kisses. He doesn’t take full control, letting you lead while offering guidance and praise. "That’s it… move just like that. You’re getting so wet for me. You look so beautiful riding my cock."

The pleasure builds quickly, a deep, spreading heat that consumes your entire body. You lean forward, changing the angle, and cry out when you hit an even more sensitive spot. Jay groans, holding you tighter. "Right there? Good girl. Keep going, take what you need."

You moan loudly, burying your face in his neck as the orgasm crashes through you violently. Your walls clench uncontrollably around his cock, pulsing and milking him while you keep bouncing, pushing him over the edge right after. He groans, thrusting his hips up against you as he cums deep inside, filling you with hot, thick pulses of cum.

Once you both come down, Jay lifts your chin and kisses you again, his tongue moves lazily against yours, savoring the moment. You kiss him back, feeling his cock still twitching softly inside you.

"You were incredible, angel," he whispers between kisses, smiling against your lips. "So beautiful riding me like that."

Jay’s hands run gently down your back, his gaze dropping to your chest. "Can I see more of you?"

You nod, and he doesn’t waste a single second, pulls your blouse up just enough to free your breasts. The cool air of the library makes your nipples harden instantly. "Perfect,” you sigh softly as he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

He sucks harder, then grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud with a careful bite that makes you moan and clench around his cock, which is still buried deep inside you. Switching to the other breast, he gives it the same attention — kissing, licking, sucking, and biting. You roll your hips slowly in his lap, savoring the way his cock twitches inside you every time he sucks harder.

"You’re so sensitive here," he murmurs against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses between your breasts. "I could spend hours doing this."

You let out a soft, needy sound, holding his head closer to your chest as he continues marking you with his mouth — sucking hard enough to leave hickeys that will remind you of this moment later. He’s getting hard again inside you, growing thicker and longer, pressing against your sensitive walls.

"Fuck, you’re making me hard again. The way you squeeze around me while I suck on these… you’re driving me crazy." Suddenly, Jay’s arms tighten around you and, in one swift movement, he stands up.

"Jay—!" you gasp, clutching his shoulders.

"I’ve got you," he says carefully, sitting you on the edge of the table with his cock still buried deep inside you. "I need to move for a bit. Okay, angel? Tell me if it’s too much."

Before you can respond, he starts fucking you at his own pace — deep, powerful thrusts that make your body shake on the table. The angle is perfect, making his thick cock drags along every inch of your walls with each stroke.

You try to stay quiet, but the pleasure is overwhelming, and moans far too loud for the silent library keep escaping. "Ah— Jay!"

He quickly covers your mouth with his hand while continuing to thrust firmly. "Shh, angel." His hips snap forward a little harder, testing your silence. "You have to stay quiet… someone might hear."

Even with his palm muffling your sounds, the deep thrusts still pull muffled but audible moans from you. Jay glances around nervously, unsure what to do because stopping isn’t an option, so he makes a quick decision. He pulls his cock out, reaches for your panties, which was pulled to the side this whole time, tugs the wet fabric free and then he pushes it between your lips.

"I’m sorry," he whispers immediately as he slides back inside you with a deep thrust. "I hate doing this… but I don’t want us to get caught, okay?"

You nod slightly, eyes watering from the intensity, but the gag works — your next moan comes out completely muffled. "You’re being so good for me, so wet and tight." Jay returns to your breasts, sucking on one nipple while he continues fucking you senseless.

His pace quickens, hips snapping harder against yours as he tries to keep control. The risk of getting caught and the feeling of you around him push him closer to the edge. "Cum for me. I’m close too… let go, angel."

You scream into the gag, your body shaking in his arms as you cum hard, and the sensation of your walls pulsing around him sends Jay over the edge right after. He buries himself as deep as possible and cums inside you with hot, intense pulses.

Still buried inside you, he strokes your hair and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You were incredible… so responsive and beautiful."

A shy smile tugs at your lips. "You were incredible too."

He runs his thumb across your flushed cheek. "I’d love to do this again someday… if you want. Maybe somewhere more private next time, so I can take my time with you."

Biting your lower lip, you nod. "I’d like that. A lot, actually."

That night, back in your dorm, you realize something: during those hours with Jay, you didn’t think about Heeseung even once because you were completely lost in the moment — in his gentle touches, his warm voice, and the way he made you feel so good.

────────

The basketball team has just won a home game. The crowd is still roaring and the players are celebrating in the middle of the court. Sitting in the stands, you spot Ni-ki — Heeseung’s close friend and teammate. He’s younger than the others but carries himself with an easy, playful confidence.

When the court finally quiets down and the players start heading toward the locker rooms, you walk calmly through the internal hallways of the building, following the path that leads to the locker room area. To avoid being seen by Heeseung, you hide behind a pillar. From there, you have a perfect view of anyone leaving the locker room, while people passing through the hallway are unlikely to notice you.

A few minutes pass before the door opens. A group of players steps out, talking loudly, and Heeseung is right in the middle of them. You press yourself tighter against the pillar, holding your breath as he walks by, laughing at some joke.

More athletes leave after that until the hallway falls completely silent. Knowing most people have already gone and the risk of seeing Heeseung has passed, you finally step out of your hiding spot and walk to a brighter, more visible part of the corridor, right near the door.

When Ni-ki comes out, his eyes land on you almost immediately. He slows his steps, tilting his head with clear interest and a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "No way. You actually waited? Most girls chase after the captain." He stops right in front of you, looking you up and down without even trying to hide it. "Damn, you look dangerous."

You feel a flutter in your stomach but smile back at him. "I thought the guy who kept stealing the ball and grinning like he owned the court deserved some attention tonight."

Ni-ki laughs, running a hand through his damp hair. "You’re bold, huh? I like that." He steps a little closer, his eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. "So what’s your deal? Are you a basketball fan or did you just come here to make my day way more interesting?"

There’s a seductive tease in his voice — arrogant but fun. He clearly likes what he sees and isn’t shy about showing it. "Because if you’re here for me, you should probably tell me your name before I start calling you ‘mine’ in front of the whole team."

If you play this right, he might casually mention you to the team later, and Heeseung would hear your name and maybe get curious. But if you mess up and come across as too eager or awkward, Ni-ki could joke about it in the locker room and ruin everything before you even get close. Still, you trust yourself. "It’s y/n."

"y/n," he repeats, like he’s savoring the sound. "Nice. It suits you. So, y/n… do you always wait outside the locker rooms after games looking this good, or did I just get lucky today?"

"Only when the player on the court is showing off like he’s trying to impress someone."

Ni-ki moves even closer. "Ah, so you were really watching me? Careful, I might get too cocky." He tilts his head, his eyes tracing your face before dropping to your lips. "Or maybe that’s exactly what you want. To make me arrogant enough to do something about the pretty girl who showed up just for me."

His gaze continues sliding down from your lips, appreciating the way your top hugs your body. Suddenly, Ni-ki glances around, checking if anyone is nearby. The hallway is empty. Without warning, he grabs your hand with a grin. "Come with me for a second."

He pulls you into the locker room, but not near the entrance. He keeps guiding you deeper inside, past a small entryway and around the corner of the main area, where he presses your body against the wall. The tension that has been building finally snaps. Cupping your face with one hand, he kisses you with raw hunger — his lips moving against yours with confidence as his tongue teases yours, deepening the kiss almost instantly.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, a cocky little smirk on his face. "Fuck… you taste even better than I imagined."

He presses you harder against the wall and slides one thigh between your legs, creating just enough pressure to make you gasp into his mouth. "You’re so fucking addictive." His hands slip under your top, warm palms gliding over your skin and sending shivers through you.

Suddenly, Ni-ki drops to his knees in front of you, looking up with an even more mischievous smile. "I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you waiting outside." His hands move quickly, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down along with your panties. He lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, opening you up to him.

Ni-ki presses his mouth against your pussy like he’s starving for it — voracious and rough. His tongue licks long, wet stripes from your entrance up to your clit before swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Oh my God — Ni-ki…" you moan, one hand flying to his messy hair.

He moans against you, the vibration shooting pleasure straight up your spine. "You taste so good." His tongue dives inside you, licking and savoring every inch like he can’t get enough. Messy and eager, his lips suck on your folds before focusing back on your clit with small, hungry sucks and licks.

He eats you out like he wants to memorize every taste, every reaction — switching between long, slow licks that make your toes curl and faster movements that force you to bite your lip to stay quiet.

"Ni-ki… that feels so good." He looks up at you while his mouth works, eyes gleaming with satisfaction and desire, clearly loving the way you’re falling apart for him.

Ni-ki murmurs in response and doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth while his tongue moves fast. "Ni-ki… fuck, right there," you gasp, fingers tightening almost painfully in his hair as your hips start grinding against his face.

He slides two fingers inside you while his tongue keeps working your clit, curling them instantly against that perfect spot.

Your breathing turns ragged, your thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head. "I… I’m gonna—" you try to warn him, voice breaking, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he sucks harder on your clit and pumps his fingers faster.

Your whole body locks up for a second before a violent tremor runs through you. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers as your clit pulses wildly against his tongue.

Ni-ki groans proudly against you, licking you through every wave, addicted to the way you fall apart. He keeps going until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and shaking. Only then does he finally pull back, lips glossy and swollen. "Shit, you come so beautifully."

He rises to his feet with a satisfied smirk and pulls you into another kiss so you can taste yourself on his tongue, his hands grip your waist, pressing your body against his. "You’re so sweet. I could eat you every day, all day long."

You open your mouth to respond, but the metallic click of the main door handle cuts through the air.

You both freeze and footsteps echo on the tiled floor, accompanied by a familiar voice humming something.

It’s Jungwon — another teammate, the point guard.

"Shit." Ni-ki quickly grabs your hand and pulls you toward the shower area with its open stalls and curtains. Yanking one curtain aside, he guides you inside, and presses your back against the cold tiled wall.

The footsteps grow louder, closer. "Hey, is anyone still in here?" Jungwon’s voice sounds casual, like he heard something and decided to check.

Ni-ki presses a finger to your lips, leaning in so close that his warm breath brushes your ear. "Don’t make a sound," he whispers, almost inaudible.

Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, but Ni-ki doesn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, the risk seems to excite him even more. Jungwon’s footsteps get closer, and right at that exact moment, Ni-ki pushes two fingers inside you without any warning. Your eyes widen and a sharp gasp almost escapes before you bite down hard on your lip.

He curls his fingers instantly, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you with ease, a small mischievous smirk on his face as he watches your reaction. He pumps them slowly at first, then faster, while his thumb presses firmly against your swollen clit.

Trembling violently, you bury your face in his neck, desperately trying to muffle the moans threatening to spill out. "Shhh," Ni-ki whispers right against your ear, but his fingers don’t stop — deep, curling thrusts that make your knees buckle. "You’re squeezing me so tight. Does almost getting caught turn you on?"

You nod frantically and bite down on his shoulder through his shirt to stay quiet as Jungwon moves just a few meters away. Ni-ki’s thumb presses harder on your clit while his fingers thrust faster, making your thighs shake and your walls flutter uncontrollably around him as you fight to stay silent. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the effort.

Jungwon’s voice echoes again, closer this time. "I heard noises coming from here. Who the hell is in here?"

Noticing Jungwon getting closer, Ni-ki curls his fingers harder, rubbing your sweet spot relentlessly while his thumb works your clit in fast, precise circles. You dig your nails into his back, letting out a silent scream against his neck as pleasure peaks. Your pussy clenches violently around his fingers, dripping as waves of spasms run through you.

Finally, Jungwon’s footsteps retreat. The door opens and closes again. The second it does, Ni-ki pulls his fingers out and kisses you hard, swallowing the broken moan that finally escapes you.

Without breaking the kiss, he tugs down his basketball shorts and boxers in one quick motion, freeing his hard, thick, flushed cock. It’s already leaking at the tip from how turned on he is after eating you out and fingering you.

You reach for him without thinking — and without really knowing what you’re doing — wrapping your hand around his length and stroking slowly at first. You feel the heat and the way he pulses hot against your palm as your thumb brushes over the head, spreading the precum. "You’re so hard… I can feel how much you want this."

"Yeah? Then let me have you." He quickly helps you pull your jeans and panties all the way down your legs, kicking them aside before pressing you against the cold tiled wall of the shower stall. One hand grips your thigh as he lines himself up and with one smooth thrust, he pushes inside, burying his cock deep into your still-sensitive pussy. The stretch makes you gasp at the sudden, overwhelming fullness after everything that’s already happened.

He fucks you against the wall with firm, deep thrusts, his hips snapping forward while he holds you in place. "Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good," he groans, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you harder, each movement pressing you against the tiles. "So wet and tight."

"Ni-ki… you’re so deep," your voice trembles with pleasure as he hits that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "Don’t stop… it feels so good."

He keeps going like that for a while, fucking you firmly against the wall with his hands gripping your ass. But soon the position isn’t enough for him, with a low grunt, he suddenly lifts you as if you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and you let out a muffled cry as he starts bouncing you on his cock, thrusting up with hungry movements that make your breasts bounce inside your top.

"Yes, like that… it feels so good," you moan while he fucks you in the air, your back pressed against the wall for leverage as he holds you like you’re weightless. The sensation is intense, every thrust hits so deep it makes your head spin and your toes curl.

"Open your mouth." He brings two fingers to your lips. "Suck them for me. I want to feel that pretty mouth while I fuck you."

You part your lips obediently and take his fingers into your mouth, sucking them eagerly while he keeps thrusting into you. His cock twitches at the feeling of your warm mouth around his fingers, the taste of you still lingers on them from earlier, making you moan around them.

"That’s it," he says, eyes locked on your face as he watches you suck his fingers while bouncing you on his cock. "You look so fucking hot like this. Keep sucking just like that."

You do exactly that, swirling your tongue and sucking harder as he drives deep inside you, clearly losing himself in how good it feels.

You pull off his fingers with a wet pop and gasp, "Ni-ki… I’m so close again. I’m gonna come."

With a mischievous smirk, he pushes his fingers back into your mouth, moving them in time with his cock as he fucks you harder against the wall. "Then come for me again. I want to feel you squeezing my cock while you suck my fingers."

The dirty words combined with his relentless pace finally push you over the edge. You moan loudly around his fingers as your legs tighten around his waist. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes through you, making your entire body shake in his arms.

Ni-ki groans at the feeling of you coming and his thrusts turn erratic. He buries himself as deep as possible and comes hard inside you, pulsing with hot spurts while holding you firmly against the wall.

After a moment, he finally lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor again, but he doesn’t pull out immediately, he stays nestled inside your heat, kissing you slowly and almost lazily, like he isn’t ready to end the moment yet. "Fuck… that was incredible. And honestly? That was the best post-game sex I’ve ever had. No joke. I’m gonna be thinking about this pussy for days."

You let out a soft giggle, cheeks burning. "Really? I don’t think I’ll be able to walk properly after this."

Surprisingly gentle, he laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek before finally pulling out slowly. Both of you hiss at the loss. "That’s actually great. Means you’ll be thinking about me too. When can we do this again? After the next game, or maybe after every practice?"

────────

​The basketball team had crushed their biggest rival that night, and the victory party at the massive off-campus house is going to be loud, chaotic, and packed with people. This is the moment you’ve been carefully preparing for with every practice session and every new experience. Tonight is the night.

You choose a bold black dress that clings to your body like a second skin, short enough to show off your legs and thighs, with a neckline that reveals just enough to be daring. Your hair is styled exactly the way you like it, and your makeup is flawless, enhancing your features in a way that makes you feel powerful. When you look in the mirror, you look like someone who belongs in Heeseung’s world.

When you arrive at the party, the music is already pulsing through the walls, bodies are moving everywhere, and the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Your eyes scan the room until they find him.

Heeseung is sitting on the large couch in the main room like he owns the place — which he basically does. Two girls are practically draped over him. One is half in his lap, her hand resting possessively on his chest, while he has one arm casually around the other girl, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder as he talks to his teammates.

Spotting Ni-ki nearby, chatting with some of the other players, you walk toward him with confident steps because you aren’t going straight to Heeseung. No — you’re going to make him come to you. Ni-ki’s eyes light up with immediate recognition and interest.

"I can’t believe you’re here," he says with a grin as he pulls you into a side hug that lasts a second longer than necessary. "You look dangerous tonight. Come here, I want you to meet some of the guys."

You laugh softly and stay close to him, letting him introduce you to some of his teammates, including Jungwon. Your cheeks heat up as you remember that moment in the locker room, and when you glance to the side, Heeseung is watching — the girls are still around him, but his eyes are locked on you, following every move you make.

Ni-ki leans in and whispers in your ear, "You know, I still can’t stop thinking about that day in the locker room. Jungwon almost catching us… My fingers buried so deep inside you while you tried so hard not to moan. I’ve been replaying that shit all week."

Your face flushes instantly and the memory makes your thighs press together in a rush of heat. "Ni-ki…" you whisper back, half embarrassed and half turned on, "you can’t just say that here."

You’re too focused on Ni-ki to notice Heeseung pushing the girl off his lap, standing up, and walking over with his usual confidence. He stops right in front of you, his gaze shifting between you and Ni-ki, who is still grinning widely.

"What’s so funny over here?" Heeseung asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "You two look like you’re sharing secrets."

You freeze for a second before answering quickly, a little too fast. "Nothing."

"Nothing? Come on. Nothing stays hidden from the captain, especially when my teammate is standing here grinning like an idiot and you’re looking all flustered." He steps closer, his full attention now on you. "Gonna tell me what got you so worked up, pretty?"

Ni-ki’s playful smile fades, replaced by something closer to jealousy as he watches the captain focus entirely on you. "We're just messing around. It's fun talking to y/n, that's all."

Heeseung looks you up and down slowly, taking in the way the dress hugs every curve of your body. "Want a drink? I can’t have you standing here empty-handed."

"Yeah… I’d like that."

Ni-ki’s jaw tightens as he glances between the two of you, clearly not happy about being sidelined, but he knows better than to push it with Heeseung. "Catch you later, y/n," he says, giving you one last look filled with a mix of jealousy and desire before disappearing into the crowd.

Now it’s just you and Heeseung.

He guides you toward the kitchen, his hand lightly brushing your lower back. “So… y/n,” he says, savoring your name like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. "You show up at my party looking like sin, talking to my boy while wearing this little dress that makes everyone wonder what you’re hiding underneath." A mischievous smile curves his lips as his eyes flick to your mouth for a moment. "You gonna let me find out, or are you just here to tease?"

You feel yourself getting wet just from the way he’s looking at you — that hungry stare and confident tone making your panties stick to you. "Talking about what I’m hiding under this dress already? We just got to the kitchen… but yeah, I might let you discover it." Your voice comes out bold because you refuse to sound nervous now, after waiting so long for this moment.

Deep down, all you can think about is how badly you want him to stop talking and just fuck you senseless.

Heeseung’s smile deepens, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face. He glances around to make sure no one is paying too much attention, then leans in even closer, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. "There’s an empty room upstairs. Third door on the left, go up in a few minutes. I’ll follow right after so no one notices."

He pulls back, sliding his hand slowly along your waist before disappearing into the crowd. You wait a few minutes, taking a sip of your drink to calm your nerves, but it barely helps — the ache between your legs only grows with every passing second. After exactly five minutes, you head up the stairs and find the third door already slightly ajar. You step inside with shaky, anticipatory breaths.

Moments later, Heeseung appears. He closes the door firmly behind him and locks it.

The second the lock clicks, he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way his mouth crashes against yours in a hungry, intense kiss. He bites your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth, then does it again harder just to hear you whimper.

His hands slide down to grip your ass firmly under the dress, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you flush against him, letting you feel the hard outline of his cock through his pants.

"Fuck, this ass feels even better than it looks in that dress," he growls against your mouth, squeezing harder and spreading your cheeks. The kiss deepens, his tongue dominating yours while he continues kneading and groping your ass like he can’t get enough.

Heeseung’s mischievous smirk returns when he hears you moan into the kiss. He doesn’t break it as he walks you backward toward the bed. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, he pushes you down and climbs on top of you.

A string of saliva connects his lips to yours when he pulls back to strip your dress off in one quick motion, leaving you in just your bra and panties, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in every inch of your body.

"Look at you… such a pretty little slut, all dressed up for who? For me?" His hands make quick work of unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before he drags your panties down your legs and throws them away too, leaving you completely naked and exposed for him.

With a firm hand, Heeseung spreads your legs wide, getting a perfect view of your glistening, dripping pussy. "Already so wet for me, but it’s not enough." Suddenly he leans down and spits directly on your pussy, the warm string of saliva hitting your clit and dripping down your folds. The sight makes his rock-hard cock twitch inside his pants so he does it again, spitting a second time, then spreads it with two fingers, rubbing the wetness all over. "Gonna get this pussy nice and sloppy for me."

You moan loudly at the filthy feeling of his saliva sliding through your folds — hips jerk while your pussy clenches around nothing.

Heeseung drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, deliberate stroke that makes you gasp. When you do, he laughs against you — the vibration sending shivers through your entire body.

"You taste so fucking good," he says before diving back in. He eats you out messily, his tongue swirling around your clit before dipping down to push inside you, savoring every drop of your arousal mixed with his spit.

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly as the overwhelming sensation hits you. "Heeseung, that feels incredible…"

He keeps going, licking deeper inside you while his nose brushes against your clit, but suddenly he pulls back, looking up at you with a devilish smirk. Without warning, he brings his hand down in a sharp, wet slap against your soaked pussy, the sting mixed with pleasure makes you cry out loudly. "Holy fuck, Heeseung."

"You like that too?" He slaps your pussy again, harder this time, hitting your folds and swollen clit. "Such a dirty girl, getting even wetter when I slap this pretty pussy."

"Yes— God, yes," you moan, thighs trembling. "It burns, but it feels so good at the same time."

That encourages him to give you another slap and right after, he buries his face between your legs again, sucking hard on your clit while two thick fingers push inside you. He fingers you mercilessly, curling them to hit that sweet spot over and over as his tongue works your clit. "Fuck, you’re so tight. Taking my fingers like a good little slut for me."

He spits on your clit again, spreading the saliva with his tongue before adding a third finger, stretching you deliciously while pumping them faster and harder. All you can do is moan, your thighs shaking violently around his head. "Heeseung, I’m getting close… please don’t stop."

He obeys, alternating between long licks, hard sucks on your clit, deep thrusts of his fingers, and firm slaps that make your pussy burn and throb. "I’m gonna come," you moan, arching your back off the bed.

"Then come for me." Your entire body tenses, your walls clenching hard around his fingers as spasms rip through you. You come hard with a loud cry, thighs trembling violently around his head. But Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking and fingering you through every pulse, drawing out your pleasure until you’re oversensitive and whimpering.

When he finally pulls back with glossy lips and chin, he kisses you again so you can taste yourself on his tongue. "Get on your knees for me," he commands against your lips. "I want that pretty mouth around my cock."

It’s time to put into practice what Sunghoon taught you about sucking dick.

With a confident little smile, you gently push him so he lies on his back. Once he does, you position yourself between his legs and reach for his belt, slowly unbuckling it. He lifts his hips to help as you pull his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It springs up thick, hard, and leaking precum, making your mouth water at the sight.

You wrap one hand around the base of his cock, lean in, and press a soft kiss to the tip before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside, drawing a shaky breath from Heeseung. "That’s it… suck me like a good girl."

Feeling confident, you take him into your mouth and slowly suck on the head, swirling your tongue around it while savoring the precum there. Then you take him deeper, bobbing your head as your hand strokes what doesn’t fit, your movements growing smoother as you find the right rhythm. "Fuck… your mouth feels so good."

His praise encourages you to take him even deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, making you gag. A wet choking sound escapes as your eyes water, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you stay there for a moment, breathing through your nose the way Sunghoon taught you, before sliding back up and sinking down again.

Heeseung grabs your hair and tightens his grip as a needy groan escapes his throat. "Shit, that’s… ahh—"

You keep going, moving your head faster and sucking harder while your hand twists around the base, making his thighs tense and another desperate moan slip out.

It’s hard to believe that Heeseung, the guy everyone on campus talks about, the one with a reputation for being experienced and dominant, is moaning and whimpering under your mouth. It’s unexpected, but not in a bad way, especially because your pussy clenches around nothing every time he makes those sounds.

You pull back a little, sucking on the head while stroking him faster with your hand, which draws another broken moan from him. "Yes— fuck, yes, baby."

Wanting to pull even more reactions from him, you take him deep into your mouth again, gagging softly around his length as your head moves faster. Saliva drips down his entire shaft and onto your hand, making everything slick and messy.

Heeseung’s moans grow louder, breathier, and more frequent. "Fuck, I… I’m gonna come. Please don’t stop… I’m so close, baby."

You moan around him and suck harder until his thighs start to tremble. "Fuck… fuck—!" His voice cracks as the orgasm finally hits him.

His cock pulses hot and hard on your tongue, releasing thick jets of cum into your mouth. You try to swallow as much as you can, continuing to suck him through every last spasm and moan.

When you finally pull off his cock with a wet pop, Heeseung moves fast. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you — the whimpering guy from moments ago is gone. Now his eyes are filled with raw hunger.

"I’m not done with you yet." With a firm hand, he spreads your thighs, exposing your dripping pussy, begging to be fucked. "Now I’m going to fuck you properly."

You blink at him, confused and surprised by the sudden shift because seconds ago he was moaning and almost begging under your mouth, and now he’s trying to act like the dominant guy everyone talks about.

He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance, rubbing it up and down your wet folds, coating himself with your arousal. Without warning, he thrusts into you hard in one brutal stroke, stretching you around his thick length.

The sudden fullness makes you cry out loudly, your back arching off the bed. "Oh my God — Heeseung!" The stretch feels so good, especially while you’re still sensitive from coming earlier.

He fucks you hard and deep from the very first thrust, his hips slamming against yours with relentless strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, this pussy is so wet and greedy," he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy kiss while one of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. He holds it for a few seconds before loosening his grip, letting you gasp for air. "Look at you, sucking my cock like a good little slut. You love being used like this, don’t you?"

"Yes, fuck, yes," you moan, your voice breaking under the pressure of his hand. "You’re so deep inside me. It feels so good, Heeseung."

He chokes you again, a little harder this time, and the mix of pleasure and lack of air makes your head spin deliciously.

Heeseung pushes your legs back toward your chest, folding you in half so he can fuck you even deeper. The new angle makes his cock hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, causing your eyes to roll back.

When he finally releases your throat, you gasp desperately for air, moaning loudly as he keeps hitting that sweet spot over and over. "Please… harder. I can take it."

Heeseung lets out a needy groan at your words, his hips stuttering for half a second before he gives you exactly what you asked for. He fucks you harder, rougher, driving his cock into you with punishing depth. The sound of skin slapping against skin grows louder and wetter as he pounds into you, pressing your body into the mattress.

Just as your next orgasm starts to build, he suddenly slows down, keeping his cock buried deep inside you but barely moving. "Not yet. You don’t get to come until I say so, slut."

You whine desperately, trying to lift your hips for more friction. "Please, Heeseung… I need to come. I’m so close already. Don’t stop— I’ve been so good."

He smirks wickedly, shaking his head as he starts thrusting with slow, teasing rolls of his hips. "Beg better than that, baby. I want to hear how badly you need it."

You’re a complete mess underneath him, tears of frustration and pleasure gathering in your eyes. "Please… I’ll be so good for you. Just let me come on your cock, please. I need it so bad— I can’t take this teasing anymore."

Heeseung groans, but the sound turns into a needy moan as your walls clench around him. He starts fucking you harder again, his hand returning to your throat. But he isn’t done teasing you yet, so he edges you two more times — bringing you right to the brink with deep, brutal thrusts only to slow down and leave you whimpering and empty.

On the third time, you’re crying and babbling nonstop. "Heeseung… please, I can’t take it anymore. It hurts so good… I need to come. I’ll do anything you want. Just let me come on your cock."

"Fuck… you look so pretty when you beg," he groans, his voice rough with his own need to come. He thrusts into you with brutal force, tightening his hand around your throat again while his hips move relentlessly. "Come then. Come all over my cock like the desperate slut you are. Let me feel you."

Your entire body seizes underneath him. Your walls clamp down hard around his thick cock, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you soak his cock and the sheets beneath you, screaming his name.

Heeseung fucks you through your orgasm, groaning as your pussy milks him. "Fuck, that’s it. Good girl… you’re squeezing me so tight." A few more brutal, deep thrusts and he buries himself as deep as possible, coming hard inside you with thick, hot pulses.

Lying under him with your heart racing and breath coming in short, heavy bursts, his cock still buried deep inside you, your mind keeps returning to the sounds he made minutes ago — those desperate, broken moans and whimpers when you had him in your mouth.

Something about hearing him lose control like that makes heat pool low in your belly. After a few seconds of hesitation, you gather your courage, place a hand on his chest, and push him gently but firmly. "My turn to break you now. I want to hear you moaning under me." You say as you swing your leg over his waist, straddling him.

Heeseung’s breath hitches as his cock, already hardening again beneath you, shows just how much he likes the shift in power. "Baby… fuck," he gasps, his hands reaching for your hips.

"Don’t touch unless I say so." You slap his hands away, then wrap your fingers around his thick cock, stroking him slowly and teasingly while rubbing the head up and down your cum-soaked pussy. "Look at you. The captain of the basketball team. Everyone on campus thinks you’re this untouchable stud who ruins girls and never gets ruined."

You sink down onto him in one slow motion, taking every inch until your ass meets his thighs — the stretch making both of you moan. You stay completely still, clenching around him just to watch him squirm, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. Then you start moving your hips slowly, rubbing your clit against his pelvis. "Ahh— fuck… please don’t tease me."

You begin riding his cock properly, using everything you learned — deep movements, tight squeezes, and powerful bounces that make your ass slap against his thighs and your clit grind deliciously against his pelvis.

"Fuck, baby," he hisses, his hands flying to your hips, but you grab his wrists and push them away. You lean down so your breasts brush against his chest and his cock hits even deeper. "Don’t touch. Just take this pussy like a good boy. Got it, captain?"

Heeseung’s cock twitches hard inside you at your words, and a low, surprised moan escapes his throat. "Shit… yes," he groans, clearly turned on by the way you dominate him. "Use me, baby. Fuck me."

So this was the real Heeseung? A whimpering mess when someone takes control. All that arrogance on the court, all those girls throwing themselves at him, and here he is — moaning and shaking underneath you like he can’t handle how good your pussy feels around him.

You watch every reaction closely, mesmerized by the way his lips part, his breath coming in short, needy gasps every time you bounce and grind on him, and the broken moans slipping from his throat when you clench hard around his cock.

'God, he really is a whimperer,' you think, amazed by the sight as you bite your lip and ride him harder. "All that reputation and you’re crying because a girl is riding you. That’s kind of pathetic… but so fucking hot."

Heeseung lets out another broken moan, his hands desperately gripping the sheets since you won’t let him touch you. "Fuck— you’re killing me. Your pussy feels too good, I can’t… ah— slow down a little, please."

You laugh softly and keep riding him mercilessly, clenching around his cock rhythmically, rolling your hips in tight, dirty circles while bouncing faster and faster, making sure he feels every movement. "You’re going to take this like a good boy, captain."

Heeseung moans louder, letting his head fall back against the pillow as his body trembles beneath you. "Shit, you’re so mean. Please don’t stop. Your pussy is squeezing me so tight— fuck, I’m losing my mind."

You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs so he has the perfect view of his cock disappearing into your dripping pussy. "Look how deep you are," you moan, rolling your ass on him in small, obscene movements. "You like watching me use your cock like this, don’t you? Such a big, strong captain… and now you’re moaning under me."

The pleasure and the delicious sight of the untouchable Heeseung moaning and whimpering push you toward your own orgasm. "I’m gonna come," you gasp, leaning down to kiss him messily while still bouncing on his cock. "And you’re going to come with me, crybaby."

Heeseung moans loudly, the nickname making his cock twitch hard inside you. "Fuck… I’m coming!" His hips buck up to meet your bounces as thick jets of cum spill deep inside you once again.

You follow right behind him, your orgasm crashing over you as you keep riding him through both of your peaks, milking every last drop from his cock.

"Don’t tell anyone about this," he begs breathlessly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That I’m… like this. Please. This is our secret, okay? Just between us."

────────

Jake’s hands grip your hips tightly, you clench around his cock and roll your hips in those filthy, perfected movements. His broken moans fill the room as you bounce faster, grinding harder against him. Suddenly, your phone starts ringing on the nightstand, Ni-ki’s name lighting up the screen.

You slow your movements, reaching over to answer the call while still sitting on Jake’s cock. "Hey," you sigh, slightly breathless.

Jake groans, his hips twitching desperately. "Babe… please don’t stop," his voice is full of need. "I was so close… keep going, please."

You cover his mouth with your hand to silence him to continue the call. Ni-ki sounds frustrated on the other end. "You free right now? We lost tonight and I’m pissed. Come to my dorm… I need that pretty pussy to help me forget this shit game."

"I can come over soon," you say, trying to keep your voice steady while rolling your hips on Jake. "Give me a bit."

"Good. Don’t take too long. I really need to fuck you," Ni-ki says before hanging up.

You drop the phone and start riding Jake again. "Sorry about that. Now be a good boy and come for me.

Later that night, you’re on all fours in Ni-ki’s dorm as he fucks you hard from behind. His hips slam against your ass with deep, aggressive thrusts.

In the middle of a particularly rough stroke, he suddenly asks, "I saw you leaving the hockey rink the other day. What the hell were you doing there?"

You moan and push back to meet his thrusts. "None of your business."

Ni-ki’s hand comes down hard on your ass with a loud smack. The sharp sting makes you clench around his cock and moan louder. He slaps you again, even harder. "Wrong answer."

"Again," you moan, arching your back. "I like it."

Ni-ki laughs darkly and keeps spanking you repeatedly while fucking you harder, his palm leaving red marks on your ass as he pounds into you until both of you come hard.

The next afternoon, you’re on your knees in Jay’s dorm with his huge cock stretching your mouth as you suck him. Jay has one hand gently stroking your hair, looking down at you with proud eyes.

"You’re doing so well. Taking me so deep like this… you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth, angel."

You relax your throat, taking him as deep as you can, sucking harder, using every technique you’ve learned. Jay groans, his fingers sliding gently through your hair.

"Fuck… you’re incredible. Such a good girl for me. Keep going, you’re making me feel so good."

He keeps praising you the whole time, soft and sincere, until he finally comes down your throat with a soft, shaky groan, lovingly stroking your cheek as you swallow everything.

When you leave Jay’s room, still a little flushed and disheveled, you run straight into Sunghoon in the hallway. He looks at you, then at Jay’s door behind you, and his expression darkens instantly.

"What the fuck were you doing in there?"

You don’t answer, trying to walk past him, but he doesn’t let you. Sunghoon grabs your wrist and pulls you into his own dorm, slamming the door behind you. He fucks you hard and jealous, bending you over the desk, taking you from behind with brutal, possessive thrusts.

"You’ve been fucking everyone lately, haven’t you?" he growls, driving deep and angry. "Greedy little slut."

You moan loudly, loving the jealous tone in his voice.

During the rough thrusts, your phone starts vibrating on the desk — it’s Heeseung sending message after message.

Heeseung:

I can’t stop thinking about that night with you.

Come over.

Baby, answer me.

I know you’re getting these.

Don’t play games with me.

Stop fucking ignoring me.

Sunghoon notices the constant buzzing, picks up the phone, uses your face to unlock it, and opens the chat. With a dark, possessive smile, he takes a photo of your flushed, teary-eyed, moaning face while he fucks you hard from behind and sends it to Heeseung with the caption: "She’s busy."

He tosses the phone aside and fucks you even harder after that.

────────

You finally understand why Heeseung never wants to be tied to just one person. Having options is liberating. Jake, Sunghoon, Jay, Ni-ki, and Heeseung — each one offers something different: different rhythms, different kinds of pleasure, different versions of yourself. You don’t have to choose just one because you can have them all. Now you understand Heeseung’s lifestyle — it’s freeing.

And you realize you want that freedom too.

Thank you for reading! and a special thanks to everyone who asked to be tagged <3

“I just love him,” your sister sighs dreamily. 

To any sane person passing through your living room, it might sound like she’s talking about a lover. Someone who knows she exists. Someone who reciprocates the pathetic yearning in her voice. But no. From where the two of you sit, side by side on the couch, her eyes are locked on a complete stranger on the television, rubbing the stomach of a grumpy black cat.

She’s made you sit through a playlist of ENHYPEN content for hours now, a new EN-O'CLOCK episode playing one after the other. Your sister stretches out a hand toward the screen like she’s about to caress it and you cringe out of secondhand embarrassment. 

“Tomorrow’s the day,” she whispers, voice soft. “When we see each other again…”

You feel a sharp chill down your spine. She’s talking about a concert. One that she’s dragging you to because she has no one else to go with. “Sophia,” you say carefully. “You know you don’t actually know him, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “What are you talking about? I literally video-called him the other day.”

You blink at her. “Yeah... because you bought seven hundred copies of their stupid album—”

She waves a dismissive hand. “But he always recognizes me! He knows my name.”

You swallow back a sigh. Of course, he does. Anyone would, if the same girl showed up to every fan meeting, concert, and award show. “Whatever you say,” you mumble underneath your breath.

Moving back home after college wasn't supposed to be like this. Being forced against your will to watch a bunch of grown men throw each other into a pool, while you wait to hear back on job applications. You love your sister, truly. But she’s also a full-grown adult who spends her free time following around a K-pop idol who wouldn’t care if she lived or died. 

Lee Heeseung.

You didn’t mean to remember his name, but now even hearing it makes your eye twitch. It’s not that you hate him, exactly. Maybe resent is the right word? That whole group, really. So cocky. So sure of themselves. Basking in the screams of girls like Sophia, who would throw their whole life savings just to catch a glimpse of them.

“And when I see him tomorrow,” she murmurs, almost in a daze. “He'll fall in love with me.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort. “How are you planning to make that happen? You gonna bring a book and start reading it by the barricade while he performs?”

