Yui

you were walking home once, minding your own business, chewing on some thought. could have been anything. from dinner to what you need to do tomorrow, let’s not act like it matters. none of these little details matter, what does, is that a man was walking towards you. (an: guys i’ll clarify it now that it’s hyunjin. i just hate when fanfics try to describe looks when we don’t know names yet)

the man passed you. smelled great. nothing more.

“is this yours?”

that was him. his voice. he talked to you.

you stopped then and turned around. he was also standing still, looking at you. holding a single airpod.

no. it was not yours. at all. not your airpod.

“shit. yes, it is.” you smiled. a hundred percent aware that the single airpod was not yours.

hyunjin smiled, relieved in a way that suggested he had not planned beyond step one: talk to pretty girl. he asked your name. you asked his. he pretended he wasn’t internally rehearsing how to introduce you to the worst decision of your life.

and that’s exactly how you got yourself into the situation before your getting murdered one, where you kept seeing hyunjin, never really revealing that the airpod was not yours. you didn’t want to, he was just so cute.

and also a serial killer, not like you knew that though.

hyunjin was always the best with the women. or with the people in general. the other seven guys were… doing alright with them, sure, some better and some worse, but hyunjin always got what he wanted. he was the one collecting the people, another person to kill.

which did not happen to you, duh it’s in the first line, but how? how, when the eight of them, eight little nobodies who only got through life because of each other, are so good at killing? how, when it’s the main thing that bonds them together and gives them their sick little dosage of joy? how, when that’s the thing they can do best? how, when they’re fit? lucky? hot?

yea i’ll just stop with all the questions. i’m boutta explain, obvi.

so. you two started meeting up. you not telling him that the airpod wasn’t yours, him not telling you he was planning on sliming you out.

once, he invited you out. you two have been out hundreds and thousands of times(like five times), so it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary to you. not a date, he said hang out. his place. “a few friends might be there” he added. you went. fucking idiot.

the place was so fucking cool. big. looked good. kinda place where you immediately lost cell service and your sense of direction.

“that’s just the guys.” hyunjin had also said when you two got there, gesturing inside.

you met them all in under three minutes, which was about two minutes too many. chan was a gentleman. he smiled. he shook your hand. he had huge arms and was gorgeous.

minho and seungmin both looked like they hated you. looked you up and down. acted like bitches. acted like they didn’t understand what you wanted when you said hi and introduced yourself. acted like you were beneath them. hm.

changbin saved the moment by immediately knocking over a chair and laughing at himself. he was sweet. he asked you if you wanted a drink. that was nice, because he meant that. he wanted to get you something to drink, even if he wanted to kill you after. wanting to absolutely murder you wasn’t personal, so he wasn’t going to make it personal.

felix and unfortunately han, two sunshine or whatever you heard the guys say about them(why were there two?) were sweet, but dumb. han tried to shake your hand and missed. felix complimented your shoes and then apologized to the floor.

jeongin bowed. he asked if you were real. he told chan you were out of his league. chan was about to smash his head into a wall. he seemed intelligent though, a little playful, a little flirty. sweet guy. (also a fucking psychopath y/n run run RUN)

through all of it, hyunjin, the liar, the asshole, stayed near you. calm. watching. soooo fucking hot, man. everyone else was loud or mean or deeply stupid, but hyunjin looked at you like he didn’t quite know what to do with you.

which was funny, because the rest of them clearly knew exactly what they wanted to do with you.

they were bad at hiding it. terrible, actually. chan kept whispering. minho and seungmin stared too long. felix dropped something sharp and went “oops”. jeongin asked, loudly, if you were good at running, then immediately said he meant marathons.

you thought they were weird. intense. hot, unfortunately. you had no idea you were being sized up.

so. like two hours into the hang out. you didn’t have your phone with you, it was in the living room somewhere. you were in the kitchen with hyunjin, leaning against a counter, listening to him explain, calmly, something about the cabinets.

“uhuh.” you said, opening three drawers and finding nothing but knives. so many knives. “oouukay.”

from the living room, something heavy scraped across the floor.

“alright.” chan’s voice came. “enough foreplay.”

you frowned, no idea what he was referring to. yet. “that’s a weird thing to say out loud.”

hyunjin hummed. then seungmin appeared in the doorway, posture lazy, swaying a lil, with a fire poker in his hand. i repeat, fire poker.

you had just enough time to think oh that’s new, before he swung. clean. aimed at your head.

you ducked on instinct. the poker smashed into the cabinet behind you, splintering wood, sending a drawer of knives exploding onto the floor.

everyone froze for half a second.

“jesus.” changbin said from somewhere nearby. “we just fixed that.”

you stared at seungmin. he stared back. you two stared at each other for a while.

“…huh.” you said. “okay.”

then you ran.

the boys just… got into it immediately. switched. getting up. listening to your footsteps. laughing. jeongin whooped. they all obviously had done this before. they were so boyish, all of them. and so fucking evil.

you ran down a hallway, heart slamming in your ribs. a door on your left? locked. on your right, open.

you ran into a study and immediately regretted it. felix was there, sitting on a desk, holding a crossbow. WHERE. DID. HE. GET. THAT. FROM.

“oh!” he said, genuinely delighted. “hey.”

“move.” you snapped.

he winced sympathetically. “can’t.”

the shit that he shot out of the bow that i don’t know the name of thunked into the wall beside your head. close enough that you felt the vibration.

“fuck you.” you said, accepting it surprisingly quick that you were getting hunted down.

you burst back into the hall and nearly collided with changbin. he caught you by the shoulders automatically, steadying you.

“okay.” he said, quick and quiet. “left stair’s blocked. right one buys you maybe twenty seconds.”

“why are you telling me?” you panted.

he shrugged. “i like you.”

then he leaned down, pressed a quick kiss into your hair, warm, apologetic, and shoved you forward by the middle of your back.

“go.” he said. “before i change my mind.”

you went.

behind you, he called out cheerfully: “she went right!”

“YOU FUCKING LIAR.” minho yelled immediately.

you ran up the stairs two at a time. at the top when you turned, han was waiting, holding a bat.

“oh shit.” he said. “hi.”

you grabbed the bat mid-swing, yanked it free, and cracked him across the shin. you fucking rock y/n.

he screamed, fell over, and immediately yelled: “timeout! timeout!”

you ditched the bat(DUMB bitch) and ran into what looked like a… whatever room. it was big, too big, too open, too much of a bad choice.

chan stepped into your path. was this bitch there the whole time? no, he couldn’t be. could he?

“easy.” he said, hands up. calm. annoyingly handsome. “you’re safe for—”

you threw a chair at his head.

he caught it.

you spun, only to find minho closing in. you kicked him in the knee. hard. he lunged. you ducked, grabbed a chair again and swung blindly. the thing is, you were extremely weak tho. the chair could have been a fucking pillow at this point, because he just stepped away from it. and you… kinda went with the chair. but you stood up! luckily.

they loved this. they loved the way you fought. the way you adapted. the way you didn’t scream, just swore and moved and made it harder than it was supposed to be. it made them better. sharper. meaner. more playful.

you ran out the door you came in thru and shut it behind you, jamming a heavy table against it. the boys could have prevented that, they just didn’t. you were way too fun, and they knew that you were getting tired. they knew they were going to win this. again.

you waited a bit.

the door shuddered. once. twice.

then stopped.

silence.

your stomach dropped. that was never good.

“okay.” hyunjin’s calm voice came, suddenly close, from behind you. “i’m gonna need you to turn around.”

you spun.

for a moment, you just stared at each other.

“yeah.” you said breathlessly. “so. the airpod?”

he winced. “yeah.”

“figures. sorry for lying about it.”

“it’s fine. i lied too.” he stepped aside, gesturing toward a side door. gentlemanly. insane. “run.” he said. “i’ll count to five.”

“why?”

he smiled, small. “because it’s more fun when you almost make it.”

you didn’t wait for five. you ran again, heart in your throat.

“YOU’RE DOING GREAT!” felix shouted when he saw you run past him. “I MEAN—STOP!”

yeah. pfftt.

the house stopped making sense after a while. corridors doubled back on themselves, which was fucking brutal. there were rooms you swore you’d already crossed. you ducked into a side room and slammed the door, immediately realizing, too late, that it didn’t lock.

“fuck.” you whispered, hands on your knees, trying to quiet your breathing. and you listened. footsteps walked past. someone laughed, a really… loud laugh. jeongin’s voice echoed from somewhere far off. you could hear how unserious his voice was, talking bout sum “she’s still upright, folks, which is honestly impressive” genuinely just making fun of the situation.

“keys.” you muttered. “i need keys.” because you clearly remembered hyunjin closing the front door after you.

from behind the curtain came a soft, confused, very close: “…huh.”

you froze.

the curtain moved. it was han, holding a knife and a flashlight upside down, blinking at you.

“oh” he said. “hi.”

third hi he said tonight. hi to you too, han.

you stared at each other.

“uh.” he said.

“yeah.” you replied.

a beat passed.

another.

he frowned at the flashlight, turned it the right way up, immediately blinded himself, and yelped.

“sorry.” he said, rubbing his eyes. “didn’t mean to corner you.” serial killer btw.

“you did.” you said. “that’s literally what you did.”

“right.” he nodded. “yeah. so. i’m supposed to, uh—” he made a weak stabbing motion with his hand that held the knife. missed entirely. “—do the thing.”

you glanced at the knife in his hand. them at him. then back at the knife. “you don’t look super confident about that.” you said.

he shrugged. “i get nervous.” he hesitated. then leaned in and whispered: “hyunjin gave his keys to chan, i saw it.”

“…thaaanks.”

he smiled, shy. “okay.” he said, stepping aside. “i’m gonna count to… uh… what’s fair?”

“ten.” you said immediately.

he nodded seriously. “ten.”

you bolted.

“ONE—” he shouted, already losing count. “THREE—WAIT—”

you ran out. didn’t get far though, you heard too many noises, so you did what made sense at the moment. hide again. and you did hide again, at least tried, you were soon interrupted by seeing felix, who was crouched behind a couch, chewing on a cereal bar.

he looked up mid bite. “oh. hello again.”

“move. again.” you said.

he scooted instantly. “yep.”

you walked past. paused. looked back. “why are you hiding?”

he swallowed. “i forgot what the plan was.”

“oh. i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright.”

from the hallway, heavy footsteps approached. chan, probably. he walks confident. you can just… hear his walk. felix heard it too. he grimaced.

“he’s gonna be mad.” felix whispered. “he hates when i lose track.”

you looked at felix. then at the hallway. then back at felix. “you’re fine. it’s not your fault. i think so, at least.” you looked around. “he just feels like the fucking star of the show, having the keys and all that”

felix’s eyes lit up. “oh! yeah, he’s got those.”

boom. that was your plan. sneak the keys into the conversation. get to know about it. you’ll be out of there in no time, y/n.

you looked back at him. “can you distract him?”

felix thought for a second, then shook his pretty head enthusiastically. “absolutely not.”

“…fair.”

he stood anyway, squared his shoulders, and ran into the hallway yelling “HEY BRO I THINK SHE WENT—”

you didn’t hear the rest. you ran. you climbed stairs, ducked under a railing(just being extra for no reason pfffft), slipped through a door that led into a laundry room, and locked it. the blessed, beautiful click of a lock nearly made you cry. then you crouched between machines, shaking, trying not to laugh or scream or do both.

minutes passed. nothing. then, a knock. polite. gentle.

you stared at the door.

hyunjin’s voice followed, calm as ever. “i’m not coming in.”

“yeah?” you called. “promise?”

“cross my heart.”

“don’t have one.” jeongin added from somewhere farther back.

hyunjin sighed.

the fact that jeongin heard you talk and didn’t go to the laundry room says a lot about them though. tells you that they’re doing this for fun. that they’re not in a hurry at all.

you edged closer to the door, careful. “i need the keys.”

“i know.”

“give them to me.”

a pause. you imagined him leaning against the wall, hands in pockets, watching the floor. “you almost deserve them.” he said. “that’s the problem.” from down the hall came a crash, followed by changbin yelling. hyunjin continued anyway, softer now. “if you get them, though… you’re really leaving.”

“yes.”

“shame.”

fucking manipulator. that’s what he is. “you’re really leaving” oh boo fucking hoo. sappy asshole. not one sincere bone in his beautiful body.

the doorknob jiggled once.

“five minutes.” he said. “that’s what I can give you.”

then footsteps retreated. you sagged against the dryer, adrenaline basically ripping your muscles. five minutes. okay. you had to get out for sure, otherwise you would be so dead. so, next, run. you were going to run. open the door and… go… some… way. anyways, that’s what you did after about one minute of sitting on the floor and thinking about how will you do that. you got out, and didn’t stop running so much as you failed forward into the next hallway.

somewhere behind you, han shouted your name wrong, twice, then tripped over absolutely nothing and went down with a sound like a dropped bookshelf.

“FUCK.” he yelled. “i’m okay! I’M OKAY.”

you risked a glance back just in time to see him scramble up, only to immediately collide with minho, who had come around the corner too fast. they hit the wall together, tangled, swearing.

you burst through a door and nearly slammed straight into seungmin. both of you froze. like actually froze. inches apart. his breath was loud. yours was worse. he stared at you. you stared at him. his grip tightened on whatever sharp thing he had in his hand.

“…hi.” you said.

“sup.” he said. “you’re shorter up close.”

“fuck you.”

“later.” he agreed easily.

you looked at him, furrowing your pretty brows.

he glanced down at the knife in his hand, then back up at you. “this is awkward.”

“yeah.”

he tilted his head. “you okay?”

“no.” you said.

“hm.”

there was a beat where neither of you moved. somewhere far away, something crashed, probably han.

seungmin tilted his head. “you gonna run, or are we doing this weird staring thing?”

you lunged left.

he lunged right.

you both smacked into the same doorframe and recoiled in pain.

“fuck.” you mumbled, rubbing your pretty head.

“shit, okay, that one’s on me.” he admitted, rubbing his shoulder. his pretty shoulder. that sweater looked good on him, by the way. yeah. hm. really good. but that didn’t fucking matter when he lunged again.

you screamed, slipped on a rug, and went down hard, only for minho to come in from the side and tackle seungmin directly into a glass table. the table shattered.

you stared.

they stared back.

“…go.” seungmin shook his head, waving you off.

you did not need to be told twice. behind you, minho yelled smth like “WHY ARE YOU LETTING HER GO?”

a crash. a thud.

then seungmin, very calmly: “because you’re pissing me off.”

you ran straight into han and felix arguing at the end of the hall.

“i said left.” han insisted, holding a crowbar upside down.

“you always say left.” felix argued, holding a taser and clearly forgetting how it worked.

you skidded to a stop.

all three of you froze.

you were panting. “can you both—”

felix lunged. han lunged. they lunged into each other. they crashed, arms everywhere, legs everywhere, clothes everywhere, the smell of men everywhere, tangled up, the taser going off uselessly into the air.

“STOP STABBING MY JACKET.” felix yelled.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE HER.” han yelled back.

you stepped over them. “thank you.” you said sincerely, and ran.

you rounded a corner and slammed straight into chan, full chest to chest. you both stumbled back a step. he held you automatically, hands on your arms. you stared up at him. he stared down at you.

he almost smiled.

then han came sprinting in, tripped over absolutely nothing, and took chan out at the knees.

“OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY.” han yelled, tangled in chan’s limbs. “I DIDN’T SEE YOU.”

seungmin and minho found you again. jeongin leaned against a wall, wiping dust off his knees. han just got up and felix came in late, and they tripped over each other again. chan just sighed at this point.

you backed toward the door, hands up.

then while getting up, felix slipped. took han down with him. again. they crashed into minho, who slammed into seungmin.

jeongin smiled. “DOMINOES!”

that was your chance to do something. something to even just slow these guys down, anything, bro. so, you did. when chan stood up finally, you lunged for him.

but like… that asshole just laughed in your face and twisted away easily, shoving you past him. “go.” he said. “you’re warmer when you keep moving.”

weirdo. but you ran again anyway, down a side corridor, thru a door and immediately ate shit. your foot caught on absolutely nothing, and you slid, palms burning, your pretty little skin they want to cut so bad just gone like that.

behind you, there was a collective “OOHHHH.”

you rolled your eyes. sighed. thought about just lying there because they would probably still miss even if you were completely still. you decided maybe not. so you scrambled up and ran again, swearing, adrenaline making everything feel fucking crazy. unreal. is this really happening?

you didn’t know how long you ran. time stopped somewhere around the third near death experience.

you went downstairs and upstairs and downstairs again, back and forth, hoping to find something that could save your life. when you were back at the stairs for the seventh time that night, you took the stairs three at a time, only to find han at the top, again, wheezing, holding a knife backwards.

“WAIT.” he said. “hold on—timeout—my lung—”

you ran past him.

he immediately tripped over his own foot and tumbled down the stairs alone, screaming “I’M FINE—I’M NOT FINE—TELL MY MOM—”

you didn’t look back. you burst into a bedroom and slammed the door, locking it just as something heavy hit the other side.

silence.

your chest heaved. sweat slicked your now skinless palms. you pressed your back to the door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, brain finally catching up enough to think.

okay. door. big house. front door has keys. keys are on someone. they told you it’s at chan but he could have gave it to anyone since that.

that was bad.

you stood, looking through the room. window. too high. bathroom. connected. closet. tiny but usable. fuck yes. you hid in the closet just as the door opened.

footsteps. slow. unhurried. manly.

“you know, i really thought we had something.” jeongin. sweet. acting, obviously.

you clapped a hand over your mouth.

he paced the room, dragging something metal lightly along furniture. an axe, maybe.

“like, don’t get me wrong.” he continued conversationally, “i love the chase. big fan. but the eye contact earlier? intimate.”

you heard him stop in front of the closet.

“…you in there?”

you didn’t move.

he sighed. then, dropped to his knees. you could see him through the slats now, sprawled on the floor.

“y/n.”

you could hear your breathing. you could also hear his. which meant…

“come out.”

…he could hear yours too.

okay. fuck. your only option was to make a run for it. so, after taking a biiiiig big breath, you burst out of the closet and kicked him in the shoulder. was it successful? was it a good kick? who knows. it knocked him down, that’s what matters, but it was a pretty lame kick after all. he only went down because he wanted to, not because you actually kicked him good.

anyways, you ran again. out the room. then immediately skidded to a stop when seungmin opened a door in front of you.

he stepped aside immediately. “after you.” he said, gesturing inside.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

you could hear hyunjin make a noise, talking with changbin.

seungmin raised his brows. “i insist.”

he knew that you needed an escape route and this was your only option. you knew he knew.

you sighed. ran through it, and it slammed shut behind you. you could hear a snicker(his voice), then silence. maybe he left. maybe not.

the room you were in was darker. storage. boxes. is this place even owned by these guys? or do they just come here to… play?

you hid behind a shelf, crouching, heart in your ears.

okay. think.

front door. locked. too obvious. you needed keys. you needed a person.

but they were playing. this wasn’t about killing you quickly. it was about the fun. about testing themselves. about proving, again, that they were smarter, faster, better. the teamwork thrilled them. having prey thrilled them.

footsteps approached. you tensed.

door opened. han stepped into the room, tripped over absolutely nothing, and fell into a stack of boxes. why always this guy?

“oh COME ON.” he groaned. “i wasn’t even chasing her!”

neither of you moved.

“…you okay?” you asked.

“yeah.” he said, looking up, nose bleeding. “yeah. you?”

“living the dream.”

he nodded. then, very gently, he pointed back towards the door. “they’re coming.” he whispered.

in the doorway, felix appeared, pointing at han. “dude. again?”

you took the chance and got out of your hiding place, quick, and bolted past them both.

felix gasped. “oh shit—sorry—sorry—”

han tried to follow, slipped again, and yelled: “WAIT FOR ME!”

a crash. a curse. someone else falling over him.

you ran down the hall toward what you hoped was the front of the house. behind you, shouting, laughter, whooping, bodies colliding, someone yelling “WHO LEFT THIS CHAIR HERE?” you rounded a corner and skidded to a stop in front of the front door. you tried the door. locked. you didn’t know where the keys are. your chest tightened. behind you, footsteps slowed. confident. chan, seungmin, minho, jeongin, closing in.

you turned around. the wall met your back hard enough to knock the air out of you.

“okay.” you said, breathless, palms flat against cold wood. “okay. this is—yeah. alright.”

the other four found you too. felix, panting. han, limping. hyunjin and changbin obviously not affected because they didn’t really take part of the chase. blocking off every possible exit.

chan didn’t take his eyes off you. “everyone good?” he asked, calm. so fucking calm. knowing he won.

“peachy.” jeongin said.

“bit winded.” felix added. “but spiritually fulfilled.”

changbin gave you an apologetic little wave. “sorry.”

two seconds later, seungmin lunged.

you fought, harder than they expected, apparently, elbowing, kicking, swearing. but they were sure now, hands grabbing wrists, legs hooking yours, pressure applied. you went down. not slammed, though. controlled. that fucking pissed you off more.

seungmin had your arms pinned. minho had a knee on your thigh. chan crouched in front of you, looking down at your pretty face.

the second you were fully restrained, jeongin shrieked. “oh my GOD we got her!”

he leapt into felix’s arms. felix caught him, squealing back.

“we did it!” felix yelled.

they spun once. almost fell. han clapped wildly and then tripped into changbin, taking them both down.

you laid there, chest heaving, heart pounding, really feeling your body, not knowing what the fuck was happening. because they didn’t seem dangerous, but you knew they were.

chan tilted his head. “you ran well.”

“thanks.” you said.

jeongin crouched down to your face. “so. how you feeling?”

“fuck off.”

hyunjin tilted his pretty head, hands in his pockets. “you did really well.”

you forced yourself to breathe slower. think. keys. chan’s jacket pocket. right side. you’d seen the outline earlier when he caught one of the boys midfall.

jeongin tilted his head at you. “are you afraid? like, i’m actually asking, because i need to know what to do differently next time. are you afraid of death? did we make you feel like you’re going to die? how would you rate it out of ten?”

you sighed, looking down at the floor. “getting killed is, like, the last thing on my list right now.”

they paused.

seungmin grimaced. “yeah, no.”

“oh, no.” felix said, shaking his head

“dude.” minho murmured.

“we would never.” changbin whispered.

“ew.” han blurted, horrified.

you narrowed your eyes. “ew?”

“no—no—not ew you. i mean—fuck—you’re hot—shit—sorry—what I meant was—”

jeongin smacked the back of his head. “stop talking.”

seungmin grimaced. “we’re not… that evil.”

minho crossed his arms. “jesus.”

chan straightened slightly. “that’s not our thing.”

you watched it all. the discomfort. the immediate correction. the way the tone shifted. interesting.

“relax.” you said, rolling your neck as much as the hold allowed. “i know.”

“thank you.” han said, sweating. “sorry. respectfully.”

“you’re fine.” you murmured.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

but something had changed. you saw it. that weird line you’d dropped, (half joke, half truth because it’s horrible that we have to live in a world like this), went somewhere they didn’t like. their version of evil had rules. sooo fucking weird ones, but still.

“okay.” you said. “wait. wait.”

they paused.

“what.”

“i think i’m gonna throw up.”

“fuck—” changbin recoiled.

“not on me.” minho said, backing up.

“turn her head!” felix yelped.

jeongin scrambled backward on his hands and feet.

chan watched seungmin loosen his grip. “are you actually nauseous?”

“yeah.” you croaked, gagging for effect. “stress. adrenaline. it hit now that i’m still.”

hyunjin crouched beside you, studying your face. “you might want to give her space.”

“THANK you.” you gasped.

they got off you. you rolled to your side, clutching your stomach dramatically. and in that shuffle, arms moving, balance adjusting, you shoved your hand straight into chan’s jacket pocket. your fingers hit metal.

keys.

you grabbed them and curled them into your palm just as jeongin leaned back in. “you good?”

you gagged louder.

“jesus.” minho said, disgusted.

“okay, okay.” changbin said. “bathroom, bathroom—”

“down the hall.” hyunjin said.

you scrambled to your knees, pushing past them, one hand over your mouth, the other clenched tight around the keys.

“don’t run.” chan warned.

you made eye contact with him.

and ran.

“FUCK.” seungmin yelled.

“GO GO GO.” han screamed, even though he was on the wrong side.

you sprinted down the hallway, heart about to explode, keys biting into your palm. behind you, footsteps. but now… less playful. more oh shit.

han tripped immediately. felix ran into a wall. changbin yelled: “STAIRS—CUT HER OFF—” and jeongin was just shouting around for fun. just hootin n hollerin.

you ran down the hall.

behind you, hyunjin’s calm voice said: “don’t panic.” which was funny. because they finally were.

you ran away from them. deep into the house again. you heard the footsteps disappear from behind you. good. good.

you slowed just enough to think. you couldn’t outrun eight of them forever.

chan and hyunjin were walking together on the halls. hyunjin had a small, neat folding knife now resting loose between his fingers. chan had taken a syringe with him. already prepped. yes, he can do a lot with only one syringe. his other hand kept brushing the empty space where the keys used to be.

he didn’t like that.

“she took them clean.” chan said.

“yeah.” hyunjin replied quietly. “good hands.”

chan glanced at him. “you sound impressed.”

“i am.”

“you like her?”

hyunjin didn’t answer.

“if we lose her, we change locations.” chan said, ignoring that his earlier question didn’t get an answer. he already knew it.

hyunjin nodded. but there was something under it. for the first time, the outcome wasn’t certain. that was unusual for them, because they usually did really, really good at this. once someone was caught by them, there was no escape. you were the first one who lived to a second round. he found that interesting. and yeah, he might have started developing a tiny little crush on you, back when you two were just meeting up normally. so what? he’s allowed to!

jeongin moved alone. still with his axe that he’d twirled into familiarity. he swung it lightly as he walked. he checked corners, smiling. as if he was dancing.

“y/n.” he called, sing-song. “be honest, was it the flirting? too much? i can dial it back. slightly.”

he stepped over a fallen chair.

“i just feel like we had chemistry.”

he grinned to himself. he loved this part, the story, the tension, the almost. he knew you were thinking now. they got a thinker. he loves that. he hates that.

he paused, listening. then grinned. “oh, you sneaky girl.”

seungmin had the fire poker again. reliable. brutal.

he liked the chase because it stripped people down to instinct. no masks. no pretending. no lying. just raw survival. that’s what he respected.

“c’mon.” he murmured. “don’t go quiet on me.”

you were irritating him. he barely got irritated. ever.

changbin and minho moved together. changbin carried an injection case now, plus a heavy flashlight he could swing if needed. minho had a hunting knife.

they turned a corner. empty.

“she’s doing something.” minho realized.

changbin’s smile(that came upon his face while he was thinking about you, hehehe) faded. “oh.”

they heard a noise and both spun, only to slam into each other again.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE.” minho snapped.

“shit.” changbin said, steadying the other guy by his shoulders. “let’s just go.”

you moved through hallways. your lungs burned, but your head was clear now. you slipped into a side room and crouched low, listening.

footsteps passed. voices echoed elsewhere. they’d spread too wide.

you waited. counted to twenty. then moved.

back at the hyunjin chan duo, hyunjin stopped in the hallway. “she’s heading back.” he said quietly.

chan. followed his gaze toward the front of the house. “you sure?”

“yes.”

“how?”

“it’s what i’d do.”

meanwhile, at the front door han sat on the floor, back against the wall, holding a shovel. felix sat beside him on the other side of the door with a frying pan he absolutely did not need to be trusted with.

“…we guarding?” han asked.

felix looked at the door. looked at the hallway. looked back at the door.

“…yeah.” he decided.

they both nodded, serious.

“you think she thinks i’m cute?” han asked, adjusting his grip on the shovel.

“bro.” felix said immediately. “absolutely.”

“really?”

“yea, mate.”

they dapped each other up.

“if she makes it back here, i call saying something smooth.” felix said thoughtfully.

“what’s smooth?”

“i don’t know yet.”

while they talked, you grabbed a metal… something from a side table. and started walking back toward the front door.

“she definitely liked when i said she was hot.” han said.

“respectfully.” felix said.

“respectfully.” han looked away, then back at felix. “she’s gonna be so impressed when we catch her.”

“dude. literally.”

they fist bumped.

then, a loud sound came from down the hallway, and a metal object rolling fast across the floor toward them.

they screamed, then scrambled to their feet, immediately abandoning the door.

“dude. we’re gonna fucking die.” han cried.

felix grabbed his arm. “if y/n was here right now, she’d hold my hand.”

“yeah.” han said, terrified. “she’d be so brave.”

“should we check?”

“absolutely not.”

“…we should get the others.”

“yes.”

they ran away from the door, deeper back into the house, yelling for backup.

the front door stood unguarded.

you waited three full seconds after their footsteps faded. then you moved. silent. you didn’t run, that was important. you didn’t want to make noise.

behind you, distant voices.

“FRONT DOOR!”

“THEY LEFT IT—”

you walked to the door quickly. put the key in. wrong key. tried another. wrong key. another. unlocked it. opened it.

now, you ran. you ran, and didn’t stop. you didn’t look back. already past the gate. past the trees. gone.

for the first time ever, they’d lost.

the boys regrouped at the front door. empty. door slightly open.

silence.

chan looked at the door. then at hyunjin, who stared at the gap, face blank. he felt respect. and relief.

seungmin looked at the lock. then at chan’s empty pocket. then back at the lock.

for a second, nobody spoke.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” minho said, sneering.

behind them, han and felix jogged in, out of breath and pale.

“okay.” felix panted. “so—update—there’s a hallway demon—”

they stopped when they saw everyone standing still, all backs turned to them.

felix looked around. “anyone else feel a breeze?”

chan walked to the door in three steps and shoved it open the rest of the way. empty driveway. dark trees. no you.

jeongin blinked. “…no.”

seungmin made a sound like someone had just run over his foot. “noooo.”

minho rubbed both hands down his face. “no no no no—”

jeongin looked at the ceiling. “oh that’s embarrassing. that’s so embarrassing for us.”

han gasped “shit, she did it!”

felix nodded. “i always believed in her.”

they high-fived.

every head turned.

“are you two serious right now?” seungmin snapped.

han immediately jumped into felix arms.

chan stepped back inside slowly and shut the door, quiet. too quiet. “no one moves.” he said.

seungmin was already halfway to the threshold, fire poker still in hand. “we can still see the road—”

chan grabbed his arm. hard. “i said no.”

seungmin yanked free. “she’s on foot.”

“she has a head start.”

jeongin crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “so we just—what—clap?”

“use your brain for once.” chan, voice low. “you’ll make mistakes.”

“oh, i’m sorry.” seungmin snapped. “did your pocket make a mistake?”

OHHHHH.

minho swore and kicked a chair across the room. it smashed into the wall. “THIS is why we don’t get cute.” he said. “this is why we don’t play with our food.”

chanbin winced. “okay, that phrase—”

“not the time.” seungmin cut in.

hyunjin leaned against a table, arms crossed, watching the boys.

seungmin looked at him, suspicious. the level of angry where he gets suspicious at anything. “you’re quiet.”

“thinking.”

“about?”

hyunjin didn’t answer.

“you liked her.” minho accused.

hyunjin’s eyes flicked to him, calm and flat. “irrelevant.”

“bullshit.”

chan stepped between them before it turned physical. “enough.”

“no, not enough.” jeongin shot back. “she got past eight of us. eight.”

“seven.” seungmin muttered. “i was close.”

“YOU HIT A CABINET.” changbin screeched.

felix, still holding han bridal style, raised a hand. “i think we should acknowledge that she was very good.”

everyone stared at him.

han nodded seriously. “and brave.”

minho looked like he might actually kill them. “put him down.”

felix gently set han on his feet.

han immediately pointed at minho. “your energy is aggressive.”

minho grabbed a glass off a table and hurled it into the fireplace. it shattered. “THIS is aggressive.”

“billy badass over there.” changbin murmured, crossing his huge arms.

minho didn’t hesitate to turn towards changbin and shove him. changbin shoved back automatically.

“don’t start.” chan warned.

too late. seungmin grabbed minho’s shoulder and pulled him back. minho shook him off. jeongin stepped between them, not to help, just to watch. “god, you’re all so emotional.” he muttered.

seungmin started toward the door again, fury radiating off him. “i’m going after her.”

now, chan didn’t just stop him but actually pushed him away by the chest. a confident, violent push. manly. frustrated. “no.”

seungmin rounded on him. “she’s RIGHT THERE.”

han raised his hand again. “i still think she likes me.”

everyone yelled at once: “SHUT UP.” “READ THE ROOM.” “YOU WERE AFRAID OF THE DARK.” “SHE HIT YOU WITH A BAT.” “YOU LEFT THE DOOR.”

“we were investigating a threat!” felix said defensively to the last one.

“you are the threat, you idiot!” seungmin barked, then grabbed the front of his own shirt and screamed into it.

minho kicked the wall.

chan exhaled through his nose, centering himself. “no chasing into the dark.” he said. “not like this.”

“she’s getting farther.” jeongin argued.

seungmin made a noise like something dying. chan folded his arms. thinking. hyunjin stared into the night air like he could still see the path you took.

behind them, han whispered to felix: “when we catch her, i’m gonna ask if she thinks my eyes are pretty.”

felix nodded seriously. “they are.”

eight dangerous men. outplayed. and every single one of them wanted you back.

so yeah. that’s what happened, like… two weeks ago now? yeah. about two weeks. now you’re living your life. you hadn’t told anyone. what would you even say? you decided to just leave it. process it. give yourself time to get over it.

now you are standing in line for coffee. life’s been fine since that after all, you deserve it. you slept. eventually. not well, but enough. you changed routines. new routes, new locks, pepper spray, therapy waitlist, the works. you tell yourself you’re fine.

your name gets called.

“hey.”

your stomach drops before your brain catches up. you don’t turn around. because you know that voice. so you grab your coffee and walk. behind you, footsteps.

“okay, so don’t freak out.” jeongin says.

you keep walking.

“that’s actually a terrible opener, sorry, ignore that.”

you cross the street. he crosses too. you don’t look at him. you don’t run. at least you try.

“you look good.” he adds.

“go away.” you say calmly.

“working on it.” he says, which is not how that phrase works.

you turn a corner toward a busier street. people. noise. couples. kids.

“no.” you say.

“i just want to talk.”

“no.”

“did you get a haircut?” he tries.

you stop dead and turn. “how long have you been following me?”

“today? or—”

“jeongin.”

he winces. “okay. today today? like twenty minutes. but not in a creepy way. i was building courage.”

you resume walking faster.

he matches it, breath puffing a little. “listen, i know we didn’t end on a great note.”

“you chased me with an axe.” you cross the street without looking. a car honks. jeongin grabs your sleeve and yanks you back just enough to keep you from getting hit.

you stare at him.

“i didn’t come to hurt you.” he says. “if that helps.”

you keep walking. he groans softly and follows. people passing by just see two hot twenty somethings having what looks like a mildly tense situationship talk. it’s kinda crazy that they have no idea what happened two weeks ago.

you walk faster. he matches it.

“you dropped something.” he blurts. when you give no reaction, he tugs at your sleeve. “really.” he says, pointing behind you.

“that only worked once.” you say, yanking your hand out his grip.

“yeah.” he sighs. “worth a shot.”

a florist stand is set up on the corner. without stopping, jeongin leans sideways, grabs a small bouquet, tosses a crumpled bill onto the table, and keeps moving. he shoves the flowers toward you.

you stare at them. then at him. you don’t take them. but you stop walking and finally look at him.

he looks… normal. hoodie. messy hair. no axe. no grin that clearly tells he’s in animal mode. just this pretty guy.

people move around you, annoyed at the sidewalk blockage.

“you have five seconds.” you say.

he nods, serious now. “okay. we’re not going to hurt you.”

you stare. you start walking again.

he follows. “the boys haven’t shut up about you.”

“that’s not flattering.”

“it kind of is.”

“i don’t know what you want. i’m not coming back.” you say.

“i know.”

“you can’t follow me.”

“already am.”

you reached your apartment building. this is bad. this is very bad. you stop again, turning to face him fully now. his eyes shine.

“we don’t want to kill you.” he says quietly.

you search for anything that could say he’s lying. you can’t find it.

“that doesn’t make you better.” you say.

“i know.”

“you’re still—”

“yeah.”

“…if you come near my place again, i call the cops.”

he nods immediately.

“if i see any of you, i run.”

“mhm.” he holds the flowers out again, then seems to think better of it and just sets them on the sidewalk between you. “i just needed you to see that i’m not… only that.”

“…you are that.” you say. you’re not even being mean, just honest. brutally honest.

“yeah.” he says.

you go inside without looking back. not caring about where will he go, when will he go, why will he go.

the next day, you change your route. different coffee shop. different street. hoodie up, headphones on, just really fucking trying to stay away from them in general. you’re in that coffee shop now. then you step out of the café with your drink, and nearly walk straight into a guy. you flinch back hard.

“whoa—sorry—sorry.” a voice says quickly.

you look up. it takes your brain a second. glasses. plain black frames. simple gray t-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that this man is fucking fit.

changbin.

he gives you a small, awkward wave like you ran into each other and not like he… he found you. “hi.”

you just stare.

“i come in peace.” he adds, lifting both hands.

you close your eyes. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“okay. before you walk away—i deserve that—but just—hi.”

you glance around. public. morning rush. safe enough. “why are you here.”

he adjusts his glasses. “i just wanted to talk. like, normal talk. not chase talk.”

you sigh, and start walking. “you have two minutes before i start screaming.” that’s more time you’ve given jeongin, though.

he falls into step beside you immediately. “you could’ve called the cops.” he says after a moment. genuinely confused. “you still could.”

you look at him. “you don’t think i’ve thought about that?”

“i figured. but you didn’t.”

you sip your coffee, buying time. “you’d disappear before anyone got there.”

“…yeah.” he admits.

“and then what? i spend the rest of my life wondering if you’re gonna show up mad?”

he nods slowly. he can’t argue that.

“also, i don’t want to tell that story out loud. figured it would be the best for me if i just lived through it and got over it. eventually.” you add, quieter.

changbin nods “okay. yeah. that makes sense.”

you study him. he looks the same as in the house, almost friendly. that makes a question pop up in your head. “have you done that before?” you ask. “like. killing people.”

“yeah.”

“how many?”

he blows out a breath through his teeth. “i don’t keep a number.”

“and why?”

he takes a breath, thinking. actually thinking. “it’s not the killing part.” he says slowly. “not for me. that’s just… the end of it. it’s the before. i dunno. i like the teamwork. but that’s just me, ask the others if you want their version.”

you’re confused. “…did something happen in your past?”

he shrugs. “no. grew up rich. had friends. i have a great job. my mom calls me on sundays.”

you stare at him.

“i’m serious.” he says. “i’m just… like this.”

you hate how calmly he says it. “when did you start?”

“early twenties.”

“why didn’t you stop?”

he gives you a small, almost embarrassed smile. “i’m good at it.”

you don’t answer. a car horn blares down the street. someone laughs nearby. the world keeps going, oblivious. “you scared me.” you say.

“i know.”

“you still are.”

“i know.”

you swallow. you check the time on your phone. “i told jeongin i’d scream if any of you came close to me ever again.”

“i heard.”

“you got lucky.”

“i’m glad.”

a bit of silence.

you meet his eyes. “i don’t trust you.”

“you shouldn’t.”

“but you still came now. why? why can’t you leave me alone?”

he shrugs, small and helpless. “i liked talking to you in the kitchen. before we… started.”

ow. sounds bad. so bad that you take a step back. away from him. you’re scared.

“i don’t feel things the way other people do.” he says finally. he wanted to spit that out for a while now, he just couldn’t scrape the courage together. “it’s like everything’s gray unless it’s intense.”

you sigh. “…at least you’re honest.”

he nods. “i just… i wanted one interaction with you that wasn’t you running.”

you watch him. he’s still scary. “you got it.” you say. “now what.”

he shrugs. “now i go away.”

you study him. glasses slightly crooked. trying very hard not to look threatening. failing, because he looks like he could lift a car.

you almost smile. almost. “don’t follow me.” you say.

“i won’t.”

“tell the others.”

“i will.”

you start to walk off.

“hey.” he calls.

you turn, tired.

“you were really impressive.” he says. sincere. really.

you hold his gaze. “i know.”

then you leave him standing on the sidewalk, alone. alone with his horrible, evil soul. alone with this weird dumb crush he recently developed on you. alone with his biceps, flexing because he feels a lot and it just… happens when he feels a lot.

it’s the next day. normal day. sun’s out. people walking dogs. a delivery truck is parked. blablabla anything that says world goes on. you were paranoid this day, sure, but you survived so far. you’re currently locking your apartment building door after yourself so you could go grocery shopping when a voice behind you says:

“okay, don’t be mad.”

you close your eyes. slow inhale. you turn.

it’s felix. and this guy literally tried to shoot you once, you remember clearly, but he looks… perfect. perfect hair. expensive jacket. shoes that cost more than your phone. holding… a container?

you stare.

he smiles, so sweet. “i made you muffins.”

“…you what.”

“blueberry.” he says proudly.

you look at the container, suspicious. “i’m not eating that.”

he frowns a little. “that hurt my feelings.”

“you tried to kill me.”

“sorry.”

you rub your face. “why are you here.”

he shifts his weight. he’s nervous. it’s cute tho. “we voted.” he says.

“you VOTED.”

“yeah.”

“ON WHAT.”

“on not killing you.”

you just stare at him.

he brightens. “it was almost unanimous.”

“WHO voted no?”

“…minho.”

yoy try to step around him toward the street. he mirrors you accidentally.

“felix.”

he freezes. “yeah?”