You're joking. Clearly. But when she actually looks at you, thoughtful and serious, your smile falls. “Should I?”

–

“So… what do you think?” 

Heeseung tries to keep his voice steady, but nevertheless, it wavers from his desperation. Across the small meeting room, his manager studies him with an unreadable expression. Just a few minutes ago, he gave a presentation to a room full of executives on a project he’d spent the past few months working on in between grueling schedules. Writing, producing, and choreographing a solo album. All his. 

“It’s good,” Manager Jung admits, breaking the silence. “Everyone knows you’re fully capable of doing this.”

Heeseung smiles, relief starting to stir within him. “Thank you.”

“But..." his manager continues softly, "I don’t know if everyone else thinks so.” 

The older male takes a deep breath. “They’re worried that a solo album might mean… you’re having ambitions beyond ENHYPEN.”

Heeseung's eyes widen, shaking his head even before Manager Jung finishes speaking. It’s just something he wanted to try. Something beyond his comfort zone that he could call his own. “I’m not going anywhere,” Heeseung continues. “I’m committed to the group. I promise.”

The older male reaches across the table and places a reassuring hand on the idol's shoulder. “I know,” his manager says firmly. “And I’ll make sure they know too. Just focus on tomorrow’s concert, okay? Stay out of trouble, keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll let you know when they make a decision.”

When Manager Jung leaves, the laptop in front of him still glows with the first slide of Heeseung's presentation. His stare lingers on it for far too long before closing the screen. 

Heeseung exhausted all his energy on demos and concept ideas, spending sleepless nights convincing himself he was good enough to be called an artist instead of just an idol. He had hoped for something more concrete from Manager Jung. Some kind of yes, or at least a maybe. But "I'll let you know" never really means anytime soon in this industry.

–

It’s absolutely miserable in the pit of the concert. The people behind you are using your shoulder as a tripod. Their massive Canon lenses that they managed to sneak in are resting against you. Though you want to whip your head around and tell them off, you also don’t want to get mobbed by a bunch of rabid fans.

Your sister spends the whole setlist admiring only Heeseung, ignoring a high-five from Jake when he passed by your section. Though you secretly judge her, you still let yourself enjoy the free ticket. Before you know it, the whole arena is sobbing as the ENHYPEN members share their closing remarks. 

All you can think about is traffic. And whether your sister would be open to getting takeout after. You haven't eaten for hours...

Heeseung clears his throat into the mic. He’s wearing a simple white graphic tee and hoodie, dark shades hiding his eyes. Beads of sweat glisten on his forehead under the stage lights. Damn it. He does look good.

“I really love the stage,” Heeseung says softly. “I’m so happy to receive everyone’s love and support. I hope we can continue to be with you, ENGENEs, for the rest of our lives.”

The audience roars in agreement. He stands there, trying his best to take it all in. But his mind keeps going back to the tracks sitting unfinished on his computer. The ideas that might never make it past the studio. God, he wants it to work out so bad.

–

“Are you insane?!” you hiss, nearly tripping over nothing as your sister drags you down a dark path behind the arena. The sewer nearby emanates a foul stench. “The concert ended like half an hour ago!”

She rolls her eyes like you’re the overdramatic one. “They do a send-off, idiot. I need to find a way in before they leave.”

You stare at her with bulging eyes. You're almost tempted to call your parents. Or the police. Anyone who could talk some sense into her. “Why can’t you be like the other weirdos and just wait by their vans?”

She lets go of you to march toward a set of double doors barely lit by one overhead bulb. You swear a rat just ran across your peripheral vision.

“This is ridiculous,” you huff, arms folding tight across your chest. “Please. Can we just go home?!”

Sophia stops, turns to you, and dangles her car keys in front of your face. “Unless you want to take a bus or walk all the way back, I suggest you keep watch.”

She doesn't spare you a glance, testing the door handle. It creaks open. "You can't be serious…"

“I’ll text you when it’s over,” she squeals in delight. “Call me if security shows up.”

“Sophia—”

But the door slams shut before you can grab her. She’s gone, and you don't follow her in. Your conscience won’t let you. You glance around, senses heightened when you glance at a few shifting shadows in the corner of your eye. Your phone screen glares back at you. Low battery. Great.

So, with a resigned sigh, you slump down on the cold concrete just outside the metal door, hugging yourself as you sit beneath the buzz of the overhead light.

–

“Send-off is in two minutes,” the tour coordinator calls out. “Please make sure you’ve grabbed all your stuff. We’ll be heading straight to the vans right after.”

The boys nod. Heeseung checks his bag. Lip balm, cologne, portable charger… All there. He zips it closed and hands it off to a staff member, who disappears down the hall and towards the vans.

Through the barricade ahead, he can already see the crowd of ENGENEs gathering with signs and phones raised. He smiles instinctively. Because no matter how tired you are after a concert, you can’t show it. These fans have to think you’re invincible.

As he steps out and begins making his way down the crowd, he stops to sign a few photocards and pose for selfies. He’s good at this. Always warm. Always approachable. Flirty. The version of himself they all want to see. But halfway through, a sinking feeling tugs at his subconscious. Like he’s forgotten something. Something important.

“Heeseung! What’s your favorite photo on your camera roll?” a fan calls out, holding up a phone to record him eagerly. He blinks, caught off guard. He saved a funny meme earlier. A photo of a dog he sent to the group chat. He reaches for his back pocket. Nothing. Front pocket. Still nothing. 

And then it hits him. 

He tells the boys after he’s interacted with as many fans as he could that he left his phone behind. “Make it quick,” a staff member tells him in passing. “We’ll send a different car to get you by the back entrance.”

He nods, sprinting back through the glass doors. Relief washes over him when he finds his phone exactly where he remembers leaving it. On a table in the changing room. 

Heeseung spots the green EXIT sign shortly after, pushing the heavy door open. It doesn’t budge. He frowns, pushing again. Harder this time. BANG.

“OW—”

Heeseung freezes. What was that?

He steps out into the humid summer night and jumps at the sight of a shadowy figure on the ground, groaning. Rushing forward, he kneels beside the figure. You look like a fan. A fan, he just slammed a door into. Heeseung's brain short-circuits when he sees a smear of red. Blood. On your forehead. “Oh my god,” he says under his breath. “D-did I just hit you?”

“No,” you snap, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure my head just hit the door all by itself—”

His pulse quickens and his career flashes before his eyes. Manager Jung’s words resound in his head. Stay out of trouble. “Not good,” Heeseung mumbles. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening." He stands up, pacing back and forth like a maniac. 

“Chivalry is dead,” you mutter, sitting up on your palms without his assistance. The nerve to not even apologize! What a dick.

You squint up at him, your vision starting to clear under the flickering light. Blondish hair. Hoodie. Shades pushed down enough to catch a glimpse of big doe eyes. Familiar. But not actually.

“Heeseung?” you say slowly. His name barely leaves your lips until he’s shushing you, holding his hands up in a prayer position, and looking around with a horrified expression.

“Please,” he begs. “You can come to our fansign next week if you don’t scream my name-”

You scoff. “I don’t want your autograph, you freak,” you reply harshly. 

Heeseung realizes then how badly his words came out. Like he was offering hush money. He scans you, guilt twisting his stomach. But what were you even doing here in the first place? Were you a stalker? He shakes his head. There's no time to think about it now because your bleeding hasn’t stopped, and your eyes start to glaze over. He leans back down in a panic.

“Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” he asks hurriedly, as the headlights of a black van make their way towards you two. He points at the car. “We can take you. Just please don’t tell anyone—”

“Screw you,” you mumble through your lightheadedness. “Sophia… I need to see Sophia…”

“Who’s Sophia?” he asks, crouching to grab your wrists. He urges you to keep talking, just in case you lose consciousness. "Do you hear me?"

“My sister,” you groan, tsking at his impatience. He helps you stand, your weight falling against his chest. 

Heeseung sees you better now, up close and under the dim light. You’re pretty. Like, really pretty. ‘Definitely not the time,’ he scolds himself.

“What happened?” the driver asks through a rolled-down window. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No,” Heeseung says quickly. “There might be cameras. Let’s go to the hospital.”

The driver hesitates, then nods. Together, they get you into the passenger seat. Heeseung shuts the door behind you, exhaling sharply. This van was a backup, meant to carry all of the boys' stage outfits. There’s barely room for one person to sit, let alone two. He tries his best to squeeze in beside you, but his shoulder presses against yours all the same.

“Who is this?” the driver asks hesitantly. Heeseung doesn’t know how to respond. Because really, he doesn’t know either.

“Um…” he starts, shifting his gaze to you. “What’s your name?”

You click your tongue, saying it sharply.

“Nice to meet you,” he laughs nervously. “Please don’t hate me.”

You glare at him, unable to even find the energy to roll your eyes. Nausea floods your senses. “Too late,” you mumble, slowly drifting off. 

“Hey, no!” Heeseung snaps his fingers in front of you and gulps. “Stay awake.”

He’s done for. Absolutely done for. He's going to be all over X tomorrow. His solo album will be trashed with all the other songs he’s submitted in the past. Fuck. He heaves out a deep breath and leans in close to you, your eyes suddenly shooting wide open.

“Get away, you creep!” you manage, pushing weakly at his chest.

“Relax! I’m just...” His voice drifts off, giving up any semblance of a productive conversation. When he reaches past you carefully, you tense as you breathe in his scent. A mix of sweat and citrus. “Just let me put your seat belt on for you.”

–

“It’s not a concussion,” the doctor says calmly. “Just a surface-level injury. She should be fine.”

Manager Jung nods. He arrived minutes after Heeseung called and despite being flustered, he immediately secured a more private examination room before anyone could recognize him. 

Heeseung hasn't left your side. He can't. He feels too guilty to leave you alone, with the left side of your forehead all bandaged because of him. The rest of the boys were covering for his absence at their post-concert staff celebration back at the company. He didn’t even know if he could show his face to all of them right now.

“That’s... good to hear,” Heeseung says with a smile, immediately faltering as he meets your sharp gaze. 

“Then why do I feel like throwing up?” you ask dryly.

“You mentioned you were in the front row of the concert, right? Probably fatigue or dehydration.”

Your face warms. You did say that. But only when Heeseung was in the bathroom and far, far away from you. You sneak a glance at him now, and sure enough, you catch the faint twitch of a smirk on his lips. Great. Now you look overdramatic. 

“Can I go?” you mutter, not bothering to hide the impatience in your voice. 

“Yes,” the doctor replies kindly. “But please make sure to monitor your symptoms. If you feel any loss of consciousness within the next few days, please come back immediately.”

Heeseung’s manager follows her outside to finish some paperwork, and the two of you are left in an awkward silence. While you text your sister, Heeseung watches you like a hawk with his shades pushed up into his hair. The moment he sees you open a social media page is the moment he’d step in.

Apparently, Sophia was caught trying to sneak into the send-off. She didn’t even get to see the boys. As you’re about to send her the hospital’s address, Heeseung clears his throat.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally lets out, soft like how he spoke during the concert. Perfectly media trained. “I really didn’t mean to—”

“Save it,” you sigh, still in a bad mood. You can tell when someone puts on a customer service voice from a mile away. “I’m not gonna say anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His ears flush pink. Because, yeah. That is what he’s worried about. To him, staying with you was basic common decency. But still, he knows how it could look. The internet dissects everything. One photo, one rumor, and suddenly he’s being accused of favoritism. Or worse. Dating a fan.

Still, he studies you. You don’t seem like you were trying to ambush him. You don't seem like a fan at all. You’re too irritated with his presence, like he disrupted you rather than the other way around. Isn’t it usually a stalker’s plan to run into their favorite celebrity? But, he guesses it’s best not to ask questions.

“We kind of need that in writing, actually,” he mumbles shyly. “My manager… he brought the paperwork. We can compensate you for all this.”

“Wow,” you drag sarcastically. “Lucky me!”

Right on cue, a knock comes from the other side of the door. “Heeseung,” Manager Jung's voice comes out muffled. “Have her sign the form, and let’s head out soon. Wear your mask when you leave.”

You turn your gaze to him, who’s looking at you sheepishly. He’s holding out a folded packet of paper with a pen clipped to the front. You tug it from his hands, signing your initials and name on whatever is highlighted in yellow. Like you were even in the right state of mind to fill out this damn NDA. 

Could you sue them for this? Probably. But you’re too tired to care and the money they offered was enough for you to take without complaint. You just want to go back home. 

“So...” he starts cautiously, breaking the silence as you reach the last page. “You’re an ENGENE?”

“No,” you reply flatly, hoping to tick him off. “I probably never will be now.”

He raises a brow, skeptical. “You’re not? Then what were you doing, front row, at our concert?”

You scoff. “Being forced against my will to listen to grown men sing about being vampires,” you state with disdain.

“Funny ‘cause I swear I heard you screaming my name at the barricade—” Heeseung’s bluffing. He has to be. He couldn’t have heard your moment of weakness during that one part of his in Teeth… could he?

“Shut up,” you grumble, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He tries to hide his smirk. Because he didn’t see you. Not at all. Just wanted to tease you, but he doesn't quite know why. Really, Heeseung should be exhausted by now, his body aching from hours of performing on stage. But instead of resting, he’s here. With a girl who clearly wants nothing to do with him. He’s glad you don’t.

“You’re lucky I signed this thing,” you say, flipping the packet back to its first page. 

“The offer still stands, you know?” he says lightly. “You can come to our fansign event.” Before you can think of a clever comeback, his phone buzzes.

“Shit.” Heeseung scans the screen, jaw tightening.

“What?” you ask, cautiously. 

“Fans are swarming the waiting room,” he mutters. “Someone must’ve seen the van.”

“Don’t you have bodyguards to escort you out?”

“We didn’t bring security,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought that would be more lowkey…” Apparently not.

Your eyes dart to Heeseung's face, watching him carefully. You wonder if he's always looked like this or if stage lights and video editing were just that good at masking the dark circles underneath his eyes. He looks tired, defeated even. Like he’s used to this. He scrolls through X, searching for his name. And there it is:

enhaluvbot: heeseung went to the hospital straight after the concert i hope he's ok ;_;

No mention of you. No photos. Nothing that could jeopardize his career. His solo. For now. That’s all that matters. Your phone buzzes next. You glance at the message, eye already twitching.

big sis: heeseung’s in the hospital. i’m staking out to see him. just take a taxi home so i can make sure he’s ok :<

You stare at the screen, mouth open in disbelief. Did she not care if you, her younger sister, were okay? You don’t have your wallet. Your phone’s battery is almost drained. And now your ride home is outside the hospital, probably crouching behind a trash can for a glimpse of the same guy standing in front of you. Fuck this.

“I’m leaving,” Heeseung says suddenly, zipping up his hoodie. “Is your sister on her way?”

“Oh, she’s here,” you say solemnly. “Just... not for me.” 

He gives you a confused look. You don’t elaborate.

“This is really dumb of me to ask,” you start, your voice quieter now. The most docile you’ve been with him since you met just two hours prior. He leans in slightly to hear you better. 

“Would it be weird if I asked whether you could help get me a taxi?”

Heeseung scratches his head. Any company executive would be screaming at him to say no. That any proof of him being with you tonight was a paper trail he could not erase. But he looks at you, bandaged and exhausted. He swallows hard. What kind of person would he be to leave you here to fend for yourself? He’s the reason you’re even here in the first place.

He lets out a deep breath, slipping his mask on and bringing his shades down to rest on his nose. He’ll break the rules just this once. 

“Let’s just ride together.”

–

The two of you slip out of the hospital through the back. A taxi, called with specific instructions from Heeseung, waits near the side entrance. 

“Please drop her off first,” Heeseung tells him, settling into the back seat with the middle unoccupied between you two. “Then take me to this address.”

Back to the company, to the post-concert celebration he’s already late for. 

The driver squints at you both from the rearview mirror. Heeseung’s face is hidden behind his mask and shades in the dead of night. The left side of your forehead is wrapped in a bandage that’s bled through just a little. 

“Wow, HYBE! Are you an idol, sir?”

You snort before you can stop yourself, and Heeseung shoots you a tiny glare. A stupid idea pops into your head, the opportunity too good to pass up.

“No,” you sigh dramatically. “Please don’t misunderstand! He’s actually really ugly under the mask. Could never be an idol. He just dresses like this for fun.” 

Heeseung turns his head so fast you can hear the sharp rustle of his hoodie. You try to bite back a grin.

“We’re just visiting the company,” you continue with an exaggeratedly sweet tone. “You know BTS? He LOVES them.”

Heeseung covers his mouth to hide the reddening of his cheeks, like his mask isn't already doing that for him. The taxi driver just nods awkwardly, not sure if it made sense for a fan to come to an entertainment company at this time of night. He’d be surprised, Heeseung thinks.

“And you, ma’am? Why are you bleeding?”

“I—”

“She fell,” he cuts in before you even have the chance to speak, exacting his revenge. “In front of hundreds of people. Everyone was pointing and laughing. It was really embarrassing, sir. You should’ve seen her!”

Now it’s your turn to glare at him. The driver chuckles, looking between you two.

“He thinks Jungkook is his best friend, sir,” you say again, eyes locked on Heeseung’s. “Has posters of him all over his room—”

“She tripped trying to steal candy from a kid,” Heeseung shoots back. “But the kid had a black belt in judo and pinned her down. He's six years old, by the way.” The two of you fire extravagant lies, one after the other. By then, the taxi driver had already tuned your voices out.

“Young love is nice, isn’t it?” he sighs, continuing to drive. “I remember when my wife and I started dating—”

Heeseung waves his hands frantically. “Oh, we’re not—”

“With him? As if—”

But both your protests fall on deaf ears. The driver’s phone rings, and he’s already talking to someone else. You slump back in your seat, upset that you weren’t able to correct him in time. Heeseung glances at your sulking figure and smiles behind his disguise.

It’s unsettling, but weirdly comforting, how you are with him. Like all pretenses were thrown out the window. You can't help but think the same. Never in your life did you expect a celebrity to be as petty as you.

“I’m so sorry, you two,” the driver says abruptly, snapping you both out of your thoughts. “I forgot to pick up my daughter from her friend’s place, so I need to head back immediately. Can I drop you both off at your address, sir? It’s closer.”

Heeseung blinks. “But she needs to get home. She’s injured.”

The driver shrugs his shoulders, flustered. “I’m sorry, but she’s waiting on me. There are other taxis in that area you can wave down.”

“Okay,” Heeseung says slowly, then turns to you. “Will you be okay?”

You just hold up your phone, dead and useless in your hand, as a reminder to him why you even rode together in the first place. You feel pathetic once more with what you’re about to request.

“Do you think I could borrow a charger?” you ask, cringing slightly. “Just for a little, so I can let my family know I’m on the way home.”

He smirks. “Borrow? Like we’re going to see each other again?”

You glare. “I’m literally bleeding,” you say, pointing at your forehead. The one he slammed into a door. Valid point, but there’s nothing he could do now.

“My bag isn’t with me.”

You both sigh, gazing up at the front of the HYBE building as it comes into view. Neither of you makes a move. Heeseung scratches his head and relents. So much for staying out of trouble.

“...Do you want to come up with me?” he asks softly, making sure the driver doesn’t hear. “You can charge your phone in one of the recording studios.”

–

The taxi drops you both off a block away from the company. Heeseung spots a few girls ahead, their eyes scanning every figure that walks into the building from the front entrance. He doesn’t recognize them. Not any of the usual fans that stalk ENHYPEN.

Still, he pulls his hood lower and moves fast. You follow close behind, head down. You two maneuver past them and slip through the side entrance of the dark building. Inside, sleek wooden panels and stone floors greet you. You manage to hide just behind Heeseung to be let in, bypassing the facial recognition software the whole place seems to have.

“This is insane,” you mutter, in awe of how futuristic it all is. Heeseung doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking like it’s normal. 

For him, it most likely is. Stopping in front of a door, he glances both ways down the hall before opening it. The inside of the room is almost enveloped in pitch darkness, save for a floor lamp in the corner. You enter behind him, the control panel full of blinking LEDs and buttons that look too complicated to touch. The recording booth was on the other side of a glass window. 

Heeseung practically lived in this room for the better part of the year, recording new melodies for ENHYPEN’s music. And sometimes, he’d be in here at the dead of night to test new sounds he wanted to try in his own self-produced tracks.

“I’ll grab you a charger,” he says, then hesitates. “Can I trust you to head out after you’re done?”

You shrug. “No promises,” you say, admiring the couch by the door. Velvet. You take a seat, making yourself comfortable. “I might have to record something before I go.”

He scoffs. “Just leave through the exit we came from. If you see anyone holding a camera, hide.”

Heeseung takes off his mask and sunglasses, examining them a little bit, before handing them to you. “Use these. Just in case.”

You take the items that smell faintly of his cologne and bite the inside of your cheek. Isn't this weirdly intimate?

“You really have to think about this kind of thing all the time?” you ask, cutting through the silence.

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. His lower back leans lightly against the couch's armrest, eyes on the floor. He's heard this too many times before. It’s not like he doesn’t know how ridiculous he sounded. How he has to constantly hide wherever he goes and whoever he’s with. 

He shakes his head. “Not always. Most days, we don’t get bothered. We aren't at that level of popularity. Maybe at the airport. But that’s just what being an idol is about.”

Still. You think about how different his life is from yours. From the fancy ass buildings to the stalkers-in-waiting. It must be exhausting, having to keep up appearances. 

“This shouldn’t be normal for anyone,” you whisper, surprisingly tender. You look at him and guilt riddles you. Your sister and her far-from-normal tendencies led you here in front of him… and she's part of the problem.

“No one should have to spend every moment of their life looking over their shoulder,” you continue. “Not even assholes like you.”

He laughs softly. You really lack a filter. “I love my job too much to worry about a few bad fans," he reasons. "If I weren’t doing this..."

Heeseung's voice drifts off, but his eyes find yours. "I’d be nothing.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Because somehow, the saddest thing you’ve ever heard is said with the happiest smile on his face. You don’t doubt that he was born for the idol life. It seemed like it on stage and even more so here. The way he shrugs off things that would break most people. Good for him, you think to yourself sadly. He has something you wish you had. Purpose.

“And you?” Heeseung asks suddenly. “Who are you?”

You never felt small throughout the few hours you’ve spent with him, but the question knocks the wind out of you a little. Because you don’t have an answer. “None of your business,” you say begrudgingly.

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Just a stalker.”

“Don't call me that,” you interrupt, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m not even a fan.”

“You’re not? Really?” He laughs almost out of disbelief. “We’re already past the point of lying, you can just—”

“I don’t like you,” you interrupt him plainly. “If my stupid sister didn’t drag me to your concert, I wouldn’t have even bothered to come watch a bunch of fuckboys sing shitty music they don’t even produce themselves…”

But your voice drifts off. Because you see how Heeseung's gaze intensifies, his brows furrowing in disappointment. He’s heard it all before. From people online, from accounts with no profile pictures pretending like they know exactly what kind of person he is. Standoffish. Cocky. Flirtatious. Disingenuous. That's all they say about him. And so do you.

“You don’t even know me,” he says, voice low.

“You’re right. But I’ve seen enough.”

Designer clothes. Girls groveling at his feet. Performances all over the world. His life is wonderful. There’s hordes of fans that support him every day, who would love him at his highest and lowest points in his life. He works in an industry that probably pays him more than you'll ever see in your lifetime. He’s set for life. 

Your back straightens from your seat on the couch as Heeseung walks toward you.

“I think you’d think differently of me if you actually tried to get to know me.”

“I don’t want to.”

He gives you a look. “What use do you get out of acting so hostile with me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Nothing, really. “I just don’t see what’s so good about you,” you mumble. It’s meant to be a joke, a slight dig at him. But still, he flinches.

Memories of his trainee days, of nights spent wondering if he should have just gone to college or do his military service early like his other friends, wash over him.  “Trust me,” he replies, throat dry. “I don’t either.”

And you wonder if you went too far. You typically do. You lower your gaze. “Sorry. Didn’t mean—”

He cuts you off. “Can’t we just start over from when I asked you who you were?” he sighs.

You look up at him and raise a brow. “Why does my opinion matter to you anyway?” you ask, genuinely. “I’m a nobody—”

“Well I want to get to know this nobody before I hand her my charger,” he cuts in.

You hesitate. He did do more for you tonight than Sophia did, at least. Maybe you owe him an honest and civil response. “...I'm still figuring it out.”

A silence falls between you two as Heeseung takes a seat next to you. He doesn’t quite look at you. "How come?"

You shrug. “Just graduated from university. Don’t have a full-time job yet. I was working at a restaurant for a while, but the pay was horrible. My sister’s a mess, my parents are up my ass.” You swallow back a bitter laugh. “Never really had the time for self-reflection.”

He watches you quietly, and you take it as permission to keep going. “I guess you can call me a coward,” you admit, voice low. “Felt like I missed my chance to do something great with my life. And now I feel like everyone else has already started their lives, and I’m…”

You don’t know why you’re saying all this. Maybe because he asked. Maybe because it’s the first time someone actually took the time to care. And maybe because he’s a stranger you’ll likely never see again.

It’s a bit embarrassing, though. Because you know the kind of person you’re speaking with. An idol. Someone who actually pursued their dreams. He wouldn’t get it. “So yeah,” you sigh. “Still figuring it out.”

He chuckles, and you almost give him a glare. But there’s a tenderness to his gaze that you can't quite place. 

“Aren’t we all?” Heeseung replies, finally looking at you. He was never very good at comforting others, but it's genuine. Because Heeseung understands you, more than he’d like to admit.

Because he doesn’t know when he ends and the idol version of him begins. As the oldest, Heeseung is supposed to be the dependable one. The mediator. The most experienced. So many responsibilities but so little time to remind himself why he even chose to be an idol. He only remembers when he’s on stage. 

You glance down at the mask and shades in your hand. Silence overtakes you both once again, and you fake a small cough. 

“How much do you think I can sell this online?” you ask, noticing that the sunglasses he's given you have a silver Prada logo on the side. He huffs out a quiet laugh and with a slight pause, he stands up from where he sat.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “I’ll get you a charger... and some food. Since you’re fatigued and everything.”

Your mouth parts slightly in shock. “You don’t have to.”

He smiles. “But I want to.”

You look up at him. He's handsome, really, even out of the stage lights.

–

Heeseung’s been stuck at the celebration longer than he intended, in his fifth round of empty small talk with some staff members. Every laugh, every congratulatory pat feels robotic because his mind keeps drifting back to the small recording studio three floors down. Back to you.

“You tired?” Jungwon asks, hand resting on his older member’s shoulder.

Heeseung nods, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Long day.”

An understatement. Jungwon only knew the surface of what happened after the concert. He doesn't know about your presence in this very building at this very moment. Fuck. He needs to get back to you. “I’m just going to head to the restroom for a bit,” Heeseung mutters, coughing into his fist. 

At the catering table, he grabs a couple of pastries. He stacks them neatly on a plate like a man starved. Then he slips toward the door, glancing over his shoulder. Behind him, he doesn't hear Jungwon mutter to Sunoo. “Why is he bringing all that to the restroom?”

Heeseung takes the stairs two at a time. By the time he reaches the recording studio, he’s half-expecting it to be empty. It isn’t. You’re still there. Slumped over the couch, head buried in your elbow on the armrest. Asleep. Or unconscious. For a moment, he panics. Should he be concerned? His hand hovers uncertainly before he shakes your shoulder gently. “Hey...”

You groan, shifting slightly in your sleep. Heeseung sighs in relief. 'Good,' he thinks to himself, 'you’re not dead.'

He sets the plate down on the table and plugs in your phone with the charger he retrieved. “So much for just charging your phone,” he says under his breath, more to himself than you.

He takes a seat on the rolling chair and spins around to look at you. Heeseung smiles, but stops himself. He wonders if any of this is okay. Being in this room with you. He shakes his head. Who is he kidding? None of this would ever be. Making up lies to a taxi driver, opening up to a complete stranger. But why did he find this kind of fun? Hanging out with you.

Every interaction of his is examined and scrutinized. No matter if he was talking in front of the camera, to fans, or even to other idols. But with you, it's almost easy. To be himself. You treat him like a person. A regular person. He misses that more than he realized. He used to be like everybody else. Used to pull all-nighters for high school exams, which he would still ultimately fail. Used to take on part-time jobs so he could afford the newest console games. 

The mundanity of his old life... sometimes he wishes for it back.He shakes his head again, trying to push the thoughts away. He unlocks his phone and types a quick message to Jungwon. ‘Leave before me. Don’t wait up.’

Then he puts it face down on the table. Heeseung sits there, admiring the steady rise and fall of your breathing. He reaches a hesitant hand out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyelashes flutter just a little. You are really pretty.

His mind screams at him to leave, to go back upstairs, and return to the familiarity of the staff that made this lifestyle possible. But Heeseung tells himself he’ll wait with you here until you wake up. He did injure you after all.

So he spins back around, types his password into the computer, and opens up a music file he’d been working on for the past three months. He doesn’t bother to put on a headset, just plays the track from start to finish. He’d get in so much trouble right now, playing this in front of you. But it’s okay, right? Anyway, you’re asleep—

“It sounds good,” you mutter groggily behind him. He whips the chair around back to you. Shit.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, pausing the track. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Keep playing,” you sigh into your arms. “I like it.” A flood of warmth coats Heeseung’s chest. You like it. He smiles, pressing play again, letting the song’s softness permeate the foam-padded walls. 

–

You sit up too fast when you wake up, your hand flying to the back of your neck as the stiffness settles in. Heeseung is slumped in his own chair. You almost scream, forgetting where you were. 

There’s a plate of food on the desk, most likely stale by now. Your heart skips a beat. He actually got you that? 

You double-tap the screen of your phone and see forty missed calls from your parents and Sophia. But what’s worse is the time. 8 a.m. You shoot up, grabbing your things, practically ripping the charger from the wall socket. Voices echo faintly from outside the room as panic surges through you. Staff are already at work. Were you seriously here all night?

Heeseung stirs. His eyes blink open, still heavy with sleep, until he sees your mortified face. He sits up. 

“I’m fucked,” you say under your breath, flashing him your screen. He leans forward, taking the phone in his hand to see it better. You try not to acknowledge how his fingers brush yours.

“No,” he gulps. “I’m fucked.” He slouches back into his chair. 

“How do I get out of here?” you say in a hushed tone as if the people outside would hear you through the soundproof walls.

Heeseung rubs his face. “Just walk out. No one’s going to notice. A lot of people work here.” He hesitates. “Me, on the other hand—”

His phone buzzes before he can finish. He picks up the call, interrupting his monologue of despair, knowing his members would interrogate him when he's back at the dorm. Heeseung's tone shifts instantly. “Hello, sir,” he chirps, suddenly more alert. He's sitting straighter, voice a little higher, and tone more formal. Your eyes narrow.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the tracks,” he says excitedly. But his expression falls a little as he listens intently to the other person speak on the other line. “Of course, sir. We can change it if you don’t like it. I was wondering if we can keep that—Oh, no, it’s okay... We can get rid of that too if you want—”

He’s so eager to agree, didn’t even hesitate. You don’t know the full context, but you recognize the tone well. The sounds of someone desperate for approval. When he hangs up, his expression is tight. Not at all like the guy from last night with his quiet laughter and teasing remarks. When Heeseung meets your gaze, he knows the look you give him. Like he’s a lost puppy.

“Our creative director. He's being an asshole about some changes I made to the lyrics—” he clarifies, but he stops himself. Because why does he need to explain himself to you?

“It’s okay,” you say softly, noticing his furrowed brows. “I get it.”

You swallow hard. “But you don’t have to always accept what people tell you,” you continue. “It’s okay to say no.”

And his eyes waver. No one’s ever really told him that before. Heeseung’s whole life, his whole career, was about obedience. It’s been drilled into him. Keep your head down. Respect your elders. Take feedback silently. Don't ever be selfish. He heard it constantly as a trainee. In I-Land. At the start of his debut. And here you are, a complete stranger, telling him he could stand up for himself.

“Thank you,” he says with a sad smile. He tries not to read into the way your eyes ignite something in his chest. That subtle pull he feels toward you. It's a feeling he's used to pushing down. You adjust your clothes to be more presentable, moving towards the door.

“It was nice meeting you.” You pause, not sure what else to say. “You’re a lot nicer than I thought you’d be.”

Because he seemed so quiet in the shows you’ve watched him in. Too flirtatious with fans. Too passionate on stage. You painted a negative picture of him in your head because your sister was so in love with him. She tended to have bad taste in men. 

He smiles back, just a little. “On the other hand, you’re very mean—”

You sneer. “Want me to take it back?”

“I’m kidding,” he laughs. “Thank you too. For being a good person.”

Because it could have all gone wrong today. You could have taken advantage of the situation. Could have had him trending on all social media platforms that same night. You could have ruined his life. But you didn’t.

You both reach for the door at the same time. His hand lands on top of yours as it clicks open. His face is close. Heeseung’s deep brown eyes look into yours with a softness that makes your palms sweat.

“See you around,” you say, as low as a whisper. Not really knowing if you will, but it feels right to say. Heeseung doesn’t say anything back. He can’t. Your hand underneath his… he wishes it could stay there forever.

But no matter how much he wishes you’d stay in his head, to be in this moment with him, he can’t say what he really wants to. And so, you walk away.

–

You try your best to adjust to the regular schedule programming of your life, focusing on job applications you have yet to hear back from. Anything to distract yourself from the fleeting presence of Lee Heeseung in your otherwise uneventful life.

It's annoying, trying not to think about him when your sister continues to shove ENHYPEN content down your throat. But your brain keeps going back to a few days ago, how his voice was so much softer when it wasn't echoing through an arena.

Even after she ditched you after the concert, your silent treatment toward Sophia barely lasted a day. She bribed you back with takeout and coffee, flashing that credit card of hers so easily in your line of vision. So now she’s back to replaying the Bad Desire music video in your living room.

It’s like you can’t escape him. Heeseung’s face is everywhere. On news sites, store ads, even the email sitting in your inbox: BELIFT LAB: Confidentiality Agreement and at the top of your bank account deposits.

But somehow, Heeseung's ever-looming presence doesn’t stir the same resentment you thought it would. It used to all feel fake. His smile, his charm, his confidence. But his laugh sounds the same as when you met him. His willingness to look after you, to stay with you, seemed to match the caring personality on the vlogs Sophia forced upon you. 

You almost wish it didn’t feel so familiar. Every time you see him, some part of you slips back to the recording studio, to the version of him who saw through your guarded facade. 

Sophia still doesn’t know what really happened after the concert. You never really told her. Partly because of the NDA, mostly because she has a few screws loose when it comes to Heeseung. To your family, it was simple: you slipped, hit your head, and spent the night in the hospital. Your parents didn’t ask for details. As long as they didn’t have to pay for anything.

"WHAT?!" she exclaims from the couch. You ignore her.

“There’s a cup sleeve event for ENHYPEN happening right now,” she cries, smacking a hand on your shoulder. “And Heeseung just showed up. He never comes to these things!” 

You flinch. “Did you not see the weather advisory?” you reply, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened when you heard his name. “There’s gonna be a huge storm later-”

She scoffs. “When has that ever stopped me?”

–

Sophia always has her ways of dragging you out of the house. Then again, promising a free dinner to an unemployed person always seems to work. And that’s how you find yourself standing in a line, sweating under the sweltering heat of the sun with a crowd of ENGENEs walking past you two. They’re holding iced Americanos adorned with the boys’ faces on the cup sleeves. You tap your foot impatiently, wiping beads of sweat from your forehead.

This better be the best coffee you’ve ever had. Your sister holds out her handheld fan as it slows to a stop. It was the only reprieve you two had in this unforgivingly humid summer. 

“Shit,” your sister cries, shaking it like that’ll help. “Can you buy a battery? I think my fan just died.” You rejoice, willing to do anything to get out of the line and escape the mugginess.

After a block, you spot a convenience store. Cool air greets you the second you walk in, and you almost moan in relief. The cashier barely looks up when you ask where the batteries are, just points toward a shelf near the counter for eating. 

Someone sits there, hood up, mask pulled down, slurping ramen like he was in the comfort of his own home. And though his face is obscured, there's something about his posture. 

“Heeseung?” you say in a low whisper, battery pack in one hand and fan in the other. The person puts up his mask sloppily and whips his head around. His eyes open wide, and you’re even more sure of it now. It really is him.

“It's you.” His voice is muffled, but his eyes say it all. Like he was greeting an old friend. Hesitantly, you take the seat beside him. “How’d you know I was here?” he asks with a raised brow. 

You rest your chin on your hand, basking in the cool air of the store. “You think I keep up with you like that?”

Heeseung holds a doubtful glint in his eyes. “So you just happened to run into me for the second time this week?”

You roll your eyes. “Then why don’t you report me?” you bite back. “Since you seem so concerned.”

Heeseung purses his lips. You’re probably right. Once was a coincidence. But twice? He looks at you a bit more thoughtfully. No. He believes you. “And you're at this specific convenience store because…?”

“Sophia,” you answer, like that explains anything. “She dragged me to your fans’ event thingy.”

That’s when you notice the Americano beside his instant ramen bowl. With a cup sleeve of himself. You pick it up, grinning. “Really? Narcissistic much?” you chuckle as you point at his face. 

He lowers his mask just enough for you to catch the faint smirk underneath. “Was I supposed to ask for another member's?” 

Without thinking, you slip the cup sleeve into your purse. “Wha—”

“For my sister,” you say quickly, interrupting him from his protests. “So she doesn’t get upset later if she gets someone other than you.”

“Sophia… is your sister,” Heeseung starts slowly, like the gears are turning in his head as he speaks. How harshly you speak to him. How little you knew about him. And now he feels embarrassed. “And she’s a fan? Of me?”

You snort. “No, she’s your wife.” He blinks, and you almost try not to laugh at how genuinely alarmed he looks.

“I’m joking,” you laugh. “She thinks you two are, at least. Recognize her?” You pull up a photo from the concert with the two of you pressed against the barricade. 

“You were actually that close?!” he gawks, taking the phone from your hand. To think, in that same photo, he was probably on the stage performing his heart out. That version of Heeseung would have never imagined what would happen after.