“move.”

“oh. right. sorry.” he sidesteps so fast he almost falls off the curb.

“you cannot come here.” you say. calm. really hoping he’ll understand. “you cannot follow me. you cannot bake for me. do you understand how insane this is?”

he nods immediately. “yes.”

“then why are you here.”

he looks at the muffins. then at you. “okay. so. we— i— baked.” yes baby, we know. you told us already.

“i see that.”

“for you.”

“i gathered.”

he nods, satisfied that the point has been made.

you start walking. he starts walking. directly into a street sign. it’s loud.

he recoils. “ow.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“is it bleeding?” he asks, pointing at his face, but he immediately goes cross eyed as you push his face away instead. his skin is warm. feels nice tbh. he blinks at you, unbothered. “you have strong hands.”

“go away.”

“okay.” he says.

he does not go away.

you reach the crosswalk and the light changes. felix steps forward without looking. a car honks.

you grab his hand and yank him back.

he stumbles into you.

“jesus.” you mutter, still holding his hand as you cross. “you’d be roadkill in five minutes.”

he looks down at your joined hands, his big eyes shining, absolutely taken aback by the fact that you would do this for him. well, all that until you drop his hand on the other side of the street.

“thanks.” he says cheerfully.

a man wearing a watch worth a month’s rent, carrying something he made for you that you won’t eat, who could absolutely overpower you, and instead just almost died to a car.

“don’t follow me.” you say.

“okay.” he says, still following.

you glance at him. “you’re unbelievably stupid.”

“thank you.” he says.

“that wasn’t—”

“i’ve been working on self-acceptance.”

pffft.

you stop. “felix, listen. i don’t want you guys here.”

he looks at you, tilting his pretty head in confusion.

“you scare me.” you clarify.

“oh.” he says quietly. that, he understood.

you point at the muffins. “those could be drugged.”

“they’re not!”

“i don’t know that.”

silence hangs between you. street noise fills it. someone laughs across the road. life just keeps going.

“i liked talking to you.” he says finally.

“you didn’t talk to me.” you reply. “you hunted me.”

“yeah. i’m sorry.”

you watch him. disappointed that something this beautiful can be this cruel. “you need to leave.”

he nods. but he doesn’t move yet. “do you…” he starts, then stops. tries again. “do you hate us?”

you don’t hesitate. “yes?” of fucking course bro???

his little brain absorbs that. shoulders drop a little. “okay.”

he holds out the muffins one last time, hopeful in the dumbest way possible.

you just look at him.

he lowers them.

“just go, felix. bye.”

“yeah. bye.”

he turns the wrong direction.

you grab his hood and spin him around. “that way.”

“right.” he says, walking off.

he makes it three steps. turns back. holds up the muffin container. “do you want—”

“no.”

“okay.”

he walks into a bike rack.

you watch him go. he looks beautiful.

you hate him.

you check to make sure he crosses the next street safely before you turn away.

that passed too. a few days later you are leaving a pharmacy in the afternoon, receipt crumpled in your fist, focusing on your surroundings now.

and across the street, leaning against a lamppost, is chan. he raised a hand, giving you a little wave, mouthing: you good?

you mouth back go away.

he nods once, then pushes off the pole and walks in the opposite direction. not chasing now. actually walking away.

then you’re in a grocery store, looking at pastas, deciding which one you want to eat tonight. a hand reaches past you and places the more expensive one in your cart.

you turn. it’s seungmin. black hoodie. baseball cap.

you immediately pull it back out. “no.”

he takes it. puts it back into the cart.

“no.”

back in.

“stop.”

it went on for a good five minutes.

at checkout, you unload your stuff, and when you’re about to pay, seungmin comes up behind you and wordlessly uses his card. do you process that in the head? no, only when he is already at the exit, hands in his pockets, not looking back.

he walks straight into the automatic door before it finishes opening. you hear the thud.

you rub your temples.

then you’re walking through the park because that’s the shorter way home. peaceful. sunlight. children playing. then the bush next to the sidewalk starts shaking.

you stop. you kick the bush. han tumbles out directly at your feet. face in dirt.

“…hi.” he says into the grass.

you look down at him. “were you hiding?”

he looks up at you, leaves in his hair, expression hopeful. “no.”

you start walking again. he scrambles up and follows, then trips on the sidewalk edge.

you catch his sleeve before he eats pavement. “use your brain.”

he nods seriously. “i keep meaning to.”

next time about days later, you see felix before he sees you. he’s staring into a store window, clearly confused by mannequins.

you walk past.

noticing that, he turns and his pretty little face lights up. “hi!”

“hi. don’t.”

“okay.”

he walks into a mailbox.

you only see hyunjin once, at a distance. not close enough to speak. just standing outside a train station, hands in his coat pockets, watching the crowd, not just you.

when your eyes meet, he doesn’t smile, just gives a small nod. then he leaves.

days after that it’s seungmin again. at night. parking lot. you only came with car because it was too far. you’re unlocking your car and a shadow leans against the hood.

“you’ve been avoiding me.” seungmin says, casual as hell, like he didn’t once swing a fire poker at your skull. “man.” he continues “small world, right?”

you turn, pepper spray in hand, and spray it directly into his eyes.

he screams, drops to his knees, clawing at his face. “OH MY GOD IT’S LIKE SATAN PISSED IN MY EYES—”

“stop finding me!” you yell.

he’s laughing through the pain. laughing. “you look good today.”

you drive off while he’s still swearing.

the next time minho follows you through a bookstore. keeps pretending to browse. picks up a book upside down. so you turn a corner and wait. he walks right into it. he also gets a taste of your pepper spray.

“SON OF A BITCH.” he chokes, doubling over between romance and self help. “you fucking—”

“YOU’RE STALKING ME.”

they find you in different places. weeks apart. or days apart. but they always come back.

something is clearly wrong with them. like, all eight are sick in the head. but it doesn’t seem like they’re following you around to kill you. they talk too long. they get distracted. they bring you things. they absolutely eat shit every time you fight back. and you do fight back. diva.

minho and seungmin have been pepper sprayed so many times they flinch when you reach into your bag. jeongin tries every possible pickup line on you. han once tried to sneak up on you and got hit in the face with your tote bag and apologized.

it’s ike they’re still in hunting mode. after you. into you. but now they’re… unsure. they don’t seem to want you dead anymore. they just… want you around now. or to just be around you, at least.

it’s the middle of the night right now. you’re in old sweatpants, hair a mess, waiting for the food you ordered. and soon enough, the doorbell rings. you shuffle over and look through the peephole for a second. delivery uniform. cap. bag. seems normal. so you open the door.

it’s felix. smiling ear to ear, holding your takeout, wearing the uniform jacket and cap. “hi!”

“absolutely not.” you say, already closing the door.

he sticks his foot in. “wait, wait—don’t slam it, the soup’ll spill—”

that’s when you see it, behind him, in the hallway. a man on the floor. the delivery uniform pants still on him, only his jacket gone, the one on felix right now. there’s blood under the man.

your stomach drops. your organs drop. after staring for about a minute, you slowly look back at felix. “…is that—”

“okay.” he says quickly. “before you freak out—”

“BEFORE I FREAK OUT?? YOU KILLED THE DELIVERY GUY?!”

jeongin leans into view, coming next to felix, hands in pockets. “it wasn’t him who killed the guy.”

you point wildly, not even concerned about the fact that there’s two of them now. “THAT IS A PERSON ON THE FLOOR.”

“yeah but like…” minho says, stepping into the doorframe, arm around felix’s shoulders now. “he’s not using the uniform anymore.”

your mouth opens. nothing comes out.

and then, without a word, chan walks past you. into your home. into your fucking home. felix shrugs and follows him. the other six too, actually taking their shoes off.

YOU ARE STILL HOLDING THE DOOR. THEY JUST WALK AROUND YOU.

“what—no—no—no—” you manage, backing up as they enter.

han closes the door gently behind them. “heat’s nice in here.” he says.

hyunjin looks at you and mutters a quiet but confident “hi” before going further into your living room.

changbin walks past you and spins slowly, taking in the room. “oh this is cute. this is very you.”

“YOU BROUGHT A CORPSE TO MY DOOR.” you choke.

felix is still holding the food bag. “your noodles are getting cold.” he says softly.

you make a noise that doesn’t exist in human language. (imagine something close to a windows crash sound)

seungmin tosses his jacket over a chair. there’s a smear of blood on his sleeve.

you gag.

he notices. “oh, relax. it’s mostly the delivery guy’s.”

“OH MY GOD.”

“hey, where’s the hand soap?” han asks, already at your kitchen sink, washing blood off his fingers.

you stare at the red swirling down your drain.

jeongin flops onto your couch. “i like what you did with the lighting in here. mood.”

“GET OUT.” you say, voice coming back in bursts. “GET—OUT—OF—MY—APARTMENT.”

they all look at you. it’s obvious that they don’t really understand what’s your problem.

chan gestures toward the takeout bag. “eat first.”

“I DON’T WANT THE FOOD.”

felix looks devastated. “you picked the combo meal…”

changbin is by your bookshelf now. “you alphabetized? that’s hot.”

“a— i— eugh— what is HAPPENING.”

minho leans against the wall. “okay, in our defense—”

“there is NO DEFENSE.”

“—we didn’t come to kill you.”

“YOU’RE TRACKING BLOOD ON MY FLOOR.”

they all look down.

han lifts his foot. “…shit.”

jeongin points at him. “mop boy.”

han salutes and grabs paper towels.

“listen.” chan says, turning to be in front of you. “we just wanted to see you.”

you stare at him. then at the door. “…you couldn’t text?” you ask hoarsely.

eight grown ass serial killer men exchange glances.

jeongin shrugs. “didn’t have your number.” that’s alright sweetie, not like you can’t find a phone number when you can find an address perfectly. not like you can’t ask for it from HYUNJIN.

you make another sound.

changbin steps closer, hands up, gentle. “okay, hey. we know this looks bad.”

“LOOKS—”

“bad phrasing.” he admits.

seungmin rubs the back of his neck. “we didn’t plan the delivery guy part.”

“that’s WORSE.” you sag against the wall. “you have got to be shitting me.” you whisper to yourself. then you look at them. all of them. in your apartment. on your couch. at your sink. in your life. “out.”

they don’t move.

jeongin tilts his head. “we just got here—”

“OUT.”

changbin actually flinches.

seungmin raises his hands. “okay, volume—”

“you killed someone. again, i assume. and brought it to my DOOR. do you understand how fucking insane that is?”

silence.

“i can’t sleep normally. i check reflections everywhere. i don’t walk with headphones anymore. do you get that? do you get what you did to my brain? i couldn’t function for weeks. every sound was footsteps. every guy walking behind me was one of you. i have three different hiding spots in my own apartment.”

han raises a hand slightly. “this one’s not great.”

“NO IT IS NOT GREAT.”

felix looks genuinely confused. “we didn’t think about… after.”

“YEAH. THAT’S THE PROBLEM. you don’t think about after. you don’t think about people being PEOPLE. you think about adrenaline and teamwork and your little murder club hangouts.”

changbin crosses his arms. “okay when you say it like that—”

“how else is there to say it??” you gesture wildly at the room.

they don’t look guilty. they look… attentive. they’re paying attention. trying to understand you.

you swallow. “no, seriously. i want to know. when you followed me for weeks? when you showed up at my job? when i thought every man walking behind me was about to grab me? that was fun for you?”

seungmin shrugs. “engaging.”

you grab the nearest thing, a throw pillow, and launch it at his face. then relax your shoulders and sigh. “i am a person. with a nervous system. i had a normal life before you guys.”

there’s a long pause.

felix raises a hand slightly. “your food is still warm.”

“READ THE ROOM.”

he lowers it.

han whispers to him: “she’s upset-upset.”

“no shit.” you snap.

chan has his hands on his hips. “you’re saying we made you paranoid and ruined your life.”

you stare. “…are you fucking for real right now.”

“trying to understand the damage.”

“DAMAGE???”

jeongin leans forward on the couch, elbows on knees. “we don’t feel fear like that, or guilt the way you do.”

“yeah, i noticed.”

“but we’re not dumb.” hyunjin says quietly.

your eyes flick to him.

he meets them. calm. honest in a deeply unsettling way. “we know we changed your life. we can see the behavioral shifts. we know what we did. we just don’t care.“

you blink. does this fucking asshole hear himself.

he continues. “and what you’re saying is that our continued presence equals harm.”

you blink “yes.”

“even without immediate violence.”

“YES.”

he nods once. processing. filing it somewhere in his terrifyingly organized brain.

chan takes over. “we’re saying, we understand the outcome. even if we don’t experience the emotion attached.”

changbin rubs his neck. “we didn’t think about the after. usually there isn’t one.”

you let that sit. “yeah.” you say. “because people die.”

quiet.

han finally says, softly: “you didn’t.”

you look at him. “no. i didn’t. and now i have to live with what you did.”

there’s a long silence.

then jeongin claps his hands once. “so. solution. anyone? ideas?”

you point at him without looking. “you are on thin fucking ice.”

he mimes zipping his mouth.

seungmin rubs his face. “okay, but question.”

you glare.

“when we stopped trying to actually kill you… that didn’t help?”

you just stare at him. “…you hear yourself, right?”

he thinks about it. “…yeah.”

felix looks like he’s actually using his brain for once. “we thought… not finishing the job was growth.”

“that is the lowest bar i have ever heard in my LIFE.”

but you see, the thing is, this is a system error for them. you’re not prey right now. you’re not running. you’re furious, first of all. human. loud. hurt. they don’t know this game. they only know the killing and manipulating one, but they want to have you. they just… don’t know how to get you.

chan clears his throat. “so the correct action would be… removal of our presence.”

“yes.”

“immediately.”

“so fucking immediately.”

“we don’t want to kill you.” minho cuts in, hoping that this saves their situation a bit.

“yeah, you told me a hundred times already. your point?” you ask

“we like you.”

you make a face like you bit into soap. “that is not how liking works.”

“for you.” he agrees.

chan exhales. decisive. “we adjust behavior.”

you cross your arms. “into WHAT?”

silence.

felix brightens. “dinner?”

you stare at him.

han nods eagerly.

you look around the room at eight serial killers in your living space, one of them holding a roll of paper towels covered in someone else’s blood. “…dinner.”

changbin shrugs. “low pressure environment. public. you feel safer. we practice acting normal.”

minho adds: “exposure therapy. for all parties.”

“i just gave a speech about how you ruined my sense of safety.” you whisper, voice defeated.

hyunjin nods. “we heard you.”

“and you want to take me to DINNER.”

“yes.”

“why.”

he doesn’t hesitate. “because harming you is now counterproductive to the thing we want.”

you are actually taken aback by the words this guy uses. “…which is?”

he holds your gaze.

“you.”

the room goes quiet.

then han whispers to felix, way too loud: “is this flirting?”

“yeah.” felix whispers back. “i think this is the good kind.”

you drag a hand down your face. “…get the fuck out of my apartment.”

they stand, immediately obedient. getting their shoes on and whatnot.

changbin gives you a small wave. “we’ll text?”

“you do not have my number.”

jeongin points at hyunjin. “he’ll give it to us.”

“I WILL CALL THE POLICE.”

they walk out.

han pauses at the door. “sorry about the sink.”

door closes. silence. your apartment is a disaster. your life is worse.

but… they looked weirdly sincere, actually. and they were.

soon, they stopped showing up unannounced. mostly. they also stopped bringing weapons into your line of sight. mostly. and they stopped treating you like prey. completely.

how were they about you, comes the question.

obsessed.

and they did not process attachment normally. if they processed it. they did not understand love. but they understood preference, and if you told them enough times, then eventually they understood your emotions too. well, not understood, but they processed the fact that you feel the way you feel and they can do something about it if they actually try.

han once fell down an entire staircase because someone said your name and he turned too fast. chan pretended he wasn’t competitive about board games and then absolutely lost his mind over monopoly. hyunjin brought you flowers all the time. you learned that seungmin always had to sleep on his stomach.

you started to understand the function of them. not excuse, no. absolutely not. just understand and process the fact that they’re how they are. and you couldn’t do shit about it, and you couldn’t get rid of them now. so you lived with it.

they still killed, of course. that was one of the few things that brought them happiness in life, so you couldn’t expect them to stop doing it. they didn’t kill around you, though.

but you knew they still did it. and you could feel when the tension built when they haven’t hurt anybody in a long time.

it also… what’s the right word, scared? impressed? took you aback? could be either, what matters is that when you saw that all of them had it in them, even han and felix who behaved like total angels throughout the day, it… upset you. or just moved something in you, seeing that each of them has that empty place where fear or guilt or empathy should go.

they didn’t kill out of anger. it was release. their brains were wired wrong. thrill, control, mastery, stimulation, those hit the reward centers. violence scratched an itch they couldn’t reach any other way.

and after, they were calmer. lighter, like they’d gone for a run. when they were satisfied with themselves, they tried to tell you about it. you always stopped them, because you did NOT need to hear the horrible things they did. no matter how much they wanted to brag about it, how much they wanted to make you proud.

you weren’t safe in the world, but you were weirdly safe with them. and they would have died for you.

but you had to set rules. actual rules. “do not follow me into bathrooms.” “do not threaten my coworkers.” “do not kill anyone within a five-mile emotional radius of me.” the basics. and they tried. god, they tried. but they didn’t really… do well.

once you opened your door to seungmin at one in the morning, and he stood there, breathing a little heavy, COVERED in blood.

you just stared.

he stared back.

“…you good?” he asked.

“are you good??”

“oh. yeah. not mine.”

you almost slammed the door. he stopped it with a hand, but gently. always that now.

“didn’t come here for that.” he said.

“for what, seungmin, WHAT possible reason makes this a normal social call.”

he shrugged. “adrenaline crash. didn’t wanna be alone.”

that did something weird to your chest. not forgiving, just… information. because you realized that now they wanted you. your company, your voice, your hands. and it felt good.

anyways, you told him to take a shower, then you let him hang out with you.

they also fought each other more than they ever fought you.

once minho and jeongin, two extremely capable men mind you, actually went for each other’s throats in your kitchen while hyunjin and chan tried to separate them.

you yelled at them then. they paused and looked at you.

jeongin, bleeding from the lip, grinned. but like in that hot way. “sorry.”

“take it outside if you’re gonna be like this.” you told them.

“fair.” chan said, dragging minho back by the collar.

you weren’t scared of them like prey anymore. you were scared of the capacity. the strength. the speed. the way the air changed when something in them flipped.

you’d seen what they could do, you just weren’t the target now.

they were on your dick constantly, though. emotionally. socially. existentially. texting wasn’t their thing, but presence was. which meant they showed up unannounced a lot. but the reason for that was that they didn’t want to lose access to you, to be honest. didn’t like the thought of that.

one night you opened the door to changbin. he told you he was going to come over later. well, it was late. around midnight.

when he saw you, his eyes lit up, and wrapped you in the warmest, most affectionate, full-body hug of your life.

you froze.

because he was sticky.

wet sleeve. iron smell. your cheek against his skin. your hands touching the back of his shirt.

he squeezed tighter, cheek against your hair. “missed you.”

you pulled back.

looked down.

this boy was covered in blood.

he smiled, soft, relieved. “hi.”

you shoved back, stumbling, hand over your mouth, already shaking your head like that would stop it. you barely made it to the sink before you threw up in it.

behind you, changbin stood there, horrified. “oh. oh no. right. right. that’s— that’s on me.”

from the hallway, jeongin yelled: “did you forget again??”

“I GOT EXCITED.”

hyunjin was the only one who followed you then, already grabbing a towel, turning on the sink. he didn’t look at changbin, and he didn’t look at the blood. he looked at you. “i’ve got you. you’re okay. breathe.”

they kept forgetting what you were. alive. normal. human. that for you it was a body, a person, a life.

it wasn’t the only time, of fucking course. they’d be loose, relaxed, calm. you’d be staring at hands that had done something irreversible two hours ago. there were a few nights like that, a sleeve not changed, a stain not noticed, you throwing up in your own kitchen while eight men who could disassemble a human being panicked because they’d upset you.

not because they felt guilt like you did. because they’d hurt something important in the environment. you. you, who sometimes made it to the sink, sometimes didn’t.

they did learn, though. slowly. painfully. they didn’t feel what you felt, but they learned it mattered. which, for them, was the closest thing to empathy available in the system.

you fell asleep on the couch once while they were over. you didn’t mean to. how could you mean to, when you knew what they were capable of?

and you woke up pinned. well, luckily not trapped, just surrounded. han was hugging your ankle. felix was using your shoulder as a pillow. changbin had an arm across your middle. jeongin was half off the couch but anyways. seungmin pretended he wasn’t involved but his foot was hooked under your leg.

they didn’t experience comfort like most people did. but proximity? pressure? familiar scent? that, they liked.

they were really, really glad that you survived them. and because of that, somewhere in their broken little predator brains, you became home. and what do predators do? bring things home.

once han showed up beaming, holding something behind his back.