As for your sister... he knows her, alright. You notice immediately how his face sours. Maybe it would be a bad time to reveal that she almost snuck into their sendoff…

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “If Sophia’s ever made you feel uncomfortable. She just gets obsessed really easily—”

“No, it’s okay,” he sighs, handing the phone back to you. He takes another slurp of his ramen before bringing the bowl to his lips to swallow the broth down. Heeseung looks at you with an unexpected solemnness. 

The few interactions he’s had with your sister were a bit awkward in his memory. She would ask him about his ideal type, what kind of dates he would go on if he had a girlfriend. Questions he had preplanned answers to. “Like I said before," he says, recalling a memory. "I’m used to it.”

You wonder how often he tells himself this just so he can convince himself that it’s fine. Before you can think of anything to say, the door chimes behind you. Heeseung pushes his mask back up when he notices two teenagers walk in with ENHYPEN merch.

“Ugh,” one of them cries. “Someone said they saw Heeseung earlier. I wonder if he’s nearby.”

“Let’s check online,” the other one offers. “I think people saw him near this area…”

You don’t even need to say anything, Heeseung’s already standing. But instead of bolting like you expect him to, his hands find your wrist. Warm and firm against as it wraps around your skin. Before you can even react, you’re running with him out the door. The two girls look up, but it’s too late. The only proof of your existence in that convenience store was the ramen bowl and plastic cup that Heeseung left behind.

–

You’re breathless as he pulls you into alleyway after alleyway, eventually reaching one that opens up into a quieter street. An empty neighborhood that feels out of place in a city like Seoul.

“Why are we still running?!” you manage between gasps, trying to pull your arm out of his grip. “And why are you taking me with you?!”

He stops abruptly, chest rising and falling beneath his hoodie. It’s like Heeseung puts two and two together as he turns around. The way his hand is still around your wrist, how tightly he’s been holding on.

“Sorry,” he coughs. He releases you instantly, shoving both hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “I panicked.”

“Why do we always end up like this?” you say, fanning your face. How Heeseung was wearing those layers in this weather was a mystery to you.  

“Like what?” he asks with a small smile. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

“Trying not to be seen by your stupid fans,” you grumble. “I feel like a criminal."

Heeseung shrugs. “Well, you do keep following me around,” he starts teasingly through his mask. “You might actually be.”

You want to hit him so bad, but you hold off the impulse. “If I were you, I don't think I'd ever leave my house,” you shudder, remembering how the girls were scouring for updates on his location. “You need to hire a personal bodyguard.”

He chuckles. “I mean, I usually don't. Just… haven’t had a day off in a while.”

You raise a brow. “So you spent it getting shitty coffee with your face on it and eating ramen you could’ve made at home?”

“Can a man not leave his dorm and support a small business for once?” he jokes, hands in the air like a man under arrest. You manage out a small huff of laughter.

Heeseung's always really kept to himself. Not like he hated being with the boys all the time, but they spent almost all their waking hours together. Sometimes (most times) he likes being alone. There's no one around to impress. No one to disappoint. 

He instinctively looks around in search of cameras, afraid the watchful eyes of fans have found him here with you. When the coast is clear and the paranoia fades, he lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding in. Heeseung takes a moment to gaze at you for a second, memorizing your features just in case you slip through his fingertips once more. Just a few minutes of your time would be okay, right?

“If you’re free,” Heeseung mutters. “Do you wanna hang out?”

You blink. “Like right now?” He nods.

“I probably shouldn’t,” you say, glancing back toward the direction you came from. “My sister’s waiting for me.”

“The same sister who left you alone to sneak backstage?” he asks with a raised brow.

You narrow your gaze. “I didn’t tell you that...”

“I’m not an idiot,” he replies. “I see her everywhere. Let me guess. Were you keeping watch for her that night? Outside the backstage area? Was she trying to sneak in?”

Your eyes widen. Fuck. Just from his expression alone, he knew he was right. “Are you… gonna press charges?” you ask seriously. “Against her? I already signed the thing, so you can’t do anything against—”

“Relax,” he chuckles. “I won’t…”

His eyes linger on yours and down to your lips. There’s something you can’t explain in the way he looks at you. It makes you want to run far away from him and pull him close at the same time. Though you’d never admit it out loud.

He smirks. “As long as you spend some time with me.”

–

It’s nothing special. You just walk. Talk. Bicker. Keep walking. The streets here are vacant, save for a few chirping birds on telephone poles. The only person you’ve seen so far was an old man dozing off on a plastic stool, newspaper over his lap.

Heeseung asked what you studied in school, listening to your rants about tuition costs and late night shifts. You ask how hard it is to live with six other men, and he sheepishly reveals that he's one of the messier ones in the dorm. He’s shocked when you tell him that your favorite song of theirs is Polaroid Love, so different from your prickly personality. You wince a little when he casually mentions how smelly his feet get after dance practice. You could’ve left by now. Said your goodbyes. But you don’t, and neither does he.

In the humid heat of summer and in this secluded part of the city, drops of precipitation start to descend. It’s almost sudden, how quickly the rain pours down. 

Heeseung takes your hand, and you don't resist like all those other times before, as he guides you toward the nearest awning. He peels off his completely soaked mask, stuffing it into the pocket of his black sweatpants. And he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. It’s only when you give him a questioning look that he releases you, wiping his hand on his pants to distract himself from the pattering in his chest.

“We should’ve brought an umbrella,” he mutters. You chuckle at how unprepared you both are, even when you knew that rain would come.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Now we’re soaked.”

You wonder why Heeseung’s gaze wavers. Why he shifts away from you so suddenly. You don’t notice how translucent your white blouse has become in the rain. How it clings to your curves in a way that makes him feel guilty for even taking a glimpse. He unzips his hoodie wordlessly, quickly wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Why—” And your face heats up, realizing then why he forced it upon you. Your bra was practically visible.

“Thanks,” you mutter begrudgingly, sliding your arms into the sleeves to pull the hoodie’s material closer. It smelled faintly of cigarettes and ramen packet seasoning. You wonder if he smokes.

“You should be more cautious with strangers, you know. What if I just ran off with this?”

He scoffs at you playfully. “Why don’t you want me to trust you so badly?”

Before you can protest, a notification rings for both of you. A flash flood warning in the area.

“Shit,” Heeseung sighs. “We need to find a place to wait this out.”

He shows you his screen, and sure enough, the next four hours were forecasted for heavy rain. This was all Sophia’s fault, you tell yourself. You look around to find any semblance of temporary shelter. A cafe, a restaurant, maybe a convenience store like before. But all the places in this quaint part of the city were boarded up or closed. 

Then your eyes land on it, a place too embarrassing to mention out loud. Because you really, really don't want to go in there. Into a seedy-looking building, out of place and tucked in the corner. Its cream exterior is streaked with years of age and molding. The neon pink sign flickers through the haze of the rain. 

Heeseung notices your gaze, and the same ideas formulate in his mind. His voice comes out awkwardly. “What about over there?”

He points at what is so clearly a love hotel, blushing at his own unintended implications. You shift away slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of him. How your body is wrapped in his fragrance.

“Don't make it weird,” he mumbles, catching the furrow of your brows. “It's only for a few hours.”

You scoff. “I'd rather sit here and swim through the water than—”

Lightning cracks impossibly near you two as the sound of thunder almost shatters your eardrum. The rainfall comes down harder, the streets basically turning into rivers. You take a deep breath. There's no other choice.

–

Heeseung opens the door to a dingy room, tacky floral prints adorning the walls with a picture of a rose hanging above the bed. Every possible accent of the room was in bright pink, save for the brown lounge chair suspiciously positioned right in front of the bed. You grimace at the sound of your wet boots on the creaky wooden floorboards.

“You couldn't have gotten us two separate rooms?” you mutter.

“The guy said all their other rooms were under renovation,” Heeseung replies, flopping onto the velvet chair. “Plus… do you have the means to pay? Or did you just assume that I’d be covering for both?”

You stare daggers into him, unable to muster a thoughtful response. Because he's right. And now you think you should never have told him you were struggling to find a job. “Whatever, dickhead…”

Your eyes drift to the bed. Two pairs of silk pajamas are folded neatly atop it, one slightly larger than the other. Since when did shady hotels offer such amenities? 

You try not to think too hard about it because the humidity of the room clings to you, making you desperate for relief. Without thinking, you shrug off Heeseung’s hoodie. He scans your figure before quickly diverting his gaze, the wall suddenly becoming much more interesting. His ears flush a deep crimson.

“Why are you…” And then you remember how utterly soaked your blouse is as you look down. You cross your arms over your chest to hide the outline of your breasts. 

“I'm gonna take a shower,” you mutter, rushing into the bathroom without a second thought. Shit. What was that just now? Why'd he look at you like that?

Your chest tightens. You swear there was something in the way he looked at you. Like tension. Like fire. Cradling your head in your hands, you groan. Were you turning into your delusional ass sister?

You try to distract yourself with a cold and uneventful shower until you remember the forgotten pair of pajamas left on the bed. Clad in a towel, you crack the door open just enough to peek out. Heeseung is still sitting on the chair, eyes widening when he sees your head poke through. Wet hair clinging to your neck, droplets of water coating your bare shoulders. He swallows hard.

“Do you mind handing the clothes to me?” you ask sheepishly. Heeseung walks in a daze, head full of thoughts too scary to say out loud, and grabs the smaller of the two silk pajamas. He holds them out to you.

“Hurry up,” he mumbles, trying his best not to look. “I need to take a shower too.”

You’re sitting on the bed, watching Heeseung—in the matching pair of pajamas—hang his damp clothes next to yours on the coat rack. The subtle hum of the hotel-provided hair dryer fills the room as he dries them out. 

When the lights flicker from the storm outside, your body jumps before you can even process the sound of thunder. Heeseung’s eyes flicker to you. “Such a scaredy-cat…” Heeseung chuckles, turning off the dryer when he’s satisfied with his work. 

“At least I'm alert,” you argue. “Unlike somebody…”

“Right…” He pays you no mind as he sets the dryer on the nightstand. Your eye twitches.

“What kind of idol just walks into a love hotel with a girl?” you taunt, irritated by his lack of response. “If I were some psycho, you’d probably be dead by now.”

“Are you?” he teases, sitting beside you on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and you scoot away instinctively to create distance between your warm bodies. “A crazy psycho killer who pretends to hate me?”

“It’s not pretend,” you say dryly. “I do, in fact, hate you. There’s a damn scar on my forehead because of—” He leans in, your words stopping at your throat as he examines the small scab hidden beneath your hair. For a moment, guilt flickers across his face, but you open your mouth before he can speak.

“Like you’d think you’d care more about your career, but it seems like I'm the only one with a brain between us,” you spit out. And you don’t even know why you say it. Maybe because it’s the way he’s looking at you so intently. Or how you can feel his breath on your skin with how close he’s sitting. Your heart beats too fast around him. 

“And how’s your career working out for you?” Nevermind. Fuck him.

“That's such a low blow.”

“But it’s okay when you insult me?” he scoffs. “You think I’m an idiot—”

“Most idols usually are—”

“And you’re so quick to judge people.”

His hands ball into fists in his lap, breath ragged. The shift in his once soft demeanor makes your chest tighten. You know how you get sometimes, how prideful you can be. Defensive, even. Your words only ever come out wrong with him. 

“Well, isn’t that the truth?” you huff. “God, did you hear yourself a few days ago? ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Will do, sir.’ You’re like a total pushover.”

He tsks, jaw tightening.  “Coming from you?” he asks mockingly, shifting closer. The mattress dips further, his hand pressing into the sheets beside your lap. Heeseung leans in close to your ear. “Don’t be mad that I worked for my dreams while you sit around and wait for yours."

You grit your teeth, the feeling of his breath on your neck like needles on skin. You hold your gaze on him. “At least I don’t have to fake who I am just so I can get people to like me.”

He glares at you, and in a split second, he moves away. “What a brat,” he murmurs under his breath, facing away from you.

You laugh darkly. “I’m a brat? Me? A brat? What about you?”

“What about me?” Heeseung counters. “I'm not the one who spends every second trying to start an argument. When all I’ve done—”

And he swallows his words a little, scared of how you might react if he were to tell you the truth. But there’s nothing to lose. Maybe he’ll never see you again. Maybe it's for the better.

“When all I’ve done…” he starts again, voice wavering. “All I’ve done these past few days since we met is fucking think about you.”

You feel every part of your body heat up. A warm, fluttering feeling you can’t describe. You push out a bitter laugh. “Oh, and was I supposed to, too, Mr. Idol? Was I supposed to fall to my knees when I saw you again?”

“Why are you so mean to me?” he asks quietly. “Do I bother you that much?”

You exhale, trying to find your composure. You do like being around him. That’s the problem. You had already made up your mind that he was off-limits, that he’s probably a horrible person and your sister can’t distinguish reality from his carefully curated persona. But he’s real. And in front of you.

“I didn’t even want to go out today,” you say, voice quivering. “My stupid ass sister forced me to. I’m sure you think any girl would kill to be in my position right now, but I don’t even want—”

“You know what I want?” Heeseung’s voice drops low. He swallows hard, licking his lips. His eyes glued to yours. “I wanted to see you again.”

“What?” you muster out. His hands find your face, his fingers firm against your cheek. 

“You heard me,” he whispers. Heeseung leans in, his lips touch yours for a split second before pulling away. You close your eyes shut from instinct, craving for contact once more.

As if obeying your silent command, his mouth finds yours again. Testing the waters with soft movements. You hesitate, torn between the argument still echoing in your head and the warmth in your chest. He’s supposed to be a stranger. A fleeting passenger in your life.

But his lips move passionately against yours, like that of a lover. When you finally match his languid motions, his hand slides around your waist to pull you in closer. Heeseung’s kisses are sweet, deliberate. But this isn’t right. 

You spent years rolling your eyes at the mere image of him on a screen, fighting with Sophia about how ridiculous it was to obsess over a man who would never even look in her direction. And now he’s here. Kissing you so tenderly that you think your heart might explode. The guilt sears through you suddenly.

You push him away, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “Fucking perv,” you spit out, standing abruptly. Heeseung holds your forearm, his grip gentle, pulling you to face him. He’s still sitting on the bed, looking at you with those eyes. Those beautiful, pleading eyes.

“Is this what you and your boys do?” you ask through gritted teeth, your voice shaking. “Make moves on random girls, take them to hotel rooms, and then fuck them and—”

“No,” he says quickly. He hopes you believe him just this once. “I’m not that type of guy. And I wouldn’t do that. Not to you."

He hesitates, licking his lips, searching for the right words. Because if he’s being fully honest, Heeseung has spent almost every hour of his free time in the last few days trying to find you online. He’s scrolled through countless accounts, only getting as far as seeing your private Instagram account. Too scared to follow. Too scared of rejection. Too scared to cause trouble for the group.

He had a pit in his stomach when you left him, a more intense feeling than when he left his phone in the dressing room. Like he had lost something important. Someone. 

And he sees it in your eyes too. How you push down your laughter when he makes a joke. How you leaned into his touch. How your words are sharp, but your pulse hammers fast. “You like me,” he blurts out, not even knowing that he said it out loud.

You laugh. “No. You’re delusional.”

He shakes his head. His grip on your wrist loosens, but his doe eyes stay on yours. You could pull away now. But you don’t. “Then why’d you kiss me back?”

His words hang in the air. And it’s strange because he knows this is stupid. Knows the risk. Knows that his company executives would lose their minds if they saw him like this. But he doesn’t want to think about it. He’s spent every waking moment in the entertainment industry only thinking about his image. He just wants to feel this. To be here with you.

But you’re no good at opening up, at letting people in. And it scares you more than you’d like to admit. “I don’t know,” you finally reply. And he smiles. Heeseung’s hands meet your waist, pulling you into his lap. You don’t resist.

“We just met,” you say, trying not to let the way he wraps your legs around him get to you. His fingers brush gently against your skin, moving the wet strands of hair away from your forehead. “I've known you for less than a day—”

“The best hours of my life,” he interrupts, smiling.

"We’re not even friends—”

“We could be?” Your heart flutters against your will. Screw him for being so charming. For knowing all the right words to say. Against your better judgment, your gaze drifts down toward his lips. You crave them.

“Is this something friends do?” you ask, voice low, leaning into him ever so slightly.

“Something we could do,” he whispers. And you don’t shove him away this time when his lips meet your temple, the area he hit with a door just days ago, and down to your own. His mouth works against yours, tongue pushing deeply into your wet cavern. His large hands roam your clothed back as they slowly trail your bottom

His touches are feather light against the fabric of your pajama pants. He almost lets go when you grab his wrist, only to force him into gripping you tighter. You had no desire to be treated like a delicate flower. 

Heeseung takes a handful of you, groaning into your mouth at the feeling of your plushness. God, you have ruined him. He pulls away, awed by the trail of saliva that connects the two of you. He rests his forehead against yours, panting heavy against your skin. You feel him then. His rigidness underneath. You stare up into his eyes, meeting his intense gaze. 

Heeseung searches for any semblance of regret in your features. That the pretty pout you give him is all in his imagination. That the short time you shared together did not affect you in the way it fundamentally changed him.

“I want you,” he says, a small whine evident in his voice. His hands don't leave your body. “Please tell me you want me too.”

Your mouth opens, almost ready to give a snappy rejection. But then you’d be lying. So you settle for the truth. “You don’t even know me,” you reply in a low voice. 

Heeseung lifts you off of him for a short moment, and you feel the back of your head softly land on the pillow. You lay underneath him now, his wet hair dripping down onto your cheek. On your neck. On every exposed part of your skin. 

“But I want to,” he whispers. “If you’ll let me.”

And you don’t know what overcomes you when your fingers find his shirt, pulling open the buttons of his top. Or what possesses Heeseung to push away your fumbling fingers to unbutton your pajamas as well. You shrug off the material, and you hear his breath hitch.

His eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You aren’t wearing a bra. You’d taken it off earlier, too uncomfortable to wear when it was soaked like the rest of your clothing. But you don't mind. Because you admire him, too, in his shirtless form. His toned body, muscular in all the right places. Sweat dripping down his chest from the stuffiness of the room.

You try to prop yourself up on your elbows to get closer to him, but Heeseung stops you. He pushes your shoulders down softly back into the mattress. His lips trace shadows of kisses down your neck until his face hovers over your tits. 

Heeseung lands soft kisses around your nipple before swallowing a mound into his mouth, sucking gently as his tongue laps around your sensitive bud. His hand moves to grasp your neglected breast, massaging and switching sides when you whine at the loss of contact. 

Your teeth break the skin of your lip, and a metallic taste finds its way to your tongue. He smirks. What did you get out of stifling your sweet moans?

“I think I like you like this,” Heeseung sighs, his mouth parting from you. He lifts his head, eyes never leaving yours, as his index fingers hook the waist of your pajama pants. "Finally quiet for me."

You glare down at him impatiently. "Shut up..."

Your fingers find his, helping him pull down the fabric. He chuckles, but it's stopped short. “Fuck,” he groans when he’s met with bare skin. Your back arches up into his touch.

You’re not wearing panties either, too uncomfortable to wear the soaked fabric against your newly showered skin. 

“Were you expecting this today?” he teases, tracing his fingers on your inner thigh. “Didn’t bother wearing anything when you knew you’d be stuck here with me?”

You roll your eyes, trying not to focus on the way his hand inches closer to your nether region. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Heeseung leans down, face just above your torso. He gives a teasing lick at your navel, one that makes you grasp onto his shoulders from the warmth of his tongue. He pays you no mind, lowering himself down and peppering kisses on any part of your skin that his mouth can touch. And when you think he would stop at the place you needed him most… he doesn’t. 

He moves lower, his wet pink muscle licking down your thigh, to your knee. All the way to your ankle until he reaches the very tip of your toes. Like he's teasing you. But not for him. No, this is his indulgence.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, as his face travels back up and in between your legs. “Every part of you.” You bite the inside of your cheek. He shouldn’t be talking to you like this. Or else you’ll start to forget who he is. A stranger. An idol. Your nemesis. 

Heeseung's palms spread your knees apart, pressing his lips against your inner thigh. He laps at your soft skin, his eyes never leaving your furrowed brows of pleasure. You take hold of one of his hands, intertwining your fingers. You don't know why you do it, but it feels right to have your palm in his. It's intimate. More intimate than how his mouth hovers over your sensitive clit. He gives an experimental lap of his tongue. 

“Ngh—” you almost let out, but you bite your lip again. Heeseung chuckles against you. His hand clenches yours, giving kitten licks on your wet folds. 

“Pretty here too,” he mumbles, before licking a long stripe up to your clit. He stays there, dragging his tongue around your sensitive nub in circular motions. His free hand grips the plushness of your inner thigh, stretching you out for him further. He wanted access to all of you. 

He dips down, mouth finding your entrance, licking up and down and back to your clit. Tongue smoothly gliding over your soaked folds, your clit pulses against the open-mouthed kisses he presses on it. You grind up into him from the wet sensation of his suckling, searching for relief. For him to finally draw it out of you.

Heeseung playfully glares at you, a mischievous grin forming on his face. Then, he nips at your clit, and your hand lets go of his. “Why’d you stop?!” you growl. He chuckles.

“Why are you pretending like it doesn’t feel good?” he shoots back, pressing featherlight kisses above your clit. You whine, annoyed. Your nails meet his hair, digging into his soft locks as punishment.

“Just shut up and do it properly,” you say through gritted teeth, pushing his face down closer to your exposed folds. He resists, looking up at you with a lick of his lips.

“Such a fucking brat,” he whispers, one of his hands finding its way toward your entrance. “Acting like you don't want me...”

His fingers swipe your outer folds, gawking at the milkiness that coats his skin. "...when you're this fucking soaked?"

“Fuck you,” you spit out, wrapping your legs around his head to drag him in. He almost laughs, but you smother any sound that comes from his soft lips. Heeseung laps at your clit, his index finger dipping ever so slightly into your warm, wet folds. 

"Oh—" 

It's foreign, the feeling of him pushing his digit into you, inch by inch. The way his tongue suckles your nub ever so gently. It's so slow, so cautious. You hate it. Your hips move on their own as you pull away from him, only to thrust up against his hand and back to his tongue. He groans against your pussy, taking the hint.

His wet, pink muscle flicks over your clit over and over, spreading your mess all over his already soaked face. Heeseung adds a second finger, working you open with a twist of his wrist. He rubs against the top of your inner walls, finding your G-spot so easily.

“Fuuuck,” you draw out, back practically off the mattress. He scoffs against your skin, nipping at your inner thigh as he fucks his fingers up into you.

"You like that?" He lifts his head, admiring your angry little face. The way you can still muster a glare with your scandalous moans. The way you don't look intimidating to him at all. Not one bit. 

“Fuck you Hee-” His face edges close to your cheek. "Don’t scream my name," he whispers in your ear. His voice is low, teasing. "Someone might hear."

"You're such a dick—" Your complaints are muffled as his mouth crashes down on yours again. You taste yourself on his tongue, eyes clenching as you feel a pressure in your stomach start to build.

Heeseung doesn't mean a single word he's saying. Doesn't actually want you to suppress any of your desperate little sounds from your fuckable lips. No. He wants more than anything to hear it spill out of you. Like you’re his. Like he’s yours.

Your grip on his hair tightens as he pistons in and out of you brutally. The squelching sounds of your drenched pussy fill the room. It's ecstasy, his fingers plunging so deep inside of you. So close. You're so fucking close. 

You pull away, lifting one of your hands to your mouth to cover the unbecoming noises that threaten to fill the room. It's too much. He's too much. You can feel it now. His thumb rubbing so deliciously on your clit, applying pressure on the bundle of nerves so deliciously.

Tears prick your eyes as you dig your heels into the mattress. Yes… That's it… Right there— And then, he stops. 

"What the fuck!" you groan, eyes clenching from the loss of contact. Heeseung's hands meet your wrist, yanking your hand away from your mouth. He's seething. And you don't get it. Because didn't he just say...?

"I thought you didn't want me to scream," you say through gritted teeth. "I was so close—"

"I don't care," he says darkly, the shadow of him looming above yours. He pushes his palms against both sides of the pillow, leaning down to your face. "Don't hide from me."

You bite back a sour laugh. "Why don't you make up your mind instead of wasting my fucking time?"

Heeseung pulls you up, despite your yelp of protest. He lies down where you writhed underneath him just seconds ago, his hands indifferently clasped behind his head. He's composed, save for the heavy outline of his manhood on the light fabric of the pajama pants. 

“Then don't waste mine either," he replies. “Do all the work. If you want to cum so bad.”

You’re tempted by the offer, really. But you know this is just a sick test from the devilish way he looks at you. You would not give in. Could not. 

A harsh sound of thunder from the outside interrupts your thoughts, and you flinch once again. And like clockwork, your blood boils. Because Heeseung laughs at you. Again.

“Such a coward,” he chuckles, eyes shamelessly scanning your tits as they bounced from your shock. Your jaw clenches, and before you can hesitate, you climb on top of him. Your legs cage around his middle, and you don't miss the way his eyes flutter.

Without a word, you push his pants low enough to free his hard member. You bite back the gasp that threatens to spill out of your lips when you see his size. So large. So girthy. Tip, a pretty pink. A long vein on his underside. And it makes you see red. Because, of course, a gorgeous guy like him can have a gorgeous dick like this. It isn't fair. Everything about him is perfect.

“Fuck you."

"I'm trying to," he smirks.

You bring your hand to the tip of his cock, spitting on it as you glare up at him. Stupid, idiot Heeseung. Why can’t he just stick it in himself? 

Your fingers spread the saliva over his mushroom tip, all the way down to the base of his cock. You take your time, stroking and spreading his precum. His dick twitches when you squeeze him tight. Heeseung bites his lips, watching as you take control. The eye contact. Your fucked out gaze. Finally, you position yourself on top of him. He doesn't try to help, tries to maintain his fake composure. But fuck, he needs you so bad. Your hands guide his cock to your entrance. 

You sink onto him, agonizingly and painstakingly slow. A pace that takes everything in him not to just grab your hips and slam himself into you. But he doesn’t. Because the scene in front of him, of you struggling to take in all of his length, of your face contorting into such a lewd expression, makes the temporary frustration worth it. He’s so hard inside you, pulsing with desire. Heeseung is stretching you out so much, even if he’s only halfway into piercing your wet core.

Your brows furrow as you look down at him, gauging his reaction. But he’s so smug, and he’s wearing that stupid smirk on his face that makes you want to smack him. He enjoys this. Relishes watching you work for it. But in the deepest part of your mind, you can’t help but admit that you like how arrogant he looks right now.

It used to be so annoying, seeing this on a screen. But it's so much better in person. He's so much better in person. You lift yourself momentarily to give yourself some relief from the stretch. Your hole throbs around him, and his jaw clenches at how tight it feels when you push back down on him, so close to bottoming out. 

“You’re taking me so well,” he sighs out, his hands kneading your breasts to distract you from the pain. To distract himself from how good it feels for his cock to be sinking into you this deeply.

Heeseung’s fingers tug and pinch your nipples as you fall forward enough for your face to hover above his. You let out a silent scream as your hips flush against his, fully enveloping his thickness into your warm, wet folds. He looks at you with such tenderness, a gaze so soft it feels foreign from the mocking smile he gave you earlier. 

You try your best to adjust, your gummy walls tightening as you feel him stiffen even more inside you. You bite your lip, but Heeseung looks up at you pleadingly. Like a last resort.

“Say it,” he breathes out unsteadily, fully aware of how hypocritical he's about to sound. “My name.” And even though you find yourself wanting to bite back, wanting to spit at him and tease him the way he teased you... You couldn’t. Because you were past the point of saving face. Of letting your pride get in the way of the pleasure.

And so your hips move on top of him, your palms now landing on his toned stomach for balance. Your movements are deliberate, gyrating your hips in a steady rhythm. You could get addicted to this. To the sight of this tall, handsome man, coming undone underneath you. And so you bounce harder. Faster. Loud enough that the sounds of your ass smacking down on his balls reverberate throughout the dowdy hotel room. The headboard creaks annoyingly against the wall with your breakneck pace.

Heeseung’s hands wander to your thighs, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin. But that’s all. He does not get in the way of your desperate movements; he does not interfere with how erratically you impale yourself on his throbbing cock. You feel it, that familiar bubbling in your core.

“Heeseung,” you finally cry. And it takes everything in him not to cum right then and there. His name never sounded sweeter—not even when fans chant it during concerts. No. This is the best he's ever heard it. So good he should call his parents later to thank them for ever coming up with such a name. “Heeseung," you moan again. "I’m… I’m so…”

His hands squeeze your bottom, guiding you down on his cock. To finally help you reach your peak. Because you’ve given him what he wants. “I know, baby,” he says, the pet name coming out of his lips so naturally. “I know.”

You claw at his chest, gripping onto him as you chase your orgasm. You need it. So bad. And Heeseung finally thinks you deserve it. With every thrust, the tip of his cock almost leaves your tightness entirely until he pushes all the way into you once again. In and out and in and out, he fucks up into you at an unforgivable pace. He smacks your butt ever so slightly, squeezing and pulling them apart. It sends you forward.

“Heeseung—Fuck—I'm—” you scream. Red, hot waves overtake your vision.

Your climax rips through you like a bullet, pussy clenching around him in a vice grip that makes him moan. Your fluids gush out, staining the inside of your thighs as you ride out your much-needed high. You rotate your hips against him needily, muttering sweet nothings as your head falls onto his neck. 

He grits his teeth. Trying to keep his breathing even. Because he doesn’t want to let this end, doesn’t know if you’ll ever let him see you again. You lick up at his neck, flinching when he pulls away. “No marks, baby,” he chuckles. 

You try not to pout. Like his rejection doesn’t sting you one bit. He sees it, though. The disappointment in your surprisingly coy expression. And he smiles. His lips hover over your neck, too.

“I can give them to you instead?” he offers teasingly, against your skin. He nips just underneath your jaw. “Would you let me?”

You roll your eyes and pull him in closer. You know he’s not done. Know from how fucking hard he still is inside you. And the way he’s been subtly grinding into your soaked folds since you came. So you just give him a tired nod. He's just given you the best orgasm of your life. This is the least you could do.

“Don’t leave too much,” you mutter lazily, but he’s already sucking at your jugular. 

His fingers meet yours again, intertwining your hands while his lips move against you feverishly. Even though you’re still so sensitive, so exhausted from the high you just came down from, you move against him once. He pulls you in, for his lips to find yours again. Heeseung’s feet plant themselves on the mattress, fucking up into you with a new sense of urgency. 

His thrusts are quick, methodical. So different from how erratically you impaled yourself on him. Heeseung knows what parts of you to hit, knows the deepest ridges his cock can hit within you if he angles his movements just right. And he does. Again and again. 

Heeseung's leaking tip kisses your cervix as you moan into his open-mouthed kisses. He lifts himself from the mattress and into a seated position, wrapping his arms around your waist as he tugs you flush against his chest.

“Heeseung—” you cry out at the new angle. He bounces you on him, as his tongue finds your nipples once again. He bites the top of your chest. Nips at the junction of your shoulder. Sucks the underside of your jaw. And he continues to push into you until the sensation in your core is back. Until he starts to feel it himself.

“Shit—” he moans through gritted teeth. “Baby—” Your nails dig into his back as you cry into his shoulder. Your tongue laps at his sweat, trying your best not to bare your teeth.

Heeseung lays you down on the bed now, knees pushing underneath your thighs so he can fuck you better in missionary. He's so close. So desperate to cum. But he wants you to feel it again. Wants you to know what you’d be letting go if you didn’t give whatever this was a chance. Because he wants to see you more. Wants to talk to you more. Wants to fuck you more. 

His lips meet yours, but it’s not the messy kiss you thought it would be. It's sweet. Barely there, soft and tender. Like the first one he gave you. And yet, he still pistons into you.

“Oh my god—” Your head spins as you feel the floodgates of your pleasure start to rush out of you once more. Your hips lift into him as you cum for the second time, whining into his mouth at the overstimulation of his brutal pace.

“Me too, baby,” he groans against your lips. “Me too." His movements become irregular, his face reddening with motivation. "Fuck—"

Heeseung pulls out, his fist finding his cock. He strokes himself with such fervor, watching you with hooded eyes. His tongue pokes out of his mouth ever so slightly in focus, so close to reaching his orgasm. It's addicting to witness. How desperate the flick of his wrist is. How tightly he grips himself. 

His eyes clench from the fiery sensation that floods his body, groaning as thick ropes of white liquid coat your body. It covers your chest, stomach, and neck like paint. Warm, wet paint. He moans when his eyes meet you again. Because you look so fucking beautiful, covered in his cum and panting underneath him. You really are perfect. He doesn't doubt it all. Perfect for him.

And it doesn’t matter to either of you that the rain had died down by now. That Jay is blowing up the group chat, asking if they want to watch movies in the living room together. Because all he wants to do, and all that he really can do, is get lost in you all over again. He pecks and bites everywhere his lips can touch. On your back. Chest. Neck. Making up for the marks you can never give him.

When morning hits, you expect him to be gone. So you try to wake up before him, before you see an empty bed. Before you get hurt when he ultimately decides to leave without a trace. So when Heeseung is still there, arms enveloping you into his chest, you forget how to move.

7 AM, sleeping through his ten alarms. It’s like deja vu, back to a few days ago when you woke up to the sight of his sleeping form in that studio chair. You were contractually obligated not to say anything back then. So why did he stay? And why is he still here?

You reach out without thinking, fingers tracing the faint line of his brows. It feels unfair, somehow, that you couldn’t admire him this closely before. Maybe if you knew how he’d really be in real life, soft and easygoing, you might give him more grace. But it’s more fun, arguing with him. 

“Wake up,” you sigh when his phone goes off again. “Don’t you have work or something?” His naked form stirs, groaning. He pulls you in tighter, and you wonder if he truly is as asleep as he claims to act. The small smile on his face gives him away. “Five more minutes,” he mumbles into your hair, voice low and groggy. 

“Maybe for you,” you say. “But I actually need to go home…”

You start prying his hand off your waist, but his eyes flutter open. This grown man pouts at you. “You’re leaving? Already?”

“I don’t know if you know where you are right now, but this is a love hotel. We should’ve left, like, last night.” He groans at the reminder, sitting up on the heel of his palms. The rounds that followed the first... he could never regret staying. Did you?

“I didn’t even get your number yet.” You blink. He was serious about that? 

Just refuse, you think to yourself. Go about your day and forget about him. But his gaze is expectant. And you find it hard to refuse him and his stupidly cute face. So you hand him your phone. He hums happily as he types. Too happy.

“Is this covered in the NDA?” you ask, half-joking, half-trying to steady your pulse. The room is engulfed in your mixed scents, and you’re too aware of his body heat.

“No,” he chuckles, as he hands it back. He saves himself as <3 in your contact list. You try not to read into it.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asks. He’s teasing, but there’s a sincerity behind his words. 

“What are friends for?” you sigh, tugging free of his hold to pull your now-dry clothes back. But it doesn’t come out as naturally as you intended, and Heeseung’s smile falters a little, too.

He doesn’t say anything, and that silence is somehow worse. Because, yeah. He knows what this can’t be. And you do too. Still, as you tug your shirt back into place, you feel the ghost of his fingers around your waist from moments ago. Warm and gentle. Like that of a lover.

–

So when he’s not working abroad, and when the house is empty on late nights, Heeseung slips in through the back door with his hoodie pulled up and a mask hiding half of his face. He knows exactly where the spare key is buried beneath the flower pot. Knows how early to leave before your parents return from their graveyard shifts. Knows how to stay still in the corner of your room when your sister FaceTimes you.

You feel like shit keeping this from them. Especially when your parents start to complain about missing ramen packs in the pantry. Or when Sophia gushes about how she can’t wait for ENHYPEN’s new album when you’ve already heard the songs spill softly from his lips. It feels like you’re dating your big sister’s crush—except he barely knows she exists. And you aren’t really dating.

But it feels right when he’s with you. When his breath traces your spine, when his fingers find their rightful place on your hips. When he tells you you’re perfect for him. Perfect with him. So much so that you start to believe him.

–

“I’m surprised you’re ever able to wake up for your job,” you mutter as Heeseung buries himself on your chest. He was supposed to wake up from his 15 minute nap ages ago. The promise of starting a new movie together is already long forgotten.

“It’s your fault,” he grumbles into your shirt. “You’re so warm. Like the sun.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, well can I at least work on a job application or am I going to be forced into laziness like you?”

“You worry too much,” he sighs, like he’s ever had to search for a full-time job in his life. “You’ll find something. Just give yourself some time to relax once in a while…”

He squeezes you tighter, one eye squeezing open to see the cute furrow of your brows. “With me.” And you indulge in him. You let him fall asleep once again, snooze an alarm once or twice, and stroke his cheek. You memorize the angle of his jaw, the piercings in his ears, and the strands of hair that fall on his face.

Because each night, a new part of him slips through your fingers, another thing to lose when he’s off being an idol. How the purple spots on your skin from his bites fade away when he's not there. How the small gifts he buys you are tucked in the corners of your room, away from your curious sister's gaze. Yet still, he lingers in all your five senses.

You see the soft rise and fall of his chest on nights he sleeps over, so overcome with exhaustion that he dozes off in your arms mid-conversation. You hear the edge in his voice when you intentionally troll his games during late-night calls. You smell him in the faint trace of cigarettes suppressed by mint, a habit he never lets you see. You feel him in the quake of your floorboards as he practices new choreography in your room, knocking into shelves without a care, as if the room belongs to him. You taste him in that infamous cloud egg, along with the gentle frustration he tries to mask when you don’t stir it the way he does.

And you wonder if anyone else in arrangements like this notices these things. If they let themselves. Because last time you checked, friends don’t keep video calls running across time zones, waking up to each other's sleepy faces. They don’t fuck each other in the shower and help wash each other’s backs right after. They don’t ask what kind of flowers you like before boarding another flight. No. It’s not normal. You don’t want it to be.