“i got you flowers.” he said.

you blinked. that was… new.

he revealed it.

you stared.

it was technically arranged like a bouquet. the only problem was that… they were human lower arms. a lot of them. like flowers. just… arms.

you made a noise. you looked away, then back at it, then had to look away again.

“i thought it was romantic.” he said, crushed.

“honey, i appreciate that, but—“ you gagged. held the doorframe. teared up.

he watched you throw up then. patted your back after.

felix once brought you a wallet because “you’re always losing yours.”

you opened it. immediately closed it. “felix.”

“yeah?”

“return that.”

chan was… fucking brutal. he didn’t bring objects. he brought information.

“found a guy who’d been stalking women in your area.” he said once.

you went cold. “…what did you do.”

he met your eyes calmly. “took care of him, of course.”

you didn’t know whether to scream or say thank you. this one wasn’t bad, actually. you just had to sit down for a minute.

they were not house trained though, not even a little. one time you caught seungmin about to piss in your giant houseplant.

“seungmin.” you sighed.

he froze mid-zip. “…yeah?”

“if you water that plant with your BODY i will end you.”

“okay, okay.” he said, offended. “god. boundaries.”

felix once wiped his hands on your curtains. han sat on your coffee table. minho had to be told three separate times that knives did not belong “wherever feels right.” changbin once tried to “air out” your apartment by opening every window during winter.

and jeongin was just really spontaneous in general. if a guy talked to you, he would insert himself into the conversation, no matter what. “bro.” he’d say, arm slung over the stranger’s shoulders. “i love your confidence. truly. quick question, how attached are you to having kneecaps?”

you hit him. he’d grin. the stranger would evaporate.

hyunjin was the only one who got you normal gifts. they were… brutally expensive, yeah, and you had no idea where he had that kind of money from, but you appreciated every gift from him.

and oh my fucking god, the mailman. felix hated the mailman. for no reason. the man was fifty something and friendly. still, every time the mail arrived, felix would appear at your window, talking bout sum “he’s back.” ???

“felix, that’s his job.”

“yeah but why is he always here?”

“because i live here. that’s how mail works.”

the suspicion remained.

but beneath all the insanity, the red flags, the daily reminder that they could bring a corpse to your doorstep any day, they were sincere. they never played with your feelings. never lied about what they were. never pretended.

they just… adjusted their behavior around one central rule, which was not to lose you. to keep you safe, even if they didn’t understand why they wanted to keep you so safe. or why did you find so many things they did wrong.

you had, at one point, physically grabbed felix by the hair and yanked him backward because he was halfway out your front door, whispering “i just wanna talk to him.” about the mailman.

“NO.” you barked, fist in his hair.

“he’s BEEN HERE THREE TIMES THIS WEEK.” felix insisted.

“THAT IS HOW MAIL WORKS.”

he did not agree with you.

changbin loved cheek kisses. loved them. unfortunately, changbin also had a chronic issue where he just… forgot he was holding things. knife. wrench. crowbar. gun.

you’d feel a gentle kiss on your cheek and open your eyes to see cold steel six inches from your face.

“baby.” you’d say.

“oh, shit.” weapon would go on the table like car keys. “sorry.” he’d say, and kiss your other cheek, now technically unarmed.

then once you mentioned to hyunjin that you were cold and he wordlessly took off his jacket. it had a suspicious stain. he saw you notice.

“…i’ll get another one.” he said immediately.

because he really didn’t want you to be cold. not like he understood what your problem was with a little blood, but alright. anything for you.

now that i’m getting carried away with the stories, i’ll tell you that han did not understand personal space.

for an example, if you scolded him? immediate cling. you’d finish saying “you cannot threaten the barista for writing my name wrong” and suddenly he’d be attached to your side, rubbing his face into you, arms around your shoulders, chin on your head.

“okay, but we’re good though, right?”

“sweetie, i’m trying to pay.”

he’d nod against your hair, not moving. that went on for twelve minutes until a woman asked if he was concussed.

they clung like that a lot, they didn’t understand a lot, they acted up a lot, they hated a lot, but they loved one thing.

you.

they didn’t understand jealousy as an emotion. they understood it as something wrong with their insticts, and you in danger. how did that make sense? it didn’t. it just sounded horrible. because it was. but it was also the most sincere attachment they were capable of.

you were still scared sometimes. still human. still deeply aware of what they were, and reminded of it a lot of times, of course.

but they’d learned one thing with absolute certainty:

you were not prey.

you were home.

please DO NOT copy, repost, or claim as yours.

CREDITS: divider above from @/pixopix, any and all photos from pinterest (excluding the tomodachi martin)

maia’s note: im back !!! ok but first of all, i am not a tomodachi life larper, i’ve loved it since it was released on the ds and the photos of martin’s mii is from my actual game. anyways, i really love how this work ended up turning out not only bc of the concept of it but bc i’m genuinely just happy i finally finished a work. yes, this smau is not my finest… and there could’ve been more development… but nonetheless i like it and i hope you all enjoy reading it too ! reblogs and feedback are always appreciated !! 🩶

TAGLISTS: @bambisnc @mungbeancoups @starriniqhts @lusayyawnn @chrrific @winteringdream @w3willris3 @rickyshensgirlfriend @kaiyunsim @missingsarinha @lefttrashstrawberry @lovemashu

you've mapped his schedule without meaning to. tuesdays and thursdays, practice at 6:42pm. mondays he lingers after class pretending to pack slowly- something you still can't find the reason to. and fridays he checks his phone before stepping outside, probably waiting, with his foot tapping the door frame; waiting for something you still can't figure out.

but you don't reach out to him. you're not dumb. instead, you adjust. shifting your routine by minutes- not hours- you can't do hours, you have to keep appearances. so you sit three rows up in the stands during his games, close enough to see his face and his brows curl, but far enough to remain forgettable. you never cheer too loud. you don't wave, or look interested- despite watching his shoulders tense before a kick, and the way he heaves when he scores. it's all purely harmless. people watch atheletes all the time. except you remember everything.

when you first fell in love with his soft features- the first time he got injured sophomore year and didn't post for two days. you remember how he limped slightly to his right the second week of lab, how his bag swung into your hip and he muttered a sorry, kindly bowing and complimenting your bunny keychain that you bought at the market he was also at one time, and with his cute apology, he smiled- even squishing it a lil. your keychain is now attached to your hip.

you don't tell anyone this, you don't even tell sunoo how bad the crush is other than you telling him it's just a small one. yes, the sunoo- the one who somehow knows everything.

you don't tell anyone that you memorized his student id number from a shared document "just in case." you don't tell anyone that you've walked past his dorm building enough times to know which light is his- which was always strangely dimmer than the rest.

but you've never crossed the line. you've never touched his door. you've never followed him at night. you just,

hover. observe, stay nearby. close enough to exist in his orbit; but never close enough to follow him at night, sniff his things, or grab his attention.

sometimes you wonder what would happen if he noticed you. if he just turned around, mid-stride and looked you into your eyes directly and not past you. if he asked why your gym schedule mysteriously mirrors his. that day when it comes, knowing you have calculated it, you think you’d smile politely and say 'coincidence' with a confident smile to match your meek appearance. just the year group's high achiever and the college campus sunshine, overlapping schedules because perfection grows from the same root.

it’s familiarity. and familiarity, you tell yourself, is the safest kind of devotion.

you've never achieved this level of devotion to other crushes before, so why is it that jake stood out to you? maybe its the difference in personality, his looks, or how easy he gets it. maybe, its because he saw you differently, his eyes intensely sharpening when you first made eye contact with him, and for a split second- you believed you could be seen again. you crave for that moment. devoted to living a life so blindly that he could one day enter again.

these recent days, you cling onto sunoo and yunah more, puffing your cheeks out in the library after successfully completing all modules, happy for another hotpot night with them and the rest of your friends, all while he tells you all the hot goss and scolds you for being glued to the phone. so you rest your phone down on the table, pretending to act surprised about the campus drama- when you've heard it several times through different accounts.

you stare at the time, zoning out. 8:46pm- your mind immediately goes to jake wrapping up his practice on the field, probably washing up and saying bye to his usual fieldmates, jungwon and jay. you narrate his whole routine in his mind.

he drives on wednesdays, so-

"oi." sunoo pushes ur shoulder. "finish your tea! i bought it just for you." he huffs, and you break a smile. sipping it mockingly in front of him who rolls his eyes. he then lights up again, "oh yeah! forgot to mention-" he pauses looking around in the local restaurant for other campus goers before looking at you again. "your little crush jake?" he bites his lip, "i think he has a thing with another girl, she's in physics 119. like you. 'jina'? ring a bell?" he scowls, "it better be a rumour, i swear he has a thing with every girl he sits nexts to." "he doesn't even talk much besides smiling and answering questions." yunah rolls his eyes. you sit there, laughing along. when in reality, jealousy boils within you. "its always the girl that initiates the talk, does he think high of himself?" sunoo hisses his lips. no. he's too humble. "nah he seems only the type to get what he wants and leaves." no, he'd never. but nevertheless, you respond; "i wonder who the lucky girl is." mundanely, causing a sympathetic chuckle to escape their mouths.

walking home on campus grounds in that dead of night, you slumped your shoulders. eyes pounding to the thought of waking early, just to secure the spot you want in chem. head hurting at the thought of someone else taking it, or worse, him not being there at all.

why couldn't it have been me? am i.. not pretty enough? am i not.. visible enough?

you shake your head, settling down your things before checking the college class portal's syllabus.

PROJECT: BOND_ASSIGNMENT A3_PAIRS_NAMES.slx

The project pairings will be announced randomly this Thursday afternoon if you haven't put your name aside on excel!

you’re already aware of the possibility before the professor puts you with another foreign exchange student again. reliable, class rep energy. you stay quiet mostly, but speak your truth and opinion in elegance. you're respected, cute, pretty, but never enough to be chosen by another classmate. you sigh again, before checking the class roster after your shower. refreshed it twice. memorized the alphabetical sequence. calculated where your name would fall if the pairs were random. you delete your name on the spreadsheet, knowing you'd probably be paired with another helpless student.

and then the page froze. another anonymous student checking the spreadsheet. 2:11am. it overwrites, but you quickly close the tab just incase someone catches your initials snooping around jake's name.

so you close your eyes. wishing the days go by faster to unknot the clouded jealousy of him being paired with another clueless girl.

the next morning, you arrive to class exactly three minutes early. to sit on your favourite spot. you always do. except, the class has been rearranged, desks put together in pairs rather than seperate, and some being occupied already by books and drinks. jake is already there. that’s new. he doesn’t usually arrive before the professor. he’s sitting in your row. not the front. not the back. your row. he looks up when you walk in, you don't meet his eye, your hands feel clammy. cold, your hair falls across your ear and into your view, you smile as a confident greeting. masking the heartbeat hastening your very body. he clears his throat, and he smiles like this is coincidence. you take your usual seat, pulling out your usual pen and journal, fixing the strap of your bag and unlocking your ipad.

it's no one else in the damn room besides you and him. and your mind cannot compensate for the speed of thoughts rushing in. you feel his eyes, hover. waver between you and the board that projected the college's isignia. he clears his throat- something you know all too well he does before he speaks, and so you bite the inside of your cheek- internally panicking.

“did you check the roster?” he asks casually.

did i.. accidentally change something last night? you panic.

your stomach dips. “yeah.”

did i sound too casual?

“late night,” he adds.

WHAT?

you freeze for half a second. “what?”

did somebody see me lurking?

“it updated at 2:11.”

your pulse stutters. you didn’t mention the time. you didn’t mention you saw it update. you didn’t mention anything. you look at him carefully. he’s twirling his pen. calm. "oh. proffessor worked overtime. typical." you comment, before looking down at your phone, absent minded.

"yeah." he replies. a wave of silence following. "im your project partner.. by the way. i-um.. checked the spreadsheet." he casually adds.

"oh." your eyebrow perks up. you can't help it. you take your time to turn to him. pulse steadying. you must keep appearances. your keychain on your bag jingles when you turn to face his shaggy hair. fuck,

he’s closer than you expected.

not leaning in. not invading your space. just sitting there like he’s always been that distance from you. like this isn’t new. those occasional blocky glasses he wears perched on that high nose-bridge you wished you could feel, and his hands, gripping the edge of his table. like he's ready to leap on the empty desk right next to you. "okay." you remind yourself to polietly reply to his comment. all while half your brain is trying to figure out if the professor really did put your name back in- or if-

“guess that makes this easier,” he says lightly, tapping his pen against his notebook. “no awkward introductions.” awkward? he think's i'm not awkward. good.

“i don’t think we’ve ever talked,” you reply, watching his face carefully. before watching the people pile in, saying hi to jake and you. his lips curve faintly. “not directly.” your pulse skips.

not directly.

“i mean,” he corrects smoothly, eyes turning to the professor settle down his bag and wave the cursor around, “we’ve had the same classes for two years.” you fakely chuckle, "right. true." you say, before being quiet. listening to the faint murmur of classmates talking about their partners. you failed to calculate the possibilities of someone putting your name back into the excel. or maybe you hit control z- either way- you thanked whoever put your name to the empty slot next to his name.

"i thought it was gonna be randomised." you bring up, to which you see jake shrug, bringing his bag next to you. cologne wading into your presence. "i think the professor changed his mind. typical." he mocks your tone. banter, something you have analysed is his friendly attribute of his.

he's talking to me.

you exhale as a laugh, slightly moving away as you open up your macbook, lowering your brightness. and while he looks away, you delete your notes. you delete his contact number, you delete everything including the evidence that you were on excel. you wanted to remain calm. and you did so by acting like you're not fond of his cute remarks.

the class lecture about the syllabus made your eyes roll. stupid easy investigation that can be done in two days. you wished it was harder, something that you could even imagine going to his place for-

"should we exchange numbers?" jake perks at you, whipping around with a casual smile, eager for your own casual reply. "s-sure." you answer, bringing your phone up, acting busy while he unlocks his. his fingers start tapping on his screen. "also, should we meet up soon? maybe next friday?"

next thursday. doable for you, very. but you know his schedule all too well, there's absolutely no way on friday's that he's free.

"i'm free all day." he smiles, again. a slight dimple carved from his jaw and chin compliments his puppy eyes. you blink several times, nodding to him politely, smiling back. "oh really?" "really."

"i thought a guy like you would be usually booked." you bring up, chuckling. sly. lying. joking about his apparent popularity, when in reality, you wanna know why his schedule is suddenly free for record-keeping.

"nah, i care about my grades too." he says, eyes too intense- feeling as though he's measuring your reaction. "that's new." you tease lightly. feeling a momentum in your conversation. "didn't think varsity boys had time for stuff like this."

his smile falters just a microsecond, small, controlled. you've never seen that expression before. his eyes fall between you and your phone. "i make time for what matters."

the way he says it makes your stomach tighten. you look down at your phone instead of answering. phone buzzing.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

you blink- slowly raising your eyes to him. he's still holding his phone, but it's already back on the table. quick. you understimated him. "fast fingers?" you ask lightly. he tilts his head. "what?"

"you texted before i even saved yours." you comment, and you find that unfamiliar expression reside on his face for the second time- eyes fluttering. he chuckles loosely, shaking his head. "did i? maybe i just type fast." looking down at your lockscreen- "you like pink? cute."

cute.

pull yourself together.

you try to replay the moment in your head: handing him your phone- which honestly you don't recall, and him typing his number in. strange- but nonetheless, you are thrilled. officially having his number (with consent) is enough for you. "right." you smile again. the class officially starts with no extra comments made towards the excel, the professor- who seemed hyper for someone who had supposedly tampered with the excel early in the am- had adjourned the class early, gifting everyone an hour early schedule to their day. you watch as people pile their things and go, talking to their friends and newly found partners- in which you expect jake to trail after. you never dared to leave before him, so you hesitate packing, double checking your work as a means to act busy.

"so uh-" jake clears his throat. he hasn't left, which was new. you turn to face him, and his eyes trail to yours. looking at both before looking away. "library next week? 10am?" he asks. blocky glasses sliding off his nose bridge, packed away into his bag.

your mind spikes. thrill. heat rushing to your ears. study date. you try not to delude- i mean it's not a date- but-.. study date. your mind wanders. another thought quickly catches. you're always in the library at 10am regardless. perfect fit. "sure!" you perk back, beaming in a friendly sense, keeping your demeanour at a 'casual' level. you end up ultimately choosing to leave as jake's body refuses to move. you wonder why, but shake it off as you finally rise from your table. you feel a chill down your spine- something you feel uncommonly as you're getting up and swishing your bags between the narrow desks. you tilt your lips upward and wave to him before the frosted glass hides you; and your smile drops- something dark within you coiling as you pace down the stairs.

jake cares about his grades.

jake's a smooth talker.

jake blinks slowly when he doesn't understand a concept.

jake uses the smile emoticon- especially to women - and you gag at the thought of him flirting with that fling of a girl in physics 119.

and he's more.. secretive than i thought. charming.

you like him even more. exiting the building, you find yourself smiling, unbeknownst to the figure that watches you from the classroom- smiling back.

you made sure you'd be there at 10am, whether or not you were losing sleep to the thought of him waiting for you. you chose to skip your usual routine of buying vending machine tea, to rather fix your hair and choose perfume- all nothing but a calculated thought to present yourself well before he arrives- but to your dismay, you find his dark chocolate hair, glistening under the soft morning sunlight, his head resting on his palm as he scrolls through his phone, bag under his chin on the desk. your favourite spot. window table, the one that's quieter from the rest- booked under his name, vacant for you to sit at; and worse? two drinks on the table.

your heart pounds. no woman is ever allowed to deserve this. you believe. the way he doesn't know you- and yet..

jake is a kind and hardworking man. and you smile of the thought of him getting ready for you. only you.

"h-hi." you open the glass door and he shoots up. "morning!" he smiles, pushing you a drink. you can't tell what it is by its paper silhouette. you stare at it. i can't accept this- you think. "i-i don't drink coffee at this time, sorry- i-i prefer te-" "it's tea." he cuts you off, turning it around so the label faces you. "green tea." he says, to be exact. "oh!" you genuinely become surprised. your favourite brand, smiling back at you- internally bringing you joy. "glad you like it. it was my lucky guess." he comments, before opening his laptop, bouncing his knee. "thank you." you mumble, opening your contents before turning to him. "shall we get started?"

studying and relearning content was a breeze to you- and it felt even easier when jake nods to your voice- utterly submissioned to your delegated tasks you asked for him to do- all while you secretly watched in the corner of your eye the way he grips his pen with his fingers, and his palm grazing his keyboard. the way he only ever uses those glasses around you and his lip bites when he's puzzled- all you could do was imagine those fingers splayed across your body while you bit the inside of your cheek and smiled the pain away.

pull yourself together.

"is this right?" he leans in, chain swishing against his hoodie before he swivels his chair closer to you. you don't even pay attention to his damn formula (which you know is wrong) and his morning rasp seeping out of the tiny vocal cracks in his voice; while his beady eyes look for a steady nod of validation. "it's okay." you assure him. you look at the time. 11:42am. another class waiting for you under the sea of schedules you were entitled to today.

"is it time already?" he brings up the time after watching you fondle with your watch. "soon, yeah. let's smash this practice investigation out- okay?" you politely exhale, averting your eyes away from his hardened ones staring back at you. intense. you feel again. the same weight of staring like the first time he saw you- but this time, you're afraid to face it. 8 minutes pass and you try to wrap things up. he doesn't seem to say anything besides looking at your bunny keychain and fondling with his notepad. "same time next week?" you try to casually initate another time- this time you want to savour his presence more.

"sure!" he smiles up at you again. "what class do you have next?"

"physics. 119." you flatten your lips. straightening your books before placing them neatly into your bag. he hums, nodding away. "in the same class as her. right." he mumbles but you catch it. your eyes can't help but slightly squint at the thought of him thinking about her. so you leave, muttering a quick goodbye while you push away the doors.

"fucking hell." you grumble. you stay apparent, on the lines, respectable- and yet someone who's completely nowhere on his radar gets to just have his attention just like that? unfair. unfair. unfair. you repeat those words until you reach the doors of your next tutorial. blanking out to the words and equations mashing together.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

you flinch at jake's notification at night. you remember how often his dim dorm lights were always on- but you never imagined he'd be studying past practice hours- for all you remember, he only stayed up late like that twice the past year, but nonetheless, your sources cannot just be trusted from someone who observes from the peripheral distance. maybe this was a sign for you to step further. you pocket sunoo's message into the back of your mind, insisting on helping jake in the back of the class while he messages back his dumb keyboard emojis and thank yous.

you feel.. loved.

though you know this isn't what it is- you feel like an ounce of your hardwork is being paid by incriments, and you hate to think that maybe you could end up being close to him. you love it. you love his messages- the way you could picture his heavy lidded eyes lifting just to think of messaging you late at night- it makes you so fucking heated.

he thinks of me.

but this level of seeking is probably never gonna end in the way that you want.

after sunoo’s offhand comment that jake never lets anyone in his room and barely lets people get close, something inside you twists, not in fear but in fascination. the idea that jake, who is warm and casual and almost flirty with you during your project sessions, is cold and distant with everyone else makes every moment with him feel rare and deliberate.

instead of scaring you, it settles into your chest like a quiet privilege. you start watching him more closely during your meet-ups, noticing how his posture loosens when he sits beside you, how his voice softens when he asks a question, how he looks at you like you are familiar rather than temporary. you find yourself in the same laundry aisle three minutes after him, buying the same softener he uses. you smile more when he notices the similarities you seem to fabricate.

he does not resemble the closed-off version sunoo described, and the contrast sends a new kind of confidence blooming through you. you stop rehearsing everything you plan to say. you tease him lightly when he misreads a formula. you hold his gaze a little longer just to test him, to see what he will do. he notices every time. he always meets your eyes, always gives a small amused smile, always reacts in a way that feels intentional, like he is matching your energy by choice and not by accident. with each meeting, he lets you a little further in; and you start to feel chosen, special, almost intoxicated on the version of him that exists only when you are near. it does not matter that what you have learned about him should make you cautious. if anything, you are the binding evidence that defends his whole being. instead, it makes you more curious. instead it makes you want to see what else he hides behind those closed doors. it makes you want to be the person he breaks his rules for.

days slip by in a way that feels almost curated; jake drifts closer without ever making it obvious, brushing your hand when he passes something to you, leaning in too close when he laughs, his breath warm against your cheek in a way that sunoo immediately narrows his eyes at. “he’s weird. not like 'quirky weird', like, somethings up with him.” sunoo mutters one afternoon after jake murmurs something low and suggestive into your ear- something harmless on the surface, something about how “you look better when you’re focused on me instead of the notes,” but his tone leaves your knees weak. you pretend not to care, pretend not to replay the moment in your head hours later, but when you get home that night the memory crawls under your skin, settling exactly where your fingers start to slip beneath your waistband. you’re just starting to let yourself sink into the thought of him- the way he looks at you, the way he stands too close, the sound of his voice when he says your name.

fuck. you're wet at the thought of his honey voice and supple lips. the image of his fingers reaching for your hand and your work- fuck.

"you look better when you're focused on me instead of the notes." you imagine his voice, moaning against your core- or worse, looking down at you when you sink into his cock. you palm your core, fingers pressed against your clit as they tent up under your waist band, and you circle slow. you haven't had time to touch yourself- especially recently when every time given the opportunity, notifs pop up, or lights tend to flicker past your window. and even, on some occasions, he messages you while you rub to the thought of him. you can't afford to lose a quick release of your inner stress and fixations- especially after what he said to you. "focus on me-" fuck. you groan at the feeling of finally being able to reward yourself.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

fuck!

when your phone buzzes violently against your sheets, you instantly let go of your core. jake. calling. it’s past midnight. your breath catches, embarrassment lightning-hot across your face, because how does he always do this? how does he always interrupt you at the exact second you’re thinking about him, wanting him? you'd never. never. complain about this but, you were so close to cumming it hurts. you debate letting it ring, but curiosity wins, and when you pick up, he’s already breathing hard on the other end like he’s been running or pacing. “h-hey,” he whispers, voice strained, intimate in a way that shoots straight to your gut. you sit up quickly, heart pounding. “jake? are you okay?” he laughs softly, breath shuddering through the speaker, low and knowing. “i don’t know,” he murmurs, “sorry- i don't kn.. you were bus- i mean, were you busy?” your whole body freezes. you look frantically at your phone, hearing his shallow breathing. you swallow, suddenly aware of your shaking fingers, that same rhythm and tone you feel yourself to. fuck. it's too perfect- the way he slips into your night at the exact moment your guard falls. “no,” you lie, voice barely steady. his exhale deepens, satisfied. “good,” he says, like he already knew the answer anyway. “i just… needed to hear you.”

"hear me?" "i-i'm stressed. about tomorrow. our review. and the away game i have later that night... f-fuck." his breath is shaky. and you genuinely believe it may be anxiety rushing to his throat. but fuck, the way he swore under his breath against your phone? the way he's breathing like.. no. you can't think like this. you're slipping. slipping control. slipping the devotion of staying borderline on the edges of obsession. but your fingers slowly sink back down, rimming the edge of your panties.

perfect sunshine, stressed enough to call you. hm, if you would, you'd fuck that stress out of him.

"it's gonna be okay, jake.." you whisper, and you feel a shift, like linen shuffling over his mic. is he in bed? you wonder. he should be. he's got practice early in the morning, and sooner he'll be in class with you. "it's late. we should just end-"

"no!" he shudders. "i mean, no," he inhales, voice vibrating like he's holding back a groan. it makes you wetter by the milisecond. this feels right. you lie to yourself, pathetic, the way you're running your fingers down your folds while you hear his breath stutter over his silly thoughts. but it's perfect. stars aligning- just for you.

jake wants to stay in call with me. is all the news you can muster from his response. and you can't help but get off to it.

"you there? y/n?" jake calls out to you, "please.. say something." "hn-" you bite back a moan. "j-jake," you mildly whisper. and you hear the shifting of his sheets on the others side. "why.. are you calling me?" you ask quietly. then, softer, "of all people?"

"what do you mean, of all people?" he holds his breath, you can feel it through the phone. "you have friends- teammates.. girls." you stop, "i'm not exactly your first point of contact."

"f-fuck." you hear faintly. muffled like he covered his mouth. was that a whimper? "'cos you always seem to answer," he inhales. "everything. you always answer everything. even to others."

even to others? like your friends? and classmates..? now that you think about it, what does he know of you? "oh." you reply, trying to shift the awkward tension. "you seem to be out of breath." you whisper-talk, "did you.. run?" jake never goes on runs, even when advised to. he hates cardio. "...yes." he confidently says, but part of you, feels like he's lying. the same gut feeling you get when he loses composure, even for half a second. there's a silence that hangs for a few.

"about chem.. you'll be okay. trust me. we'll pull through." you reassure him, fingers still resting ontop of your core. "a-and my game..?" he asks. there it is, his breath holding back again. "if it helps, i'll be there to support you." if only he knew how much you already do that.

"really?" he exhales. "yes, jake. i'll watch you. i-if i have tim-." "say you wanna see me." bold. jake said it with no hesitation. like he shot up from his bed. "say that if you have time, you'll come see me." he softens his tone, quieter. raggedy.

"i really wanna see you play, jake. if- i.. have time." he huffs through the phone hearing your words whistle back. 'if i have time.' you replay, cautious of your reply.

because you always have time. for him. "jake?" you hasten your fingers, only hearing muffling groans and the shuffling of linen from his end. "f-fuck. hello?" you're desperate to cum to his voice, hardened by his odd nature to desperately want you. filthy. messy. you find yourself, sweat clinging to your forehead and your panties carrying the slick you keep sticking to.

"good. so f'good." you hear. your mind registers that jake is murmuring things, maybe half asleep on call with you. but your body responds to his half strong response, his voice croaking, higher, whiny at the ends of his syllables. you cum. quietly. you try to hold back a moan, but it ends up catching slightly on the mic.

shuffling, breathing. ragged breathing. "jake?" you call, pretending not to be breathless. pretending that you didn't just cum to your classmate. your new friend. your jake.

"s-sorry y/n, sweets. i fell asleep, or something." he mumbles the rest. "see you later today?"

"yes." you clear your throat. "goodnight. jake." you try to sound cold. "goodnight, y/n. thank you." guilt washes over you, and you clean and scrub until you feel pure- less creepy- less- obsessive. you don't sleep that night. i mean, who are you to blame, you practically came over and over to the sound of his panting words.

a smile creeps up. so painfully tight it cracks the corner of his lips.

3:32am.

she always has time. even if the bleachers are stained by the rain.

y/n has free time on thursdays. after physics 119. she sits nexts to jina. that stupid girl that won't let me know y/n's laptop password.

y/n always goes home. unless sunoo asks her out for hotpot.

polkadot panties on thursdays. my favourite.

sunoo is getting onto me. nuisance.

she breathes heavier when she lies. lowers her voice when embarassed.

jake smiles into his pillow, cum stained briefs sticking against his abs. "and she sounds beautiful when she tries to hide it." he whispers, staring at the dark ceiling. the array of monitors stacked like cctv brims the room with blue. pictures of you. videos. notes. your printed grades. your number written on wherever it could be read- and a stack of perfumes- ones you prefer for men, clothes bought still in their packages that suit your style for sporty guys; and stacks of glasses and accessories- just like what you stop and pause to stare at in a man; everything catered for you. everything to do with you. codes run like stopmotion in one of his monitors- and it whirs to the sound of his nails digging into his cuticles. "she picked up." he whispers, "she always picks up. good to know." he laughs. he stairs at the bottom side monitor to the left of his bed. a site pinging a glowing red dot to know that you're safely sleeping in your bed- now glowing yellow to notify low battery.

"fuck." he knits his brows. "now what?"

the morning seeps into your blinds and you're already behind. you swiftly get up- late. you don't even know how the alarm failed to go off, but you scramble, lips glossy and swiped over your lips, hair a little domesticated than your normal perfect class president appeal everyone expects from you. rushed. vulnerable. exposed. messy. messy. messy.

when you swing your bag out onto the nearest full campus bus, you squeeze between others to sit near the middle. you sit on the edge of the seat, surrounded by strangers, uneven pulse carrying you from last night. your bag strap yanks back when you feel a tug at the zip. you think it's fabric catching onto someone, or someone trying to latch on to the jerking vehicle. and because of the time, you failed to notice a familiar piece of you snapping off, tagging off and hurrying to class to find jake not even there. you didn't notice the hand that was quicker than your legs.

you sit, silently huffing. mind worrying where he might be. irritation replaces anxiety. stressed for your project review, waking up late from his call- what if it wasn't real? what if all your hard work of knowing him gone to waste after being exposed? you huff your hair out of place, straightening your pens to keep calm. five minutes pass.

then the door opens.

he steps in like he owns the room. hair slightly damp like the gym showers soaked him. hoodie half zipped. lips parted like he hurried. his eyes find you immediately.

immediately.

his apology to the professor is soft, casual. he doesn't look embarassed, he doesn't look pressured. he seems as if the call that happened last night was your imagination, that his stress- his vulnerability-was a fallacy.

he sits nexts to you like always now. regardless of the project review. you feel guilty, taking people's chances sitting next to him- but you feel the genuine urgency in him wanting to secure the spot next to you. "overslept." he mutters, voice low. croaky. just for you to hear.

your facade builds up again. yes, despite the lack in keeping appearances today, you still flatten your pink tinted lips together, rolling your eyes as your sweater bunches at your sleeves. "that's new."

he slowly grins, "i was up late." as a proof that last night was real. your throat tightens. "studying?" you ask lightly, "yeah. something like that." he adds on to your joke.

while the professor continues to meet each pair, you two sit at the back, fondling with both of your paperwork. his knee brushes yours under the desk- not moving away. he leans closer than necessary to open his notebook for the umpteenth time. his perfume wades into your air while he chuckles about your messy hair. he asks again about the examples you solved. about things he already knows.

he's performing.

for you.

and you feed into it so easily.

you correct his formula, taking the pencil from his hand. he lets you. you laugh quietly at something small. he watches your mouth when you do. he taps his pen against your notebook like he's restless, like he needs your attention anchored back at him at all times- and you gladly do. you've always, always- always, have.

you don't realise you're glowing- nor do you realise your bag feeling lighter. the professor is still occupied. still working on a few pairs a couple of rows in front of you. he tilts his head, pretending to notice something. "oh," he says casually, reaching into his hoodie pocket before you could turn around. he pulls it out. "you dropped this."

your pink bunny keychain, dangling from his slender fingers. the stitching a little tattered, but nonetheless, alive and now in the palm of your hand. your heart stutters, "i-what? when?" you mutter your thank yous. "found it on the way here." he shrugs.

you frown faintly, thumb brushing its ears. you look at it's buttoned eyes, something different points out to you. the buttoms are aligned neater, symmetrically. your eyebrows knit and your eyes stutter, convinced it was just only recently you observed. "thanks," you say again, cheeks flushed. "i didn't notice." he smiles.

of course you didn't.

he felt the old battery's weight in his hand earlier, and had pressed his thumb against the tiny seam he stitched himself weeks ago. had replaced the beeping tracker's battery with an identical plush, same thread, pink and cute just how you like it- before you even reached the bus stop. he was on campus two whole hours before you. not including practice.

you always rush when you're flustered, don't you?

you don't double check your bag around me, do you?

you trust me, don't you?

jake watches your fingers brush the bunny absentmindedly as you tuck it back into your zipper. "what would i do without you?" you say outloud, watching him chuckle, pushing his glasses back to look at you properly.

then there's that look he gives you. one you can't seem to find on others- or even from him to others; only you. the one that makes you feel visible, seen. his jaw tightens for a second. "you don't have to find out."

what does that mean? you wonder, but you shake it off. you're getting somewhere.

later down the hour, the professor ends up dismissing you and jake's investigation, saying it was unnecessary to check on high achievers. "you both know what you're doing. no need to stress. jake- your report is very good. keep it up."

you look at jake. raising a brow. there was really no need for a call last night.

you wonder, if the shaking breath and the late hour meant something real.

or maybe he wanted me on the line.

class resumes as normal- this time you leave earlier, you feel grimy, the feeling of sin still washing over you from last night. you shuffle your bag, your books, your bunny plush dangling from your shoulder. you check the time, mentally checking that jake would probably leave to go to his dorm soon. as you get up, you feel a tug at your sweater.

you turn, seeing jake, eyes crossed and wide, surprised you're leaving early. "see you at the game? tonight?" voice raspy at the ends, in the way that you know (but you can't accept) is desperation. why does he want to see you out of all people?

right. his game he practically begged tor you to watch. you can't escape it now. "o-of course. see you." you press your lips together, smiling as you casually can.

later that day, you sit in the bleachers, bag tucked between your legs, a whiny sunoo attached to your hip- teasing you for promising jake. what he doesn't know is that you've watched him several times. but you feel as if it's your first with the way you're in jake's line of sight- visible now- like you always fantasized even when you preferred being unseen. but visible now means visible forever- and visible now means- in your eyes- that jake likes you.

you watch his habits, his form, the way he squints and pants when idle, the way he laughs when his teammates slap his back. he checks his phone mid-game. smirking to himself.

what was that? you feel your stomach coil. what could possibly be more interesting for him to smirk at his phone for? was it a text?

you check social media, you snatch sunoo's phone to look at anything to do with him in any of the circles he's around. when sunoo raises a brow, he shrugs it off when he gets his phone back. what could he possibly smirk at? and why can't it be toward me.

it was obvious his team would win, and when he did, he scans the bleachers. finds you- holds eye contact for half a second too long before finally letting his teammates drag him into noise. sunoo squeezes your arm, tearing away your eye contact. "your boyfriend's starting to like you back." he jokes- half true. you blush immensely at sunoo's comment. punching his shoulder softly. jake goes back to looking at you- eyebrows furrowed at the way you look at sunoo. the way you touch him so casually. you're literally only here for his game, and jake has counted that you've given too much attention towards sunoo for more than a minute too long, while he counted in his mind that you've watched for approximately nine. sunoo's is one too many.

what could you possibly be smirking at?

the team drags him away, and you end up walking home with sunoo- texting him before the night could end.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

the house is already loud before you even reach the door. bass leaking through the walls like a heartbeat, front porch crowded with bodies, laughing too hard, drinks sloshing in red cups- bodies swaying to incoherent music nobody can really hear. you shudder. sunoo drags you inside by the wrist, beaming with excitement, already greeting three people you've seen twice- passing you drinks like it was waiting for you. you down it of course, matching their vibe. the air inside was warm. thick, heavy. soiled with perfume and sweat, and the sweet burn of cheap alcohol. feeling slightly out of place, you clutch your drink, scanning the rooms instinctively even though you told yourself you wouldn't come here looking for him.

and then you see him. not directly. first you see jay- leaning near the staircase talking to jungwon, their heads close together like they're trying to hear eachother over the loud music. he catches the inkling that someone's staring, and his expression shifts when he sees the room and finds your eyes staring back. you see the way his face subtly tenses, nudging jungwon with his elbow, murmuring something you wish you could hear. now both are glancing your way; not long enough to be obvious, but long enough to make your stomach churn. and so you look away quickly, pretending you didn't notice.

sunoo has already disappeared toward the kitchen, with yunah kissing your cheek, introducing you to two girls you remember her fawning about. they pull you along easily, and soon the awkward wall crumbles. you and your girls are loud in the friendly way that makes everything feel lighter. a vision you've never dreamt about, and a colour you've newly discovered, you drink questionable things in one hand, smoke wonders with the other- and you giggle at the thought of releasing a carefree, non-pyschotic self to the world. you hug girls and clink drinks with guys, you get recognised for your quiet demeanour, high grades and pretty face. you believed you were outcasted- when all in reality, it was the sin of loving jake that held you down. someone compliments your skirt, and a few others take you with them to the living room to reside by the louder music and bad dancers.

for a little while you forget about watching- you forget about being careful. you just exist in the noise- feeling, being, existing- seen; without a prompt or person.

still, every once in a while, you feel it. that prickle at the back of your neck. the strange sensation of being looked at for longer than necessary. every now and then you catch pieces of him instead of the whole- his shoulder disappearing through the hallway, his laugh near the kitchen doorway, a flash of his hoodie- a hand reaching for a cup.

it feels like orbiting. like both of you are circling the same centre, gradually closing, without yet colliding.

at one point, a guy approaches you while you're near the couch. typical questions like the others, this time, you're more sober. asking what year you are, where abouts you live- leaning too close to your ear like they always excuse themselves to do at parties. you answer politely, smiling, lazy, skirt riding up, baby hair sticking to your neck. hair blown out and your lips pink. he says a joke that actually prompts you. you laugh, head leaning forward, engaged in the conversation while your eyes wander over his shoulder.

and that's when you see him. again.

not jake, jay.

he's back near the staircase, but this time he's not laughing. he's watching. when your eyes meet, he lifts his hand slightly like he wants you to come over- quickly, urgently. like he wants to say something to you.

and then someone bumps into you, the conversation shifts, and when you look back he's gone. you shrug it off. the party goes on for another hour, maybe more- maybe a few.

yunah is no longer to be seen after disappearing with a group upstairs. sunoo drifts toward the back patio with people you don't remember hugging. you stay near the living room with a couple of girls who start telling you stories about some professor everyone hates, and you're laughing again, warmer now, more.. relaxed.

your phone buzzes in your hand.

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

you blink. you swear he was just here. and no, you're way sober than you think. you glance upstairs, and you don't find him. you glance toward the patio doors, expecting to spot his blonde hair- but the crowd shifts and the face sblur together, maybe he really did leave- maybe you just didn't notice.

you start typing a reply when you hear someone call your name. you look up. "y/n!" jay is pushing through the crowd toward you. not hurried exacty- but purposeful. his expression rests different up close. less amused, more- uncertain.

"hey," he calls, leaning in so you can hear him over the music. "i just wanted to t-"

his hand lifts like he's about to guide you somewhere quieter- but suddenly he's not the closest person to you anymore. a body slides between you before you even realise what had happened.

jake.

it's smooth enough that anyone else might miss it. the way his shoulder nudges jay aside- hand settling at the back of your wait like it's always been there. the movement isn't aggressive- rather, final. jay pauses, brows furrowing, softening at yours who squints in confusion. "she good?" jake smiles at jay slighty. like the interruption meant nothing. jay's jaw tightens, eyes flickering it could almost count like an eyeroll. "yeah," he mutters, glancing between you both before stepping back into the crowd. you rarely register the exchange. your attention is already caught by the warmth of jake's hand at your side. "hey," he calls, voice quieter now that he's closer. "hey.." you reply, surprised to see him pop up after all this time.

"you still here alone?"

"sunoo left apparently," you say, showing him the texts. his breath hitches when you lean in, unlocking your phone through your passcode. jake watches you press the numbers in, mumbling the numbers as you follow. he nods slowly to your complaint, like that make sense. "i did get to see him, he mentioned he might." he sheepishly replies. you frown, pouting at the ends. "to you?"

"earlier," he answers easily, "he didn't want to drag you out, especially if you're having fun." the crowd feels bigger, the bodies feel closer, and all of a sudden jakes looking down at you, his chest inches away from yours. his varsity jacket shaped his shoulders to tower yours, and his chain clinks as other people bump into him. his canines show when he turns to say hey to others- yet, his eyes still cling onto yours.

"you wanna stay?"

you hesitate. hazy. no alcohol needed when his voice dips like honey into your throat. his thumb comes up to brush a bit of hair on your face. "or," he leands down, "i can take you home." soft, croaking whisper that you swear was louder than any other music in the room.

your heart stutters, a lot.

you look at him properly, facing up where the party lights glimmer on his face for a fraction before its lost in the darkness- and then again when the light manages to catch him. the way he's watching you carefully, like your answer matters more than anything happening in the rest of the house. the party keeps moving, people enjoying their time while others don't. did i enjoy my time here? you think to yourself- but do i prefer jake to take me home?