–

“It would be nice,” he says one day. “A picnic by the Han River? We can go tomorrow night.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your attitude the same as it always is. “Are you crazy? What if we get seen together?”

“That’s what the shades, beanie, hoodie, and mask combo is for.”

You roll your eyes. “We might as well just stay inside,” you mutter.

It’s been getting to him, the hours with you that never feel like enough. Sometimes when he sees your Instagram feed, his thumb lingers too long. You hanging out with friends in crowded cafés… He’s envious. Of you. That you get to live your life without the constant fear of being watched. And everyone else. Because they’re with you.

Heeseung sighs. “I just want a change of scenery,” he replies softly. “Can’t we go? Idols go on dates there all the time. They never get caught.”

You scoff. Will this be a date? You want to ask what he means. But you swallow the question down, like you always do, and pretend it doesn’t burn in your throat.

“Aren’t you busy?” you ask. He’s been spending every free moment here, and that isn’t much. A comeback on the way. Endless rehearsals. You wonder why he bothers seeing you at all. He smiles, pressing a kiss on your temple. A new habit he’s formed. 

“I make time for you,” he mutters into your hair.

–

Typical of Heeseung, he remembers to bring every kind of snack from the convenience store, yet somehow forgets the picnic blanket. And you forget to wear a jacket, thinking the humid air of summer would still hold its warmth. But it’s surprisingly chilly at 2 a.m., and now you’re enveloped in his hoodie while both of you sit on the damp grass. Your jeans cling to your skin, and his shoulders tremble from the cold.

“If I weren’t an idol,” he asks quietly, overlooking the Han with a beer in hand,  “would you still find me handsome?”

“Who ever said I find you handsome in the first place?” 

He glares at you jokingly. “Coming from the girl who has me saved as a heart in her contact list.”

“You’re the one who typed that in my phone—”

“But you never changed it,” he cuts in, smirking when you don’t say anything back.

“Sure,” you sigh, relenting to his stupid pout. “I’m sure you would have still been popular if you weren’t famous.” He smiles, sadly. He’d never know. Will never know. “Okay, how about if I were a worm?”

You scowl at him through your mask, and you can’t see the amused expression he wears on his face. Heeseung stays true to his word. He’s covered head-to-toe in black with his cap, mask, and shades. You wonder why he went through the trouble. He looks more suspicious this way.

“How about if you weren’t annoying?” you sigh, and he laughs.

“How’s the job hunt been?” he asks after a moment, glancing at you. He notices the tiredness underneath your eyes. He always does. And you know he feels guilty, though he’ll never say it. That you lose sleep just to see him in late nights like this. That your life had started to bend around his schedule.

“It’s hell,” you sigh, cracking your neck from side to side. “It’s like no one wants to hire these days.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something,” he says reassuringly. “I can ask around the company and maybe put in a good word—”

You shake your head before he can finish. “That’s not fair to you,” you mumble, though a small part of you seriously considers it. You’re not sure you could handle another argument with your parents about your future. “I wouldn’t want you to do something like that for me.”

He looks at you, confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean? That’s what friends are for.”

He says it, like usual, but the hesitation hangs in the air. It hurts to say these days, but it’s the only label that’s true. Still, you can’t help but wonder why he does this. Why he asks you to wait up for his calls, for you to keep him company in the hours no one else sees him. Why he touches you like you mean something to him if all he wants is a friend. Shouldn’t he already have enough of those?

“You know,” he starts hesitantly. Not sure how to tell you. Not sure if he should trust you as much as he already does. It’s been almost two months since that night in the alleyway. “I have a solo project I’ve been working on for over a year. I still haven’t heard back from the company about it.”

Your eyes widen. The songs he’d played for you in passing. Ones you'd Shazam with nothing ever showing up. “They’d be stupid not to,” you reply. “You have an amazing voice.”

He smiles, the soft curve of his lips showing beneath the mask. “And you’re more than capable of landing a job, too. We’re all walking our own paths. So… you don’t need to feel alone. We’re all anxious about something.”

He gives you a reassuring pat on your shoulder. “I believe in you.”

You smile. “Thank you,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

You wish you could see his doe eyes right now, through his thick shades. Wish you could pull down his flimsy mask and kiss him. Just once in public, without having to think about who might be watching. But you can’t.

Heeseung shivers next to you through his thin shirt. He tugs lightly at your sleeve, which is technically his. “Can I have my hoodie back?” he asks jokingly.

“I don’t know,” you say, faking a pondering look. “I kinda like it. Looks good on me, right?” You strike a pose, hands on your hips.

“You know,” he teases, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were starting to like me.”

You almost unzip the hoodie off your frame, feigning disgust, but Heeseung lifts his hands defensively, still laughing.

“Keep it,” he says through his chuckles. “Wear it when you miss me.”

Your cheeks heat up. “What’s there to miss?” you mumble. “Videos of you are always playing in my living room.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “That’s not me.”

He lowers his sunglasses just enough for you to see his eyes—deep brown, reflecting a bright glow from the dim glow of the street lamps. “This is me.”

He holds his gaze, staring at you with such fondness. It took time for him to get here, to peel back the walls you’d built, to convince you that he wasn’t who you thought he was. And now that you’ve let him in, he wishes he could freeze this version of time. He’d capture this moment forever if he could. 

But when Heeseung pulls his mask down for a brief sip of beer, he doesn’t hear it. Neither do you. The faint click of a camera shutter from across the river. Of a fan, hidden in the dark, fingers trembling around her lens. She isn’t sure what she’ll do with the photo quite yet, but she knows this isn’t right.

Because her idol isn’t supposed to be meeting girls like this in the middle of the night. Idols aren’t supposed to sneak into someone’s house far from the center of Seoul whenever they're finished with their overseas schedules. They’re not supposed to look at someone the way he looks at you.

Shouldn’t he know better? He’s an idol. He should act like one.

–

“Who you texting?” Jungwon asks, leaning against the mirror of the dance practice room. Heeseung doesn’t look up. He’s too busy sending you a photo of the new merch line he helped create, a set of cactus pins. He thinks you’d like them. 

“My brother,” he lies, straight through his teeth.

“Your brother got you kicking your feet and giggling?” Niki chimes in, doubt etched all over his face. Heeseung only shrugs. “He’s funny.” 

But all they’d have to do is glance at his phone screen to catch him in the lie.

pretty girl: they’re actually kinda cute. send some.

Heeseung bites back a smile, ignoring the side-eye of curiosity from Sunoo across the room. The boys never press him much. They respect Heeseung too much to pry, to question the things he keeps close to his chest. But Jungwon breaks the silence.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says in a low voice. “You know what some fans will do if they find out. It might not be safe for her.”

Heeseung sucks in a deep breath. Because he’s never really thought about it like that before. Not fully. Not beyond the thrill of sneaking out to see you, beyond the warmth that fills his belly whenever you greet him at your door. For the first time, the warmth he usually feels when he sees your name on his screen starts to feel like fear. He swallows hard, locking his phone, forgetting to reply to your message.

“Yeah,” he murmurs after a long pause. “Yeah, I know.” But he doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. And that makes him feel like shit.

“You’re late,” you say, rolling your eyes when he slips in through the back door. Heeseung massages the nape of his neck, tugging off his mask with the other hand.

“Sorry. Practice was rough,” he groans, already making himself comfortable on your living room couch. He catches what's on the TV. An old fancam of him, mid-performance with his notoriously pink hair. 

He turns, smirking. “I thought you said your sister was in Tokyo for a conference,” he laughs, nodding at the screen. “Did this just turn on by itself?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, rushing to the remote to turn it off. “Don’t flatter yourself…”

He stands, pulling you into his arms before you can escape. His warmth seeps through the fabric of his long sleeve as he presses his face into your hair.

“I missed you,” he sighs. You scoff, pushing him back down onto the couch. You straddle his hips, sitting on his lap. He adores you most like this. On top of him. “You say that to all the other girls?” you whisper darkly into his ear. 

You don’t know why you say it. Maybe because you’ve been finding yourself scrolling through video after video of people thirsting after him, of him openly flirting with his fans, eyeing the pretty ones like he doesn’t have you waiting for him here. Even if he’s not yours. Even if this was supposed to be casual. You still had the right to be possessive… right?

“Eager today?” he chuckles, eyeing your lips as he subconsciously licks his own. He rubs circles on your lower back with his thumbs. “You know there’s no one else.” You lean into him, planting a delicate kiss on his lips. “So show me.”

Your hands find his hair, and he kisses you harshly as you pull him in. It’s urgent, how quickly the both of you take off your shirts. Most nights that he’s here, you don’t have sex. Which confuses you the most. He doesn’t expect anything from you. Doesn’t touch you when you don’t lean into it, doesn’t press you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. A friend before the benefits.

So when he’s like this underneath you, desperate and hands all over your body, you let yourself get lost in him. He hoists you closer, pushing your pajama shorts to the side to feel you better. Your panties are soaked through, and those, too, are set aside. Heeseung groans when his digits meet your bare skin, prodding your entrance in an upward motion.

“So fucking wet,” he groans, eyes meeting yours. “Just watching me through a screen has you worked up like this?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pulling him in by his shirt’s collar and smashing your lips against his.

His fingers enter you, and you’re so used to the size by now that they slide in with little resistance. He basks in your small whimpers above him, wondering how you can still be so sensitive to his touch. He pushes his fingers in as deep as they can go, prepping you for his length. He stretches you out, your head falling on his shoulder from his penetration.  

“Don’t watch those anymore,” he whispers teasingly. “You have the real thing right here.”

You palm him through his jeans in response. Harshly. Heeseung groans into your hair. He’s already so hard, his bulge struggling against the tight fabric. He needs you. “You think you can take it right now, baby?” he asks in a hushed tone, like a secret shared between you two. “For me?”

Usually, you’d resist, draw out the time you have with him, and make him pay for having you wait. But it’s been almost two weeks since you last touched him like this. You need him just as badly. You nod your head, grinding into his fingers. Searching for more of him inside you. His palm grinds on your clit roughly.

“N-need to cum,” you cry, moving erratically against him. “Put it in.” He glowers at you through his long lashes. His movements slow down. “Say please.”

You bite your lip. “Don't tell me what to do.”

He pulls his fingers out of you, grabbing your jaw with the same hand. He forces you to look at him. Your vision almost goes red from the frustration. “Don’t be a brat.” You grit your teeth, bringing your hand to your core.

“Well, don't be a dick,” you mutter, as your own fingers slide in. But it’s not enough as you try to reach where he once was. Your fingers can’t go as deep, can’t penetrate yourself in the way that you want. Not since you’ve known Heeseung. Not since his fingers have carved their way inside you. He looks down and almost laughs at your pathetic movements.

“So useless,” he chuckles darkly, releasing his hold on you to unzip his pants. He grips himself through the fabric of his boxers as he stares you down. “Don’t even know how to touch yourself properly.”

And you moan when he pulls the fabric low enough for his dick to slap against his stomach, tip red with anger. He strokes himself languidly, watching you work towards an unachievable high. His hand spreads his precum throughout his length, deliciously coating himself in his stickiness.

Heeseung’s here. He could do this for you. So why can’t he just fucking stuff his cock inside instead of watching you struggle? “Heeseung,” you cry, your fingers aching from the shallow thrusts. “Just… Just need to cum—”

He scoffs. “So why can’t you?” He looks down between your bodies with a hooded gaze at how desperate your movements were compared to his methodical strokes. 

“You always have so much to say,” he continues mockingly. “But can’t even make yourself feel good.” And even if he’s not touching you, you feel your resolve breaking. Because he knows exactly what he’s doing. What buttons to push to have your harsh words turn into moans.

“Need you…” You cry, fingers relentlessly jabbing with no luck. “Heeseung. Please. Just put it in.” He smirks. You know what saying his name does to him. “Good girl.” 

He pulls your fingers out harshly, and you whine from the loss. It’s short-lived when he aligns his length to your entrance. You’ve exhausted all of his patience, and so he pushes in. Slowly, at first. His eyes screw tight. How are you still so tight for him? You push down, not caring to let yourself adjust. You were past the point of needing it. Though you won’t admit this to him, you’ve been soaked since watching his fancam.

Heeseung bottoms out inside you, your head rolling back at the way he fills every nook of your insides. Your core stretches out around him, clenching tightly against his thickness. “Fuck—” you cry, grinding down on him. Heeseung pulls you in closer, his breath hot and heavy against your heaving chest. He peppers kisses atop your breast to soothe himself. He looks just as needy. 

You adjust yourself so that your hands are positioned behind you, holding his knees. Lifting slightly, you impale yourself back down on him. Again and again until you find a steady rhythm. Up and down, gyrating your hips the way you know he likes it. The way he’s taught you. He grabs your ass with both hands, guiding you down his thick cock. 

“Fuck baby,” he says through bated breaths. “So good at riding me now…”

“Shut up,” you growl. You can’t cum before him. Your pride wouldn’t let you. Your nails break the skin of his shoulders. He sucks in a breath from the pain. And you shouldn’t be doing this, knowing how any little mark on him could be caught by the watchful eye of the public. But a sick part of you wants the cameras to see… want his stupid ass fans to see who he really belongs to.

“No fucking manners,” he growls, pulling out of you. You cry from the loss of contact, but he pushes you face-first and ass up onto the couch. He pulls down your shorts haphazardly, inserting himself back into your warm, wet folds. Heeseung groans, pushing your head down onto the cushion. 

“Hee…Please…”

“Always so fucking rude,” he says as he thrusts into you from behind. His pace is unforgiving and brutal. Your ass bounces against his lower stomach, his fingers digging deeply into your hair to muffle your moans. “Can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

It’s unfair when he’s like this, all riled up. It makes you cum too quickly. “Come on, baby,” he laughs as you claw at the armrest. “Use that pretty mouth of yours now.” He grabs a fistful of your hair, arching you up to crash his lips on yours. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth. Wet, pink muscles battling each other for dominance. You’re close. He is, too. His pace quickens.

“Ngh—Oh my god—OH—”

Your knees collapse underneath you, and he follows, his chest on your back. He thrusts in and out so deeply, tip kissing your cervix as you feel him in your lower stomach. He releases your hair, his lips now finding your back. Heeseung grabs your breasts from behind, kneading them in circular motions as he nips at your skin. 

“I’m—Fuck—Please—Heeseung—” You gasp. You can feel it, taste it. He brings his middle finger to your clit, as you push your head down into the armrest to cry out. And it hits you in waves.

You let out a long, drawn-out whine as your climax is dragged out of you. You whine, jutting your hips backward to feel more of him. He chuckles, biting down on your shoulder. You gasp. It’s punishment for the nail marks on his body. He pistons in and out of you until the very last second. Until he reaches the danger zone of cumming inside you without a condom. Because fuck, he loves doing you raw.

Heeseung pulls out, flips you around, and positions his cock just above your face. You put your tongue out on instinct, like you’d been waiting for this. For him. He pushes into your mouth in one swift motion, throwing his head back as his tip hits the back of your throat. The first ropes of cum fill your mouth.

“Fuck baby…” he sighs, thrusting slowly to come down from his high. You suction around him, milking him for all he’s worth. You swallow as much as you can, eyes never leaving his. He relishes in the feeling of you lapping the underside of his cock. He could stay in you forever, but he knows better. 

Heeseung pulls out of you with a pop from your mouth. He bites his lip, eyes dark at the seductive sight in front of him. Your hair tousled with droplets of his cum on your chin. “Pretty,” he whispers. He leans down to kiss you, but you turn away. 

“I’m gross right now,” you protest, cuter than you intended. You turn away even as he tries to attempt a kiss on the cheek. 

“So am I,” he pouts. “Just let me—”

“No,” you scoff, pushing him off. “I don’t know who else you kiss with that nasty mouth of yours.”

He chuckles as you rush to stand with your wobbly knees. He looks at you with a fondness that almost makes you swoon. Almost. “We’re exclusive, aren’t we?”

He has no idea how those words make your chest tighten. “I-I need to clean up…” you mutter, refusing to answer his question. Your fluids shine on your inner thighs, shorts completely disheveled as you hoist them back up. You don’t even know where he’s thrown your shirt. 

“Come back!” he calls out, but you’re already running past him and in the direction of your bathroom. Heeseung lies on your couch, reveling in the satiated feeling in his chest, zipping his jeans back up. He could never get bored with you, no matter how hard he tries. He reaches for his phone in his back pocket. A notification lights up the screen. From his manager. A meeting tomorrow. Urgent. 

Heeseung feels the pit in his stomach form instantly. A million possibilities run through his head. His late-night disappearances from the dorms. The solo album proposal is still gathering dust on some HYBE executive’s desk. The argument with Jay a few days ago left the younger one teary-eyed. It could be any of those things. It could be all of them. Why just him, though?

“You good?” you ask, waddling back into the living room. You sink beside him. He nods, lips pressed thin.

“It’s nothing,” he replies in a low whisper. He stands up, and you try not to complain as he’s already reaching for his shirt. He usually stays. Usually has time to spend the night. 

“You’re going already?” He pulls the long sleeve over his head.

“I got something tomorrow,” he mutters, walking toward the door. He’s already putting his shoes back on. You search his face for something. Warmth, reassurance, even a lie. But all he can spare you is a glance. One that feels devoid of all the emotions he’d shared before. He’d done a complete 180 in a span of five minutes.

“Thank you for tonight.” 

And your heart sinks. Because he doesn’t do that, he doesn’t say things that make the sex feel transactional. When he utters those words, when they creep into your ears. Somehow, you feel used. And suddenly, this feels wrong.

Heeseung taps his foot against the wooden floor, the rhythm tense and hollow.

“We’ll move forward with the project,” Manager Jung says, but there’s no warmth in his words. Heeseung imagined this moment differently. An encouraging pat on his shoulder, his members jumping in to congratulate him. But no. He knows there’s something more. A laptop sits ominously on a table beside the older man, its black screen reflecting the overhead light.

“We think your project would be good for the group,” Manager Jung continues. “But we need to ensure the promotions go smoothly. We'll shoot and record everything and release it after the comeback.”

Heeseung nods appreciatively. “Of course—”

“But,” his manager interrupts sharply, “I need to clarify some things with you first.”

Manager Jung moves the cursor of the laptop to click on a tab. A video fills the screen of a hallway in HYBE that Heeseung has walked through millions of times. He swallows, a knot forming in his stomach. The camera lingers on the familiar concrete floors and fluorescent lights… until it lands on him. Bringing you into the building. Leaving in the morning. 

“Heeseung,” the older man says steadily, stopping him. “You brought a non-staff member to our company building and, without permission from any of us, took a taxi with her—”

“That’s—”

“And both the taxi driver and a love hotel receptionist tipped a journalist that an idol who matched your description was with a girl,” he continues. “Is that true?”

Heeseung’s chest tightens. But how could they know? How would they know? “That was months ago!”

“So who is she to you now, Heeseung?”

He freezes. There’s so much to say, too much to explain. But his manager would never understand. They never do. “Please,” Heeseung chokes up, his throat failing him. “I’ll be more careful. W-we don’t meet in public—”

“Do you know how much it costs to pay that journalist off?” Manager Jung asks coldly. “Do you know how hard I had to fight for this project to be greenlit? The project you begged for.”

“And I am so grateful,” Heeseung blurts out. “I promise. This won’t happen again—”

“It won’t,” he replies flatly. “Make sure it won't, Heeseung." 

His manager shuts the laptop down forcefully, standing up. He looks down at Heeseung with a hardened gaze. "You owe the others an apology," the older man continues. "As the oldest member, you hold a responsibility to set a good example for them.”

That’s the word. Responsibility. He'd almost forgotten. His hands dig into the material of his pants, nails threatening to rip through. He stands up, his head low, and bows deeply to his elder.

“I’m sorry.”

–

<3: can’t come tn i have practice

It’s the third time he’s turned down your invitation to come over. And yet, he’s just a few bus rides away. The nights he melted against your skin, the endless hours wrapped in each other, and talking about the future like they were concrete. No matter how busy he'd get, he still found time for you. And now he can’t bother to text you most nights.

You wonder if maybe he’s tired of you. Maybe he finally dropped the nice guy act he wore so well. Maybe there’s someone else. Maybe there are a thousand reasons you’ll never know, and you'd still have no right to ask. Because you don’t know what this is or what it's turned into.

And you understand that he’s busy. You do. But it still hurts to only see him when Sophia’s playing their music videos in the living room, a memory of him on that same couch that feels so far away now. “What do you do,” you ask your sister, in a rare moment of vulnerability, “if a guy starts acting distant with you?”

Sophia grimaces. “I don’t know. Don’t ask me about real men.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you call those freaks then?”

You point at her phone, where she’s scrolling through ENHYPEN edits like a woman hypnotized. “They’re better than men,” she says, like that explains everything. 

Something tugs at your chest. Because no matter how many albums she buys, no matter how many calls she gets to fumble through with shaking hands, she will never truly know Heeseung. Nor would she actually want to.

She’ll never know how petty he is after a disagreement, asking for examples of all his wrongdoings just to put you on the spot. How hoarse his voice gets when he goes through packs of cigarettes and vape pens, only cooling off from them when he knows he'll have to interact with fans that day, or when he's recording something. How utterly imperfect he truly is. Because he is just a man, capable of having flaws and making mistakes.

Would she still love him if she knew that Heeseung? Would she still smile at his face on her screen if the qualities that made him human bubbled above the surface?

“So stop following him around,” you mutter under your breath. She pays you no mind.

“What’s the point anyway?” you continue, riling yourself up. “What do you get out of it?”

Sophia finally looks up, glaring. “You just don’t get it,” she sighs, shaking her head. 

"No," you shake your head. "You don't." But, she’s already back to smiling with that deranged look in her eyes.

“Oh my god! Heeseung just posted on Weverse! He never does that—” You storm upstairs. Shame burning at the back of your throat. Because even as you reach for your phone, checking the last message you sent, reality is cruel.

you: interviewing for a job this week. so nervous.

Left on read.

You feel no better than Sophia, waiting for <3 to light up your screen. It’s pathetic.

–

It’s intentional, how dry he is. How distant.

“How’s the album coming together?” Jake asks, sitting beside him on the practice room floor. 

Heeseung shrugs, a lump already forming in his throat. It’s hard to talk with any of them these days. The other boys live easier lives, dating other idols or stylists they can see without fear. They can meet at high-profile after parties, share romantic whispers backstage. He can’t.

He can’t be seen with you anywhere. Can’t linger too long on the sidewalk of your place or answer your calls if a single stranger might overhear. 

“We film everything next week.” The younger man stares at Heeseung with a faint curiosity.

“I’ve been wondering,” Jake presses. “Did you change some of the lyrics?”

Heeseung nods. He was never ever really satisfied with his music. Constantly rewriting. The love songs he wrote always sounded too generic, written in the way he thought fans could imagine themselves being sung to. But the new lyrics, he can be proud of. Replaced with words that remind him of private moments in your room, of references he hopes no one will catch. Except you.

“They sound good,” Jake continues through Heeseung’s silence. “They sound a lot more heartfelt.” Heeseung nods again, but his eyes are somber. He brings his vape to his lips, already exhausting it of all its citrus flavor. His second cart this week. 

Jake looks at him, concerned etched all over his face. "Slow down with that."

How obvious is it to everyone else? That he's slowly dissolving. Does Jake see it? Do the boys? Would the fans? No. They can't.

And he inhales another drag despite Jake's protests, punishing himself with the harsh burn in his throat.

–

The late-night calls disappear. The updates he’d give you on their new songs feel like years away. And after an interview that seems more promising than the rest, one that feels like it could lead somewhere, the screen in front of you blinks with a headline of an article. 

Heeseung Of ENHYPEN Set To Release Mini-Album 

Your eyes drift to the last text he sent you. A week ago. And you wonder why this hasn't been mentioned. He must’ve known, right? He’d been babbling for months about this project. Showing you demos, asking for your opinion. You heard those songs before his own members did. So why didn’t he tell you?

You’re the type to take a hint, to know when you’re not wanted. You stopped trying to reach out after the first three texts were ignored. But it’s hard to let go. Maybe because you’ve told him so much about yourself. Maybe because you know so much about him. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. It’s casual. Temporary. Always was. Still. Fuck him. 

“I don’t know how to feel about Heeseung releasing a solo,” Sophia sighs, sprawled out on the couch. “I feel like he’s not ready.”

You wish she’d just shut up about him. Delete his playlists, tear down his posters, anything so he won’t keep existing in this house, he would always sneak into.

“I mean, what if the music he makes is shit?”

“You’ll find a way,” you sigh, exhaustion evident in your voice. “You with your blind loyalty.”

Sophia turns to you with a hint of hurt in her eyes, actually listening to you for once. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Prove me wrong,” you mumble. “Give me one critique about that guy that doesn’t end with you just swooning right after.”

She rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with him. What could I even say? That he’s too perfect?” The corner of your eye twitches just a little. Of course.

“The only thing that would pop your Heeseung bubble,” you start, “is if he started dating someone.”

Sophia scowls. “No—”

“Yes,” you interrupt. “That asshole could kill a puppy and you’d still put him on a pedestal.”

Sophia throws a pillow at you. “Good thing Heeseung isn’t the asshole you think he is.”

You bite your tongue. If she knew, would she even care? About him? About you? “Trust me,” you scoff. “He is.”

–

“What are you doing here?” you ask bitterly, as a familiar masked figure lingers at your back door. He’s wearing a beanie that hides the color of his hair, and the dark rings under his eyes are more prominent now than they’ve ever been. He didn’t even text you that he was coming. Just showed up. 

“Can I come in?” he asks quietly. Normally, he wouldn’t. Now he waits at your door like a stranger. You step aside hesitantly, letting him through. Heeseung doesn’t take anything off. Doesn’t even untie his shoelaces. You narrow your eyes, the scent of smoke so palpable. He used to be so good at masking it.

“If you have something to say—”

“We need to talk." He cuts you off, keeping his gaze on the floor. Hands buried in his pockets so you wouldn't see how badly they were trembling.

“Then speak,” you say sharply. “Don’t waste my time.”

More than you already have, you want to add. More than he’s already taken from your once monotonous life. More than the color he splashed within it. 

His voice is shaky, faltering under your watchful gaze. He knew this would be hard. Knew he was never good at letting things go. “We can’t do this anymore,” he finally says. “I can’t… I can’t fuck things up right now.”

You can only laugh. To you, it’s already ended. One week of silence was enough to scrub him from your mind. Almost. “You didn’t even need to tell me,” you mumble. “I could already tell.”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wet. “It’s not you—” 

“I know it’s not,” you interrupt venomously. “You’ve always been the problem.”

You turn away before he can see what he’s done to you. Before he can see the tears threatening to spill. “If that’s all,” you say, swallowing hard. “Then feel free to leave.”

He moves to take a step forward, but he knows it’s not right. Minimizing risk. That’s what he was here for. “Our texts,” he begins, voice strained. “Anything you have with me in it… could you delete them?”

You whip your head around, the tears that streak your cheeks glistening under the light. He sees them now. He forces himself to stay where he is, forces his hands to be useless at his sides. To not admit that this isn’t what he really wants. 

“Are you serious?” you ask, taking a step towards him with folded arms. “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not that,” he replies quickly with pleading eyes. “Everything you have... it could be used against us. I’m trying to protect you.”

You look at him with disgust, one that he cowers under. “You’re protecting yourself.” 

You thrust your phone into his chest. “Delete everything,” you say through gritted teeth. “There’s nothing I want to remember anyway.”

Heeseung flinches, his hands shaking when he takes the phone from you. He types in your password the way he has countless times before. Memorized it like every other part of you. He blocks his own number, deletes the folder of photos you kept of him, and the endless messages. He erases the proof that he ever existed in your life. He wasn’t meant to be in it anyway.

When he returns your phone, the shame creeps up again. “I didn’t want to say goodbye like this—”

“How else would we say it?” you scoff. “What, did you want to fuck one last time?”

“You don’t know what it’s going to be like when people find out," he murmurs. "You’ll be in danger—”

“Trust me,” you say, unconvincingly, through your wavering voice. “I want to forget about what happened between us just as much as you do.”

Heeseung searches your gaze, but it breaks him. You’re not his girlfriend. You can never be. “If people find out,” he tries again, softer. “They’ll ruin everything.”

You shake your head. “They don’t have to,” you whisper, knuckles white around your phone. “You already did.”

Heeseung sucks in a deep breath and takes a step back. He deserves it. Really, he does. He deserves the hurt, the anger, the coldness. He can only blame himself. He moves toward the door.

“It’s funny,” you whisper as his hand reaches the door handle. “You’re exactly who I thought you'd be.”

He pauses, turning to face you once again.

“A pushover.”

You take a step toward him.

“A suck-up.”

And another. Close enough now that he can hear the shake in your breath.

“A fucking liar.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything back. Doesn't flinch this time. He can’t. Because if this moment ends with him refuting you, it would be a lie.  

No matter how much he wishes he could stay and comfort you, he still opens the door and walks away. He has to.

–

The click of a camera sounds off from across the street. From a seething silhouette. She stares at the familiar cadence in his steps as he leaves your house. He doesn’t notice her presence. Never does.

She doesn’t know that he’s already said his goodbyes, doesn’t know that it took everything in Heeseung to leave. All she thinks about is herself. About what he’s done. And how he needs to suffer the consequences of his actions. 

–

And when he gets back to the dorm, Heeseung lets his bedroom door slam behind him. Sliding down the door until he’s sitting on the floor, knees drawn up. He ignored Niki’s greeting in the hallway. Pushed away the hollowness that consumed him. Until it all comes crashing down on him now. He buries his face in his hands and lets it happen this time. The tears, the regret panging against his chest.

Tomorrow, he’ll be like new. He’ll be the Lee Heeseung everyone knows. Calm. Composed. Able to roll with the punches that come with life. But for now, he is the Lee Heeseung he hates, the one who misses you. The one who aches with every being with the guilt of the overwhelming warmth he feels with you. Heeseung wipes his face with the back of his sleeve, breath trembling.

Love stories don’t always have a happy ending in his line of work. He’s an idol for god sake. He needs to act like one.

–

You’re wearing a black blazer, one Sophia gave you when she first landed her corporate job. You don’t fill it out in the same way she does, but still. You think you look good. The first time in a while where you felt like you’re heading somewhere productive.

And you’re proud of that, of yourself. Of the stubbornness it took to keep trying. Even when your thoughts keep drifting toward him. How he so vehemently believed in you. How he understood you. But it’s been days now since he wiped away his presence from your life. Weeks since he acted like you mattered to him.

“Sophia,” you call out from atop the staircase. “How does this look for the second round?”

And when you descend, hoping to see your sister’s grin, you are met with a coldness so abrupt it stops you mid-step. She sits frozen on the couch, jaw clenched, nostrils flared. Your eyes travel down to the phone on her lap, on a screen that you can barely make out. But you do.  Your stomach drops, eyes flickering between her hardened stare and the phone.

“I-I can explain,” you stutter out, voice cracking as she rises to her feet. She doesn’t answer, brushing past you and disappearing into her room.

“Sophia, please—” The soft click of her bedroom door locks behind her.

–

“What did I tell you?!” 

Manager Jung’s voice echoes off the mirrors of the practice room. Heeseung barely has time to react before the older man shoves his phone inches from his face, backing him into the corner like he’s seventeen again. Like he’s a defenseless little trainee. The screen shows a tweet. Fifty thousand likes from an anonymous account, posted just last night.

Idol shamelessly dating in public. #LeeHeeseung #ENHYPEN

Heeseung's throat dries. It's pictures he’s never seen before, but he knows them well. The wet grass. The wind cutting colder than it should have been on a summer night. Your voice, muffled by the black mask he made you wear. Though your face is blurred, he knows it’s you by the shape of your hands, by the hoodie you still hold hostage. 

He scrolls. Another photo of him leaving your house, hood up and head down. Even on the day he called it quits. A shiver runs down his spine. Your name is written in the post’s quotes from a different account, along with your graduation photos. Unblurred. They know. They already fucking know.

“What did I say?” his manager snaps. “Stay out of trouble. Was that so hard?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “They’ve already started sending funeral wreaths to the company.”

Heeseung doesn’t answer, his pulse ringing in his ear. He’s seen this all before with his idol friends, with the other members. Seen how badly a dating rumour can ruin a career. But you’re a normal person. You never asked for this. You’re not built for this scrutiny. He is. He’s supposed to be.

“Lie low,” Manager Jung continues. “Don’t say anything. We’ll instruct her to stay silent, too. The news will pass.”

Heeseung glares at the older man, his voice dark. “What about her? How are we going to protect her?”

His manager raises an eyebrow. “That’s not our responsibility." Heeseung’s eye twitches. 

“Besides,” the older male starts, “if she says anything to imply a relationship, then we’ll have to take legal action. It’s defamation.” 

Heeseung’s fingers curl into a fist so tight his nails dig into his palm. It would be so easy to swing his arm at the man he once respected and make him shut up. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even say anything. Because he’s exactly who you think he is.

A pushover.

–

jungwononly: BELIFT isn’t saying anything so it must be true

xxenhaxx: i know her. she’s not even pretty lolol

Gobigorgohome: Wow lee heeseung dates his fans what a fucking loser. she goes to concerts with her sasaeng sister lolol

anonymous101501: die bitch.

You read comments until your eyes sting, until their words jumble together. Strangers dissect your life and worth like it’s second nature to them. You wonder how he puts up with this every day, reading the insults that many write about him. How he put up with you and the assumptions you made about him.

You tell yourself you’re strong, that this shouldn’t get under your thick skin. But if you thought you couldn’t escape Heeseung before, you truly can’t now. Ever since the photos came out, ever since your address got leaked to the whole internet, every part of your existence has become tethered to him.

The street outside your house is no longer quiet, raw eggs splattered all over with yolk drying on the concrete of your front steps. A mess you can’t even come outside to clean up anymore. 

Your parents ask if you’re okay even though they aren’t themselves. They leave earlier for work to avoid the onslaught of cameras and people, holding their tongue when insults are thrown their way. And Sophia. She hasn’t spoken to you in days. Her door stays shut, ENHYPEN merch all sitting in boxes outside her door. You’ve knocked. Tried to speak to her. Tried to apologize. But she’s shut you out. 

You hear the fans’ chants through the walls, voices blending into each other that they almost become white noise. Another egg slams against your window. Fake blood spreads across your front door in abstract streaks. You bury your head under the pillow, hands pressed tight against your ears, but it doesn’t help. Their words still seep in.

Slut. Leech. A nobody.

–

“Have you checked up on her?” Jungwon asks quietly, voice breaking the silence of the dorm’s living room. “I think some fans found her address.”

Heeseung sighs, eyes fixed as he scrolls through X. Deactivated accounts, pitch black profile pictures. Fansite after fansite. Closed. Even ones opened since his debut. Fans who told him that they’d support him no matter what. Gone like they never existed.

“It’s not like I can reach out,” he says finally, voice low. “I had her block me.”

He taps on a shaky video of an older man sweeping the sidewalk, gathering shards of glass and broken eggshells. Heeseung feels like he's been punched in the gut. He recognizes your house, the blue gate he used to pass through to get to the back entrance. 

He watches the older gentleman bend down to clean the mess that people left behind. The fake blood, the paper signs with death threats. The face of a man he never got to introduce himself to. Only ever seeing his pictures when passing glances at them on your living room wall. 

Your father, exhausted and defeated. He has to blink a few times to stop his eyes from burning.

Jungwon pats his older member’s shoulder gently. “This will blow over soon,” he says, trying to sound hopeful. 

But Heeseung just shakes his head. “I should’ve been more careful,” he says, voice trembling. “I shouldn't have dragged her into this mess.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jungwon replies, sitting next to him. 

“It’s ridiculous,” Heeseung scoffs bitterly. “How do they expect me not to say anything?”

He sets the phone down on the table, face pressed into his hands. Nothing he does now will make it better. He’s broken too much, jeopardized everything. But the solo project will continue as long as he continues to stay silent. That's what matters, right? His career? 

But still. He misses you... and the way you made him feel. He wonders what that feeling is.

–

By now, the sound of shouting outside has become the norm. You barely sleep, flinching every time a sound comes from outside. You’ve started playing music throughout the whole house just to drown them out. 

So when you hear the front door open, your feet carry you downstairs with panic. You don’t know what you’re running towards. Your parents aren’t home at this time of day. It might be an intruder. But no. It’s Sophia. She’s standing. With a carton of her own eggs, pelting the small crowd of girls outside your gate.

“Do you all have nothing better to do?!” Sophia screams. “Why the fuck are any of you still here?! It’s been three days!”

You freeze, a few steps behind her. And somehow your heart feels full. You thought she’d be against you, outside with the rest. Calling you all kinds of insults. But here she is, hair messy, still in her pajamas, defending you like the big sister she is. It’s been a while since she’s acted like one.

“Do you all really think you have a chance with him? Just say you’re jealous and leave you bitches!”

You laugh in what feels like ages. Sophia. Mentally unstable Sophia was actually helping you. That’s more you can say about some others. You push past her, showing your face for the first time to the brigade outside your door. She glances at you with worry in her eyes. You squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. You can defend yourself. 

But when you see them now, your gaze softens. Most of them are kids. Preteens and teenagers. Victims of an idol industry that encourages this behavior, encourages them to think that they own the idols they worship. That they know him. That they own him. You exhale. BELIFT’s warning email is still fresh in your inbox and in your memory.

Do not engage. Do not respond publicly.

Fuck that.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” you say to the crowd. “What does any of this accomplish?”

“Shut up, old hag,” one screams. You scoff.

“Go to fucking school or something,” you call out. “Live your life. Literally do anything else.”

“Leave Heeseung alone!”

“Do you think I control him?!” you cry out, pointing at the crowd furiously. “You all fucking do! You get to decide what he’s allowed to be. What he’s allowed to feel. Congratulations! He’s all yours.” Sophia almost holds you back, guiding you closer inside. 

“Are you dating him?” one cries in the crowd. “Who is he to you?!”

You heave out a deep sigh, softening your voice. Their phone cameras are pointed at you now.