"y-yeah.. if that's okay." you mumble into his ear, going on your tippy toes for him to shudder when he feels your hot breath and hands on him. his smile deepens, satisfied in a way you can't quite place. "perfect." he murmurs. as he guides you toward the door, his hand rests on your lower back, circling around the straps.

you don't notice jay watching from across the room.

you don't notice the way he shakes his head, walking away.

and you don't notice that sunoo never actually left the party. at all.

you try to look back once more at the front porch, but jake tugs you- clumsily. "let's get you home, missy."

the ride back is quieter than the party.

the streets are mostly empty now, campus lights stretching long across the windshield as jake drives with one hand on the wheel. the music in the car is low enough that it barely fills the silence. you’re still warm from the hovering noise of the house, from the drinks, from the way everyone had been looking at him all night and yet he circled back to you.

you sit angled slightly toward him, knees turned his way without thinking. for a while, neither of you say anything. then he glances at you briefly. hands tightening at the wheel, eyes flickering to your hand scrunched at your thighs.

“you were having fun back there,” he says. so he's been watching?

“it was loud, haven't seen others in so long,” you reply, smiling faintly. he hums like he doesn’t believe that. fingers tapping on his lap as the traffic light stays red. this is it now, you think. he ditched his practice run for my tea run. he takes me home. we barely talk about the project anymore. we talk about things he enjoys, and things i like. he's perfect.

“jay tried to talk to you earlier.”

right. your stomach flips. “yeah,” you say carefully. “he said hi- seemed like he wanted to talk to me.” "about what?" his response was almost instant. you fumble, shrugging- "i don't know.. you? maybe?" you were genuinly unsure, blinking rapidly.

jake’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. looking at the window as the gear changes quickly, jerking you forward fast. you huff at the change of velocity. “he does that,” he says after a second. “gets in people’s heads.”

you watch his profile while he drives. the way his fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel. the way his shoulders are slightly tense even though the road is empty.

“why?” you ask softly. jake glances over. “why what? sweet?”

you hesitate.

“does.. jay like," breathe, "d-do you worry about what he's going to say?” the car goes quiet again. he exhales slowly through his nose, looking at your silhouette reflecting off his window. “that depends on what he's gonna say.” you shrug like it doesn’t matter. “nothing important, i bet.”

his eyes linger on you for a second longer than they should before returning to the road. “good,” he murmurs. the word settles strangely in the car- silence hanging off the last word. good?

a few minutes pass.

you reach the stoplight near your dorm, and that’s when you feel it. his hand. it settles on your thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

warm. steady. your breath catches. you don’t move away. instead you look down at his hand, then back at his face. “jake,” you say quietly.

“yeah?”

his thumb shifts slightly against your leg. your heart is racing now. your thighs heat up, feeling the shift in the atmosphere. this is it. your heart races. your keep your appearances, despite the fever rising between your legs. “do you do this to everyone you drive home?”

he lets out a soft laugh. “no.” touch me more. “why me?”

he doesn’t answer immediately. the light turns green but he doesn’t move for a second. then he drives again. “you already know why,” he says finally. your pulse jumps, yet you don’t push further. by the time he pulls up outside your dorm, the tension in the car is thick enough to feel. neither of you move right away. the buzz of alcoholy bubbles within your chest, you're horny, still confident from the party- and the one you've had your eye on since ever is driving you home. and just like that, years worth of staying near his orbit led you to say this final.

“you can come up,” you hear yourself say. you didn't expect to say this sooner, but fuck, everything just turned right the moment that damn excel spreadsheet updated. you thank fate- but all in all, you smile to yourself, guilt-free of obsession.

he looks at you for a second like he’s deciding something. hiding the way he picks at his thumb cuticle, skin pale after pressing into his own fingers. it's all going to plan.

then he nods.

“okay.”

for someone that's smart- being in love makes you forget things. like how you forgot to even mention where you live despite him driving you, and how you forget to cover your phone passcode the first time he asked for your number, not to mention, the passcode to your dorm room.

you're biting your lip climbing up the stairs to your own place, heart speeding as you hold your heels. jake's trailing behind you- unbeknownst that he's filming. biting his lips to the inprint of your panties against your tight skirt, the way your huffing and arching after each step, and the way he swore he saw dampness right on your sweet spot. he waits, watching you unlock it as he memorises everything. he opens the door quickly for you after unlocking it in desperation.

inside your room, the air feels smaller somehow. more private. you toss your heels onto your chair, ruffling your hair as you move toward the small kitchenette. “you want water or something?” you ask.

“i’m good.” his voice is quieter in here. almost a whisper. he takes in your interior. exactly how he imagined. a few cabinets moved or rearranged from the last time that he took photos- but nonetheless, just like he envisioned. cute. pink. pretty. soft. smart- just like you.

you turn away for a moment, reaching into the cabinet. and in that moment, jake moves. his eyes scan the room quickly. the desk. the shelf. the window. small, precise movements. something small slips from his pocket, fingers quick and practiced as he sets it behind a stack of books on the shelf.

another near the edge of your desk lamp. tiny. silent. gone before you turn back around. and of course,

you don’t notice anything. you only notice how close he is now.

“thanks for the ride,” you say, softer.

he steps closer. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him again, the same way you did in class, the same way you did in the hallway at the party. his hand lifts. for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you. you slowly blink- heart exploding; but instead his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.

slow, deliberate. his lips follow, grazing your cheek first. then the corner of your jaw. near your earlobe, down to your neck. your breath stutters, hitching at the feeling you've been wanting for so long- no, needing. you moan silently. he almost loses composure, body tensing at the blood rushing to his crotch.

he lingers there just long enough to make your skin burn, and fuck, it's so embarassing how much you're dripping. then he pulls back. “goodnight,” he says quietly. eyes trailing down to your lips again, biting his own, knotting his brows.

you blink. “you’re leaving?”

a faint smile touches his mouth. “for now.” he steps away before you can stop him, heading for the door like he didn’t just leave your entire body buzzing- like he didn’t just light something under your skin. you watch him go, heart pounding. and when the door closes behind him, you press your hand against your jaw where his lips were. wondering why he would start something like that only to leave. wondering if he knows what he’s doing to you. across the room, the tiny camera behind your books watches you pace slowly across the floor. jake walks down the dorm hallway already smiling- because he knows exactly what he’s doing.

you think you’re going crazy, pushing you to go over your limits, wanting, shamelessly wanting him. what you don’t realize he’s been making sure you do; and the funniest part is you think you might be the messy one, the obsessed one. you have no idea he’s already ten steps further gone than you are.

too quiet, too empty. you stand there for a moment, staring at the door like it might open again if you just wait long enough. your jaw still tingles where his lips brushed it. your chest still feels tight from how close he was touching you. the breeze feels cool against your heat. you continue to replay it. his hand on your cheek, mouth at your jaw. 'goodnight.' goodnight? you laugh under your breath, pacing once across the room. the heated, slicky energy in your body has nowhere to go. it's worse now than before he came over. worse than when he had his hand on your thigh in the car.

you press your palm to your face- he knew what he was doing.

and so when you text him that night? begging for him to come back?

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

in truth, jake never left. he drove, slowly. just far enough that the glow of your dorm windows disappeared from his rearview mirror. just far enough that anyone watching from inside would think he was gone. the car rolled past the corner of your dorm building before he turned the wheel, circling the block once like a habit- like muscle memory. then he parked, not far. just out of sight. his phone was already in his hand before the engine even stopped. the second screen flickered on quietly, the small camera feeds activating one by one. the tiny lenses he had pressed into your room earlier caught the dim glow of your lamp, the edge of your desk, the soft blur of your bed. pacing. like how you normally do when you want something you can't have. running your hands through your hair. checking your phone again and again.

jake leans back in the driver's seat, slowly. the corner of his mouth lifting as he watches the exact moment you break. he had measured this almost perfectly. the kiss on your jaw. the pause before leaving. the silence after. he knew you wouldn't sleep. tension would bloom. knew you'd text like a desperate slut.

his thumb traces the edge of the screen where your mesaages keep appearing.

jakey please

his jaw tightens slightly. he watches you read his reply. you type without hesitation. biting your lip. bra slipping when you collapse onto your bed. good. good girl. so needy. he mutters to himself, salivating to you.

he then turns the car off, because you asked. one thing you truly got correct about him- is that he has never been good at denying himself things he wants. especially when the thing begging for him is you.

soft. the knock at your door came softer than you expected. two quick taps that almost blended into the quiet hallway noise. you were already standing by the time you realized what you were doing. your hand hovered over the handle for a split second before you opened it.

jake stood there like he had never left.

his hair was slightly more disheveled (deliberately) now, hoodie thrown back on carelessly, eyes darker and blown out than they had been earlier. for a moment neither of you spoke. the air between you felt heavier than it had in the car, heavier even than the moment he kissed your jaw before leaving. he watches the way he looks at you. brows furrowing at his sudden arrival and eyes. he walks in.

the door shuts behind him with a quiet click. “thought you just wanted to talk,” he murmurs, voice low. your throat tightens. “i did.” but you were already standing too close to him for that to be convincing.

jake studies your face slowly, the way your breathing hadn’t quite settled yet, the way your hands kept fidgeting near your sides like you didn’t know where to put them. his gaze flicks briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

“you texted me like you were losing your mind,” his voice fries as it drags out.

heat rushes up your neck. “i wasn’t-" "you were."

you step back instinctively, but the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. jake closes the gap by following without hesitation, slow enough that you could have moved away if you wanted to. but you didn’t. “say it properly,” he whispers.

you blinked at him. “what?”

“why you wanted me here.”

your heart hammered against your ribs. every instinct in you told you to pull back, to recover the careful composure you had always kept around him. but standing this close to him, feeling the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his hoodie, the memory of his mouth against your jaw still burning on your skin, it was impossible to pretend.

“i wanted you,” you said quietly. "f-for a while now."

jake’s expression shifted. not surprise you were expecting. but satisfaction.

his hand comes up slowly, fingers brushing along your cheek before sliding into your hair, tilting your face slightly toward him. “i know,” he murmured. it's the tone where it clicks. where his 'i know' meant depth, like, really meant it.

then he kisses you.

this time there was nothing hesitant about it. the tension that had been building for weeks snapped between you both at once. your hands grabbed the front of his hoodie instinctively, pulling him closer while his grip tightened slightly in your hair, steady but firm. the kiss deepened quickly, breathless and hungry in a way that made your head spin. he bites your lip as he piercing his tongue to pry open that sweet mouth of yours. he growns as he pushes you into the bed. smiling. smirking as your close your eyes, spreading your legs while he leans into you, hands now pressed to the sides of your body, caging you in on your own bed.

jake pulls back first, just barely, saliva still catching between you. “you’ve been watching me for months,” he said softly. your stomach drops.

“don’t pretend you haven’t,” he added.

you stared at him, stunned, but his mouth brushes your cheek again before you could respond, trailing slowly down the line of your jaw the same way he had earlier. the difference now was that he didn’t stop immediately.

your hands tightened in his hoodie again. jake notices, of course he does.

a quiet laugh left him, low in his throat. “look at you,” he murmured. “you act so put together all the time.” your breath caught as he kissed your jaw again. teeth grazing it. “but the second i walk away,”

his hand slide along your waist, steadying you as you leaned slightly into him without meaning to.

"..you lose it."

you should have been embarrassed. but all you felt was heat.

and the strange, dangerous relief of being seen exactly the way you were. though, you have no idea he is even worse.

months, no- years. of pent-up tension. obsession, pining, and frustration of the thought of not having you until you finally gained interest in him crashes into him as he forcefully pushes his teeth onto yours, bringing a had up to ride up your torse and press into your neck to make you squeal like you always do.

"hardest part was getting you to like me," he breathes, panting into your neck, gnawing at your neck, "fuck! you smell so good." he growls, "second part?" his hands ghost over your breasts. "sweet. easy, fucking--" he gropes you with no hesitation, "fucking perfect. stars aligned. all thanks to me."

this is not the jake you imagined. his demeanour is darker, hungrier, cockier. whispering and growling incoherent things. you begin to realise if your yearning for him was already heavy- what could he have been looking for in you this whole time?

nonethless, you are breathless against him. hands gripping his hoodie like you don't know where else to put them. the moment he palms your breasts you swore you could've came right there. every touch he sends to feel your tits move under his palm sends you to orbit, and he loves every reaction out of you- you can feel it in the way he groans at your breathy and shakey moans. "j-jake!" you squeal as he shoves your knees open for his legs to pin you. "i know you like this." he pinches your nipples through the fabric, slapping them like he's been familiar to your body before.

has he been thinking about my body?

you squirm, trying to pry away from the sensitive slaps when he squeezes your nipples. you break a moan loud, slick gushing out your panties even when he hasn't touched your folds. he watches your face carefully. "you told me you're going to behave." he mutters, watchinig you squirm and attempt to cover your panties. "behave."

he clicks his tongue, hearing your phone going off in the background, you whip your head, knowing it's sunoo. "lemme-"

"behave." he reaches for your phone, reading the message, chuckling to himself before chucking it aside to your dresser- looking down at you. moonlight cascades down his nose and wet lips, and his eyes darken when he finds the sight of you erotic. "jay can't keep his mouth shut. can he." he mutters, before putting a thumb on your lip, swirling it in your saliva. you open your pretty lips before him and maintain eye contact while he watches you suck his thumb. "f-fuck." he groans, letting go of your lips, gripping onto your thighs while he strips his shirt, chain swishing like a hypnotic charm above you.

"you're so.." you pant, "this isn't real.." your heavy lidded, watching him go down to kiss you, leaving a hickey on your neck before kissing downwards, ripping off your top and unbuckling your bra with one hand. "yeah, sure baby.. this isn't real."

he sinks down to lick your nipple before sucking on them, hands trailing to hold the line of your back upward to his mouth, pulling you up to him while he looks you into the eyes, moaning. "fuck.. you love it don't you.." giving love to both of your breasts, rubbing intimate circles on the small of your back while you thighs quiver. "jakey.. please?"

"jakey?" he mocks, letting go of your breasts. "f-fuck." he looks up into the ceiling, like groping and touching and licking you was a portion of himself holding back. he's so hard and tense he exhales so loud before looking down at you. splayed out on your cute small bed, some hairs stuck on your cheek while your lips stay open and plump, perky tits out and pink while your skirt thats rode up to your hips show your cute panties soaked in sin. the way his breaths slow and speed up, was a curiosity you know you've encountered before. in the back of your mind, his voice replays, matching the sound of that one phone call in the middle of the night- where he claimed he was stressed.

he wasn't stressed. you learnt, he was..

he continues on his way down, exploring your body like a map he's already uncovered in his mind, smile so tight you can't help but moan his name when his lips graze your lower tummy; quietly resting at your waistband.

"pretty.. smells good. i know it tastes so fucking good.." he hooks his finger through the thin band, lifting it up just to see your folds glisten in the dim light. translucent thick sticky strings cling onto the fabric and web between your folds like bridges waiting to be broken.

you whimper at the way he blows cool air to see your thighs tense and shake, slick oozing out from the tight folds while his cock rubs against his denim, hurting under his fly. "all this for me?" he cooes, going down to kiss your needy lips again. and you nod furiously, begging, shameless, messy. "please.. please." you beg, salivating at the thought of him going down on you.

he uses his fingers to spread your cute pussy lips open, splitting them to see your throbbing clit hide behind the slicky foam. he licks his lips before going straight for your core, sliding off your panties and shoving them into his pocket. too hazy to notice, you moan so loud it makes him shudder at the power he has over you. he's lapping at your clit like he was born to do this, tongue circling and softly flicking while his nose occasionally bumps upward, nestling in between the top of your folds, bubbling the slick and saliva he's combined. his eyelids are resting heavy, looking at your parted mouth and red cheeks, tits bouncing when you grind against his mouth when he purposely goes slow.

he then sinks a finger or two while he makes out with your pussy. you yelp, begging him to be slow while sloshy sounds and wet slapping makes him moan against your core. "sorry baby, but you begged for this." he groans, gripping your thighs while he pushes up into your heat. his fingers slip out, making you feel empty. he then grabs your waist, making you prop yourself ontop of him while his lips act like your personal chair.

"fucking sit and grind on me." he begs, pressing your thighs flush against his lips to let you know it's safe to press onto him. in the meantime, he unzips his pants, cock springing free and leaking. you can't see it, but you can hear it. the fapping of his hand lapping against his cock, masturbating to the feeling of your sweet, sweet pussy against your lips. he can't even speak, just moaning, neck glazed with glistening sweat and liquids while he knits his brows, matching your pace with his cock. "'m gonna cum! jakey!" you cry, tears spilling at how sensitive you feel, being touched for the first time in so long, and it being like this? like a dream so out of reach you've never believed you could touch and fuck?

he nods under you, tongue pressing into your hole as you continue to clench your thighs around his pretty face. his hand strokes his cock faster while you stutter, and you feel it. "fuck! f-fuck fuck!" you cry, breaking down in stuttering moans while his gutteral voice vibrates against your swollen clit. the climax shot signals to both of your spines, thumping your hearts. jake hasn't come yet, he's been edging himself so in the final moment of your climax, he flips you over. you're flipped onto your back, and he presses your cock against your sticky skirt kneeling over you with his hard abs and wet face. "gonna cum all over you. yeah?" he bites his lip as you chase your high. you look down and see his cock. big. girthy, slightly veiny compared to his hands and swollen, hardening with every stroke until he uses his other hand to open your jaw.

"y/n. fuck, baby-" his breath hitches and you see his tip paint your body. your lips part, tongue out to catch the first few spurts while your tits and pussy catch the rest. he heaves, panting, cock spazzing while it milks the rest of your thighs, dripping while hard- still.

"beautiful." he breathes, tears brimming in his eyes from the taste and feel of you numbing into his skin like pins and needles. "fuck.."

you're sensitive and hot, sweat clinging onto your linen sheets while jake wets a cloth to clean you. he first watches you taste his cum- shivering at the sight, cock aching and hard again. you beg for a second time-

╭──────────.★..─╮. ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping! ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯ ╰─..★.──────────╯

round two never happens.

you're half underneath hims, his breath already unsteady from his phone calling. yours too under the pile of things cluttered when he threw it across the room. his mouth goes down onto your jaw, again, slow- like he's deliberatley ignoring the world outside your room. you try to get up but jake catches your wrist easily, pinning it above your head with one hand. "leave it," he murmurs against your skin. you swallow hard. "it's sunoo-" "i know," jake whispers, and something in his tone makes your stomach flip. when jay calls twice, you feel the shift in his body immediately. tensions, annoyance, restraint pulling tight under your skin. his eyes flick to the screen on your bedside table, then back to you.

you're both breathless, eyes glued to each other, magnetised- deaf, not hearing the messages you both were relaying to eachother while rubbing your erotic skin together. jake slides off the bed, kissing your wrist. "we'll finish this later." the promise is so certain, so solid, that your entire body answers to it. he clenches his fist, picking up his shirt. you scoot up but he stops you. dropping his shirt. he's carefully cleaning the rest of you, kissing and inhaling your scent and skin while he opens your drawer to place you in an oversized shirt- which is weird, you didn't even know how he managed to find it.

you kiss him, and he lets you, shoulders relaxing the moment you help him put his shirt back on. the look of regret pools in his stomach when he stands to leave, pocket still bulging with your forgotten lingerie.

you lie back onto your bed, dazed. adrenaline humming under your skin. trying to breathe normally as your phone vibrates again and again in your hand.

the next day is worse.

you barely make it class without thinking about his hands, his breath, his words, the look in his eyes when everything was cut short. you sit down at your desk before he arrives, hair neat, jeans clean, hoodie folded on your lap. you try to get your face under control, trying not to look obvious. he walks in- and your composure comes crashing down, pulse spiking.

but he doesn't look at you right away, and that's somehow even worse. he doesn't even sit next to you.

that makes things last night hang off the cliff. your heart races, messages left on read. your eyes pretending to be glossy from yawning. you want to cry. disappear. you risked it all to get where you're at. was it really.. all a fucking lie?

i want him.

a whole half hour into class, you're gathering your notes. you decide to leave early, not seeing the way jake slows down his writting, glasses lowering down, piercing his eyes into your back when you abruptly leave the lab. he grips the edge of his table, biting the insides of his cheek when he makes eye contact with you through the lab's window before you're gone. he then darkly smiles.

you pace down the hallway, until someone grazes your elbow, pulling you back into a segregated corridor. jay.

he looks tired, tense. like he didn't sleep either.

"y/n," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder like he's making sure no one's watching. "come here, please..just-" he clears his throat, softer. "just two seconds please."

you hesitate before following him into a small side hallway. he's running a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning to face you.

"you don't know him." jay states, quietly. eyes shaking. you blink. "i do-"

"no," he snaps, lowering his voice. "you don't."

you stare at him, unsettled. bag clinking against the empty corridor. "jay.. what-" "he's not what he pretends to be," he adds.

"jake's... he's.. obsessive. paranoid," he grabs your wrist to go inwards into the depth of the corridor, bringing you to the window that over looks the campus grounds. you two spot his jacket from afar. his glasses off, bag on his shoulder, eyes darting across the crowd around him in hopes he can see you by referencing your location from the bunny keychain.

jay clicks his tongue looking at him, jaw tightening. "that whole, golden-boy, friendly sweet image?" he looks back at you, staring back down at jake standing in the crowd. "what about it?"

"he bought it," he grabs your shoulders. "literally. bought it."

"the tutors. the scouts. the coach. the parties. the friends. the dorm. the prescription. the market. the image. his family- fuck," he stammers, "you don't know how far he's gone to-"

"jay, stop." you push his hand away, "no y/n, think about this." he gets louder.

"what kind of sophomore shows up into the term unannounced? and suddenly he just fits in? schedules perfectly aligned, my roommate kicked out for no reason. jake wasn't even like this when he moved in! a-and don't get me started on his room-" his head jerks suddenly, and your breath hitches when you follow his gaze.

jake. staring back up at you from the ground, through the tinted glass. expression unreadable.

"shit." he mutters, "seriously, y/n.. he's some.. sort of creep. and i know you like him but -just seriously stay away. please."

you gulp, taking in everything jay has just said to you. flashing back to the car ride where jake felt uneasy by the way jay approached you.

"sorry.. jay," you pause.

"but am i.. supposed to be scared..?" you smile, laughing.

he stares at you like the hallway suddenly tilted sideways. “what?” you laugh again. not loudly. not hysterically. just a soft, breathy laugh that makes his blood run cold, because it isn’t nervous.

it’s aware.

you lean back against the wall, eyes drifting toward the window where jake is no longer to be seen. you inhale, before meeting jay’s again.

“you think you’re warning me,” you murmur, smiling faintly. “but you don’t understand.”

jay steps back instinctively.

“understand what?” you shrug lightly, like you’re commenting on the weather. "i don't.. care." jay’s voice shakes. “y/n… please don’t tell me you like this.”

you glance at your bunny keychain, the memory of last night burning behind your eyes, the slick, the confessions, the way he said your name when you finally gave into him. you look at jay again.

“i don’t like it,” you correct him softly. you push past him, your fingers brushing his shoulder. “i love it.”

jay goes completely still. watching you walk away, down the corridor and out of his sight. he turns back around and sees him of course. his pulse deadly calm, expression unreadable like it always turned out to be. fake.

jake. he doesn't say a word. he just walks forward, quiet, composed, terrifyingly controlled. he grabs jay by the front of his shirt and shoves him into the nearest storage closet so fast. the door slams.

"told you to keep your mouth shut."

jay's voice cracks. "she deserves to know-" "say one more word," jake murmurs.

"and there won't be a next semester for you. do you understand me?"

silence. thick. dangerous. jay nods.

jake lets go of jay's jacket. walking back out the hallway, smoothing his hoodie like nothing happened. his smile turns soft, leaving jay to fend for himself, while he checks your location.

it’s not silence exactly. it’s something more deliberate. controlled. like he’s letting the absence do the talking for him. after last nigh- after being interrupted. after the way he left you wanting, shaking, thinking about him even when you tried not to- the quiet almost feels like a punishment.

you check your phone between classes. between conversations. between breaths.

nothing.

the longer it goes on, the more your mind spirals. maybe he regretted it. maybe it really was just the heat of the moment. maybe jay was right. maybe you should never-

your phone vibrates.

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

his dorm is spotless when you enter.

too spotless.

like someone with money and secrets cleaned it all in a panic. his textbooks are neatly arranged, clothes hidden, every incriminating trace of his obsession tucked out of sight. for the first time, his room looks normal. boring, even. but you’re too distracted by him to question it.

he kisses you before the door even clicks shut. his hands find your waist, your neck, your hips, guiding you backward toward the bed like he’s been replaying this moment since last night- because he has. you climb onto his lap without thinking. chair smacking against his desk in a hurry. he smiles, leaning his head back when his hands grab your thighs, pulling you closer. “god,” he breathes against your mouth, “you really couldn’t wait, could you?”

you want to deny it. you can’t.

his laptop is open behind him on his desk, screen dimmed but not closed. something flickers in the corner of your eye as you move, but your breath stutters too hard to look properly. you grind on him, tits perked up, pussy salivating and drooling on his sweatpants. he's feeling you up like there's no tomorow.

you start moving against him slower, steadier, matching the rhythm he sets with his hands on your hips. jake’s head tilts back for a moment, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as he watches you. then your gaze drifts behind him. to the laptop that bumps awake after the chair had knocked into it.

the screen wakes. and you freeze. because staring back at you,

is your room. your bed. your desk. from an angle you’ve never seen.

your breath breaks.

jake notices instantly, his hand slides up your spine, pulling you closer, eyes blown, forcing yours to look back at his. "don't stop." he murmurs, hands gripping your waist. you can't speak, feeling his cock tent up under you. "wha- what is that?" he groans, slamming the laptop shut while he carries you to his bed. "sorry baby, y'weren't suppose"d to see that yet." he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. "yet?"

jake smiles, slow, dangerous. you bite your lip. "keep going and i'll tell you everything."

your cheeks burn, grinding on his briefs against the headboard. but you don't ever plan on stopping- not now that he’s unraveling in a way you’ve only imagined in your most unhinged moments. his hand slides into your hair, not forcing, not guiding. just holding. "you'd suck my cock, right baby?" he pleas, without a second thought you move.

your knees hit the mattress before you even realize you’ve sunk down, your breath warm against his skin, your hands pushing his hoodie up, your mouth and blushed cheeks brushing him through the fabric just enough to make his entire spine pull taut. jake’s head drops back with a sound you’ve never heard from him before- not a groan, not a sigh, something deeper, cracked open from morning he held himself together around you. he looks down at you like he’s seeing a prayer answered. and you softly pull down his briefs to free his length, slapping back at you. "fuck.." you swear, hands reaching out to stroke his cock with two hands, kitten licking his tip where the precum stains your chin. his hands cuff your soft hair, massagine your scalp while you gradually warm your mouth by sucking lower and lower. he groans, moaning at the sight of you. "deeper, sweetheart. i know you can take me."

he encourages by pushing you down, and eventually he gives up and making you gag on his shaft. he keeps you there despite your throat constricting and your whines escaping. your knees buckle and feet curl feeling his tip tickle the back of your throat, restricing your airways in a way that produces more saliva at the base of his dick, foaming at his balls. he bites his lip, jerking up to hear you gag while tears form at the outer corner of your eyes, bringing the prettiest shade of pink to your cheeks. he yanks your hair up, pulling you off his dick thats raining saliva, spluttering across his thighs and down your pretty dress. "you did so fucking good, sweetheart.." he praises you, "think you could suck me some more?"

you take him in again, this time, his hands interlocked with yours while he watches you in psychotic obsession, smiling at you bobbing up and down so messily. "of all the things i pictured.. you like this is always the clearest. my beautiful y/n." he lolls back, hips stuttering while he pumps up into you- unable to resist the feeling of fucking your mouth. then he feels it, the difference in grip, your hand twists the base while your mouth sucks the tip, tongue swirling around while precum leaks and leaks down your fingers. jake's eyebrows twist upwards. "f-fuck!" he groans, "fuck sweet- i'm gonna cum!" he pushes you down even more, and you let him, feeling his hot thick cum water your throat. "s-shit.." he moans, "say ahh." he pulls you up gently, making you sit on his cock with your dress still on, your pussy rubbing against his length. you open your mouth and he grabs your jaw with force to examine it. he hums in satisfaction.

"good girl."

he mouth crashes back into you, all heat and teeth and the kind of hunger that makes thought impossible. your thighs tighten around him instinctively and the sound he makes against your lips breaks something within you. "fuck! jakey."

the call of his name makes his cock twitch, and he kisses as a reply. your hands trail down, lifting off your dress to reveal the marks he left last night. jake traces over them, shuddering. "fuck.. i've prayed for days like this."

"jakey.. please fuck me.." you whimper against his chest. he lets out a laugh. deep, gutteral, manic. you watch his face shift. dark. it makes sense as to why jay warned you. but piecing the fact that you've been seen this entire time? only you? only.. just for you?

"fuck me!" you beg, moaning into his ear until he nods frantically.

he lines you up with a slowness that is almost cruel, his forehead resting against yours, breathing you in like he’s steadying himself.

“the moment this cock goes into you, you will never get off of it.” he murmurs. not a question, a confirmation of something he already knows. you nod, barely, but it’s enough.

the moment he pushes into you, everything stops.

your breath, his breath, the air between you, it all folds in on itself. your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails dragging along the tense lines of muscle as your mouth parts in a sound you didn’t mean to let out. jake curses under his breath, low and bitten-off, his grip on your hips tightening like he’s fighting the instinct to pull you down all at once. “god,” he breathes, voice shaking. “made for me. fucking made for me."

"tight ass fuckin' pussy. i knew you're only good for me." he laughs, smacking your clit while you moan in desperation.

you cling to him, dizzy, nails curling at the back of his neck. he kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, everywhere but your lips like he wants to take his time now that he finally has you exactly where he wanted. you shift, wincing at his bulging cock outline itself on the outside, and you whimper, the ecstasy of his tip rubbing against that gummy spot like it belonged. "so big-" you whimper, "s-so good.. fuck! baby-"

baby? he grins.

“look at me,” he orders you, and when you do, the expression on his face nearly undoes you. raw. unfiltered. obsessed.

“do you know,” he says, barely above a whisper- thrusting slow deep and rough strokes that make your slick fly across the wall- “how long i’ve been waiting to be inside you?” your breath catches hard, your body instinctively tightening around him. his pupils blow wide. "don't kn-ow jake-" "use your words, baby. use your brain. when did you meet me? c'mon i know you know baby." he's mocking your cute mewls and tones while he turns you to your back and fucks you relentlessly

“months?” he smiles, voice breaking on the word, not even breaking a sweat while his cock rams deep into you. "s-slow down!" you plead as his thick vein rubs against your clit. "no, you fucking slut." he spits, spitting onto your tits and mouth, fucking you louder that all the monitors wake despite being metres away from the bed. the bed is creaking hard, and with every thrust your moans multiply. he slaps your cute face, groping your tits like he needs to. “no baby i’ve been losing my mind over you for years.”

"and then opportunity presents itself to me. yes- making you mine." his hips move just slightly to snap rough flicks into your spot, enough to make you whine incoherent sounds and roll your eyes back "haah!" you pant. "professors don't fucking work overtime. i do." he refers back to the excel, then to your bunny keychain, reminded you of your habits with the way he presses his thumb into your thighs while all you have to do is spread your legs and take it. you try to hide, he doesn’t let you.

he grips your chin, tilting your face back to him.

“don’t hide,” he murmurs. “you wanted this. you begged for me last night. begged again today like my girl, and now that i finally have you?”

his mouth brushes yours, soft, reverent. biting it as he smacks your ass, speeding up.

“i’m not letting you look away.”

your breath trembles. you feel too full, too seen, too wanted in a way that teeters between intoxicating and terrifying. "s-full!" you whine, and he turns you around to be on your knees, facing you towards the array of his monitors, each with a cam that's got your wardrobe, and videos of last night repeated over and over. he pulls you closer, chest pressed to yours so tightly you can feel his heartbeat slamming against your ribs.

"you like it when i overstimulate you, don't you?"

"you love it when guys grope you when you're acting dumb, don't you?"

"you came to my voice on the phone, you love that shit hm? don't you?"

“you have no idea,” he whispers, lips dragging along from your neck to the shell of your ear, “how long i’ve been imagining this. how much i've spent. getting you.

and the truth is:

neither of you are pretending anymore.

"look at yourself." then he faces you towards the mirror hanging off his closet. "look how good you look when you're fucked by me." he then leans down mid thrust, throbbing inside of you. "if i see you near another man again i will fuck you so hard you won't be able to see anyone."

the sloshing of his dick against your pussy is becoming a constant sound. you can tell his roommates were finally home- meaning jay too. it's probably why he's fucking you meaner, pushing you against the doorframe as you poke your tongue out for his camera. you're feeding into his obsession- all knowing because you're also into it. disgusting. messy. nothing like how you are perceived. but in jake's room where his sinful flaw is power? you both fuck eachother like rabbits. making sure every imprint of your slick and come has touched his setup and sheets.

"stay with me, sweetheart." he groans into your ears and you slowly go in and out, dummified by his cock squelching sounds inside of you. you can't help but get wetter when he changes positions, picking you up easily and freely as he wants- fucking you over his desk, sucking your clit and then raising your legs to fuck you over his vanity. hell, he even pushed you outside in the night and fucked you over his balcony railing while he had his hand over your neck so you wouldn't make a sound.

he made sure jungwon could hear. he made sure jay knew. he made sure that you knew it the most;

how in love he is with you. ever since you walked past him one night at a club, hips swaying like it foretold his future.

"jakey.. 'mm love you!" you cry out, dry tears making your hair cling onto your face like sweat, tits all red while your ass is plumply spanked, red and captured by his cameras.

he swears under his breath, forehead pressing to yours, muscles tightening beneath your hands. the way he holds you suddenly shifts — not rougher, but deeper, his body curling around yours like instinct, like he’s trying to fuse himself into you.

“fuck! y/n-” his voice cracks, low and raw, “i’m right there, i'm gonna cum! don’t move, don’t-”

your fingers dig into his shoulders and that’s when he completely unravels. "i fucking love you." he grows, gutteral and mean. your hips shake and your pussy to lets go, squirting down his abs while he yells. praising you and slapping his fingers down your tongue while you cum on his cock.

his breath leaves him in a shaky rush, his entire body pulling tight, burying his face in your neck like he can’t bear to be anywhere else in the world but inside this moment with you. the sound he makes; muffled, broken, helpless- whimpering, is something you’ll never forget.

he holds you through all of it. tight. like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip even for a heartbeat. "no one can do this to you but me baby, you hear me?" he gropes your sides to hard it bruises. you yelp and moan in reply.

cooling off, he stays inside your pussy, throbbing and slowly pushing in and out while , breathing hard, refusing to pull away. one of his hands slides up your back, almost trembling, and you feel his lips brush your shoulder in something close to reverence.

“did so well baby, i fucking love you." he bites your ear, hands reaching up to cover your body with his wet blanket.

you open your mouth but he cuts you off with a kiss- slow, deep, completely different from the frenzy before. cum leaks out for the second time. "baby, the only thing i don't know about you is your stamina." he deeply mutters into your ear.

"i don't know that one either." you pout, he licks his lips. "yeah?"

"let's test how much cum my sweetheart's pussy can take." he spits on you. the night drags into your body being squeezed and used, just like how you wanted it to be.

the room is unbelievably quiet after.

not empty, just quiet in the way the world gets right after something breaks open. the air feels warm and heavy against your skin, your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. you are still in his lap, still holding on to him, still trying to breathe through the aftershocks running through your body. his chest rises and falls under your palms, steadying itself slowly, and the warmth of him seeps into you until it is the only thing you can feel.

jake does not let go of you. one of his hands stays in your hair, gentle now, almost tender. the other rubs your back in slow circles that make your eyes flutter shut. his forehead rests against your cheek and his breath hits your skin in soft, uneven waves. he tries to speak but stops once, gathering himself, grounding himself in the weight of your body pressed to his.

then quietly, he asks, “you okay?”

you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question. you feel more than okay. you feel like you have been taken apart and put back together in a way that makes too much sense. but you only nod, fingers curling against the back of his neck as if to confirm it for both of you.

he exhales with something that sounds like relief. real relief. the kind he has never shown anyone else.

for a long moment neither of you move. you stay chest to chest, breathing each other in, letting the room settle around you. you can feel his pulse in his throat. you can feel his hands loosen just slightly as his body relaxes for the first time since you stepped through his door. he looks like someone who finally got what he has been starving for.

eventually he lifts his head enough to look at you. the expression on his face is raw and unguarded. it is not the version of jake everyone else knows, the calm golden boy persona, the soft smiles, the easy charm. this is the real version. the one who wanted you long before he said a word about it. the one who let his obsession run until it turned into action.

“you are not going anywhere tonight,” he says quietly.

it is not a command. it is simply a truth.

you look at him and feel something inside you tighten. “i was not planning to.”

slowly, his mouth curves. the satisfaction hits his eyes before it hits his smile. he cups your jaw with both hands and pulls you into a kiss that is slow and deep and full of possession without force. it is a kiss that feels final. like a seal.

“good,” he whispers against your lips.

he pulls you even closer, tucking your body fully against his. the warmth of him wraps around you and you sink into it like it is the first safe place you have ever known. he kisses your shoulder once, then your cheek, then rests his head at the crook of your neck.

“i am done pretending,” he says softly. “you are mine.”

your breath catches as your fingers slide into his hair. there is no fear in your chest. only, devotion.

“i've been yours.” you whisper back.

his entire body reacts. he closes his eyes like the words strike something deep and final inside him. when he opens them again, all you see is certainty. he hooks an arm under your thighs and pulls the blanket over both of you without breaking the hold he has on your waist. you settle against him easily, naturally, like you have been fitting into this space for longer than you realized.

the laptop screen behind him dims at last. the camera feeds fade away. jake does not turn around to check them again. he does not need to.

you are already here. engulfing in his sin while your pussy burries the last bit of his cum inside.

your breathing steadies against his chest, your fingers still tangled in his hoodie, and his arm tightens around you one last time before he finally lets himself relax. this is exactly where he wanted you. and the quiet that settles over the room is not the aftermath of chaos.

it is the beginning of something that feels disturbingly safe for both of you.

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

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h64<3 | always down for your constrcoskdtkove criticism on this one, it helped me take a lot of stress out writing this in my down time- so really appreciate if you say things that could help me be a better writer <3 fart

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tags:

The sun beat down on the driveway, turning the concrete into a shimmering mirage. You squeezed the sponge, the soapy water running in rivulets down your arm and dripping from your elbow to the hot ground with a soft hiss. You were bent at the waist, ostensibly scrubbing the rear passenger door of your parents’ sensible sedan, but your focus was laser-sharp on the property line to your left. The fence was low, just chest-height, designed for neighborly chats.

You’d chosen the outfit with a precision even a military strategist would admire: faded denim booty shorts that hugged every curve, showed an indecent amount of thigh, and rode up with any movement, and a thin, white cotton tank top that you definitely hadn’t doused with the hose on purpose. It clung to you now, transparent in patches, the peaks of your nipples visible even through your bra. You’d seen Jay’s black Rolls-Royce pull into his driveway twenty minutes ago. The timing was perfect.

Just be casual. You’re just washing the car. Just being a super helpful daughter.

You heard his door open and shut. Your heart hammered against your ribs. You didn’t turn. You just bent over further, reaching for the hubcap, knowing the position showcased the full length of your legs and the round swell of your ass.

“Well, well, look who it is.”

His voice, deeper and more resonant than you remembered, sent a bolt of arousal straight through you. You straightened up slowly, turning with the sponge in your hand, forcing a smile you hoped looked surprised and not predatory.

“Jay! Hi. Yeah, just… you know. Earning my keep.” You gestured vaguely with the sponge, sending a droplet flying. It landed on your thigh and traced a slow, tantalizing path down your skin. Much to your dismay, his gaze remained trained on you.

Park Jongseong hadn’t changed much in four years. If anything, time had been kind, sanding away any softness and leaving behind sharper, more defined angles. His black hair was neatly styled, his jaw clean-shaven. He wore dark trousers and a crisp, light blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms dusted with fine dark hair and corded with tendon. He looked like what he was: a successful salaryman in his mid-thirties. And he looked at you with a polite kind of curiosity that made you feel like you were seventeen with braces and a huge crush on him all over again.

“I heard you were back. Congratulations on graduating, kiddo.”

Kiddo. The word was a bucket of ice water. You felt your smile tighten. “Thanks. It’s…um. It’s good to be back. For the summer, anyway.”

“Only for the summer?” he asked. “What’s the plan? Back to the city after that?”

“Yeah,” you said, a little too eager to make conversation with him. “That’s the goal, at least. I want to move back once I find something. But the job market is, like, super rough. Everyone wants at least three years of experience for an entry-level position.”

He hummed, thoughtful. “That hasn’t changed.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Apparently not.” You stared down at your feet, suddenly self-conscious. “So, um. Yeah. This is just me trying to save a little money, I guess.”

“Mm, that’s smart. Get your bearings before you conquer the world.” He leaned against his car, crossing his arms. The motion pulled his shirt taut across his chest. “Your parents must be thrilled to have you home again.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you joked lightly, squeezing the sponge again. “I think they forgot how much laundry one adult child can go through.”