“Who is he?” you swallow. He’s a lot of things. Kind. Awkward. Always overthinking. Too obsessed with how other people view him. Too in his own head about the kind of person he should be.

“I don’t know,” you say with a wavering voice. “The Heeseung you're all so obsessed with… I promise you, I don’t know him. And I wouldn't want to.”

You turn away before anyone can shout at you again and close the door behind you. A silence follows, one that seems so foreign now. Sophia is staring at you, eyes wide in fear. When she sees a tear slip down your face, she doesn’t say anything. She just steps forward and wraps her arms around you. Because you never cry. Not in front of her at least. 

You don’t try to stop the sobs that come as you sob against her shirt. “I’m so sorry, Sophia,” you hiccup.

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you sorry?”

“I thought you’d hate me,” you huff out between choked breaths. She wipes your tears away and sighs. 

“I realized you were right, you know? My bubble was burst. I have absolutely no idea who he is.” Her gaze is so soft on yours. “But it seems like you do,” she continues with a smile, tucking a hair behind your ear. “And Heeseung is whatever. But you’re my sister. If you’re dating him and he makes you happy, then who the fuck am I to say anything?”

“S-so we’re okay?”

She crinkles her nose. “I promise you I’m not mad,” she mumbles. “Even if you took my man.”

You cry even harder. Because she’s trying to be funny, but nothing about this is. He’s not yours either.

–

When the news dies down and excuses are made when he’s absent from public appearances, Heeseung still can’t shake away the dread. The public has convinced themselves that it was all shock marketing for his solo. Or a rivaling fandom that wanted to sabotage his project. Anything but the truth.

Because you lied for him. You danced around the topic of your relationship, told the impressionable fans outside your door that he was no one to you. And it worked. 

Sitting in a styling chair, Heeseung wonders if any of this is worth it. A life where he hides behind other people’s decisions. Where he has to pretend that what he had with you meant nothing.

“All she had to do was stay quiet,” Manager Jung mutters beside him, replaying the clip of your speech at your house on his phone. “But this might be good. Maybe it will take the heat off of us—”

“And what?” Heeseung interrupts coldly. “Put it on her?”

“The company is still cleaning up after your mistakes, Heeseung—”

“By doing nothing?” 

Heeseung stands up, his stylist moving away from him. He’s never one to yell, always calm and collected. But he’s tired. So fucking tired. “It’s not her fault that this happened, so why should she have to deal with everything by herself?”

“You put this on her,” his manager snaps. “Not us. So how about you lower your tone when you speak like that?” He’s right. The whole room is looking at him. Staff members who've only ever seen him with a polite smile on his face are wide-eyed and nosy, stopping their camera adjustments to hear him better. They wait for him to apologize. And Heeseung grits his teeth. 

He can’t keep acting like the perfect person they want him to be. “Then…” he breathes out, voice quieter. “I want to release a statement.”

Manager Jung’s appearance darkens even more than it already has. “No, Heeseung,” he sighs. “No. That’s not your decision to make.”

Heeseung scoffs under his breath. “Yes. It is.”

He turns around, wiping the sweat off his brow, ignoring the frantic calls behind him. Before he can talk himself out of it, he is out the door. He leaves his phone behind. It doesn’t seem as important as this does now. 

Like he has countless nights before, he takes that 30-minute bus ride. Gets off at the stop that's a ten-minute walk from your house, which is still trashed with litter. He doesn’t stop at the front gate, aware that maybe some fans were still there watching. Not that he cares anymore. It’s way past that point. He comes in through the back and knocks. But it’s not you.

Your sister answers. He lowers his mask to give a shy smile. She freezes, grabbing onto the door frame to prevent her from fainting. Old habits die hard. But she tries to harden her expression. You told her everything after all. NDA be damned.

“W-what do you want?” Sophia says, attempting to toughen her exterior. “She doesn’t want to see you right now.”

He swallows. “But is she here? I just want a second with her.”

He gives her the most pleading look he could muster. “Please?”

She glares at him. The remaining delusions she had of this man dissipated with the wind. Those times you’ve complained about a mysterious boy who mysteriously ghosted you. He looked pathetic like this. Clad in all black, hidden from the world, and begging for a chance to speak with her little sister. 

The version of Heeseung that she thought she knew… he’s not as perfect as she thought he was. “What’s in it for her?” 

He licks his lips, voice low as a whisper. “I just need to tell her,” he mutters, “everything I couldn’t before.”

–

Even after the stunt you pull, you hear nothing from him. Not on the news. Not on social media. You refresh your search on him. He's still preparing for his solo album. Good for him. His life didn't change. But yours did.

“Get your ass out of bed just this one time,” Sophia cries, trying to pull the blanket off your figure. “Don’t you want to celebrate the new job?!”

You groan, burrowing deeper into your warm cocoon. It was a miracle you even got the email. You still half-expect another one to appear saying "Sorry, due to recent events..." But somehow, the offer stuck. You start next week. And you were more than willing to spend every second until then under self-appointed house arrest. You grunt, kicking blindly in her direction.

“Hey!” she hollers. “No one’s even out there anymore. I promise it’s safe.”

You roll your eyes. “Where would we even go? I don’t wanna go to a stupid club-”

“Just a night out,” she says quickly. “Free drinks and food. Everything on the house.”

Free food? You sit up, eyes crusty from all the scrolling. Even the world's toughest battles couldn't change your love for free stuff from your sister. She knows you too well.

“I don’t have anything cute to wear,” you mumble out, excuses falling from your lips. “And if I get mobbed outside, I might end up fighting someone.”

“Let me take care of it,” she says softly. “Just… Let me make it up to you. For that night.”

You blink at her. The night you met Heeseung. Why was she bringing that up now? Why was she suddenly trying so hard? But she stares at you with pleading eyes. “Fine,” you mumble. Sophia smiles at you. 

“You can’t stay inside forever,” she says. “Celebrities deal with this all the time. You’ll live.”

“I’m not a celebrity,” you snort.

“Good thing too,” she scoffs, flicking your forehead. “Not with that hairdo.”

She leaves the room for a second, coming back with a beautiful silk dress. A delicate floral print adorns the off-white material, with brooches adding a touch of elegance to the dress. It’s a gift, she says. Just trust her. 

You don't notice how the tag in the back says Prada. You think nothing of it when she’s spraying you with a fruity perfume, dousing your hair in product that slicks your hair in the right ways. You’re both out the door, in a taxi that feels far less elegant than the dresses you wear. The car stops in front of an old-timey theater in a more upscale part of the city, an expensive-ass opera house. 

Yes, your sister was horribly irresponsible with her money. She once bought a $1000 keychain she saw Heeseung and Sunoo wear on their bags just so she could match with them. But how badly did she want to cheer you up? This part of Seoul wasn’t accessible to people like you. Not in your tax bracket.

You both approach a well-suited man at the end of a long hallway who greets you with a guest book in hand. “Names?”

And when your sister takes the lead, hand wrapped around your arm as she pulls you into a fancy waiting area, your eyes flutter in confusion. High tables with no chairs that are more for socializing than eating. People buzz around, networking. 

“Where the fuck are we?” you mutter into her ear. "Did you take me to your work event?"

She shakes her head. “A friend of mine invited us,” she whispers. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sophia stops a server with a tray of finger foods that look too delicious to eat. You do it anyway with a fake sort of grace. Though you felt stuffy in the tight dress Sophia forced you into, it does feel nice to pretend once in a while. Like you have your shit together like everyone else.

Next thing you know, a group of servers is ushering you both into a small auditorium with dark walls and red chairs. It fills in quickly, overlooking a stage with black curtains and the golden amber hues emanating from the lamps strewn across the stage. And the prettiest of pink roses accent the piano and floor. Your favorite.

Sophia forces you to take a seat in the corner of the theater. Your attention is diverted to the stage where a lady with a mic greets the guests. She talks for a while, though you have a hard time listening when you notice a row of people with large cameras rush up to the front. 

“We ask that you leave flash photography for after the number,” the lady says. “Videos may be uploaded with permission from our team. Again, we are so happy that you have all joined us for tonight’s release party.”

A what? You stare at Sophia, wide-eyed and clueless. You clutch her forearm. “Release party?”

A soft piano hums through the room as everyone gathers around, fixating their gazes on the stage. At the very front, you spot six men. Ones you’ve seen countless times before, all dressed as dapper as everyone else. And you freeze. “Sophia—”

She shushes you, forcing you to look at the stage. The lights dim, and a spotlight trails to the left. A man walks out from the black curtain, hidden behind a black fedora. In any other setting, you would have laughed, but the dark gingham suit he wears fits well with the golden hues of light. The stranger’s brown hair peeks through. You see him better now that he lays the hat gently on the piano. Fuck.

He takes a gentle hold of the mic, singing with an ease that only he could, a soft melody carried by his clear voice.

Lee Heeseung, with his cheeky smile and pouty lips, searches the gaze of the crowd with his hands tucked into his pants. Like performing is as easy as breathing. And you almost melt from the sight of him, but you wear a hardness on your face that masks the fast beating of your heart. His eyes search the room, the lyrics flowing from his lips.

“So this is love…” He turns his head, finding you in an instant. “I know it is.”

And the moment passes. He continues his performance, while you fall apart at the seams. Heeseung takes off his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves as the music quickens.

He sneaks in glimpses of you. Your watery eyes are reflecting so beautifully off the golden stage lights. He loses himself in the music. His music. Everything he’s ever wanted to say, everything he’s ever wanted you to hear. For you to know him. For you to see him.

When it ends, he gives a bow so slight. And his eyes find yours again. 

–

“I’m leaving,” you say, standing up from the suede red chair without a second thought. You rush out, Sophia chasing after you.

“Stop that,” she tries to match your speed, failing miserably in her high heels. “I’m not letting you.”

“No, fuck this,” you mutter. Rushing past the theater doors, you turn your head towards her. “Why’d you even bring me here?”

“Please, just hear him out,” she sighs. “He wanted to see you after his performance.”

“Why?” you mock. “So he can see how I’m doing after he’s rubbed whatever that was in my face? So he can tell me he made the right decision?”

“He deserves a second chance,” she pleads, your steps finally coming to a halt. She tries to grab your hand, but it’s balled up into a fist. She settles for your elbow instead. 

“Of course you would say that,” you laugh bitterly. “So what did he promise you? Tickets to their concert? A backstage pass? Did he offer to take you to a fucking hotel right after?”

“Stop—”

“No!” you cry, tears ruining you’re makeup. “I’m done. I don’t need this shit. I don’t need him.”

You pull away from her, your high heels clacking against the marble floor. She follows you, silent now. You push down the pathetic sobs that exit your mouth, sighing in relief when you see the outside. But it’s strange. A black van is parked on the curb with an open door. Like it’s waiting for you. You hesitate, backing away until you feel the warm press of your sister’s hands on your back. She inches you toward the vehicle.

“W-what?” You try to turn, but the ground beneath you disappears as Sophia gives you one big push. You fall into the car, your knees landing on the dark carpet.

“OW—” And you see who’s inside, at the back, waiting for you. He holds a bouquet of pink roses wrapped in white paper with pleading doe eyes and a nervous grin, a suit vest that perfectly hugs his frame. You shake your head, lifting yourself onto your palms. Sophia pushes your feet into the car forcefully, and you throw her a panicked look.

“This is me trying to make it up to you.”

Quickly, she slides the car door. "What the fuck—"

Heeseung offers you a hand. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, flinching slightly when you push him away. “This was the only way I could reach out.”

“And whose fault was that?” you scoff, trying to open the door. But there's a child lock.

"Is this your plan? Try to kidnap me and apologize?"

He purses his lips. "Please. Just give me a few minutes of your time."

You look up at him, the roses in his hand, and the softness in his demeanor. You couldn't forget him even if you tried. So you sigh, sinking into the back seat with him. He lays the roses down to sit between you two. He had so much to say, so much to confess. But he didn’t know where to start. So you do it for him.

“Do you think just singing to me is gonna make everything okay?” you ask, venom laced in your voice. “Last time I checked, you were the one who wanted nothing to do with me—”

“I was wrong, okay?” he says, interrupting you. His voice lowers. “About everything.”

Heeseung bites his lip, heaving out a deep breath. “I fucked up, I know that…”

He sneaks you a glance, but you can’t even bother to look at him. He sees the thin streak of mascara that coats your cheek.

“I was thinking about what you said,” he starts, voice cracking just a little. “About how I just let things happen to me because I’ve normalized them or made excuses. And I just thought you didn't understand what it's like being an idol... but you’re right.”

He gulps. "You're right. I am a pushover. I am a suck-up. I am a liar..." Finally, you look at him. His chest tightens.

“I want to be better," he whispers. "For you.”

You scoff.  “Isn’t it a little too late for all this?” you choke out, biting the inside of your cheek out of anger. “We’re not supposed to be seen with each other.”

He shakes his head. “I don't care anymore. I care about you.” 

You suck in a deep breath. The snappy words that usually come out of your mouth when he’s around fade away. You feel it through him now. The regret.

“They… they won’t promote my new album,” he continues. “This is the only thing they let me do. Outside of this one event, I’m on my own with promoting everything. No music shows. No variety shows.”

He takes your hands into his, more to get support than to give it. You let him. “Like an independent artist,” he says with a cruel smile, hiding a despair you can’t fathom. 

Your mouth falls open. “But why? I thought the rumors had already died down…”

“Because,” he starts, relieved now that you’re unconsciously clutching onto him. “...I don’t want to be a liar anymore.”

He swallows hard. Unsure if this will ever come out right. But he needs to say it. “I want to be with you. I want to take you to nice things like this. Nicer places. So we don’t have to hide behind shades or masks whenever we go out. I don't want to keep us a secret.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs as he closes his eyes. Us? Since when was there an us? “So what are you trying to say?” you ask, in a low whisper. His thumbs rub over your knuckles.

“I’ll never,” Heeseung gulps. “Never do anything like I did before. I won’t shut you out. I won’t ask you to keep secrets for me.”

His head rests on your hands as he begs. You feel the wetness of his eyes hit the back of your palm. “I'm sorry,” he finally says. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

A stillness falls between you two, save for the soft sniffles barely audible from his muffled nose. You lift his head to meet your eyes, your palm resting under his chin. Despite the pain, despite the silent treatment, he seems so sincere. And maybe if he was just some guy who ghosted you and came crawling back without an explanation, then maybe you would have slapped the shit out of him. But this is Heeseung. And you know he has his reasons. So you nod, your own tears threatening to spill over once more. You don’t even try to hide them.

“You can leave,” he says through bated breaths, brushing the mascara stain from your cheek. “You can walk out of this car right now if you want. But if you let me… I… I want to tell you how I feel. Without running away.”

Your hand meets his wrist, losing yourself in his beautiful eyes. “And what is that?” you say, in a low voice.

He leans into you, his breath impossibly close to yours. “That I'm in love with you.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest, and a smile finally pokes through your sullen face. You inch forward, catching his lips with your own in a soft kiss. When you pull away to see his fluttering eyes, your heart warms.

“I think I am too.”

The van parks in a destination unknown to both of you. Somewhere secluded. The driver walked out minutes ago, far enough away to give you both privacy in the back seat.

Your lips melt against Heeseung’s, tongues dancing to make up for the nights spent waiting to have this moment again. Your body remembers him, yearning for contact. He pulls you into his lap, admiring the way the expensive fabric bunches up your thighs. A dress he’d bought for you ages ago, not sure how appropriate it would be to offer it to you, knowing you'd outwardly refuse. You looked so fucking good in it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters, peppering kisses down your neck. The neck that once wore his bruises so beautifully. You unbutton his vest, pulling apart the material and sighing from frustration when his dress shirt is still underneath. 

“And you’re wearing too many clothes,” you grumble. He chuckles as your hands work their way down the new set of buttons, revealing his tanned skin one by one. He unzips the back of your dress, relishing in how it falls so easily for him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, masking a grin. “Why do you never wear a bra?”

He licks his lips at the sight. Your bareness, dimly glowing by the car’s overhead light. He takes his hand out to rub a nipple, perky and plump. “Didn’t think I needed to tonight,” you mutter mockingly. His gaze darkens.

“I’m not complaining,” he whispers against your skin, nipping at your collarbone. His mouth finds your bud, suckling at it as his hooded gaze follows you. You wrap your fingers around his hair, giving in to his warm touch. 

It feels like all the other times before, but so much better. Because even if you’re in the back of his company van and hidden away from the world, you’ve never felt more seen by him. He’s learned everything there is to know about you. 

Knows how much it drives you crazy when three of his fingers are inside, knuckles deep, massaging that spongy part of your core that makes your back arch into him. Knows how malleable your body is when he lays you down on the seats, flowers he forgot to offer you tossed onto the floor. Knows that when he bares his neck to your lips, that your mouth will flutter with sweet sounds because finally, he lets you mark him. But he still wants more.

You bite down hard when he positions himself impatiently between your legs. “Need you,” he grunts, his pulsing member catching between your folds through the thin lace of your underwear. “Right now.”

You let out a sound of agreement, continuing your nibbles against his skin. "Heeseung—"

He groans at the sound of his name, pushing your underwear to the side. You grab at his brown hair, pulling him to look at you. “Make it up to me.”

He nods feverishly, entering your tightness in a painstakingly slow pace. It always ends up like this. Not enough time to prep you, but still so fucked out underneath him. You find his neck again, digging your canines into him as he stills inside. He winces in pain, head falling forward. Heeseung deserves it. And god, does he love it.

He waits for the clench of your walls to soften, his thumb rubbing small circles on your clit to distract you from the stretch. Car sex should be messy. It should be quick. A damn driver is waiting outside of some sketchy parking lot just so he can reunite with you. But he could give less of a fuck. He’ll take everything in, take you the way he wants to. The way he knows you like it.

Heeseung’s hands are clasping your hands into his, above your head. His thrusts start slow and agonizing, but addicting all the same. They’re harsh against you, snapping his hips forward with perfect control. “Ngh!” 

Your breasts bounce with each recoil of his thrusts, hitting the deepest part of you. Your eyes refuse to shut, too enthralled with the sight of your connection. Of him going so deeply inside of you that the imprint of him is visible beneath your belly button.

It’s silent, save for the wet sounds of his pounding, the rustling of clothes that stayed on from impatience, and the small sounds that come out of your lips. But it’s the loudest you’ve ever felt him. The intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your held hands, pushes you closer to your climax faster than any other night. He is yours. He’s made it clear.

“More…” you cry. And you don’t know what you’re whining for, but you beg anyway.

“Anything you want,” he moans, pressing his forehead onto yours. “I can give you, baby. I promise…” You shut him up with your lips. Because this is enough. Him back, him dropping the pretenses. You don’t care for hors d'oeuvres or designer dresses. You miss him in your room. You miss him in that stupid hoodie. Just you. Just him. The Heeseung you know, the Heeseung you love.

“I just want you,” you cry, the familiar coil shooting through your toes and up your core. He buries his head into your hair, his slow pace quickening when he hears your breath hitch. The slickness of your walls only makes it easier for him to penetrate. In and out, over and over again. He’ll give you everything. 

“Heeseung—” 

The sweet sound of his name from your lips eggs him on. He plows deeper into you, rubbing against your sweet spot. Deep and hard. Until you start to see stars. Until your fingers clutch his and your mouth opens into a silent scream, hips stuttering up to meet his. Until your red-hot orgasm propels him to go faster and harder, cursing into your skin. His thrusts are cruel, rolling into you as you try to push down the oversensitivity. The car squeaks from his rough movements.

“Heeseung,” you whine again, tears falling down your face. He kisses them away, face flushed as he nears his own climax. Your makeup, so beautifully ruined.

“So pretty, baby,” he mumbles, pistoning harder into you. “So pretty.”

You choke out a sob, already another orgasm threatening to spill over. He feels it too, feels the last of his sanity fly out the window.

“Shit—I’m gonna—” He tries to pull away. Tries.

“It’s okay,” you coax him, wrapping your legs around his frame. He always pulls out. Never gives himself the satisfaction of cumming inside of you. But you want it now. More than ever. “It’s a safe day.”

It’s not like he hasn’t thought of it before. He never wore a condom with you anyway. He’d been holding back from it because it felt too intimate, felt too real. But he knows now what this is. What you have. And he’ll gladly give in.

His thrusts drag along your G-spot repeatedly as your hips arch up into him. “Mh…Oh my god…Hee—”

"Fuck—"

He moans with you, head resting on your shoulder. Ropes of hot, white cum fill your tight walls. You whimper underneath him, your second orgasm washing over you as the heat in your core spreads through your body. He thrusts as deeply as he can, whispering sweet nothings into your skin, pushing more of himself into your gummy walls. Your juices mix with his, squelching noises permeating the car. 

When you look up, the windows are all fogged and dewy. “You’re so perfect, baby,” Heeseung sighs into your hair, coming down from his high. The best one yet. “Perfect for me.”

You brush his hair down from all the tugging you put it through, giving him a cheeky grin. “And who are you?” you ask teasingly. “Who am I perfect for?”

He smiles against your jaw, looking up at you through his beautifully long eyelashes. “Your boyfriend,” he smiles.

“Is that your way of asking?” you scoff, glaring up at him.

He lifts himself to your eye level. "No," he kisses your forehead. "The performance was."

Your cheeks warm, all of a sudden, so shy. The pink roses. The sneaking glances. Damn, he's good.

Heeseung grins. “So? Is that a yes?”

You shove his chest lightly. “Sure. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Big mistake,” he teases, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m never letting you go again.”

Even when you’re both appropriately dressed (save for the panties Heeseung hides deep into his pants pocket), the driver still feels less awkward to go back into the van. You take a second to admire the bouquet now in your lap, Heeseung’s hand in yours.

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you glance at him. “About your album. It would’ve been great to see you perform on music shows and all that.”

He smiles. There’s no sadness behind it this time. “Don’t be,” he reassures you. “I know what I'm signing myself up for.”

“But still. You didn’t have to do all this for me. The dress, the flowers… Convincing my sister—”

“Trust me,” he interrupts you. “I was going crazy without you.” You laugh at his surprisingly serious expression. You believe him.

“We didn’t have to go public, either,” you mumble. “I don’t want our relationship to hurt your career.”

He squeezes your hand, eyes searching your worried gaze. “It would have been public anyway,” he starts hesitantly. “Because I dedicated every song to you. I’ll give you a copy when it releases.”

Your mouth parts open in shock. “What?”

He laughs because he knows you heard him. Heeseung kisses your temple, the scar of your first meeting with him slowly fading with time. He hopes he can replace it with his presence instead.

“They’re all about you.”

–

Even though Heeseung hasn’t opened WeVerse in weeks, he finds himself typing from the small couch of the dorm living room. And hits send.

I’m so sorry to ENGENEs for the recent news. I want to be honest and say that the situation a few months ago had hurt me and the one I love very deeply. I just hope that our privacy can be respected at this time. Thank you, and I’m sorry for making any of you worry.

Sophia gawks at her phone, twisting it around to show you. The photocard of Heeseung that was once in the back is now replaced with a Polaroid picture of you and her as kids.

You try not to bite back a smile. “That’s my man, by the way.”

fin.

The emergency room had seen chaos before, but tonight felt heavier.

It started with sirens, loud and insistent, even through the thick hospital walls, and a nurse rushing in with wide eyes and a shaking tablet.

“Two criticals inbound, Formula one accident. One with full-body burns and head trauma, the other with a compound leg fracture and suspected internal bleeding.”

You didn’t look up until the gurneys were rolled in. The automatic doors swung open with a hiss, letting in two stretchers, wheeled fast.

The first man on the left stretcher wasn’t moving, blood was matting the dark fringe of his hair, and his face was pale under the running crimson.

His racing suit, at least, what remained of it, was slit down the middle already, soaked through.

The other one was conscious, barely. He was moaning low, his gloved hand clutching at his stomach.

His helmet was off, but there were burn marks curling along the side of his jaw, climbing his neck like vines. His left eye was bloodshot, and blood was crusting near his temple.

Someone called names, the trauma doctor barking orders, nurses scattering.

"Male, in his twenties, suspected third-degree burns, signs of cranial impact, get a scan, now!”

You walked beside them, flipping through the patient file as quickly as it populated.

Blood type, height, weight, nothing else yet. No names. Just codenames and a tag: F1 INCIDENT – NIGHT PRACTICE RUN.

The burn patient was rushed straight into the burn unit. The younger one too, the boy, he looked like a boy, no older than nineteen, with a mess of internal damage. You heard the word “rupture.” Someone else said “splintered bone.”

The moment the doors shut behind the burning team, you exhaled and leaned against the wall.

“Oh my God.” One of the nurses beside you whispered. “That’s Lee Heeseung and Nishimura Riki… holy shit.”

You blinked. “Who?”

The girl stared at you like you had three heads. “Heeseung? He’s like… a living legend in F1. He won Monaco last year blind in one eye… you seriously don’t know?”

You shrugged. “Not really my thing.”

She shook her head. “Well, it’l be now.”

And in fact, two hours later, you were re-assigned.

“Y/N, you’ll be in the burning unit monitoring, in a private suite.” The charge nurse handed you a clipboard. “VIP patient.”

You glanced down at the name, written in capital letters: LEE HEESEUNG

The report was horrifying, with skin grafts that started on both arms and his left shoulder, smoke inhalation damage that would be treated by manually removing it with a tube in the lung.

Followed by a nasty concussion with swelling that had the neurosurgeon double-checking his pupils every ten minutes, and last but not least a multiple rib fractures from the crash impact.

He’d been put in a medically induced coma for the first few hours, and the sedation wouldn’t wear off until sometime tomorrow. You’d be there to monitor vitals, manage the IV, prep for re-evaluation.

His room was on the east wing, he kind of suite reserved for politicians or royalty.

You slipped inside quietly. Heeseung looked worse now that everything was cleaned up.

The bandages made it more real, he gauze that circled half his head, the IVs in both arms, the oxygen line.

You adjusted the chart at the foot of his bed, but there was a whisper of movement behind you that distracted you.

The man that stepped in wasn’t that tall, with tousled hair and hoodie slung half-off his shoulder. There was dried blood on his jeans.

“Are you the nurse assigned to Heeseung?”

You nodded. “Just got here, are you family? Visiting hours are over.”

“I’m the— uh, manager. My name’s Sim Jake.” He extended his hand, but it trembled, so he dropped it. “Sorry, I— fuck, I can’t think. Is he stable?”

You nodded slowly. “He made it through all the check ups without surgery. He’s sedated, but stable. We’ll have to monitor him for the next 24 hours very closely, especially with the head injury.”

Jake exhaled so hard his shoulders dropped. “And Riki?” he asked quietly.

“From what I heard, he’s still in surgery.”

He pressed his palms together, his eyes were red-rimmed, like he’d been crying or lacked sleeping “They said it was gonna be a regular night, y’know? pre-race laps. Heeseung didn’t even wanna go.”

You stayed quiet. You’d seen people talk to cope, and you learned how to let them.

Jake stared at the bed, at Heeseung’s unconscious body, and then sat down heavily in the corner chair.

“There was a malfunction,” he said slowly. “In Riki’s brakes, his car didn’t slow down on the fourth turn. It’s a corner he usually takes at normal speed, but he went full throttle tonight, he really wanted to impress everyone.” he swallowed, “he didn’t know. Couldn’t have, there was no control. He was headed straight for the barricade, and spectators were there… families with kids.”

You frowned slightly, brows pulling.

“Heeseung… he saw it. He was in front Riki but he saw what was about to happen, he heard it from the communications radio,” he sighed “so he— he pulled out of line, he s werved into his path.”

Jake’s voice cracked. “He used his own car to stop Riki’s, took the hit full-on, it exploded on fire on impact.”

Your throat felt tight. You glanced at Heeseung again, this time a little different.

“He sacrificed himself,” Jake said, hands fisting in his lap. “To stop Riki from plowing into the stands.”

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how anyone could choose that kind of pain on purpose.

“He’s gonna live, right?” Jake asked, suddenly boyish. Less like a manager and more like a friend.

You nodded slowly, gaze still on the man lying in the bed. “We’ll do everything we can.”

🏁.

He slipped in and out of consciousness through the long stretch of the night, a haze of morphine clouding over his expression every time he stirred.

Most of it was just moaning, incoherent words under his breath, sometimes Riki’s name.

other times it was just soft whimpers, sharp exhales that caught against his bandaged ribs.

Once, around 3:40 AM, he jolted awake with a short cry and tried to move. His hands jerked upward instinctively, maybe to protect himself… maybe reaching for a steering wheel.

You had to catch his wrist gently and murmur softly until he settled again. “It’s okay,” you whispered, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re safe, you’re not in the car anymore.”

His eyes fluttered beneath bruised lids, and for a second, he stared right through you.

His lips parted, dry and cracked. You held a straw to them and helped him sip water, watched him wince even from that tiny effort, and then he was gone again.

Back into the warmth of sedation, head rolling softly to one side. Morphine dripped slow into his IV. You monitored the levels and checked the rate. You replaced the saline bag when it was almost empty and you didn’t leave the room even when your shift technically ended.

By morning, you were back at your post before the sun had even fully risen.

You weren’t due for another hour, but you couldn't stay home knowing he might wake again confused, aching and… alone.

But when you entered the room, he was already awake. Well, barely, but it was something.

The soft hum of the monitor greeted you first. His vitals were holding steady, but the real sign was the way his eyes, still a bit unfocused, and a little raw, tracked you as you stepped in.

You set your clipboard down quietly and met his gaze. “Hey,” you said softly.

He blinked slowly, then frowned. “Fuck,” he rasped, “I’m not dead?”

His voice was hoarse, painful to hear, but you managed a small smile. “Not yet, sorry.”

A weak huff pushed from his chest, maybe a laugh, or maybe a cough, you couldn’t tell. He shifted, then immediately grimaced, body locking stiff.

“It’ll hurt,” you warned, reaching out to adjust his pillow. “Your ribs are still healing.”

“No shit,” he groaned, swallowing hard. “Why… why can’t I feel my neck? and my chest and arms feel—“ another cough “numb.”

You hesitate, then walked to the bedside. His eyes were clearer now, but clouded with the edge of something worse than fear. The dread of what he didn’t know yet.

“You have third-degree burns on your neck and parts of your chest and arms. The reason you can’t feel them is… because the nerves are gone.” You tried to explain it as easily as possible.

His eyes flicked downward toward his shoulder, then to the heavy gauze wrapping his forearm. He didn’t move, just stared. “Am I—” His voice caught. “How bad does it look?”

You exhaled. “Bad,” you said honestly. “But they did a clean graft. You’ll get function back, most likely. The nerve endings yes… maybe not sensation in some areas. But it’s early, the burn team will know more after the swelling goes down.”

He closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenching.

Silence stretched. Then, his throat worked, voice more broken than before. “Riki?”

You nodded slowly, folding your arms. “He’s alive, though still unconscious. He had internal bleeding, and a compound fracture in his left leg. He’s in post-op recovery now, but he’s stable.”

His entire face tightened, like the weight of it had finally dropped onto his chest. His fingers clenched weakly around the edge of the sheet, and he looked away, toward the window where the morning light was just beginning to creep in through the blinds.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Good. He— he’s just a kid.”

You sat down in the chair beside him, scribbled a note on the chart, and glanced over.

“He’s lucky,” you said softly. “that you were there.”

He didn’t answer.

You knew Jake was still outside. He’d arrived early again, eyes red, pacing the hallway like a ghost. You’d seen him hovering through the glass window earlier, glancing in, debating whether or not to come in.

Now, as Heeseung winced and shifted slightly, you knew he wouldn’t want to deal with him yet.

“You’ve got someone outside,” you said after a pause. “Jake, right? Your manager.”

Heeseung closed his eyes.

“I don’t have the energy for him right now,” he muttered. “He’s just gonna yell.”

“Then he can wait.” you stood, heading toward the door. “You need rest, not a lecture.”

You stepped out quietly and met Jake’s eyes. He stood up instantly. “Is he awake? Can I—?”

“He’s not in the mood to talk,” you said, keeping your voice low but firm. “He’s in pain, and he’s processing. Maybe come back tomorrow?”

Jake’s face fell, but he nodded, rubbing his hand over his mouth, murmured something that resembled a ‘thank you’ before stepping away.

When you returned to the room, Heeseung was still awake, eyes half-closed, the tension in his shoulders loosened by a fraction. “You want me to turn the lights down a bit?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “My eyes hurt.”

You moved to the wall, dimmed them until the room was cast in soft amber.

And when you returned to your seat, he glanced over, lips cracked, voice barely above a whisper. “…What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” you replied “I’ll be your nurse for the time you stay here.”

He blinked. “You’re the one who was here last night.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “You tried to punch me when I held your hand.”

His brows creased. “Did I?”

“You missed.” You shrugged and a ghost of a smile touched his mouth, the first one real enough to settle.

🏁.

When you pushed the door open after your lunch break, it was with the quiet intent of checking Heeseung’s vitals, maybe adjusting his IV line again.

You expected him to still be in pain, perhaps trying to sleep it off. You did not expect what you found.

Three nurses, all hovering around his bed like moths to a dying flame.

One was adjusting his blanket even though it was already neatly draped, another was holding a spoon of soup like it was some kind of sacred ritual, and the last one— oh, she was massaging lotion onto the one patch of unburned skin on his hand with a focus that was frankly excessive.

Heeseung looked… tired. Not just physically, but emotionally drained, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the attention.

His eyes met yours almost instantly as you stepped in, and something like relief washed over his features.

You didn’t smile. “Out,” you just said, sharp but calm.

All three of them froze, as if you’d pulled the fire alarm. One nurse looked like she might argue, but you raised your brow just slightly, and she faltered.

“But we were just—”

“I’m sure you were,” you cut her off smoothly. “He’s under recovery care, not an autograph booth.”

The room grew ten degrees colder.

They scurried out with muttered apologies, not meeting your gaze. One of them left behind the bowl of half-stirred soup and a chocolate pudding cup on the tray.

Heeseung watched you settle the tray on the adjustable table and pull it close to him.

“So,” you said, lifting the spoon from the bowl, “how many fangirls have snuck in while I was gone?”

He grimaced slightly. “Only them, I tjink… one kept calling me ‘hero.’ I tried to play dead but they didn’t leave.”

You smirked faintly, scooping up a small portion of the lukewarm soup “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to fake injuries for attention?”

He gave a weak chuckle. “Pretty sure I didn’t have to fake anything.”

You lifted the spoon to his lips, watching as he took the soup carefully, his lips parting just slightly, eyes grimacing a little at the taste. His neck muscles twitched, probably from strain, and he exhaled hard after swallowing.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Is that soup or dishwater?”

“Hospital cuisine,” you said solemnly. “Five-star micheline.”

He took another spoonful, slowly, wincing just from the movement of his jaw.

He still looked rough, his color wasn’t good, skin pale and slightly ashy from the burn meds. His arms were stiff at his sides, bandaged still, and you could tell the hunger was there, but the effort… not so much.

You opened the pudding cup next, gave it a little stir with the plastic spoon. He looked at it like it was the most edible thing he’d seen in weeks.

“Oh thank god,” he said. “I’ve never been so excited for fake chocolate in my life.”

“Open up,” you said, and he did, the sweetness seeming to go down easier than the soup. He sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“I thought I’d feel better today,” he murmured. “But I still feel like shit.”

“You’re not even forty-eight hours post the accident yet,” you reminded him. “Your body’s still trying to decide if it wants to forgive you.”

He shifted then, just a little, then a little more. “Careful—”

“I wanna sit up more,” he mumbled, already pressing one arm against the bed, trying to push himself.

You leaned in, firm but calm. “Heeseung, stop.”

“I can’t just lie here—”

“You literally must.”

His eyes flashed with stubbornness, but then he grimaced hard, pain tightening his mouth.

You reached out instinctively, palm flat on his shoulder, not the burned one, holding him still.

“Don’t be stupid,” you said quietly. “Your ribs are still cracked, you won’t win against gravity.”

His jaw clenched. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

He looked away, toward the window. The light outside was gentler now, filtered through the clouds.

His face was drawn, and you could see it in the way he held himself, he wasn’t just sore, he was frustrated

The kind of man who didn’t like stillness. Who probably measured his self-worth by his speed.

“You’re scheduled to remove some of the smoke still in your lungs,” you told him, “It will not be pleasant.”

“Great,” he said sarcastically, “On a scale from one to ten?”

You thought about if for a minute, “I’ve never done it, but I will not lie that I think it will be a solid eight.”

You adjusted the pillow behind his back carefully, angling the bed up a little more for him. He didn’t resist this time, just watched your hands.

“You’re not useless just because you’re healing,” you said, mentioning the previous conversation. “You saved someone. That’s not something your body gets over in a day.”

Heeseung was quiet for a long moment, the sound of the heart monitoring a steady pulse beside you.

“…he’s still not awake, right?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Still out, but stable.”

He didn’t respond to that. Just stared out at the window again, jaw working.

You finished cleaning up the tray, wiping the corner of his mouth where a little pudding had smeared.

Your fingers brushed along his chin lightly, and for a second, his eyes dropped to your hand.

When you pulled back, he exhaled slowly.

“Thanks,” he said, voice lower now.

You didn’t smile, but your voice was soft. “Stop trying to get up, and I’ll bring you something that actually tastes like food tomorrow.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering, then gave a small nod.

“No fangirls,” you added, pointing an accusing finger towards him.

He smiled, just barely. “Only you then?”

You rolled your eyes and stood.

“Don’t push it.”

🏁.

Days blurred together like a long breath you couldn’t quite finish taking.

Outside, the world carried on, traffic, sunrises, clouds rolling over the hospital’s concrete edges, but inside that room, things moved slower.

Jake came every day now, just after lunch, always bringing a different set of sports magazines or articles printed off from the web.

Heeseung barely read them, but he listened when Jake talked about regular things, probably as not to overwhelm him with the fact that races continued wven as he laid on a hospital bed.

A video someone posted of Riki doing stupid tricks in a go-kart. They didn’t say much about the boy himself, not with him still in the ICU, but you could feel the tension crackle in Jake every time he left, like walking out of that room meant abandoning someone else who couldn’t speak for himself yet.

You didn’t press him, and yoou didn’t ask questions.

You were too busy with your own routine.

You came into Heeseung’s room just before the evening shift change.

The light outside had gone pale blue, casting long shadows across the tile floor.

You rolled in a small cart with the supplies, like bandages, ointments, saline and gauze. He was already sitting up a little, watching you.

His face still bore the bruises of the accident, but the swelling had gone down, and his eyes tracked your every movement now, sharp and clear.

“You get a new uniform?” he asked, voice less raspy than before but still colored with something teasing.

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s the same one you bled on two days ago. We just wash them sometimes.”

“Hot,” he murmured, then hissed softly as he tried to adjust his shoulder.

“Don't be cute,” you muttered. “It’s wound cleaning day.”

You started with his head. The bandage there had to be changed slowly, carefully, because the skin underneath was still raw and sensitive.

You gloved up, peeled back the old gauze from his temple, then gently dabbed at the edges of the injury with a saline-soaked pad.

He winced, but didn’t complain. Not like he had the first time. “You’re quieter than usual,” he said.

“You want me to make small talk while I pull the rest of your scabbed flesh off?” You raised a brow at him. He let out a breathy laugh and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind the distraction.”

You wrapped the fresh bandage around his head, secure but loose enough not to give him a headache.

Then you moved to his chest. He shifted again, the sheets falling to his lap as you pulled the gown down and exposed the burns that still ran like brutal red streaks from just below his collarbone down to the edge of his ribs, spreading across his right shoulder and part of his upper arm. Some had darkened and some peeled.

But all of it looked painful.

You dipped a gloved finger into the ointment and began carefully applying it over the healing areas.

You didn’t flinch at the way the flesh had hardened in some parts, blistered in others. You’d seen worse.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said through his teeth. “Feels like acid.”

“It’s just medicine.”

“I know, but I like being dramatic.”

You gave a short laugh, smoothing the ointment into the side of his neck, then placed new gauze over it, pressing down gently to secure it.

“I don’t know how you do this every day,” he said after a while “I mean, taking care of people like this…. like me. It can’t be the easiest job.”

You shrugged, taping down the last piece. “I’ve had harder patients.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. There was this guy once who thought flirting through third-degree burns was charming.” you teased.

He chuckled, and you moved to his arms next, slowly peeling back the old dressings.

His skin twitched under the fresh air, his fingers curling instinctively. You worked in silence for a while, glancing up only when you noticed him watching you.

“What?” you asked.

He tilted his head a little. “Nothing, you just never talk about yourself.”

You finished smoothing a patch of ointment along his bicep before answering. “There’s not much to say.”

“Bullshit. You’re in here every day, making sure I don’t die of infection or morphine withdrawal. You clean me, feed me, fight off the occasional fangirl. You’ve gotta have more going on than this.”

You paused. Then looked up at him… you didn’t really have an entertaining life outside the hospital, so you opted for something safe. “I’m also assigned to another patient.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, wrapping his arm now. “A kid about nine years old. He came in with a collapsed lung.”

Heeseung stilled slightly. “Accident?”

“No.” you gulped. “His father beat the shit out of him.”

Something in his face twisted then, slow and ugly. You continued softly. “He’s doing better now. Still needs the oxygen support, but he’s laughing again. Oh, and he loves dinosaurs.”

Heeseung’s voice was low. “Do people like that guy, his father, just get to walk around free?”

“It’s… complicated.” You said, your hands working focused. “He’s on the loose, police are searching for him.”

“Fuck.” He exhaled sharply, then looked away. “I thought I had it bad.”

You finished dressing the last of his wounds, peeling off your gloves with a soft snap and tossing them into the bin.

“You did,” you said quietly. “Pain doesn’t need to compete.”

He looked at you again then, for a long time. You weren’t sure what was in his eyes exactly. Respect, maybe sadness. Something softer, too.

“Thanks,” he said.

You gave him a faint smile, then reached for the blanket again, pulling it over his legs gently. “Don’t move too much tonight.”

“No promises.” Heeseung shrugged.

“I’ll sedate you if I have to.” you threatened.

He smirked. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve done to me.”

You rolled your eyes, gathered your supplies, and started toward the door. Before you stepped out, you glanced back.

He was still looking at you. Not like a patient looking at a nurse.

Like a man trying to understand someone he suddenly realized he didn’t know at all.

🏁.

Riki woke up the following week.

The update came in quietly, just after sunrise, passed from the ICU nurse on duty to your floor with that same hushed relief you’d felt pressing at the back of your ribs since the accident.

He was conscious, but weak. He was. fading in and out of sleep, but breathing on his own, and whispering broken sentences when someone leaned in close enough to hear.

You didn’t rush to tell Heeseung.

You waited until you finished your morning rounds, changed his bandages, fed him half of his usual breakfast. He didn’t complain today. Not once, and that alone told you his mind was elsewhere.

It wasn’t until you were refilling his IV fluids that you finally told him.

“Riki’s awake,” you said simply, not looking up as you slid the fresh saline bag onto the pole.

The stillness in the room shifted sharply.

Heeseung’s voice was instant, a little breathless. “When?”

“This morning.” You turned to him. “He’s in the trauma unit now. They transferred him just after stabilizing.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. His hands flexed slightly at his sides. “Can I see him?”

You hesitated. “You’re not exactly in any shape to—”

“I can sit,” he cut in quickly. “If I sit in a wheelchair, I can do it. I swear I won’t move. Just— five minutes. Please.”.

He was still so pale. The bruising around his eye had darkened into a dull ochre. The bandages on his neck peeked out from under his gown. His arm was trembling just from lifting the glass of water earlier.

He wasn’t ready. But you also knew he’d never feel ready, and something told you he wouldn’t rest until he saw Riki for himself.

You sighed, pulling your gloves off. “Alright, but you don’t lift a finger. You move wrong and I’ll have you sedated for real this time.”

He smiled weakly. “God, that’s hot.”

You shot him a flat look. “Try me.”

You brought the chair around slowly. He watched every motion as you locked the brakes, looped the IV pole onto the hooks, and adjusted the footrest to keep his legs steady. Then came the hard part.

“Okay,” you said gently, moving to his side. “You’re gonna need to lean forward on three. I’ll brace your back. Use your left arm if you can. The right’s still healing.”

He nodded once, already concentrating “One… two.. three.”

He grunted as he moved, your arm slipping under his to guide his weight forward. It took everything in him not to scream, you could tell.

His ribs were like cracked glass, one wrong shift and he’d shatter. But he bit it back, his jaw clenched, and let you ease him into the wheelchair slowly.

Once he was seated, you adjusted his gown to keep the bandages covered, re-checked the IV tube to make sure it wasn’t pulled, and only when everything was steady did you release a breath.

“You good?” you asked.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.. fuck. I feel like a grandpa.”

The trauma unit wasn’t far, but you still took it slow. Every bump in the linoleum seemed to jolt through his bones.

You moved carefully, guiding the chair down the hallway, keeping your hand on the bar, and checking on him every few seconds. He didn’t talk, he just stared straight ahead.

When you reached Riki’s room, you paused at the door. “You sure?” you asked.

Heeseung nodded quietly and so you opened the door slowly.

The lights were dimmed inside, soft beeping of monitors the only sound.

Riki was lying still, propped slightly against the incline of the bed. His skin was a mess of bruises, purple and green splotches painting across his arms and cheek. A heavy cast swallowed most of his left leg, raised and elevated on a cushion.

There were faint stitches near his collarbone, and you saw the tremble of his chest with every breath.

But his eyes were open and conscious, staring at the white ceiling.

When he saw Heeseung, something in his expression cracked. His mouth moved first, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Heeseung…”

Heeseung tried to lean forward but flinched instantly. You stepped in and pressed lightly on his shoulder.

“Careful,” you murmured.

“I thought you were dead,” Riki said, voice hoarse and small.

Heeseung swallowed, eyes shining faintly. “So did I.”

Riki blinked rapidly. “They said you— why the fuck did you stop in front of me like that? That’s not…” He trailed off, voice thick. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”

Heeseung stared at him for a long moment. “You were headed for the barricade.”

“You should’ve just let me crash.” Riki snapped.

Heeseung’s voice was low, steady. “No, i really shouldn’t have.”

The silence between them settled like a weight. You didn’t speak, nor did you move. You saw how Heeseung’s hands gripped the armrests, how Riki tried to blink away the water in his eyes.

“You look like shit,” Riki finally said, a faint smile twitching at his lips.

Heeseung gave a tired breath of a laugh. “Yeah. So do you.”

You looked between the two of them. “I’ll give you a few minutes… just don’t make him laugh too hard. His ribs won’t survive it.”

🏁.

Two more weeks passed, and the days started blending again, though in a different rhythm now.

Rehab was slower, less frantic than the ER, but harder in other ways.

You watched Heeseung try to curl his fingers around a towel for ten full minutes one morning, sweat beading along his brow while the physical therapist kept encouraging him softly, and he just clenched his jaw and tried again and again, even when the pain clawed up from his shoulder into his teeth.

The nerves in his right arm were slow to wake. Some hadn’t at all.

But he worked through it, every day. There were setbacks and ghost pains and frustration.

A dozen nights when he asked you to help him sleep with medications because the sensation of nothing in his arm felt worse than agony.

You tried your best to support him, to give him the strength he was missing.

He could get a game of cards with you each time he managed to complete an exercise, and though he struggled to hold the cards in hands, he looked forward to it.

He always did, but one day you didn’t arrive at the time you usually did.

You always checked in after the rehab sessions. Always adjusted the pillows, changed his IV port, sometimes brought him sickeningly sweet tea even though it wasn’t officially allowed.

That afternoon, he returned from physical therapy looking exhausted and stiff, arm strapped carefully in the sling again.

You would be waiting for him, and even if he felt tired, he was excited to tell you about his progress.

But when he got in there were no cards and no you.

He was half-dozing when the door finally opened, with but the footsteps weren’t yours. The nurse on duty came in to check his meds, and as she adjusted his meds she told him you were coming but were just running late.

She went away, and when the door opened again some time later, it was you.

You came in fast, too fast and your steps uneven. Your scrubs were wrinkled, your hair pulled back hastily.

You didn’t even glance at him, just went straight to the counter and dropped your bag like your hands didn’t know what to do with anything.

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

“Hey.” You replied hurriedly.

He tried to push himself up further in bed, and that simple movement sent a spasm through his ribs. He hissed but kept watching you.

Your hands were shaking as you reached for the gloves. You put them on hastily and put some morphine drops in his IV line.

Or tried to, because the needle kept missing. You tried again and again.

“Hey.” He murmured, brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” you gulped, voice shaky, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

But he didn’t buy your lie, so he said more firmly, “Y/N.”

You stopped moving and dropped your hands on the medicine counter. “I lost him.”

The words came out too sharp and too sudden. You hadn’t meant to say them like that. You hadn’t even known what you meant to say until they tore out of your mouth.

He blinked slowly. trying to piece the words together. “The kid?”

You turned slowly toward him, your eyes wide and glassy, and you laughed, a short and broken sound. It caught in your throat. You clutched the edge of the t counter like it could hold you up.

“I— I did everything. Everything I was supposed to. He was smiling yesterday… and… and he even asked me to draw dinosaurs on his oxygen mask. I told him I would after he ate his dinner.”

He didn’t speak, he let you rant, because he knew you needed not to be strong for once. You needed a shoulder to cry on.

You stepped forward, then dropped to your knees before you even realized it. The medical equipment fell from your hands.

“He started coughing and he didn’t stop,” you whispered, voice already breaking. “His lung… it filled with blood. He couldn’t breathe and we couldn’t intubate fast enough. He choked in front of us. In front of me.”

Your hands pressed to your face. “I tried… I tried so fucking hard—”

Your sobs ripped out of you, loud and uncontained, ugly sobs that rocked your body. Heeseung reached out before his body could protest. “Come here.”

“No,” you gasped. “I can’t— I’m not supposed to—”

“Come here.” He repeated firmly.

You crawled toward the bed on your knees, hands shaking too much to reach for anything.

He managed to lower his good arm toward you, fingers trembling as they brushed against your shoulder.

You pressed your face to the side of the bed, arms folded awkwardly under you, and sobbed into the blanket.

He winced, but he kept his hand there on your back. His thumb moved in slow, unsteady circles, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “You did everything you could.”

“I didn’t save him.” You snapped.

“Sometimes… sometimes you can’t.” He tried to reason. “I promised I’d come see him tomorrow.” You whispered brokenly.

Heeseung’s breath hitched, and he closed his eyes like he could carry the weight of that grief for you.

“I keep seeing his face,” you whispered. “He looked so scared.”

“I know that feeling,” he murmured. “I know, I see the fire every night.”

Your fingers curled into the blanket. He moved his hand and brushed your hair back behind your ear. The gentlest touch he could manage.

“You made him forget the horrors he went through,” he said softly. “You were there. That matters more than anything.”

You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t even pretend to be the composed nurse anymore.

You weren’t her right now. You were just you, kneeling on the floor beside a patient who had become more than just a chart.

You stayed there, head buried into the side of the bed, tears soaking through the sheet, while Heeseung lay still, chest tight, body too raw to offer more than the steady, quiet presence you’d once given him.

Eventually, your sobs softened, worn out. Like the grief had burned through you fast and left only ash behind.

He spoke again, voice slow. “You can sit up here, if you want.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to move.” Even in your pain, uou cared more for him.

“I won’t.” He shifted his hand slightly, inviting. “Just stay beside me..”

So you did, because you weren’t really in the right state of mind to list all the reasons why you shouldn’t.

You climbed onto the edge of the bed slowly, not to disturb the tubes or bandages, and leaned gently against the side of his body. His good arm curled around your back.

Just for a moment you let yourself be held.

🏁.

It was quiet between you for a long while. His hand was warm where it rested on your back, too warm for someone who’d spent the last few weeks surrounded by machines and medications and cold gauze.

You were still curled into the side of the bed, your cheek resting just beside the edge of his chest, body limp from the sobbing.

“Hey.” He finally spoke.

You shifted, barely lifting your head. “Mh?.”

He angled his neck enough to glance down at you. “Wheel me downstairs.”

You blinked slowly. “Downstairs where?”

“The cafeteria.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him properly. His face was worn, but his expression was serious.

You stared hard. “You’re not allowed down there yet.”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Neither was I allowed to have Jake’s candy bars, but I’ve had three Twix and two mini bags of Doritos this week, and I haven’t died.”

Your brows lifted. “You’ve been cheating on your meal plan?” He gave a faint smirk. “Religiously.”

“You sighed, pressing your fingers to your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do right now was escort a stubborn F1 driver out of his room for snacks like he hadn’t nearly burned alive three weeks ago.

But the truth was, your chest still hurt. The grief still sat in your bones, but it was quieter now, and something in his voice had shifted.

“Fine,” you muttered, standing. “But you’re wearing your sling, and your hospital bracelet stays visible. If anyone asks, you’re on a medically supervised movement.”

“Lord,” he murmured. “You make rule-breaking sound so sexy.”

You rolled your eyes, but the ache in your chest had already started to soften.

You helped him into the chair again, slower this time, letting him lean into you more than usual.

His body was getting stronger, but not by much, and even the act of standing made him wince. You adjusted his IV pole and tucked the light blue blanket across his lap before wheeling him carefully out into the corridor.

The hallway was mostly quiet as night shift had already begun. The elevators pinged with soft dings while you descended.

“Did you bring me down here to flirt with the volunteers again?” you asked as the doors opened on the ground floor.

“No,” he said. “They don’t make eye contact anymore. I think you scared them off.”

You snorted. “Good.”

The café was dimly lit, the kind that looked like it was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t inside a hospital.

You wheeled him to a table tucked in the corner, far from the noise of people or the murmur of the vending machines.

You walked up to the bar and ordered what he’d asked for, a hot chocolate with no whipped cream, and a bottle of water. The cashier rang it up, and just as you reached for your hospital-issued card, a hand beat you to it.

Heeseung had wheeled towards you, alone, and handed over a credit card without a word.

You looked at him sharply. “What the fuck are you—”

“I wanted to.” Ahe said quickly, “And I used the good arm.” He waved it for good measure.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m on shift. I can’t let patients pay for—”

“I’m a grown man in a wheelchair, who needs your help standing while peeing, I think you deserve this.”

You stared at him for a second longer, but he didn’t waver. So you let it go, you took the tray with the drinks, careful not to spill the hot chocolate, and returned to the table.

When you set it down in front of him, he reached out for the bottle of water. He pushed the hot chocolate toward you.

You blinked, then frowned in confusion. “This is yours.”

“I ordered it for you.” He explained as if it was the most obvious thing.

Your hands hovered for a second. “You asked for it.”

“And then I gave it away.” He met your eyes, gaze soft but unwavering. “You’ve had a shit day, well, week. I figured chocolate was a safer bet than tequila.”

You slowly sat down, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. It steamed against your skin, thick and sweet-smelling.

“You still shouldn’t be paying for me,” you muttered.

“I crashed a million-dollar car. You think I’m worried about six bucks?”

You shook your head, trying to hide the way your lip tugged up just slightly.

He leaned back a little in the chair, the bottle of water resting between his thighs. “You’re allowed to sit here,” he said, voice quiet. “Not just as my nurse but just as you.”

You stared down at the cup. “I don’t think I know how to be just me anymore.”

“You do,” he said softly. “You just haven’t had time to remember.”

You took a slow sip and the warmth bled into your chest. “I think I hate hospitals,” you whispered.

He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “So do I.”

You wheeled him back before the nurse on dinner rounds made it to his floor.

Heeseung didn’t say much on the way up, he just kept his eyes ahead, arm still nestled in the sling, the blanket pooling loosely around his waist.

You stopped the wheelchair in front of his room, and opened the door wide enough for the chair to slip in.

He shifted a little as you rolled him in, wincing when the chair hit a bump in the threshold. “Careful,” he murmured.

“Sorry,” you replied quickly, helping him ease into a comfortable position beside his bed before turning off the wheelchair brakes.

You were efficient again, going through motions you’d done a hundred times, but your fingers still trembled slightly when they brushed his wrist, adjusting the IV.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For taking care of me.”

You turned toward him. “It’s literally my job

“It’s more than that,” he said. “You didn’t have to sit with me. You didn’t have to cry where I could see you.”

You swallowed, eyes briefly dropping to his blanket. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not very professional.”

“You’re too pretty to cry,” he said simply.

You rolled your eyes, stepping toward the cabinet to grab a clean set of saline wipes, trying to cover how your heart stuttered at the way he’d said it— like a fact, not a compliment.

“Don’t start,” you warned. “I’m not starting,” he said. “I’m just saying.”

You turned back to him, arms crossed, and leaned against the cabinet. “Alright, fine. How are you feeling? Really.”

He blinked at you, then tilted his head slightly, making a face. “Sore.”

“Where?” You asked.

He shifted, jaw tightening as he angled his neck. “My neck mostly. Probably the burn. It feels like it’s pulling when I sleep.”

“That’s because you keep turning your head instead of using the pillow support,” you said, walking toward him again.

You reached gently toward his collarbone, pulling back the loose hospital shirt to peek at the gauze that covered the worst of the scarring.

“You should kiss it better,” he said then, voice suddenly low.

You stopped, frozen in place. Your hand froze an inch from his skin, and his eyes flicked to your face, watching you for a reaction, but not pushing.

His lips tugged up, a faint, boyish grin pulling the corner of his mouth.

You stared at him, chest tight, then sighed through your nose and leaned in, fast, before you could think better of it, and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of his cheekbone.

Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your lips, to let the tension between you shift into something that made your stomach twist.

His smile widened, the surprise obvious on his face.

“Hey,” he whispered, gaze following you as you straightened and stepped back. “That was nice.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You said, holding a threatening finger to his face.

He laughed, low and hoarse. “Too late.”

You grabbed your clipboard, pretending to check his chart so you wouldn’t have to look at him while your face still felt warm.

“I should go,” you muttered, already walking toward the door. “Dinner shift’s starting on the east wing.”

“Wait—”

But you were already pulling the door open, glancing back at him just long enough to catch the way he looked at you now.

You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped out, your heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it, and let the door shut behind you with a soft click.

🏁.

By the third day of your ten-hour shift stretch, you could recognize the tone of the call button chime before the light even blinked above the door.

It was always Lee Heeseung’s, allways at the most inopportune moments— just when you had your gloves snapped on to help with someone else’s chart, or when you were halfway through prepping a new IV bag.

And by now, you didn’t even need to guess what he’d say.

“My pillow fell again.”

“My water’s too warm.”

“I finished the tissue box. I sneezed once and now it’s gone.”

“I think my skin feels itchy, but like, only a little. Is that bad?”

“Do you know where the remote is?”

Six times that day, and it wasn’t even five p.m.

So this time, you walked in before the chime finished echoing down the hall, your hands on your hips, the door swinging shut behind you with a firm thud.

“Okay,” you said, standing just inside the threshold, your brows raised. “I know you’re bored, and I know hospital life isn’t exactly thrilling, but unless you’ve developed a new infection or spontaneously combusted again, I really don’t want to hear another call button chime from this room today.”

Heeseung looked up from the bed, blinking at you with the most unapologetically fake innocent expression you’d ever seen.

“You don’t have to scold me like that,” he said, lifting a hand with mock pain. “It hurts my feelings.”

“It hurts my back,” you snapped, “to walk this hallway six times because you suddenly forgot where your mouth is after wiping it.”

He cracked a smile then, slow and crooked. “That one wasn’t urgent, I just missed you.”

You blinked at him, deadpan.

“I’m serious,” he added quickly. “I’m not trying to be annoying. I mean, I am. But not… only.”

You slowly stepped closer to the bed, your arms crossing over your chest. “Heeseung.”

He lifted both hands in surrender, careful not to stretch his burned arm. “Alright. alright, I’ll stop. I’ll be good.”

You narrowed your eyes. You knew he felt alone, F1 season continued, Jake had meetings with his whole department since both his drivers were out and he was afraid he’d be replaced.

You knew, but it didn’t mean he had to drive you insane too. No pun intended.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “I know I’m being a pain in the ass, that you’re tired, and I know it’s not fair to ask for attention when there are patients who actually need you.”

That startled you a little. His voice was sincere now, not playful.

The kind of honest that didn’t come easy to men like him, the men used to winning races and smiling through sponsors’ press conferences and interviews. But he looked small now, even as he sat upright in the bed, chest tight in the bandages you changed every morning.

“I’m just—” he exhaled, his fingers twitching over the blanket. “I’m scared to leave. That’s the truth.”

You frowned, stepping to his bedside without thinking. “Why would you be scared of leaving a hospital?”

“Because I look like this.” He motioned vaguely to his body, to the sling, the burn that peeked from beneath the hem of his collar. “Because I haven’t seen a mirror in weeks, and I know I’ve looked better. Because my hair’s gross and I’ve lost weight and I smell like antiseptic, and I’ve been stuck in this bed thinking that I’ll never feel like myself again.”

You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done. “And because I finally got the courage to want something for myself. And that something is you.”

The words landed hard. You felt your arms drop slightly, hands now loose by your sides, the air between you suddenly tighter than before. You blinked your eyes, unsure if you were seeing or hearing his words right.

Heeseung looked up at you again, slower this time, less sure of himself than you’d ever seen him.

“I know you don’t owe me anything. You’ve been taking care of me because it’s your duty, and I’ve probably pushed boundaries I shouldn’t. But…” He swallowed, breath shallow. “I wanted to tell you now. Before I get discharged, because the second I’m out of here, I’m gonna be back in recovery, back in press cycles, and everyone’s going to ask about the crash and Riki and the damn brakes, and I’m not going to get to just sit with you… or make you laugh, ormake you roll your eyes like that.”

You stared at him, speechless, as if your body had finally shut down.

“I just needed you to know,” he said finally. “When I’m back on my feet and when I look like me again… I’m going to ask you out, properly. If you’ll let me.”

Your heart was pounding, because somewhere deep down, maybe you’d known. Known from the moment he reached for the hot chocolate and slid it across the table. Known from the way he watched you like you were the only anchor he had left.

You didn’t know what to say, not yet. Your mouth felt dry and your chest felt tight, but your feet stepped closer anyway, drawn like a magnet.

You didn’t kiss him this time. You didn’t touch him either. You just looked down at him, eyes skimming his face, the new pink of his healing skin, the glint of defiance still in his expression.

“You still can’t press the call button,” you said quietly.

His smile broke again, wider this time. Like sunlight on rained down pavement.

“Alright,” he whispered. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait for you.”

🏁.

You didn’t see Heeseung for almost three weeks.

He still came to the hospital, that much you knew, rehabilitation was mandatory, even for someone as stubborn as Ferrari’s golden boy.

He was scheduled twice a week for physical therapy, and he visited Riki when he could, sometimes staying an hour or more in the kid’s room.

But your shifts never overlapped. It was strange, how easily someone could vanish into the same building you worked in, the same halls you’d memorized with your eyes closed.

You didn’t try to ask around. You didn’t dig through records or prod the therapists in the staff lounge.

You didn’t let it show on your face that every time the elevator dinged on your floor, your eyes flicked up before you could stop yourself.

He was healing at home now. Taking care of his own burns, which had scabbed and scarred over with that red-purple finish that made your heart twist the last time you saw them.

You imagined him moving stiffly through some fancy condo, with his water always cold, pillows never out of reach, tissues unused because there was no one around to pass them.

However, you saw Riki often. He was in less pain now, and more alert to his surroundings.

Still sour most days, snappy and restless from staying still for so long, but there was a spark there, something sharp behind his eyes when he talked about rehab. He wanted to walk, he wanted to drive again. Even if it was far off for the time being.

“Heeseung comes in all weird,” Riki muttered one afternoon while you adjusted the IV tubing above his bed. “Like, in baseball caps and hoodies. As if people won’t recognize him if he covers half his face and walks with that stupid gait.”

“Maybe he’s trying not to get mobbed,” you murmured, flicking the drip line with your nail. “He had fans even in the hospital.”

“He just doesn’t want people to look at him,” Riki said, a little quieter. “Not until his skin looks normal.”

You didn’t answer that. You just gave him a sip of water and changed the subject, but it stayed with you.

That night, for the first time, you opened Instagram and typed Ferrari into the search bar.

The page was easy to find. It was verified, with the bold logo, all red and gold and glory.

You scrolled past the highlight reels, the merchandise links, the footage of pit crews moving like insects in reverse. You skimmed captions about sponsors, about prep for the next season, about hopeful outlooks. And then you found his name.

Lee Heeseung, back in training. Slowly regaining strength in his right arm, working with team specialists twice a week. Determined to be ready for next season’s opener.

There was a photo. Blurry, and taken from behind. Heeseung bent forward, sweat soaking through a dark training tee, fingers curled over a steering simulator.

His profile was partly visible, bandage still over the side of his neck, his jaw clenched, dark hair longer than it had been in the hospital.

He looked thin and tired. But he looked alive.

You stared at the photo for longer than you should have. Then, against your better judgment, you hit the follow button.

You didn’t expect it to change anything. You didn’t expect him to see it, even, his feed was full of likes and mentions from fans all over the world, probably flooded every minute.

But something about it made you feel closer. Like you’d walked into a corner of his life no one had given you permission to touch.

Like you were choosing to see him now, not as your patient, not as a body in bandages, but as someone aching to be more than that.

You still didn’t see him in ‘real life’, but you started noticing the gap he left in your day.

The way your shift felt a little quieter without his voice drifting out of his VIP room.

How your eyes scanned the hallway out of habit, expecting his lanky frame to come sauntering around the corner with a sarcastic comment ready. How the call button in his old room remained untouched, almost dusty with disuse.

You didn’t let yourself think about it too much. You had other patients. You had other wounds to clean, other charts to fill.

You had boys younger than Riki who didn’t know what comfort felt like, who cried into your sleeves when no one else was looking.

But late at night, when you walked home in silence, something in you still flickered with that unfinished sentence. With that look in his eyes the last time you left his room.

🏁.

Saturdays weren’t yours to work, but the fire from three nights ago had overflowed the ER.

Nurses had been calling out, supplies were low, and patients kept pouring in with second-degree burns and smoke in their lungs, soot in their hair and soot in their blood.

You hadn’t had lunch. You barely remembered what you’d eaten for breakfast.

Your scrubs were wrinkled, your badge strap sticky with someone’s dried medication, your shoes creaked wet from a mop bucket you stepped in by accident. All you wanted was to go home, shower, and sleep for fourteen uninterrupted hours.

So when you stepped out the side exit, your usual escape route to avoid the busier front doors, and found a sleek, glimmering black car parked right in the middle of the access road, you groaned out loud.

“The hell…” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes.

You looked around first, no security in sight and no staff nearby.

The car was expensive, way too shiny to belong to a low waged doctor, but the way it was angled made your jaw clench.

Right in the path of emergency lanes. If an ambulance pulled in, it would have to slow down, stop before it hit it and possibly lose a life.

You stepped toward the driver’s side window without hesitation, rapping your knuckles against the glass firmly.

You didn’t expect it to roll down that fast. And you definitely didn’t expect him.

Heeseung turned toward you slowly, lips twitching up into the smallest smile, his eyes scanning you like you were a familiar song playing again for the first time in weeks.

He had a hat on, but he pulled it off the second he saw your face. His skin had lost the swollen, raw shine, there were still scars on his jawline and neck, but they were faded now, pinked and healing.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

You just blinked, hands mid-air, paused knock on the window. “What— what are you doing here?” you asked.

“I was waiting for you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your shift ended half an hour ago.”

“I stayed behind because the trauma and burning bay was still full.” You explained, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, I heard about the fire.” His brows dipped a little. “I figured you wouldn’t leave on time.”

You glanced at the car again, then back at him “You’re parked in the middle of the road.”

He shrugged, leaning his elbow against the wheel, lazy and composed and so infuriatingly calm. “You always said I was reckless.”

“That’s not— Heeseung, you can’t park here. What if an ambulance came in?” You nagged.

“Then I would’ve moved.” His smile widened slightly. “I saw you coming out. You were holding your bag like it was about to break.”

You looked down at your satchel, at the way it was sagging from your shoulder, the straps barely stitched. You hadn’t realized he was watching.

“You look exhausted,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you or get in the way. I just… I wanted to talk to you.”

You hesitated, swallowing hard. “You could’ve texted.”

“I don’t have your number.” You paused again, jaw tightening. The handsome fucker was right.

He read the hesitation in your expression because his voice softened when he added, “It’s not anything heavy. I just wanted to see you…. talk. If that’s okay.”

“I should go home,” you said, but your voice didn’t sound as sure as it should have.

“I know,” he replied, tone level. “I’m not trying to trap you. I just… thought maybe you’d want to come for a short drive.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but he must’ve seen it in your face, that flicker, that tiny weakening you always had with him, because he leaned across the passenger seat and pushed the door open.

The smell of his cologne wafted out faintly, clean and unfamiliar. Not the antiseptic you used to associate with him, but something warmer.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “And I’ll drive slow.”

You stood there another heartbeat before sighing heavily and slipping in, dropping your bag between your feet. “You can’t park like that again.” you grumbled, pulling your seatbelt on.

“I won’t,” he said, already shifting the gear. “Unless it gets me your attention.”

The car was too smooth, barely a hum beneath your thighs as he pulled onto the road.

He didn’t take the highway. Instead, he drifted toward the north side of the city, where the buildings thinned and the roads turned narrow and winding.

You didn’t say anything for a while, and the radio was off, creating a not so awkward silence.

The windows cracked just enough for the wind to kiss your temples. Heeseung kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. His fingers tapped to a rhythm only he heard.

You finally asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” he smirked.

The hill was quiet. Just far enough from town that the lights behind you blurred into a string of distant sparks, like stars upside down.

He pulled up to the edge, beside a lookout you vaguely recognized from photos, some popular spot kids used to park and drink or kiss in late at night.

But now it was just the two of you, and the sun was melting behind the skyline, leaving streaks of orange and dusty violet stretching across the horizon.

He killed the engine as you sat still, unsure. He turned to you. “You’ve been following the Ferrari page.”

You flushed before you could stop it, your eyes darting to the glovebox. “You noticed?”

“You think I wouldn’t?” he asked, tilting his head. “Your username has your badge number and Jake asked me if it was you when he saw the notification. He’s the one who runs the profile.”

You cringed. “I misclicked.”

“I like it that you follow it.” He took a breath, shifting to face you slightly. “I wasn’t lying that day. I know I was half gross with hair oily and calling for tissues every five minutes. But I meant what I said.”

You chewed your bottom lip, hands clasped together on your lap.

“I’ve thought about you every damn day,” he said, voice low. “Every burn I cleaned, every stretch I did to move my arm again… it was all with your voice in my head, lecturing me, cussing under your breath, or humming while you changed my dressings.

He chucked softly, “I’m not trying to romanticize what you did— it was your job, I know that. But you were the only part of that room that didn’t feel like pain.”

Your throat tightened. The silence around you pressed against your chest.

“So,” he said, after a moment. “Now that I’m here, and I don’t look like a half-melted wax figure, I’m going to ask again.”

He leaned in a little, not enough to touch you. Just enough to make the air shiver between your knees.

“Would you go out with me?”

You looked at him, really looked at the scars that would never fully fade, at the honesty stretched across his face. At the way his fingers curled and uncurled on his thigh, nervous.

Not Heeseung-the-racer. Not Heeseung-the-patient. Just the man who held you when you broke down and offered you hot chocolate to cheer you up.

“…You’re still kind of a pain in the ass,” you whispered.

He grinned, soft and warm and so stupidly pretty. “I’m hoping you like that about me.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away. But your voice cracked into something almost smiling as you said, “Okay.”

His inhale was slow, asif he didn’t believe you yet.

“Yeah?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.

You turned back to him and nodded. “Yeah.”

🏁.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen so naturallyx, but the nights at his place started slipping into your week like a warm spring breeze.

He picked you up after long shifts when you didn’t feel like taking the bus, and you’d slip into his fancy car still in your scrubs, smelling faintly of antiseptic and latex gloves, too tired to talk.

And he never asked you to. He just opened the passenger door, let you rest your head against the window, and drove home in silence, music turned low and hand reaching across the console to hold yours.

His mansion, because there was no way around calling it that, wasn’t what you expected.

You thought it’d be filled with trophies and screaming red logos, but it was just neat and quiet.

His bedroom was painted in soft shades of gray and navy, his kitchen smelled like coffee beans and a hint of vanilla, and the couch was so wide you’d often curl up in the corner with a blanket and not move for hours.

You didn’t have the energy for fancy dates or being out in public. You certainly didn’t want to be photographed, you didn’t ant some journalist writing a two-paragraph caption about how Heeseung’s latest girl was just some tired nurse with eyebags and oversized jackets.

And Heeseung never made you feel small for it. Whatever he chose for his life you didn’t have to force yourself to be a part of.

Most nights were spent curled on the sofa, a Netflix movie you barely registered playing in the background.

You would start the evening upright, knees tucked in, a warm drink in your hands, and end it slouched sideways, your cheek against his shoulder, breath even and shallow as sleep claimed you halfway through the plot.

He’d carry you, sometimes. Tuck you in and kiss your forehead lightly. Other nights, you made it to bed on your own, and he would join you an hour later, warm and silent, pressing himself carefully to your back, still stiff because of his healing skin.

He had noticed your pills early on. The first time, you thought you’d been slick about it, hiding them behind your hand as you opened the bottle near the sink.

But he leaned over and asked, “You okay?”

You nodded, embarrassed, trying to swallow them quickly. “Just for digestion, y’know? My stomach gets weird after long shifts. I don’t always… well, can’t always eat right after I see something.”

His expression softened like you’d pressed a hand over his chest. He didn’t say anything right away, he just took the glass from your hand, poured you another, and passed it back silently.

“You don’t have to explain it,” he said quietly. “I get it.”

You weren’t sure he could get it. He didn’t have to hold broken children or stitch the soft skin of dying women, and he didn’t have to stand still while a monitor flatlined.

But he had burned for someone else. He’d jumped in front of a car going too fast to stop, taken the brunt of it, let himself be crushed and concussed to save a boy who wasn’t ready to die.

So maybe he did understand.

When you came over one Saturday morning, he was more animated than usual.

He was wearing a dark sweater and cargo pants, with hair half-damp from a shower, and his bandage finally gone from his wrist, his body almost healed.

He still couldn’t grip with his right hand properly. He said the nerves were healing slowly, but he’d been trying.

“C’mere,” he grinned, reaching for your bag to drop it by the entrance. “I want to show you something.”

You blinked at him, one eyebrow rising. “Show me what?”

“Just come.” He tugged at your hand and pulled you toward the garage.

You hadn’t really stepped inside the main garage before. The house had two: one for his daily cars, and the other for, well, whatever this was. The second he flipped the lights on, you saw it.

His car. That car.

The one that had been twisted into fire and pain months ago. The one you’d seen on the news, reduced to smoldering steel.

Now it sat before you, with a brand new frame, the same number, and the same paint job, the shine of it almost surreal under the ceiling lights.

“You got it back,” you murmured.

“I got her back, my Scarlet.” he said, voice soft with affection. “It’s not exactly the same frame, and we’ve upgraded a few things. But… yeah. She’s mine again.”

You walked slowly around it, trailing your fingers just barely along the side. “And you’ll drive again.”

“As soon as they let me.”

“And your hand?” He held it up, flexing it in the air. “Still annoying as hell. But I’ve been cooperating with the exercises.”

You smiled, turning to him. “That’s a first.”

He grinned, full of boyish pride. Then he nodded toward the other side of the garage. “There’s someone else I want you to meet officially.”

You followed him without question.

Jake was waiting near the workbench, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair tied back with a cap. He looked better than the last time you’d seen him in a panic outside the hospital room, pacing the hall and begging for updates.

“Jake,” Heeseung said, his voice low but proud, “this is Y/N.”

Jake smiled and extended his hand. “You’re the nurse who yelled at the three others for pampering him with pudding.”

You laughed as you shook it. “They were fangirling and he was still high on morphine. Someone had to keep his ego in check.”

Heeseung groaned behind you. “You’re never going to let that go.”

“Not a chance.”

Jake grinned even wider. “I like her.”

“She’s not just my nurse anymore,” Heeseung said quietly, and when you glanced back at him, he was looking straight at you. “She’s my girl now.”

The words shouldn’t have knocked the air out of your chest the way they did. You weren’t sixteen anymore, you’d had men call you worse and sweeter things in the heat of a moment, but this— this was soft and real.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, nodded a thank you to Jake, and let Heeseung lead you upstairs again, through the back hallway.

When the door to the garage closed behind you and the silence settled again, you reached for him before he could say anything else.

you pressed your hands to his cheeks gently, careful of the last faint scar that still lingered along the side of his jaw, and kissed him.

He stilled at first, stunned. Then he leaned in, warm and steady, one hand sliding to your hip, the other brushing the back of your neck.

It was the kind of kiss that made time pause. With no rush, no fire behind your teeth. Just slow, deep breaths and the rhythm of his lips against yours, like he’d been waiting too long to ask again.

When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his.

“You are a wonderful person, Lee Heeseung.” You breathed out.

“You make me better.” He murmured.

FROM YAN 🐰 ➤ idk how this idea hit me but it has and you all have to bear witness bc i think it's funny and i have to materialize it. :3 part two will be coming out soon. will open one tag list for it so just lmk !!

PERMANENT TAGLIST  ➤  @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping @ntxs1 @angelhyuka @tsukheeshima @clxssy1997 @cripplinghooman @xoxo-seraphine @jakeycakeys @neozon3nha @jakeycakeys @vmpiricou @ja4hyvn @luv4dani @nightcat101 @wonkiipiilled @boundlesselixirflux @cokewithcameron @taesungx @aerrdeicall

CHILDREN OF DIVORCE TAGLIST  ➤  @xolaufeyberry @sleepymochiiii @rikingrinse @katalior @wtfhyuck @jayhoonsgf @starfallia @pshrosie @dr1diot @iiunique @ssolarae @niksri @buttersoob @dolcetari @hyunjinsslut12 @wonuziex @scarett-lover23 @dina-10s-blog @svtenfate @sakiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii @enhypen113020 @jakeyyyjakexoxo @whoisovee @riknywngi @aresverlac @binnniemoonroa @apriglw @simjaeyunlvrclub @firstclassjaylee @vikeuchu @xerophyides

the reader and jay's relationship being so healthy, that they try fake arguing...me when? 🫠 this was so stupidly funny, riki being in absolute shambles whilst the gc couldn't give af was killing me 😭 jungwon in this was so...like chill, i'm easy 😂

“i’ve been thinking,” sunghoon says casually from his spot on the armchair, long legs stretched out. he’s nursing a beer, eyes flicking between you and jake on the couch. you’re curled into jake’s side, his arm draped around your shoulders, fingers playing lazily with the strap of your tank top.

jake raises an eyebrow, teeth flashing as he smiles. “dangerous words coming from you, hoon.”

sunghoon’s gaze lingers on you a second too long, then shifts to jake. there’s something darker in his eyes tonight, a curiosity that’s been building for weeks. “i want to watch.”

the words drop like a stone into still water. you freeze, heat flooding your face. jake’s hand stills on your shoulder.

“watch,” jake repeats slowly, voice low. “what? us?”

sunghoon nods, not backing down. his cheeks are faintly pink but his jaw is set. “yeah. you two. i know you’re fucking. i’ve known for a while. and i… i’m curious. about how it looks. how you are with her.”

you swallow hard, glancing at jake. he’s watching sunghoon carefully, but there’s no anger there — just intrigue, and maybe a spark of something hotter. jake has always been open, playful in bed. this wouldn’t be the first boundary you two have pushed.

“you sure?” you ask sunghoon softly. “it might… change things, or make them weird.”

“i’m sure,” he says, voice steady. “if you’re both okay with it.”

jake looks at you, searching your face. you bite your lip, then nod. the idea sends a thrill through you — sunghoon’s intense stare on you while jake touches you. you’ve always found sunghoon attractive, tall and sharp-featured with that quiet intensity. knowing he wants to see you like this… it’s intoxicating, to say the least.

“okay,” jake says, grinning that charming grin. “but you stay in the chair unless we say otherwise.”

sunghoon settles back, legs spreading a little wider, beer forgotten on the side table.

jake turns to you first, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a slow kiss. it’s familiar, warm, the kind that always makes your stomach flutter. his tongue slides against yours lazily, deepening it as his hand trails down your neck, thumb brushing your collarbone. you sigh into his mouth, already melting.

sunghoon’s breathing is audible across the room.

jake peels your tank top off slowly, exposing your bra. he kisses down your neck, sucking lightly at the spot he knows drives you crazy. you arch into him, fingers threading through his soft hair. when he reaches behind you to unhook your bra, letting it fall away, you hear sunghoon shift in his seat.

“fuck,” sunghoon breathes. his voice is rough already. “she’s gorgeous.”

jake smiles against your skin. “isn’t she?” he palms one of your breasts, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens. you moan softly, eyes fluttering open to look at sunghoon.

he’s watching intently, lips parted, one hand gripping the arm of the chair. his eyes are dark, fixed on every movement.

jake lays you back on the couch, stripping your shorts and panties down your legs. you’re completely bare now, and sunghoon’s gaze drags over you like he's physically touching you — your breasts, the curve of your waist, the wetness already glistening between your thighs.

“touch her,” sunghoon says quietly. it’s not a demand, but there’s hunger in it.

jake chuckles softly and spreads your legs, settling between them. he kisses down your stomach, then lower, tongue flicking out to taste you. you gasp, back arching as he licks broad stripes over your clit, sucking gently. your hand flies to his hair, hips rolling against his mouth.

sunghoon leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. his eyes are glued to where jake’s tongue is working you open. “does she taste good?” he asks, voice strained.

“so fucking good,” jake murmurs against you, the vibrations making you whimper. he pushes two fingers inside you slowly, curling them just right while his mouth stays on your clit.

you’re moaning louder now, eyes locked with sunghoon’s. the way he’s watching you — like he’s starving — pushes you closer to the edge faster than usual.

but then jake pulls back, stripping his own shirt off. sunghoon’s gaze shifts immediately to jake’s toned chest, the way his abs flex as he moves. jake catches it and smirks, but doesn’t comment. he sheds his pants and boxers, cock hard and leaking as he strokes himself once.

sunghoon’s breath catches audibly. his eyes widen a fraction, pupils blown as he stares at jake’s length, then at the way jake lines himself up with your entrance.

“ready, baby?” jake asks you, but his eyes flick to sunghoon too.

you nod desperately. jake pushes in slowly, stretching you open with that perfect burn. you moan loudly, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out. he starts thrusting, deep and steady, the wet sounds of your bodies filling the room.

sunghoon is breathing harder. his hand presses against the front of his jeans, palming himself openly now. but it’s not just you he’s staring at. his eyes keep darting to jake — the flex of his back muscles, the way his hips snap forward, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the low groans he makes every time you clench around him.

something shifts in sunghoon’s expression. realization. heat. confusion and want all at once.

“jake…” he whispers, almost to himself. his hand slips inside his jeans, wrapping around his own cock as he watches his best friend fuck you. the sight of jake’s cock disappearing into you over and over, glistening with your arousal, combined with your breathy moans — it’s too much.

he’s hard as steel, throbbing in his own grip, and the arousal hitting him while watching jake is undeniable. he always knew he liked you. the little attractions, the lingering hugs, the way he’d get jealous when jake touched you. but this — the way his stomach tightens seeing jake’s flushed chest, the veins on his forearms, the way his jaw clenches in pleasure — it’s new. overwhelming. bi awakening crashing over him like a wave.

“hoon,” you gasp, reaching a hand toward him. “come closer.”

sunghoon hesitates only a second before standing, jeans open, cock heavy in his hand as he moves to the edge of the couch. up close, he can see everything — the way jake’s cock stretches you, the slick sounds, your face twisted in ecstasy.

jake slows his thrusts, looking up at sunghoon with dark eyes. “you like watching me fuck her?”

sunghoon swallows hard, nodding. his voice is wrecked. “yeah. fuck, i do. both of you… i didn’t expect—”

“it’s okay,” you whisper, cupping his cheek. your thumb brushes his lower lip. “touch yourself while he fucks me. or… touch us.”

that breaks the last of his restraint.

sunghoon leans down and kisses you first — hesitant, then hungry, tongue sliding against yours as jake starts thrusting again. you moan into sunghoon’s mouth, one hand on his chest, the other reaching down to wrap around his cock. he’s big, hot, leaking precum as you stroke him in time with jake’s movements.

“shit,” sunghoon groans against your lips. “your hand feels so good.”

jake watches the two of you, hips snapping harder. “he’s pretty when he’s desperate, isn’t he, baby?”

you nod, dazed, squeezing sunghoon’s cock a little tighter. sunghoon’s free hand finds your breast, pinching your nipple while he kisses you deeper. then, almost shyly at first, his other hand reaches out to touch jake’s shoulder, sliding down his back, feeling the muscles move as jake fucks you.

jake shivers under the touch but doesn’t pull away. if anything, he leans into it.

then, the dynamic shifts. jake pulls out suddenly, flipping you onto your hands and knees so you’re facing sunghoon. “suck him while i fuck you from behind.”

you don’t hesitate. you take sunghoon into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head as he groans loudly, hand gently guiding your head. jake thrusts back into you, deeper in this position, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. every thrust pushes you further onto sunghoon’s cock, and the sounds are obscene — wet gagging, skin slapping, broken moans from all three of you.

sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on jake now too, watching his best friend pound into you, hands gripping your hips. “jake… you look so fucking hot like this,” he admits breathlessly, the words spilling out in the heat of it. “both of you. i can’t— i didn’t know i wanted this too.”

jake reaches over your back, grabbing sunghoon’s free hand and pulling it to your hip, then lower, guiding sunghoon’s fingers to where his cock is sliding in and out of you. sunghoon groans at the feeling — the stretch, the wetness, the way you flutter around jake.

“touch me too,” jake says roughly.

sunghoon does, hesitant at first, then bolder — palming jake’s balls, then wrapping fingers around the base of jake’s cock as it moves. jake moans loudly, hips stuttering.

the three of you move together like that for what feels like hours — a messy, perfect rhythm that blurs time and leaves the room thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

you’re on your hands and knees on the couch, mouth full of sunghoon’s cock as you suck him sloppily, spit dripping down your chin while your tongue swirls around the head and takes him deeper with every forward rock of your body.

jake is behind you, fucking you in steady, deep thrusts that punch the breath out of your lungs every time he bottoms out. the wet, obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass mixes with your muffled moans and sunghoon’s low, broken groans.

sunghoon’s hand is gentle in your hair, not forcing but guiding, his thumb stroking your cheek almost reverently even as his cock twitches on your tongue. his other hand keeps wandering — brushing over your back, then reaching further to touch jake wherever he can reach. fingers tracing the flexing muscles of jake’s shoulder, sliding down the sweat-slick line of his spine, then lower, palming jake’s ass as he thrusts into you. every new touch makes sunghoon’s breath hitch harder, like he’s still shocked by how much he wants this.

“fuck… look at you,” sunghoon murmurs, voice wrecked and awed. “taking both of us so well.”

jake groans in agreement, one hand gripping your hip tightly while the other reaches around to rub your clit in tight circles. “she’s perfect. so fucking wet for us. you feel how tight she gets when you touch me, hoon? she loves it.”

sunghoon nods shakily, eyes locked on where jake’s cock disappears inside you over and over, glistening with your arousal. the sight combined with the heat of your mouth around him is driving him insane. his hips start twitching forward more desperately, fucking your throat a little deeper as his usual cool composure completely unravels.

eventually jake slows his thrusts, pulling out with a wet sound that makes you whine around sunghoon’s cock. he flips you gently onto your back, spreading your legs wide. “your turn, hoon. fuck her while she strokes me.”

sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. he moves between your thighs, eyes dark and hungry as he lines himself up. he pushes in slowly at first, savoring every inch, jaw dropping at the tight, wet heat enveloping him. “oh my god… baby,” he breathes, the pet name slipping out naturally. he bottoms out with a shudder, staying still for a moment just to feel you clench around him.

you reach for jake, wrapping your hand around his slick cock and stroking him steadily. jake leans down to kiss you messily, tongue sliding against yours while sunghoon starts moving — gentle, rolling thrusts at first, like he’s memorizing the feeling. but it doesn’t stay gentle for long. his control snaps, hips speeding up until he’s thrusting deep and hard, the couch creaking beneath you. every snap of his hips forces broken moans from your throat.

sunghoon pants, moaning both your name and jake’s in the same breath like he can’t separate the pleasure anymore. “feels so good… both of you.”

jake kisses you harder, then pulls back just enough to lean over and capture sunghoon’s mouth in a kiss — tentative at first, testing, lips brushing softly. sunghoon freezes for half a second, then surges forward into it, turning the kiss deep and filthy, tongues tangling as he keeps fucking you harder. the sight alone makes you clench around him.

it’s overwhelming. it's fucking perfect. the air is thick with moans and gasps and the wet sounds of bodies moving together. sunghoon’s hand finds one of your breasts, pinching your nipple while jake’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing fast. you’re caught between them, pleasure building impossibly high until it crashes over you.

you come first with a sharp cry, back arching clean off the couch as your walls flutter and squeeze around sunghoon’s cock. the intensity triggers his own orgasm almost immediately — he buries himself deep, hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a loud, broken moan of your name mixed with jake’s. his whole body trembles through it, face buried against your neck.

jake follows seconds later, stroking himself furiously over your bodies. thick ropes of cum paint your stomach, your breasts, and sunghoon’s chest where he’s still leaning over you. jake groans deeply, milking every last drop as he watches the mess he’s made on both of you.

after that, the three of you collapse in a tangled, sweaty pile on the couch. limbs are everywhere — sunghoon’s head resting heavily on your stomach, breathing hard against your skin, while jake sprawls half on top of both of you, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist and the other draped over sunghoon’s back. the room feels warm and hazy, hearts still racing as the high slowly ebbs.

sunghoon’s breathing is still shaky as he processes everything, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. after a long silence, he lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“that was… my bi awakening, i think,” he admits quietly, voice hoarse. “i knew i liked her. i’ve liked her for a while. the way she laughs, the way she fits between us… but watching you, jake — fuck. the way you moved, the sounds you made, how you looked fucking her… i didn’t expect to want that too. want you too.”

jake presses a gentle kiss to sunghoon’s temple, then leans over to kiss your forehead, his dimples soft and warm. “good. because we’re not done tonight. not even close. we’ve got all night to figure this out… together.”

you smile sleepily, contentment settling deep in your chest as your fingers card gently through sunghoon’s damp hair. the three of you — best friends who have always been a little too close, a little too intertwined — finally feel like something more. lovers. a unit. whatever this is now, it fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be this way.

and there are many more nights ahead where curious eyes turn into wandering hands, shared pleasure, and something that feels a lot like love.

© jongst4r, 2026

smut tags― jake isn’t submissive– just a loser, loads of masturbation, also loads of loads lmfao, jake’s dick is 8 inches in this one, public humiliation, dirty talk, teasing, pussy eating / face sitting, mentions of free use, unprotected sex, wayyyy way too much cum, raw grinding, attempts at deep throat, accidental face fucking, finger fucking, suffocation, riding, squirting, implications to the fact that orgasms are not the end of the fic bc they just keep going, some say they’re still fucking to this day. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Feels so good! Harder! Fuck m-” 

Jake slams his laptop shut in an exasperated sigh. Frustrated, annoyed, fucking horny. 

Always horny. To the point that nothing excites him anymore. Not his hard-on being palmed at by his own hand, not the make-shift pocket pussy he’s made out of household objects, not the porn on page one or on page seventy-three. 

Honestly, even as hard as he is now, it’s arguable that he could just start punching his cock and he’d still remain in this state until something changes. And you know what sucks more than not being able to get off? Being hard so constantly that it’s just a state of living at this point. 

It’s sad. He could be washing caked ketchup off of a plate and his cock would still lend a little jump. A reminder that his hand is no longer enough. A fucking threat that if he doesn’t sink into a pretty hole soon, he might as well just kill himself. 

The idea doesn’t seem too bad anymore, as he lays flat on his back with his cock in hand on his messy sheets. He stares up at the ceiling with another long-winded groan, wondering why he has to have such an insatiable libido and probably twice as much stamina. If he could just get off he’d have at least a little bit of time in his day to feel normal before it takes hold of his brain again. 

It’s the fact that he’s grown entirely numb to his own hand and feels like he’s going crazy because he hasn’t been able to hook-up with anyone in nearly a year. Porn is boring, he swears he’s seen just about all of the good, bad, and bizarre. Post nut clarity barely exists because there is no clarity by the time he finally gets that hard-to-reach nut. Bad luck, maybe. Awful fucking miserable luck? That’s more fitting. 

For the sake of the girls in this city, perhaps it’s good that he can’t manage to land a hook-up. Surely they’d be unable to walk by the time he gets his fill, that is if he manages to get a fill at all. And it’s gotten to the point that Jake has almost entirely given up on finding a girl at all. One that’s willing to put up with his near-constant need to get his dick wet, anyway. 

Almost given up.

A thought crosses his mind as he lazily palms himself with a bored sigh, knowing he’ll end up locked up in an asylum somewhere if this doesn’t stop. The voice of Jay in his head doing little to make his cock soften, which is…not something Jake is proud to admit.

“Dude, you gotta put a stop to this shit. This is your third laptop this year!” Jay had said to him. “It’s only June!”

Maybe Jay was right, and maybe Jake should have downloaded the new app that was mentioned shortly after the scolding rather than immediately going to another, even more, shady porn site. “Heard this one was really good.” Jay had advertised. “Even got Jungwon laid.” 

Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to try another app despite the immense amount of failure Jake has already faced regarding previous attempts with other platforms. After all, if it got Jungwon laid, surely it could get him laid too. 

Maybe this one really is better.

And at the end of the day, Jake does download the app. After all, creating a profile is easy, finding a girl though? 

We’ll see.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Ah. Okay. Nice.

Jake stays glued to his phone all night. He really had no hope that this app would offer him anything more than what the others did. But, oh. 

The app allows specific features, most of which are not aimed towards users looking for a relationship. Dick and body sizes are out in the open, there’s sections you can fill out regarding what you’re looking for in a sexual partner, how often you’re willing to see said partner, and if you’re looking for a regular fuck or a one time fuck. 

Safe to say, Jake’s profile went a little something like this: 

you can call me jake, im 24. just looking for a girl either for regular visits or a one night stand that’s willing to deal with a guy who literally suffers from chronic-boner syndrome.

LOOKING FOR: Female PREFERENCE: One Time Only, Occasional Meetups, On-call, Regular meetups, Permanent Friends-With-Benefits, Secret Meet, Virtual Meet, Audio Meet, Rebound C…[Click to see more] PARTNER REQUIREMENTS: N/A SIZE REFERENCE: 8 ½” hard, 4” soft, 5.6” circumference SEXUAL INTERESTS: Vanilla, Free Use, BDSM, Begging, Breeding, Dom/Sub, Dominatrix, CBT, Role Play, Public Humiliation, Edging, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex, Virtual Sex, Group Sex, Humiliation, Cock Play, Cum Dump, Religion, Raw, Multiple Orgasms, Androgyny, Genital Piercings, Older Women, Body Art, Wax, Anal, Financial Domina...[Click to see more]

NOT INTERESTED IN: Cuckolding, Voyeurism OTHER: im not very experienced in most of these, i just watch a lot of porn

Embarrassing? Yeah, probably. 

Looks like a lot of women are into that though if his inbox is anything to go by, anyway. With him checking the app every few minutes to find ten new messages? Yeah, they’re feeling him. 

He can only imagine what the fuck Jungwon had on his profile to actually land a hook-up. Couldn’t have been any worse than his own, after all, Jake is desperate and so was Jungwon at one point. 

Apparently girls like desperate guys. 

Message after message, degrading comments and praise, all from either women clad in leather or sweet looking church girls who must have the app hidden deep within their phones. There’s barely anyone in between those two categories, actually. 

“Hi baby boy, you looking for a sugar mama?” 

“ur dick really that big? lol, what do you even mean by ‘chronic boner syndrome’?” 

“you’re so desperate to get laid, might as well just doxx yourself at this point…please.”

Arguably, these women are very forward and he has a great time sifting through the ones he’s interested in. Scrolling through all of these messages….does not help his case regarding his insatiable need to fuck something either so, naturally, he’s also 100% jerking off the entire time he’s doing this.

Still, never quite able to reach the orgasm he needs by this point.

Up until there’s a message that catches his attention. No degrading, no insults, no borderline-too-kinky insinuations. Which, given, Jake probably shouldn’t have selected the majority of the kinks just to pull more girls, but he did. 

And upon reading the message, he almost doesn’t know if this girl is real. 

“High libido, no girls around to help you out, I take it? Rough.”

One look at her profile spikes even more interest. Her sexual interests include a list of things he wishes he didn’t fit. But he does, though he’d never admit it. Inexperienced men, losers, virgins, micro-penis, big penis, praise (receiving), body worship–

Oh.

Fuck yeah.

He responds quickly, already feeling the orgasm within him bubble up as he tries to pretend he doesn’t go on a war path of responding to everyone after you, but still. Your message box with him remains in his mind as he awaits the response to his message of “you looking to help me out?” 

Every ping on his phone afterwards makes his cock twitch more, makes it dribble out little beads of pre-cum with each pass of his palm, only for him to sigh out of frustration that it’s just another person that wants to devour him whole. Which, he’ll take what he can get if his first choice never responds but still. He wants to get off to you.

He finds himself on your profile more often than anyone else’s too, looking at the same three photos you’ve posted, noting how you don’t seem super active on the app, but active enough to find him by some beautiful grace of God. 

You’re kind of perfect, honestly. Fairly mundane compared to most of the women in his inbox, but cool nonetheless. He can tell you have an eye for fashion but it seems to be more geared towards your real life self rather than the secret fetish/kink app you’ve got downloaded.

And that’s the thing. Most of these women, beautiful or not, are dressed in their best sexual attire just to message a possible fuck, while during their daily lives they probably wear conservative dresses and pant suits. Which….arguably that’s kind of hot. Then again, what isn’t hot to him these days?

You though. You have normal pictures posted just like he does. Your tits aren’t out, your legs aren’t open, you don’t have a pile of sex toys behind or beside you and yet still your pictures turn him on more than those who do. Insane how his cock twitches at just these three photos, fucking insane how he grows a near instant obsessed thinking about how you…uh, deal with the losers you seem to be looking for.  

Then again, maybe it’s the mystery of what’s under your clothes, or what’s in your stash of sex toys. Oh, whatever you’re hiding has got be so fucking hot. Naturally, he groans at the amount of sexuality you barely give. Thinking far, far too hard about it all, given the circumstances. 

Don’t get him wrong, he can get down with the hoes. In fact, he very much wants to get down with a hoe. But man, the way you stand out because you’re somehow….boring compared to everyone else?

Please.

Fucking pretty please, let him in between those thighs. 

And just as he scrolls again through your photos, that long-awaited orgasm hits him like a brick.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

A mere two days later you find yourself in the inbox with the self-proclaimed boner-god. He’s since proven his size with photos involving different objects beside said penis, and even a video or two of his frantic hands jerking off to you. 

Ah, he’s kind of perfect if you think about it. At first you thought that it was just roleplay for him or something. Where he plays a guy who can’t get enough, though he clearly probably does. It wasn’t until you were woken up at four in the morning with him spamming your inbox that you suddenly realized this dude is actually as desperate as he seems. 

Normally, being spammed awake by your phone pinging consistently would bother you. But goddamn was he needing it. Just three hours before now it was mostly casual conversation with him, albeit about hooking-up, but still. The two of you agreed to determine on the following day if you were compatible enough for a meet up. He said goodnight to you, and you said it back. 

Then you woke up to three dick pics, one voice note with a borderline pathetic apology (only because you could still hear him going at it), and then like fourteen messages of him trying to wake you up intentionally. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: You awake?

Dick pic #1. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: You’re so pretty, sorry lol

Dick pic #2 

JAKE_02 sent you a message:  Wake uppppppppppp! 

JAKE_02 sent you a message:  Please? :(

Dick pic #3, precum smeared across his fingers as he grips it. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message:  Do you already have me silenced?

JAKE_02 sent you a message: I’d let you silence me hahaha….

JAKE_02 sent you a voice memo: “Sorry about all this, I really meant it when I said I have a problem. You should probably just block me because I’m going to end up begging to see you otherwise”

Oh, he has an accent. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: your profile says you like inexperience…..well i’ve only slept with like 3 girls, is that inexperienced enough?

JAKE_02 sent you a message: do you like to tease guys like that? like edge them and stuff? 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: oh damn, that’d be so hot 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: do you like it when guys beg btw? 

Etcetera. 

And, well, apparently he just has a lot to say. It’s cute how embarrassed he must feel basically getting himself off with a one-sided sext session with you as you were sleeping. At least, you hope he’s embarrassed. 

You let his messages simmer for a while, waiting to see if he sends anything else. And when he doesn’t, you respond. 

YOURUSERNAME: that was cute. 

It’s the way he’s instantly trying to respond that really gets you going. You chuckle first, knowing already that you’d probably help him out based on this situation alone. 

YOURUSERNAME: trying to wake me up because you can’t stop touching yourself? :( poor baby. 

JAKE_02: oh god please don’t say that

JAKE_02: im gonna end up awake all night trying to get it to go down again

YOURUSERNAME: that’s good to hear. so you can go for a long time then? 

Yes, you’re teasing him. 

JAKE_02: if you’d let me

YOURUSERNAME: you already got off tonight tho, didn’t you?

JAKE_02: i don’t think you understand just how bad it is. i’m already getting my dick out again

You lend yourself a sly chuckle after a deep yawn, knowing for a fact that you’re about to make him prove to you that he’s either still hard or really did get off only to get hard again by a mere few messages from you. 

YOURUSERNAME: show me?

And he does. Similar to the other three photos, only this time he sends a short video with his shorts pushed down his thighs and his cock raging hard and pathetic against his stomach. Again, he’s big, that much is true, but the fact that such a dick is always ready to fuck? To the point he’s desperate? To the point he’s embarrassing about it?

YOURUSERNAME: how bad do you wanna bury that in me?

Oh, shit. Jake could fucking die right now. You seem so willing, which is truly what he needs at this point in his sexual sickness.  

JAKE_02: i’ll come over right now. 

JAKE_02: let me come over and show you

YOURUSERNAME: let’s wait a bit for that, gotta meet officially before I let you fuck me

And you do intend to make him wait, knowing for a fact that you’re not meeting this guy tonight. There’s too much danger in that. Given how desperate he actually is, you can argue that if you changed your mind upon meeting, he very well may not care. Which, that’s something you need to worry about with any person you meet on such an app, but still.

Public meeting first. 

Always.

JAKE_02: right, right, that makes sense. 

JAKE_02: so can i see your pussy then

You stifle a laugh as if the man can hear you, he’d probably like that though. But yeah, no. As much as you know he’d enjoy that, it’s best to let him experience it for the first time in real life if all of this goes well. So, you settle with tits. 

Meaning, he has to settle with them too. 

And the photo is all but enough for Jake. The ping of his phone was far too exciting with the flash of the image sinking into his eyes. Sure, he wanted to see your hole open for him, he wanted to see your pretty hands spreading your lips for the picture, he wanted to see what he might get to fuck into someday– but…

This is good enough for him, honestly. Seeing your tits alone is hot enough, but it’s the fact that you only barely let him see. The plush skin of your lower breasts are peeking from under the shirt you're wearing, one nipple barely out, the other completely hidden. 

He moans out at it, holding his cock tight and painfully as he glares into the screen of his phone. God, he can almost taste it. 

JAKE_02: thats so hot…but….

JAKE_02: pussy….

JAKE_02: please show me your pussy

Another chuckle at how desperate he really is. You lower your phone just a bit, not at all intending to show him all of it but you do lend a panty shot with your legs spread. He’ll live with it, he doesn’t have a choice. 

And he does live with it because he cums almost instantly upon seeing just your thighs open. He wouldn’t have been able to hit climax so quickly had you already had this photo posted for all to see. It’s the fact that you sent it to him in the dms. It’s the fact that you presumably just took it for him. It’s the fact that he can almost see the outline of your folds, and the lines of your pussy that deserves to fucked open. 

When he doesn’t respond immediately, you know it was enough for him. Already you’re preparing to roll back over and get some more sleep, but your phone dings again. 

JAKE_02: tht was hot lol….um

JAKE_02: can u come to the mall tomorrow? i work at [redacted store name], u can come see that im actually very normal if u want

You stop for a second through another yawn, thinking long and hard about it. You shrug to yourself because tomorrow is a saturday and there’s plenty of public spaces to meet him in. And despite how fun it could be to tease him for weeks on end before officially meeting him, you, yourself, have been in a dry-spell lately. 

And he fits your interests perfectly. In other words, yeah, you could fuck.

YOURUSERNAME: you sure you’re not gonna take me in the back and fuck me on the spot? 

JAKE_02: ….would u want me to? 

YOURUSERNAME: no, i wanna bring you home if i think you could make me feel good

JAKE_02: hahah damn

JAKE_02: so you’ll come see me?

YOURUSERNAME: yeah, i’ll come see you

JAKE_02: ok cool :)

And then it’s silent for a long while. In fact, you’re nearly asleep again when your phone pings one last time. All you need to see is the notification to know that meeting Jake is gonna be fun. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: for the record…i definitely will fuck you good

Sounds promising. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You knew he was cute but holy shit, he’s like, cute cute.

Fucking handsome and charmingly cute. 

Perhaps even, hot. 

You stand from around a shelf to check him out. That same accent you’ve heard previously rings loud and clear in your head, and his hair is definitely a stylistic mess, the type of hair you can imagine grabbing and tugging to guide a tongue between your legs. His eyes are pretty and piercing yet equally as filled with some sort of wonder. His hands, his body.

 Oh wow. 

On any other day, you’d think he’s just some poser emo-guy working a shitty retail job so he can buy his first guitar and play it totally out of tune. But on this day, you’re aware that this is a man with a need that you very much wouldn’t mind satisfying. 

 Seeing him go about his work tasks behind the counter is another thing. Checking customers out both through the register and with his eyes when they walk away. You know he isn’t aware that you’ve actually shown up, and it feels nice to watch him in his element before he attempts to play himself up as a totally normal, cool dude. Especially now that you can see him secretly be a pervert on the clock. 

Customer after customer, he smiles at them when he hands them their items, he offers small talk and little chuckles that ring in your ears, and every single time one of the pretty ones walks away, his head turns to watch them leave for a few seconds too long.

Anyone can tell he needs it if they watch him for long enough. 

You’re not sure why this guy is getting to you the way he is, but there’s just something about the way that he carries himself in public that turns you on. You already know for a fact that he’s a horny motherfucker. You know that behind those charming smiles and laughs, he’s got a neglected cock needing to be used. 

No one else in this store is aware of it. You’re the only person here who knows he was spamming a stranger last night with dick pics and begging to see her pussy. 

It’s hot. 

And when you approach, Jake nearly doesn’t even know it’s you at first. 

“Hi, did you find everything you–” Jake stops mid sentence. “Oh, fuck. You’re here.”  He adds, trying to primp his hair into a spot that may look a little better than it did already.

You watch as he studies you for the first time, nervously darting his tongue out and against his bottom lip just for a split second before shifting his eyes behind you, and then turning to look around to see if anyone is within ear shot. 

No one is paying attention to either of you, and no one is going to hear what you’re about to say to him. Good.

“Do you wanna see my pussy?” 

It’s a joke, mostly. Kinda. 

You chuckle at his stunned reaction. His hands move to the counter as he clutches it and continuously looks around to make sure no one just heard those lewd ass words from a girl so goddamn hot. Like, oh god, it’s you. You really showed up to see him and already he’s not acting normal. 

No, no. You’re the one acting out of pocket, not him.

“I’m–” He tries to start, but his voice cracks in a very, very, embarrassing way. You hear him clear his throat before continuing. “I’m supposed to be showing you that I’m normal.” 

You tilt your head at him playfully, leaning against the counter and pushing your tits together with your arms. You wore this shirt here for a reason, and boy are you glad you did. You watch his eyes go straight to your chest and stay there. 

“Public Humiliation.” You echo one of his sexual interests to him from his app profile. “Dirty talk.”

Jake swallows around his words in stunned silence, feeling his cock wake up immediately. Fuck, this is the only place he finds peace of mind from…that. Yet here you are, with that soft and pretty voice reminding him of everything he wants but hasn’t been able to have. Standing there like you know he can’t bend you over right now and make you stop talking.

“Eight and a half inches hard.” You continue, leaning in even closer and moving your hand to the collar of your shirt. Tugging down just a little bit. “Five point six inch circumference.” 

Jake squeezes his eyes shut as he leans back with a sigh, pressing his hips against the counter for some sort of relief. To think the “boring” girl on the app wouldn’t be like this? God, he knew there had to be a catch considering you were on that app to find him in the first place. 

“Please–” He groans as his ears redden, lazily opening his eyes to look at your tits again. “Please don’t do this to me.” 

“I can imagine you’d fit it in me just right, wouldn’t you Jake?” You continue briefly, noting the bulge he blatantly presses against the counter. “Can you say ‘please’ again? It’s kinda hot.” 

“Please–” Jake blatantly groans now, his voice sounding hoarse and low. As much as he wants you to keep going, he’s at fucking work. He can’t be doing this. 

“Okay!” You gleefully agree as you switch up like you didn’t just fuck him up, lending him a bright and innocent smile as you lean back and away from him. “So you don’t want to see my pussy then?”

His relieved face falls right back into that of pained frustration as he narrows his eyes at you. 

“Right now?” He asks curiously, nodding his head without realizing it. Sure, he’s at work but like….your pussy is also at his work place right now.

“Yeah! Can you show me to the fitting room, actually?” You ask, louder this time in case anyone has moved around within ear-shot by now. Can’t make him lose his job, or whatever.

Jake swallows thickly with a nod, his eyes still narrowed at you but his mind racing a mile a minute at the fact that you’re really here right now, and this is what you’re doing to him? Enjoying his pain? Enjoying his suffering? Making it worse? 

Five minutes ago he was perfectly fine. You’re using his need against him and god, he loves it. Yeah, maybe he will take you to the back and try to fuck you at this point. Even if you said that you wouldn’t let him…what the fuck is this then? 

Really, he expected you to show up with an awkward hello and irritating small talk. He wanted to show you that he’s not always thinking about sex. Except he is, and it seems you want him to. You want him to think about fucking you. 

You really just walked into this establishment and asked him if he wants to see your pussy.

Of course he wants to see it. You already fucking know that. He wants to fuck it too, like, right now. 

And as he walks you to the fitting room, he has to try his damndest to adjust his growing cock. He nods to each customer as he walks by them, hands repeatedly going back to his lap to hide what he’s packing.

“Here it is.” Jake says in an unfocused voice, nearly staring a hole through you. “Now show me.” 

You dip your head in a smile, heading for the room and opening the curtain. Cheap ass store, really, most places have actual doors, but whatever. 

It’s easy to step inside and leave the curtain skewed a bit, knowing that Jake is hovering around the room, knowing that it’s probably protocol that an employee assist this space when it’s in use to prevent stealing and to prevent others from walking in on naked customers. 

You like the way you see him take peeks, trying to be discreet. You like the way he keeps his hands in front of his lap, hiding that you’ve definitely made him a mess of him already. You love the way he whispers a curse to himself when you sit against the bench in this small room and spread your legs wide open. 

You bet he loves the skirt you’re wearing for him today too. Though this wasn’t exactly planned or anything, you didn’t expect to be this turned on upon seeing him act as desperate as he sounds. You wore this shirt so he can look, and the skirt too…but looking this much wasn’t in your mind originally. 

He’s hot though. The way he needs it is hot. 

“Hurry up.” He groans, trying to make it seem like he’s frustrated but you know it’s just because he’s anxiously horny. 

And, well, you’re not actually gonna show him your pussy, but at this point you feel bad because he seems really stiff right now, almost robotic in the way he likely feels uncomfortably aroused in his least favorite place.  

“Jake,” You whisper-chuckle. “If you wanna see it, you’re gonna have to come in here and take my panties off of me.”

You hear him sigh, and see his eyes flick back to you through the small open space in the curtain. 

“You’re insane. I can’t come in there, I’ll lose my job.” He argues with a hushed tone, eyes fixated on the very panties he wishes he could remove. 

Even against his protests though, he reaches an arm in as he looks away. As if on extreme watch of other customers and employees roaming around. Probably pretending to grab a garment that doesn’t work for you, probably just doing normal, good-employee things. 

And, well, it’s pathetic really, the way he hopes for more. The way you offer more knowing he can’t get exactly what he wants. You actually feel a bit bad for doing this, especially because it wasn’t entirely in the plan. 

You really were just coming to meet him. It’s not your fault that watching him work turned you on solely because you know what he needs. So, you stand and walk towards the curtain, grabbing his arm and holding it in place. 

“Well–” You start, pressing yourself against the backside of his fingers, feeling him move his hand slightly against your clit. “Touch it then.”

He goes entirely silent but you feel the way he fumbles his hand, immediately grabbing your panties and moving them to the side just to really feel. And you let him, finding it somehow cuter in the way he doesn’t even ask. He does it like he needs to, like it’s instinctual to touch it. He feels for a second or two, probably closer to about five seconds before you step back. Really, it’s enough for him to know you’re wet, enough for him to suffer, enough for him to want more. 

Jake’s brain is on fire at it. Touching it before getting to see it? Goddamn, you’re so fucking mean.

And it’s silent for a few more moments after that as Jake keeps his hand in place, seemingly searching for a pussy just out of reach when you slide the fabric down your legs and place them directly into his hand. 

“When do you get off work?” You ask slyly now, ripping the curtain open and moving his hand for him, forcing him to shove your panties in his pocket. 

“Uh–” He stutters, swallowing again around his words before clearing his throat of the moan he really needs to let out right now. “Seven– I get off at seven.”

You nod with a smile, leaning in real close before patting his pocket. 

“I’ll text you my address.” 

And you leave without sparing him another glance, knowing that by the time his shift is over, he’ll probably pounce the second you open your door for him. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake suffers through the rest of his shift aggressively trying not to suck on his fingers. Fuck, he wants to taste you so bad, but to go as low as sucking the remnants for several hours just to hold him over? Truly, he’s at his wits end. 

Mostly because he absolutely does suck his fingers any chance he gets. Tapping his lips with them as he sees a customer off, licking against them discreetly, trying to make it look normal for him to have his fingers in his mouth so consistently. 

It’s not doing anything to hold him over though. 

He keeps glancing at the clock, and then at the message that reads your address. Just one more hour and he can leave. Just one more hour and he can bury his cock so deep into you that you’d never think twice about letting him do it again, and again, and again.

Oh god, really, he feels like he’s going insane as he checks out customer after customer. Every word they say somehow reminds him that he’s about to finally get laid again. 

“Can you wrap this up for me?” One customer said to him, nodding to a set of candles. 

Jake wishes you’d wrap him up in that pussy. 

“Do you have this in a bigger size?” Another customer had said to him as they held up a plush sweater. 

Jake doesn’t think you’d ever need a dick bigger than his. He’ll fill you up just right. 

“69.99?!” One customer argues. “The sign said it was 30% off!” 

Jake would sixty nine you all night long if you asked. He bets you taste sweet, you probably get really wet too. 

And by the end of the night, rain pounding on the roof, his last customer unfortunately has to hear a low groan leave his throat at their comments. He’s very quick to cover it with a cough. 

“Sorry for coming in right before you close, the rain is bad tonight and I forgot my umbrella, thank god you guys sell them! I didn’t mean to drip all over the floor like this, I hope you don’t have to stay late cleaning up my mess!” 

“I didn’t mean to drip all over your floor like this” Replays in his head, over and over again. God, he’d make you drip. He hopes you drip all over the floor for him. He’d get on his knees and lick it right up, god.

He needs to leave. Right now.

“S’all good,” Jake shakes his head after the initial moan and cough cover, trying to remain casual. “It’s my job to clean it up, after all.” He smiles, his brain stuck on the feeling of how wet you were when he touched you. Shiiiit. “Have a good night, stay dry!” 

And finally, Jake can close out his register and lock the doors. That, he does. Performing his end-of-night tasks at lightning speed with a cock throbbing so bad that he worries he might have to get off in his car before making it to your apartment. He genuinely needs to get off, especially knowing these pretty panties are in his pocket ready to be soaked in his cum. 

He doesn’t though, no. He holds off, thrusting his hips up and against the inseam of his pants with every passing second as he drives. He’s practically writhing by the time he gets to your place. Honestly, he moans with each movement because he’s sensitive. It’s so, so fucking sensitive. Everything feels good, he could genuinely cum the second you open your door if he’s not careful. 

Careful isn’t something Jake can be at this moment though, not when he lands a single knock at your door and you’re immediately opening it, looking at him with that same fucking evil smile you gave to him while he was at work. 

He looks at you and instantly lets out a frustrated moan before stepping in without another word. You feel his hands grab you much harsher than you originally thought he would, but you let him as you laugh out in a nervous chuckle. 

“Hello to you too.” You pat him on the back as his arms wrap around your middle. You hear him kick back against your door, slamming it shut before his lips hit your neck. 

He isn’t talking but goddamn you can hear what he needs to say through the way he presses his lips against you. He’s rough with it, kissing all across your exposed skin before slipping his hand right between your legs from the back as if he doesn’t have to chase anymore. 

You were going to jerk your hips back to make him chase, but his grip is too tight and he’s nearly lifting you off the floor entirely to get a feel. You were going to force him to look at you and the outfit you changed into for him, but again, he’s not having it, it seems.  He moans when he moves his lips up and against yours, hot breath desperate and needy as he finally speaks.

“Did it turn you on to torture me like that?” He nearly growls against your lips. “Got me so fucking hard.” 

You’re genuinely surprised with how he’s acting and talking. Then again, he’s desperate, that much is obvious if that monster bulge rubbing against your leg is anything to go by. Perhaps he may be desperate, but you guess that doesn’t always mean someone will end up submissive as a side effect. 

“It did.” You smile against his lips, pushing yourself forward to try and plant your feet back on the ground, chasing the ability to gain control over him. “Did you like that?”

Jake nods before shaking his head, allowing you to push forward, loving the way your hands reach for him and run through his hair before tugging. He did like what you did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it was fucking torture to stand there at work like he wasn’t losing his mind. 

“I’d like it more if we skip all the bullshit,” He starts, hand still attempting to reach the spot between your legs and lips landing at the corner of your mouth. “Could go all night.”

You nod to him, gripping his shirt and pulling him back to your living room couch and spinning him around, only to shove him back. 

“Is that a promise?” You ask, looking at the lazy way he spreads his own legs and rests his head against your couch cushions, eyes staring straight at you and cock twitching in his pants. “You gonna fuck me all night?”

“Yeah–” He breathes as if he’s in disbelief, hand reaching between his legs just to grab himself and squeeze as his eyes trail your body. “You have no idea how bad I need this.”

“Show me then,” You nod your head to his length that’s hidden under his pants. “Let me watch you first.”

Jake groans, rolling his eyes back both out of frustration and arousal, but he does as you say. His palm feels better with you watching, at least. He doesn’t feel so numb to the pleasure with you promising your body to him, at least. He doesn’t mind proving his size to you by shoving his pants down to his thighs and presenting said neglected cock to you either. 

It’s heavy, dark in color due to the blood that’s likely rushing throughout every inch of it. He feels sensitive to even the air in your living room as he twitches and aches to hear you talk again, to see you in front of him watching how he pleasures himself, wishing his hand is yours. 

“You wanna watch?” He says in a low-rumbled voice, tracing his fingers along the head of his cock and seething out a breath through his now, bitten bottom lip. “Wanna know how tight I want you to feel?” He asks now, bold and in the heat of the moment. You watch him when he squeezes the base of his cock tightly, you can almost feel yourself choke at that alone. 

“How wet you need to be to take it?” He continues, dragging his hand back and licking his palm before spitting into it. 

The wetness against his hand is horrifyingly pornographic. So wet when he reaches back down to his length, allowing you to hear it squelch and slip with ease. His breath is hitched while he does it too, which nearly has you seeing him in tunnel vision.

“Yeah…” You tune into him entirely, swallowing around the lump in your throat and feeling yourself drip already. “I can’t imagine how good–” You cut yourself short to moan at the way his other hand holds his pants down while he jerks his hand up faster and faster. “Oh god, you’re–”

“Wanna see how fast I can cum just looking at you?” He continues, hand only moving faster and faster as his grip tightens more, shamelessly grunting proudly over how he could probably cum now if he wanted to. “I told you, I can go all night.”

You pause, because goddamn. You thought he would be embarrassing, pathetic, needy. You thought he would beg, plead, and cry. But…you feel like you’re the one who needs to do that. God, you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck yet be so powerful about it. As if he’s in your face whispering, “You’re gonna let me fuck you, right? You’re gonna love it too, right? You’re gonna let me use you to take care of this little problem of mine, right? It’s what you want, right?”

If he were to say those things to you right now, you’d nod without a doubt. But…he doesn’t. He simply looks at you now, heaving out broken moans that sound too sexy to be considered pathetic. His hips chase each movement of his hand and goddamn does he fuck his fist hard.

Your mind is spinning watching him, knowing that he’s probably going to fuck you twice as hard as he fucks himself. And it’s not surprising to you at least that you can feel your own clit swell and throb for touch too. You easily move your hand between your legs, standing right there in front of him, toying with yourself as if you don’t have the power to ask him to do it for you. 

“Ah, fuck–” Jake groans, thrusting his hips up into his hand one last time before strings of his cum make a mess on his shirt. And it seems to go on forever too, spurt after spurt of it pumping out of him alongside his pretty moans and open-mouthed expression. You can feel your body react to him more than it ever has for anyone else, especially in the way….

“God–” You moan yourself now, watching him spread his legs and slouch more against your couch with a relieved sigh from his messy orgasm. But…his cock doesn’t soften. No, it stays stiff and heavy against his stomach, twitching and dribbling more and more of his cum out in little beads. 

The proof of his issue is right here, he really can and probably will go all night. And you say nothing else to him after that. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to answer you if you did say something simply because you find yourself stepping up onto your own couch, resting your knees against the back of it, and gripping his hair. 

Jake lets out a half-moan-half-hum, as expected, when he feels your hand drag his face under your skirt. You didn’t have to do that, but goddamn does he fucking love it. He loves how he can feel your knees buckle and force you to balance on the couch, loves how your cunt is just as needy as he feels, fucking adores the way you drip all over his tongue when he pushes your panties to the side and starts licking you up. 

It’s the fact that he didn’t even have to ask you to put it in his face. The slight taste against his fingers all night at work is nothing compared to the way you drown him now. He needs to do this for you. Hell, he needs to do this for himself.

“Jesus,” You breathe, rolling your hips on his mouth. He’s truly eating you like his life depends on it. You can hear his muffled hums at the taste, you can feel his shoulder shake as he starts jerking off again, you can feel the way his tongue goes deeper and deeper, licking each clench of your walls, only to pull back and suck the wet from your panties in a deep breath. 

He coos at it too, as if he’s in love with the moment, as if he truly can’t believe he’s finally got a pussy to lick. And he swallows each mouth full of your slick before muttering curses and promises against your swollen little bud. 

“Please,” He moans, nipping and licking against you. “Been so long since I’ve eaten pussy, rub it on me- fuck-” he continues to babble, heat-of-the-moment-talk coming out as far more arousing than cringe if you listen hard through your ringing ears. “Come on,” He continues, now neglecting his own cock and gripping your ass with both hands, shoving you back and forth on his face in painfully slow and harsh grinds. “Come on, harder.”

As if you can function at all right now with how rough he is about trying to pleasure you? Fucking hell, the words ignite something in you as you pull back and away from him. For a split second, you see his blown out pupils and fucked up hair as he licks his lips and presents that shining lower-half of his face to you. 

You don’t look for long though, no. Because you’re too busy pushing him to the side and forcing him to lay back on the couch instead. You resume your position afterwards, straddling the couch on either side of his head with your knees and planting your pulsing cunt right on his eager tongue. 

“You’re too hot,” You moan, feeling his hands go straight back to your ass to force more of those harsh grinds against him. “If you could see yourself right now–” Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you feel his moaned out chuckle hit you right in the clit. It’s like he knows he makes you feel good, but does he really? 

Does he truly understand how fucking good at this he is?

 “God, if you could feel how good your tongue is–” You continue, now losing yourself in the heat of the moment, feeling his fingers nearly bruise your ass with the death-grip he has on you. 

He nods his head in what little space he has as he spirals into heaven behind his eyes. The smell of you suffocates him, the taste of you drowns him, the weight of you is nothing short of sexy as hell. This is all he could ever want. A pretty girl using and abusing his face, much like he wants to do to you. But oh, there’s so, so much he wants to do after so long of having no one but himself. 

Eat you out, finger fuck you, slide his cock down that pretty little moaning throat of yours, grip that hair and kiss those tits. God, he wants to do everything right now but he can’t bear to push this perfect clit off of his lips. He cannot fathom losing the taste of you and the way you clench around the tip of his tongue. 

Oh fuck.

“Ahh- '' Jake moans open-mouthed against your clit as his brain hits a wall, his cock standing stiff from behind you as he spills out against himself again. Untouched completely, he cums without any effort where as previously it took him hours just to get off because he’d grown so fucking bored of everything. 

You’ve ignited him. His drive is higher than it’s ever been after being neglected for so long. God, he wants to fuck you so full that you can’t bear to leave him. 

“Fuck–” He continues, trying to lend licks between his jerking body to keep your arousal peaked. “See how bad I need it?” 

He finally manages to pull back, feeling you lift from his face just for a moment after noting the way his entire body is shaking. He’s not having it though, as he cranes his neck in chase of your dripping hole once more.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He adds now, enveloping his lips around your clit again and using both hands to force you right back down on his face. 

There, you feel the way he almost passionately makes out with your pussy. As if he’s thanking you for a second orgasm within the past ten minutes. As if he truly can’t stop wanting to fuck something, someone, anything at all.

Goddamn, what a fucking deal. All hail the hook-up app that brought this insatiable sex beast to your apartment.

“Jake–” You start, grinding down for him and feeling his hands now move to rub up and down your back. “Keep your tongue in me.” You choke out, gripping his hair to hold his face in place as you sit his tongue inside of you, short and jerky thrusts forward to bump your clit against his nose. 

He’s gotten off twice now, it’s your turn. 

And you watch as he drops his arms from you and grips your outer legs through it, letting you use his face until he can’t breathe. Both of you are seeing stars through it, your orgasm bubbling up so quickly that you can barely warn him when your hips halt in a stiffened clench and he’s finishing the job for you. 

Your legs squeeze around his head, your fingers pull his hair, and still he manages to find the space to tilt his chin up just to tongue-fuck you deeper, just to rub his nose harshly against your clit, up until he feels your quivering pussy spill all over his chin, down his throat, stealing any breath or moan he could possibly give right now. 

You’re out of breath by the time you finally slide off of his face, your hands immediately shooting to both of his cheeks as your sensitive clit drags down his stomach for the easy position change. You wince when you lick against his lips at the sensitivity, being sure to seat yourself right against his cock. 

“Hah–” Jake lends a breathy laugh against the way you lick his lips, his hands going right back to your ass and landing a sharp slap to it. “Couldn’t even get our clothes off first.”

You take a second to pull back and look at him, noting the redness against his cheeks and nose, likely from your panties consistently getting in his way and then you chuckle back at him. You’re thankful for the short break the two of you seem to be taking at the moment. Still, you lift up from him just to remove your shirt, exposing your tits in an instant solely because you didn’t wear a bra for this exact purpose. 

He’s still hard, despite two orgasms. You feel him rubbing it against you every few seconds, right up against your saliva and cum-soaked panties which, mind you, are insanely uncomfortable right now. It feels as if they’re slicing through your thigh with the force of how Jake managed to keep them shoved out of his way. 

“Just lay back,” You smile at him, allowing him a longer rest for now as you take it upon yourself to remove the barriers. “Let me take care of you now.”

Jake has hearts in his eyes as he watches you. Normally, a girl would already be falling asleep after all that, leaving him with not enough orgasms and no actual fucking. It’s not his fault he could do foreplay for upwards of three to four hours before going for the finale. Which, arguably, can and will last several hours longer. 

Still, you appear to not be finished either, with your breathless smile and gentle hands. He bites his bottom lip through a smirk as he watches you, tits on full display to keep him satiated for now as you move around on the couch to get his pants off of him. He helps a bit with a little kick, his cock still so sensitive and pathetically weeping for more. He feels lucky to have found you, almost baffled that he may have met his match. 

You lend several glances at his cock, not quite realizing the way he’s blinking at you right now. To be fair, it’s only natural to have your attention on that thing right now. You swallow around your nervousness regarding the size but equally want him to fuck you senseless with it. You already feel entirely fucked out, but…that. Oh, that could change your life, probably. You can imagine he won’t be as gentle as you expected before all of this too. Would probably shove it in all in one go and lose his mind at the feeling. 

He’s probably going to split you open and make it feel good for you too. Somehow. 

Anyway, enough of that. You’ve still got to get his shirt off, your uncomfortable skirt and panties too. 

You make quick work of it, as you stand to your feet and expose yourself entirely to him. Jake just watches, humming and moaning at each new expanse of skin you show to him. He keeps his hands to himself though, likely so used to feeling of them that they’d bring no pleasure at this moment if he were to jerk off to you doing this. And you just…look right back at him.

“Come on,” You smile at him again, lending your hand out for him to grab. “Bedroom will be more comfortable.”

Right. Bedrooms exist.

Jake follows, cock heavy and sensitive against his thigh with each step as he tries to get up close behind you. His eyes stay on your ass as you walk in front of him, and it’s not hard for him to keep his hands on it. In fact, he’s touching you as often as he can, trying to remind himself that he’s with someone right now who actually wants him. 

You seem to be willing to let him do what he needs tonight, and hopefully it won’t be the only time. 

You feel him on you, clinging so closely, hands constantly groping, lips always trying to reach the back of your neck and shoulders, to the point it’s actually difficult to get to your bedroom because you want nothing more than to turn around and shove him against the wall, all to try and take him into your mouth just to see if you can.

He doesn’t really let you think about that for too long though, because the second you get to your bedroom, he’s grabbing you from behind and lifting you in his strong arms. You writhe in his grasp with playful giggles, feeling the strong hold he has on you, keeping you in place against him as he stumbles forward with a deep inhale into your neck.

He’s quick to make his way to your bed, dropping you onto it, flipping you over onto your back, and immediately slotting himself between your legs. He hovers over you for a minute, looking directly into your eyes as his hair falls forward. 

Somehow, you’re more focused on his face than you are of his cock that he’s sliding up and down your core right now. You reach up to his hair, brushing it out of his face and feeling the sticky sweat at his scalp. 

“Could eat you out again.” Jake mentions, hips thrusting against you but eyes calm and level with yours. “Could lock me up in here and just use me all day if you want.” He continues, partially being serious about it, but treating it as if it’s some kinky joke instead. 

Because let’s be honest. If there’s any job Jake could do better than anyone else, it’s be a woman’s fuck toy. Always ready to go, always stiff and horny, always willing to please. 

“Could slide in right now and let you feel how hard I am.” His voice gets breathier as he talks, and you can tell he’s just imagining everything he wants to do. He probably worries he’ll have to go home at some point tonight only to resume his search for potential fucks to keep his need satiated. 

He probably thinks he’s going to exhaust you. 

“Could let you do all of that and more.” You respond, lifting your hips just slightly to press his cock between your bodies, throwing your legs around his waist simultaneously with the way you wrap your arms around his neck. “You want me to lock you up in here?” 

Jake nods with a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if he can imagine it. 

“Do you work tomorrow?” 

He shakes his head with another sigh, focusing on the way you keep humping up against his length, sliding yourself in whatever way you can against him. 

“Maybe I’ll just have to do that then.”

Oh, damn. 

The heart eyes are back. The very thought of being in this room all night and all day tomorrow drives his cock to pulse and twitch. Foreplay can come whenever, fucking can come whenever, he can cum whenever. There’s no need for a to-do list. No need for a specific structure of rules on how this needs to happen. Foreplay, sex, sleep. Not with Jake. 

Sex. foreplay. sex. foreplay. for hours. He’ll keep you up all night if he can, fucking and sucking every part of you, into the morning hours straight into tomorrow night. 

Free use with you from now until you’re tired of him. You can do anything you want to him but for now…

“Yeah?” Jake breathes out in excitement, arching his back slightly to let his cock land against your hole, and then he pushes forward slowly. The bulbous head spreads your lips and stretches out your slick pussy with ease as he continues to speak. “Feel that?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, fingernails already digging into his shoulders at the anticipation as your legs loosen around him. He continues to push forward, inch by inch, painfully slow as if he wants you to feel the burn and stretch even while being as wet as you are. 

“Ah–” He confirms for himself as he watches your face, wincing, mouth falling open. “Yeah, you feel it.”

God, yeah. You do. You feel the weight of his size inside of you, stretching you open so good he probably wouldn’t even have to move for it to hurt. But he does move, he does continue to slide in, savoring every second of your walls quivering and suffocating his cock. 

“Goddamn,” He groans, lifting up on both arms and bracing himself as he looks down, only to find he’s only slid half of his dick into you, and already you’re about as breathless as he is. “Didn’t realize how tight you’d actually be–” 

He chokes when he says it, sliding out little by little before fucking back in, pushing just a bit more into you.

“S’okay.” You try to reassure him, but it’s more for you than it is for him. You really didn’t think a cock could feel so big that it actually hurts, yet, here you are. “I’m adjusting.”

Jake moans at your broken voice, no longer holding himself back to look at your pussy grip him when he pulls out slightly. He looks at your face instead, witnessing how you take all of it in one solid movement from him. All of it, until he can feel his pelvis rest against your clit and your entire body stiffens in a tight hug around his body. 

“Mhm,” He leans back down now, humming against your cheek as he tries to control the urge to fuck. “Taking all of it, aren’t you?”

With those words, he slides out slightly before pushing back in again, trying to force your pussy to relax so that he can stop holding his breath. One hand finds its way to your leg to hold onto, the other holding himself up beside your head, and he just…watches. 

Little by little, he thrusts. Plunging into you in short-tight snaps of his hips just to watch your tits jiggle with the movements, up until he really, really can’t hold back anymore. 

You feel his cock leave you almost entirely, only to slam right back in and cause your vision to go white with a pang of pleasure. Your loud yelp pairs well with his relieved sigh of a grunt, and it appears that this is what breaks him entirely. 

That single, full thrust, lets him fall forward and nuzzle his nose against your neck and his body just goes. Instinctually chasing the deepest parts inside of you, hitting your cervix with each thrust only to drag back and make your toes go numb at the way your g-spot feels entirely too sensitive with this alone.

And god, Jake loves the way you cling through it. The way you moan each time he bottoms out, the way your nails cut into his back and the way your legs continuously fail to stay wrapped around him. He…

Oh no.

“I can go all night–” He breathes out through his relentless thrusts, almost as if he’s pleading with you. “I swear, I’m not done–” He continues to cut off his own words with choked moans as he pulls back and leans up, frantically forgetting to apologize over the fact that he’s already about to cum again.

And you feel him try to slide out, that face he made twice before already alerting you that he really must have so much to pump out of himself at this point. You don’t mind if he’s about to hit a third orgasm, in fact, you’re glad.

Your legs hold him in place as he fights to pull out, his eyes snapping to you in realization after the second time he tries. 

“No fucking way, you– you want it?” His eyebrows fall into that of a relieved release as he, too, falls right back down against your chest and lets his hips fuck freely. 

He’s not controlling it at this point. You feel him stretch you open more through his orgasm, rolling his hips but not pulling out even in the slightest now. Moving back and forth, as if trying to stuff you impossibly full while he releases those thick ropes of cum. It…feels so good even with the way the base of his cock continues to swirl and loosen you up in a painful stretch that almost feels like he’s ripping you open. Still, the pain is gone as he shakes on top of you, in fact, you feel your clit throb at the feeling of how big he is, of how hard he manages to stay. 

He didn’t even fuck you that roughly before this, but it feels like you’re already ruined. Ruined enough to want more. Enough to need more. 

“Bet that feels good,” You chuckle against his hair, feeling each pulse of him and loving the way he pants against your ear. “Not having to pull out, knowing you can fuck me for as long as you want.”

That only pushes his orgasm to hit harder. He thought he was nearing the end of it, but instead, his body goes into overdrive as more pulses of cum shoot out of him at your words. There’s so…so much of it he can give you. And if this is what you want, he’s the perfect man to do it for you. 

“Don’t say that, oh god–” Jake mumbles through the end of his orgasm, keeping himself tucked nice and deep into you as he releases his body weight and makes you feel slightly suffocated under him. “Please.”

Well, he minds his manners well enough, you shrug under him, clenching around his length unintentionally and reminding him that you genuinely can go all night, just like him.

Reminding him that maybe you really will just lock him up in this room all tonight, all tomorrow. He seems into the idea anyway, right? Both of you just free-use sex dolls for the time being…Hell yeah.

And as Jake catches his breath, he finally lifts up, pulling you with him, and sits you directly on his lap now.

“Keep going then, don’t let it get soft.” He nearly whimpers, solely due to the sensitivity his cock is now offering and the fact that after that third orgasm, he truly is gaining the ability to go flaccid between orgasms. 

And you follow his direction, though not entirely how he wanted you to. Instead of rolling your hips, you slip him right out of you and sink your face down between his legs, loving the way his cum spills out of you all the while. You don’t even say anything, not that you’d need to. He watches you, a smirk forming on his lips as he raises an arm and throws it over his eyes. 

“Shit, You’re so my type.” He groans out of the sexual frustration that still bubbles within him. You look so good down there with his cock just inches from your mouth. God, no woman has been able to go down on him for too long despite really fucking wishing they would. 

His hips always lose control, they don’t like face fucking, he’s too big to fit, they’re gagging too much, their jaw is hurting. What the fuck ever. Look at you, blinking up at him like you want nothing more in the world than to take it all down your throat. Ah, fuck, if you did that…

His hips buck up on instinct, forcing you to hold him down with your arms as you lick your lips. 

“You really live up to your promise, you know that?” You smile with warmed cheeks as you speak, blowing air gently against the head of his cock. It’s softened up a little, but it’s no longer going flaccid. You’re sure that the second you work it into your mouth, he’s going to be blocking your airways. 

Good. 

“You say that like I’m not overwhelming you with all of this,”  He chuckles as he moves his arm from his face and down to yours. “Most girls would have already sent me home.”

You circle your lips around the bulbous head, tasting the remnants of both you and him as you gently suckle before popping off and licking your lips. 

“Well, Jake–” You look back down and lend his cock a little kiss. “I’m not most girls. Besides, most guys get their nut and leave me hanging. You’ve gotten, what? Three orgasms by now? And you’re still in my bed? Wanting me to lock you up tomorrow too? What a fucking win.”

Jake rolls his eyes because you don’t even know the fucking half of it. If he were a normal guy, he probably would have done the same thing. Maybe not to you, but to others? Yeah. The thing is, he’s not like most guys. And you’re right in saying you’re not like most girls either, considering…your sex drive appears to be just as insatiable as his.

“Fuck, let me eat you out again–” Jake groans now, needing to pleasure you again, aroused by the fact that he’s basically met a female version of himself. Even if he’s just exaggerating and making himself believe such a woman could exist close enough to him. “Let me– Ahh…”

You cut off his words, dragging a loud and sensual moan from him as you sink down. Mostly to shut him up, mostly so you can return the favor for him from earlier before letting him have another lick of you. After all, you truly do appreciate him for all of this. 

“Mmf–” You mumble unintentionally, feeling each inch of his length that you swallow up pressing your tongue further and further down in your mouth. Up until you’re entirely open mouthed on him, gagging yourself when he hits your throat only to angle yourself up on your knees to point it straight down your throat instead.

It hurts, but you close your eyes in concentration, breathing through each gag, ignoring the dribble of saliva that runs from the corners of your mouth and– you swallow.

Mostly because you can’t suck. Again and again, you swallow around him just to stimulate his length, the girth stretching your lips out to the point you feel your jaw could break, but it doesn’t and it won’t. 

Within an instant of taking his whole length down your throat, you feel his hands in your hair. Your ears are ringing, otherwise you would also be listening to him choke on his words at how you’re doing this to him. All of it. You’re taking him in full, not leaving an inch out, seemingly proving that your mouth can be fucked just as good as your cunt.

He’s in heaven, head spinning as you stimulate him through each gag and sputtered out chokes of a moan. He can’t help it when he grabs your hair, he really doesn’t mean it when he pushes your head down while pressing his hips up. Essentially choking you and suffocating you in full with a paused hold. 

You brace yourself on his hips when he does this, squeezing your eyes shut and continuously gagging from the way he abuses your mouth with just that small movement, and then– he pulls back.

“Ahh,” He groans, snapping his hips back and holding you by the hair to keep you from chasing. “You like that?” He continues, letting you breathe but not answer at all before he’s pushing your head right back down, holding you there again and fucking his hips up repeatedly into your throat this time. 

The sounds are pornographic at best, concerning at worst. You, searching for air somewhere between his thrusts, the sounds of wet sputters, drooling, whimpered groans from him, and desperate gasps and gags from you. Truly, Jake is in heaven right now. With you, specifically, you’ve brought him to heaven.

For you, it feels like he does this forever. You’re losing the ability to comprehend what breathing ever was in the first place, thankfully though, Jake can see the tears pouring from your eyes and feel the way you fall slightly limp, letting him do as he pleases before he realizes– he may actually be overwhelming you now.

He snaps his hips back quickly, pulling you up and off of the last remaining inches of his weeping cock before taking a good, long look at your gasped breath and abused lips. Tongue licking out and eyes stained. 

“I’m sorry, fuck, I–”

Instantly you press yourself down on him once again, resuming your original position of sliding him in until you can’t stand the feeling in your throat, gagging and swallowing around him time and time again. You feel proud of it, proud of the pain, proud of the suffocation. 

Fucking proud to not be finished with him compared to every other person, apparently. 

“Jesus–” He groans now, his entire body slouching against your bed as he slams his head back and starts petting your cheeks. “It’s like you were born for this. For me.”

You hum around the gags, growing accustomed to swallowing him up and feeling your jaw strain. And just a few moments later, you pull up with a deep breath, a smile, and you start rubbing your jaw. 

“Maybe I was,” You try to talk dirty, wanting to drive him insane. “You taste so good.” You add, dipping down again to lick a long stripe up the underside of his balls up to his tip. “Any girl should be proud to say you’d fuck her mouth like that.”

A twitch, he rolls his eyes back and clenches his jaw. 

“How are you so…” He breathes out, reaching his hands blindly for you, only to feel you shift on the bed and essentially sit your tits into both of his hands. “perfect?”

You shrug when he opens his eyes, you’re now hovering over him, both hands covering his on your tits as you force him to squeeze and grope. 

“Maybe it’s best to not ask questions.” You tilt your head playfully. “Besides, if I’m lucky maybe you’ll stop trying to find other girls to fuck. They can’t take care of you like I will, anyway.”

Oh, you damn fucking right they won’t. 

“You can have it any time you want.” Jake smiles, relishing in your tits warming under his palms, watching the way you hover over him tall and proud on your knees. “Could play with you every day and never get bored.” 

You feel him move his hand from under yours, going straight between your legs and sliding not two, but three fingers into you with ease.

“Still so wet too,” He hums, eyes narrowing at you with that same pretty grin. “You always this horny?”

You shake your head. 

“Not usually, you just turn me on.” 

Jake feels proud of that. He doesn’t feel like the odd ball with a dick that can’t be satiated no matter how many pussies he plows through in a night. Which, again, for the past year has been a total of zero pussy. You getting turned on by that makes him feel…capable. Makes him feel like maybe he can be put to use by a pretty girl. 

Makes him feel like his need is wanted and well taken care of. 

“So, I can keep calling you?” He asks now, fucking his fingers up, loving the warmth and slide, anticipating for when he gets to bury his cock in you again. 

“Mhm.” You hum, closing your eyes to enjoy the pleasure of how deep even his fingers reach. Kind of ready for him to stop talking and just focus on what he’s doing to you.

“Even if it’s every single day?” He continues to ask, now using his thumb against your clit. “Even if I need you in the middle of the night?”

Anything he wants if he can keep hitting your g-spot like this. 

“Yes, Jake,” You sigh out of aroused frustration, now wiggling your hips to chase that stimulation inside of you. “I’ll give you the fucking key to my apartment if you want. Just let you walk right in and start fucking me.”

His fingers move faster at the image, the implication of not just free-use, but true free use. Real free-use. 

“Yeah? Wake you up with my cock sliding into you?” He urges you to keep talking, now removing his other hand from your chest and circling it around his cock. “Just walk right in and get my mouth on you while all your friends are here?”

You lend a surprised chuckle, but pay no mind to his words past the arousal it brings to you. You’d tell him about how you have a total of like two friends, and half of the time they’re too busy to show up anyway. Still, the image is hot at the moment. All of it is hot. 

“You’d let me?” He continues pressing every button both physically and mentally, unaware of how easy it is for him to talk as if it’s a normal conversation solely because it’s kind of his general state of living at this point. You, on the other hand, are not used to having a full conversation while your g-spot gets abused. “Even if you’re not home? Let you come home and find me fucking myself for you?”

Oh.

“Fuck–” You groan out at the image, feeling his fingers reach so perfectly, thinking of how it would feel to walk into your apartment just to see this pretty man chasing that tight ring of fingers his fist creates. Probably so turned on and frustrated that you’re not home…so frustrated that all he could do is drop to the floor and start fucking. “God, yeah.”

So that’s what you’re into. You love that he’s that pathetic to fuck. And lucky for you, he’s more than willing to continue to be that fucking pathetic. 

“Does that feel good?” He hums now, watching how you fuck yourself against his fingers, lifting slightly to lick against your nipple. “Can I use my cock again?” He babbles almost, brain on constant loop of you actually giving him free reign of your apartment someday so he can come and–”Please, do this on my cock.”

This is the second time he’s asked you to ride it, and you think that may be one time too many. You almost feel guilty for taking him down your throat first, but then again, you don’t. Your body vibrates knowing you’re about to split yourself open on him again, only this time having full control. 

“You want me to sit on it, Jake?” You smile, thrusting your hips down and sinking his fingers into you so deep that you physically can see his brain malfunction. 

The frantic nod he gives is somehow less powerful than how he lifts his hips, forcing you higher on your knees as his fingers slip out of you and immediately land in his mouth. 

Man, this guy must love the taste of pussy. The image of him doing that alone is insanely arousing to you as you lend him a short nod and slide back, your pussy sucking in the head of his cock instantly as if the two of you move together so well, that it was only natural to not need a guiding hand for it. 

He sinks his head deep into the mattress with the way you try to sink down on him. He holds his breath with those same fingers in his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut at how tight you still are, how wet you still are. 

And he’s shocked, almost, at the way you just keep sliding down. Not letting yourself re-adjust to his size, holding your own breath and bracing yourself on his abdomen just to keep balance and you wince through the stretch. 

“That’s it.” Jake soothes your hips as you sit, clenching around each one of his twitches inside of you. “Doing so good.” He breathes out this time, trying to hold back his moan just for a moment as he awaits your moan first.

And it comes quickly when you lean back rather than against him, arms by his knees as you practically present his cock to him buried entirely into you with this position. He lifts his head and stares at it before reaching his thumb to your clit, immediately pressing hard circles against it. 

“Ride it,” He pleads now. “God, please ride it.” He loses his mind at the image, really, as you do start moving. 

Pained whimpers falling from your lips as you circle your hips, fucking just an inch of him in and out of yourself, forcing the deepest part of your pussy to take the abuse more than anything else. And you know he loves it with the way his thumb stops rubbing your clit, with the way he can’t decide on if he should look or throw his head back and fall into the sensation. 

It’s really cute to witness, and you’d lean forward to kiss him if you had the strength to do it, but you don’t. In fact, all the strength you have is currently bubbling up inside of you with a sharp, almost burning sensation. 

You know exactly what this is. You’ve practiced it time and time again alone in this bed. 

“Oh, oh shit, Jake–” You groan as you frantically start moving your hips through the full and splitting feeling of him inside of you. Your voice sounds so panicked, it almost scares him. And honestly? Had he not have finger fucked you against your g-spot previously perhaps you could last longer on him, but no. 

“What– What’s wrong?!” Jake’s voice is broken when he quickly leans up, hugging around you as you continue to ride against him, faster now, chasing, chasing, chasing. 

Pushing, pushing, pushing.

“No, no!” You moan out, shoving him back against the bed and now lifting entirely from his length before slapping your own clit, fast, rough circled motions before each slap. “Oh, shit!” You nearly yell, witnessing it squirt from your body straight against his abdomen and chest. 

Jake just watches, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

“Oh–” He stares. “Oh yeah?” 

And you’re not even done when he seemingly takes full control. Allowing all that squirt to fall out of you, ignoring your shaking legs, tipping you straight back and plunging his cock right back into that release of pressure inside of you.

“You just weren’t gonna tell me you could do that?” He grunts against your ear, fucking into you so hard and so fast that your orgasm just keeps coming. It feels too good to speak, too good to breathe. 

Even as it subsides and you’re trying to catch your breath, he doesn’t let you. He just keeps going, grunting incoherently against your ear, snapping his hips harder than you think he’s probably ever done before. 

Honestly, with each yelp you let out, your sensitivity goes from being unbearably painful to–

“Do it again–” He urges you. “Give me another one.” Babbling, cooing, fucking moaning all over your neck until his lips hit yours. 

Somehow, that gives him exactly what he wants as he feels your legs tense up and fall open around him. Your pelvis slamming into his so hard that it’s, quite literally, splashing out of you in loud and painful sounds. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He nods and whispers against your tongue, sucking it into his mouth before licking into yours, nearly rabid with the way he’s both kissing and fucking you, he can’t help it. He forgot words the second he felt the gush rush past his length, trying to force it out of you only for him to go harder. Like hell he’s not going to feel you literally squirt on his cock. “So fucking messy.”

At one point, you think you might have actually died. You’re not sure but you swear you saw him fucking you in third person for two solid seconds before being slammed right back into your body. The pleasure genuinely is so overwhelming that…well, suddenly you understand why girls probably think he’s too much.

But goddamn he’s…so good. Like, you remember him mentioning his body count through his one-sided sext session with you and you can argue his inexperience probably made this that much better. He’s a fucking natural. 

And as he continues fucking into you, all you can do is lend him a distant smile. You’re definitely not experiencing real life at this moment, and you know he sees it with the way he lifts and keeps his eyes on your zoned out expression. 

“Look at you.” He echoes against your walls. “So, so pretty.” 

And he just keeps doing that, whispering praises, working you through his presumed last orgasm of the night because he genuinely can’t not fill you up with his cum one last time before letting you rest. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The rest didn’t last long, but to be fair you didn’t need it to. All night, and all day. That promise was kept and Jake remained insatiable throughout all the time he spent with you.

To the point you very nearly felt strange about him leaving. Like you’d grown so accustomed to having someone literally attached to you at the dick that you knew the loneliness and silence would hit you a little too hard once he leaves. 

And, well, he does leave in a sense, but not completely. 

Though you never truly meant that offer in the midst of sex-talk, Jake seemed to have clinged to the idea of it. Lock him up, but still give him the key. 

i won't even elaborate on how amazing this was because i genuinely do not have the vocabulary for it. perfection all the way through 👩🏾‍🍳💋