He chuckled, brief and polite. “That checks out.”

There was a pause. The sun pressed down, cicadas buzzing somewhere in the trees, and suddenly you were acutely aware of how close he was standing, of how small the space felt between the fence and the car.

“Actually,” you said, glancing down at the suds collecting at your feet, then back up at him, “my mom mentioned something yesterday. About you. About… um. Next door.”

His brows lifted slightly. “She did?”

“Yeah. She said you’d been on your own for a while.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I didn’t… realize things had changed.”

He blinked, then understanding dawned. “Ah. The divorce.” He said it so casually, as if commenting on the weather. “Yeah, three years now. Your parents didn’t mention it before? Huh. Well, no hard feelings. We were young. Jumped into things too early, maybe. It was amicable.”

He delivered the information in a factual, unemotional way. You searched his face for any hint of pain, regret, anything that would make him seem more vulnerable, more reachable—but there was nothing but a mild, pleasant detachment.

“Oh,” you managed, your voice smaller than you wanted. “I’m… sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” He waved a hand, dismissing your concern along with his past marriage. “It’s life. We’re both fine. So, what was your degree in?”

The conversation was so normal, so utterly mundane, it was maddening. He was talking to you like you were the neighbor’s kid who’d gone off to camp and come back a little taller. The tank top might as well have been a potato sack. The shorts might as well have been snow pants. You answered his questions about your major, your vague career plans, all while your skin burned under the sun.

“Well, I should let you get back to it,” he said, pushing off his car. “Don’t want your dad thinking I’m distracting his little girl from her work.”

There it was again. Little girl. You wanted to scream. Instead, you squeezed the sponge so hard soap suds oozed between your fingers. “Yeah. Sure. Nice to see you, Jay.”

“You too, kiddo. Welcome back.”

He gave you a final, easy smile and turned, walking into his house without a backward glance. You stood there, dripping and furious, a knot of frustrated desire tightening low in your belly. The hope you’d sworn you wouldn’t entertain was now a live wire, sparking and dangerous. He was single. He was right there. And he still saw you as a child.

That night, lying in your childhood bed, the same bed where you’d spent countless nights five years ago fantasizing about your handsome new neighbor, the frustration metamorphosed into a raw, aching need. The memory of his rolled-up sleeves, the deep timbre of his voice. Your hand slid under the waistband of your sleep shorts. The cotton was soft, but your skin was softer, hotter. You imagined it was his hand, calloused and sure from work, not your own trembling fingers. You traced circles low on your stomach, then dipped lower, through the neat patch of hair. You were already wet, the slick evidence of your own pathetic longing. You let out a shaky breath, biting your lip to stay quiet as your parents’ soft snoring echoed down the hall.

You thought of him leaning against the car. You imagined him walking over, his polite smile fading into something darker. You pictured him taking the sponge from your hand, his fingers brushing yours. “You missed a spot,” he’d say, his voice dropping to a whisper. His hand, wet and soapy, would slide up your inner thigh, under the shorts…

Two fingers slid inside yourself, and you gasped, arching your back off the mattress. The fantasy crystallized. It was his fingers, thick and probing, curling inside you. It was his thumb rubbing tight, insistent circles against your clit. You moved your hand, setting a rhythm, your hips rising off the bed to meet your own touch. The images came faster, more vivid: his mouth on your neck, his body pressing you against the cool metal of the car, his belt buckle digging into your stomach…

Pleasure coiled, tight and urgent. You pressed the heel of your hand harder against yourself, your breaths coming in short, sharp pants. Jay. Jay. Jay. The name was a silent mantra on your lips as the climax ripped through you, a wave of release that was immediately followed by a crushing wave of emptiness. You lay there, spent and slick, the fantasy evaporating and leaving behind the stark reality of your quiet room. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. You needed him to see you. To want you.

The seduction campaign began in earnest the next day. Operation Seduce-Jay was a go.

You took your yoga mat to the most visible part of the backyard, right where the morning sun hit and where the sightlines from his kitchen window were unobstructed. You wore a sports bra and leggings so tight they felt like a second skin. You moved through your sun salutations with exaggerated grace, bending and stretching, holding downward dog for what felt like hours, knowing the position made the leggings strain across your ass. You saw his silhouette at the window once, just a dark shape, but he didn’t come out, and you finished your session vibrating with frustration, your body buzzing with unused energy.

A few days later, you “accidentally” locked yourself out. You walked to his door in just a short sundress and—you hoped—an innocent smile. “Jay, hi! So sorry to bother you. I was gardening and the door slammed shut… do you have the spare key my mom gave you?”

He opened the door, already dressed for work. His eyes did a quick, automatic scan down your body. The dress fell mid-thigh. Your legs were bare. For a glorious second, you saw something flicker in his dark eyes—a pause, a hesitation. Then it was gone, buried under a layer of neighborly concern.

“Of course, Y/N, come in.” He stepped aside, ushering you into a house that was impeccably clean and minimalist. He fetched the key from a hook by the door. “Here you go. Tell your mom her begonias are lookin’ great.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking the key, your fingers brushing his. A jolt. Did he feel it? His expression didn’t change. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Any time.” He opened the door for you, the perfect gentleman. “Stay out of trouble.”

You baked chocolate chip cookies and brought them over, offering them with a story about practicing domestic skills. He accepted the plate with a grateful smile, called you ‘sweet’, and closed the door. You washed your car again, this time in a bikini top and cut-off jeans. He waved from his lawnmower, shouted, “Don’t forget the sunscreen!” and kept mowing.

The more he treated you with this infuriating, benign kindness, the more it became an aphrodisiac of sorts. Your desire curdled into something desperate and hungry, and your nighttime and shower rituals became a twice-daily release valve for the pressure building inside you. In the shower, with the water beating down on your back, you’d lean against the cool tiles and imagine him joining you. You pictured his hands, slick with soap, sliding over your breasts, cupping them, his thumbs brushing your nipples until they were hard peaks. You imagined him turning you around, bending you over, his hands gripping your hips as he—

The fantasies were so vivid and visceral that you could almost feel the ghost of his touch, the phantom pressure of his body. You’d come with a muffled cry against your arm, the water drowning out the sound, your legs trembling. Afterwards, leaning against the wall, breathless, the frustration would return, redoubled. It was a feedback loop of your own making: his indifference stoked the fire, and only fantasies of him could temporarily quench it, which only made the real-life indifference more unbearable.

A week after the car wash incident, you saw him struggling with a large, flat-pack furniture box on his driveway. It was a bookshelf, teetering dangerously as he tried to maneuver it alone.

Opportunity.

You jogged over, putting a little extra swing in your hips. You’d just come from a run and were still in your tight running shorts and a sleeveless vest, your skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.

“Need a hand?” you asked, your voice bright.

He looked up, strain evident on his face. “Ah… it’s heavy, kiddo. I’ve got it.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m stronger than I look.” You didn’t wait for permission. You grabbed one end of the box, your fingers brushing his as you took the weight. The contact was electric. You saw his jaw tighten. “See? Lead the way.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Just to the living room. Slow and steady.”

Moving the box was an intimate, awkward dance. The space was confined, forcing you close. Your shoulder brushed his chest. Your hip bumped his thigh. With every shuffle-step, you were hyper-aware of the thin layers of fabric between your bodies.

“You’ve definitely gotten stronger,” he grunted, adjusting his grip. His forearm flexed next to your face.

“Told you,” you said, smiling up at him. You made sure to look him directly in the eyes, holding the gaze for a beat too long. “I’m not the scrawny high schooler you remember.”

He held your gaze, and for the first time, you saw a crack in his polite mask, a wariness. A reassessment. His eyes darted down to your lips, then back up, so fast you might have imagined it. But you knew you didn’t.

“No,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble. “You’re not.”

It was the first acknowledgment, however small, that you were an adult. A woman. The words sent a thrill so intense it made your knees weak. You held onto the box for support.

You got the box into his living room and set it down with a collective groan. You were both breathing heavily. You straightened up, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand, letting your tank top ride up and expose a sliver of your stomach.

“Thanks,” he said, not looking at the box. He was looking at you. His gaze was different. It was no longer glancing; it was taking you in. The sweat on your collarbone, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the defined line of your waist where your shorts met your skin. The air in the room felt thick, charged.

“Any time,” you breathed. This was it. The moment. You took a half-step closer, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You saw his eyes darken. His hands, which had been hanging at his sides, flexed slightly.

Then, he blinked. He took a deliberate step back, breaking the spell. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed suddenly nervous. “I, uh… guess I should let you get back to your run. Don’t want to keep you.”

The dismissal was gentle, but it was a dismissal all the same. The whiplash from the heat in his eyes to the retreat in his posture left you reeling. The hope that had surged moments ago curdled into something bitter and sharp.

“Right,” you said, the word clipped. “My run.”

You didn’t wait for another ‘kiddo’. You turned and walked out of his house, the screen door slapping shut behind you.

The final straw came a few days later. You’d spent the morning concocting the most obvious, shameless scheme yet. The forecast called for a heatwave. Your parents were out for the entire day at a family friend’s anniversary party. The backyard sprinkler system was on a timer.

You dug out the red bikini you’d bought for a college spring break trip and never worn. It was minimal, scandalous, all triangles of fabric and strings. You laid a large, colorful beach towel in the center of the lawn, directly in the splash zone of the oscillating sprinkler. You positioned a pitcher of iced tea and a romance novel with a particularly lurid cover within easy reach.

At precisely 2 PM, as the sun reached its peak, the sprinklers kicked on with a chk-chk-chk. A fine, cool mist filled the air, catching the light. You walked out, the grass tickling your bare feet. You could feel the heat of Jay’s gaze before you even saw him. He was on his back deck, reading the newspaper. You didn’t look at him. You just walked to your towel, lay down on your stomach, and untied the back of your bikini top.

The sensation of the sun on your bare back, the intermittent spray of cool water from the sprinkler, was incredible. But it was nothing compared to the thrill of knowing he could be watching. You could almost feel it, and you arched your back slightly, letting the strings of the top dangle loose. You reached for your iced tea, the movement making your muscles flex, and took a long, slow drink, letting a few drops trail down your chin and onto your chest.

You waited. One minute. Two. Five. The suspense was agony. You heard the rustle of his newspaper. A chair scraping. Was he coming over? Was he finally going to break?

Then, you heard his back door open and shut. Not the screen door to the yard. The solid, interior door.

He was going inside.

A rage, hot and humiliating, boiled up in you. You sat up abruptly, clutching the loose bikini top to your chest. You stared at his empty deck. That was it. You were done. You’d paraded yourself in front of him like a prize heifer at a county fair, and he’d just—just gone inside! To do what? Watch golf? Balance his checkbook?

The frustration of the entire summer coalesced into a single, white-hot point. The sexual tension, once a thrilling game, was now a torture device. You were horny, aching, and so unbelievably mad you could scream. You stomped back into the house, not even bothering to retie your bikini. You let the top fall away as you slammed the kitchen door behind you, storming through the silent, empty house towards your room, your skin still damp with sprinkler water and the humiliating heat of utter, complete rejection.

The weekend arrived, a blistering, stagnant Saturday that felt like a physical extension of your frustration. Your parents had left that morning for a two-day trip to the coast, their cheerful “be good!” echoing in the suddenly cavernous house. Their absence should have felt like freedom, an opportunity. Instead, it felt like a taunt. The silence of the house was a mockery of the silence from next door. Jay hadn’t so much as glanced your way since the sprinkler incident three days prior, and you were so wound up you felt like you might snap. The horniness was a physical ache, a persistent throb between your legs that no amount of your own desperate, furious touching could satisfy. The fantasies had become stale, pathetic echoes that only highlighted the absence of the real thing. You needed something, anything, to shatter the tension coiling inside you.

But then your phone lit up—

It was Yunjin.

yunjinnie ♡: going to the club 2nite!!! u in?

You stared at the message. A club. Loud music, dark corners, bodies moving without thought. It was the exact opposite of the quiet, calculated siege you’d been waging on your own street, and a reckless, wild idea took root.

If Jay wouldn’t see you as a woman, you’d find someone who would. You’d prove it to yourself. And maybe, in some twisted way, you’d prove it to him.

you: duh, you typed back, your fingers trembling slightly. pick me up at ten.

The Uber dropped you and your two friends in the pulsing heart of the city after 11 PM. The club was a thrumming beast of bass and neon. You’d dressed for vengeance: a little black dress so short it was barely legal, the neckline plunging, the fabric clinging to every curve you had. You’d spent an hour on your makeup, smoky eyes and a dark, glossy lip. You looked nothing like the girl next door—no, you looked like a woman who knew what she wanted.

And for a few hours, you almost convinced yourself you were her.

The music was deafening, the crowd a sweaty, undulating mass. You drank the fruity, too-strong cocktails at the bar. You danced, losing yourself in the rhythm, letting your hips sway, your head fall back. You caught the eyes of men across the room. You held their gazes, you smiled, you turned away. The power was a heady, temporary drug.

His name was Leo, or maybe Liam—you didn’t quite catch it over the roar of the speakers. He was tall, with artfully messy brown hair and a smile that was all straight, white teeth. He’d sidled up to you on the dance floor, his hands finding your hips, his body moving in time with yours. He was handsome. He was interested. His gaze didn’t skate over you with polite detachment—it devoured you, lingering on the swell of your breasts above the dress, the length of your thighs.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he shouted into your ear, his breath warm and smelling of vodka.

A thrill went through you, sharp and validating. See? you thought savagely, your mind flicking to a certain neat house with a dark window. Someone wants me.

You let him pull you closer. You let his hands slide from your hips to the small of your back, then lower, palming your ass over the thin fabric of your dress. You didn’t stop him. You arched into the touch, a silent permission. His eyes darkened, and he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Wanna get out of here?”

Your friends were lost in the crowd, paired off with their own conquests. The house was empty. The night was young. And you were so, so tired of being the one who waited, the one who hoped, the one who touched herself to the thought of a man who would never look her way.

Yes.

You nodded, the motion feeling both decisive and numb. You didn’t look back as you followed him through the crush of bodies, out into the relative quiet of the street. The humid night air hit your sweat-slicked skin, a shock after the club’s furnace. He hailed an Uber, his arm slung possessively around your shoulders.

The ride was a blur of streetlights and anticipation—he didn’t waste time. As soon as the car pulled away from the curb, his mouth was on yours. It was hungry, sloppy, all tongue and teeth and the too-sharp taste of his cologne. His hands were everywhere, cupping your face, dragging down your neck, groping your breast roughly through your dress. You kissed him back, forcing enthusiasm, trying to lose yourself in the physicality of it.

But your mind, traitorously, wouldn’t switch off. As his mouth moved to your neck, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, you thought, A hickey. Good. The mark would be there tomorrow, a purple-black brand just below your jaw. Let Jay see that. Let him see that someone wanted me enough to mark me. It was a petty, vicious thought, and it gave you a twisted sliver of satisfaction.

Leo—Liam—whoever—moaned against your skin, his hand hiking up your dress to squeeze your bare thigh. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, his lips wet and roaming. “Can’t wait to get you into bed.”

You made a sound that was supposed to be agreement, but it got lost as the Uber pulled up to your dark, silent house. It was past 1 AM. The street was deserted, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the old-fashioned streetlamps. The only light was the faint, blue flicker of a television behind the curtains of Jay’s living room window. He was still up.

Good, the vicious part of you thought again.

You fumbled with your keys at the front door, your fingers clumsy from alcohol and the relentless, distracting pressure of his body. He had you pinned against the wood, his hips grinding into your ass, his mouth working at that same spot on your neck, making the skin there feel swollen and tender. His breath was ragged in your ear.

“C’mon, baby, get it open,” he urged, his voice thick.

You finally slid the key into the lock. The click was loud in the quiet night. You pushed the door open, stumbling backward into the dark foyer, pulling him with you by his shirt collar. His hands were already on the thin straps of your dress, tugging them down your shoulders. The cool air of the house hit your overheated skin. You were a breath away from crossing a threshold, from making this pathetic rebellion real.

“Y/N? What the fuck are you doing?”

The voice sliced through the dim hallway, cold, hard, and utterly, terrifyingly familiar.

Your blood turned to ice. Your heart seemed to stop entirely, then slam against your ribcage like a trapped bird. You froze, your dress half-off one shoulder, Leo’s mouth still attached to your neck. You slowly, painfully, turned your head.

Jay stood in the arched doorway that led from the foyer to the living room. He wasn’t in pajamas. He wore dark sweatpants and a plain grey t-shirt that stretched across his chest, the sleeves tight around his biceps. He must’ve used the spare key. Your parents had probably told him to look after you, or something. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. His jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle leaping in his cheek. His dark eyes, usually so carefully neutral, blazed with an intensity that pinned you to the spot.

Leo—definitely Leo—jerked back from you, wiping his mouth. “Whoa, man, what’s your problem?”

Jay’s gaze didn’t even flicker towards him. It stayed locked on you, burning with a disgust that made your stomach plummet. “Get your hands off her,” he said, his voice low but carrying a vibration of threat that seemed to shake the walls. “Now.”

Leo, emboldened by alcohol and interrupted lust, puffed out his chest. “Hey, she invited me, alright? We’re just—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you were,” Jay cut him off, taking a single step forward. He wasn’t a large man in the bulky sense, but the sheer, controlled rage radiating from him made him seem to fill the entire space. His shoulders were set, his posture rigid. “You’re leaving. Get out.”

Leo blinked, the bravado starting to crack under the weight of Jay’s palpable anger. “Look, buddy, I don’t know who you think you are—”

“I’m the man telling you to get the hell off this property before I make you.” Jay’s tone was glacial, final. It wasn’t a shout. It was worse. It was a promise. “Go. Home.”

Something in Jay’s eyes, some flinty, dangerous certainty, got through Leo’s drunk haze. He looked from Jay’s furious face to your pale, shocked one. He held up his hands in a placating gesture, taking a stumbling step back towards the still-open front door. “Okay. Okay, Jesus. Sorry, man.” He shot you a quick, confused look, mouthing ‘call me’ before he vanished into the night.

The door swung shut with a soft, definitive click.

The silence that followed was absolute, and so much more oppressive than the noise of the club. You stood there, your dress askew, the hickey on your neck throbbing like a fresh wound. The adrenaline of the confrontation was ebbing, leaving behind a cold, creeping shame—and beneath it, a hot, searing anger. How dare he?

You finally found your voice, though it came out thin and shaky. “Why the hell did you do that?”

Jay turned his head slowly to look at you. The fury was still there, banked now but simmering just beneath the surface. “Y/N, that was so irresponsible.” He said your name like it was a curse. “Your parents not being home doesn’t mean you bring random guys you picked up at a club into your house. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

The chiding tone, the sheer, infuriating concern. All the weeks of being called ‘kiddo’, of being ignored in bikinis, of having your offers thrown back in your face with a polite smile. You’d had enough.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” you snapped. “And it’s none of your business!” You turned on your heel, the movement wobbly, and marched towards the kitchen, needing space, needing to get away from his judging eyes. You heard his footsteps behind you, quick and sure.

“I was just trying to look out for you, Y/N,” he said, following you into the dark kitchen. The only light came from the digital clock on the stove, casting the room in a faint green glow. “You don’t know what boys are like. You don’t know what they want from you—”

You whirled around, your back hitting the edge of the cold granite countertop. The impact jarred you, fueling your rage. “I know exactly what they’re like!” you shouted, the sound raw in the quiet house. “Jay, I’m not a kid anymore, for fuck’s sake! I know what he wanted from me, okay?” You took a heaving breath, the most humiliating, honest truth ripping out of you. “Is it so bad I wanted him to fuck me too? Huh?”

The words hung between you, filthy and stark in the dark.

Jay went very, very still. The anger on his face shifted, morphing into something more complex, more dangerous. He took a step closer, and then another, until he was standing right in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the clean, sober scent of him, so at odds with the club sweat and cheap cologne still clinging to your skin.

He scoffed, a low, derisive sound. “So you thought the best thing to do was find a boy at a fucking club and take him home with you?” His voice was a soft, deadly rasp. “That’s your solution?”

The condescension cracked the last of your restraint. You lifted your chin, meeting his blazing eyes head-on. “Yeah,” you shot back, your voice trembling with fury and something perilously close to tears. “So what? You weren’t gonna do it, were you?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you knew you’d crossed a line there was no coming back from.

Jay’s gaze dropped to your mouth, then to the lurid mark on your neck. A low, almost inaudible growl rumbled in his chest.

“You think that’s what this has been about?” he asked, his voice so quiet you had to strain to hear it. He took the final half-step, eliminating the last inch of space. His hands came up, not to touch you, but to plant themselves on the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in. Your body was flush against the cool granite, his torso just a breath away from yours. “You think I haven’t seen you?”

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t speak. You could only stare up at him, your heart hammering a frantic, terrified rhythm.

“I saw you,” he murmured, his head dipping so his lips were beside your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, raising goosebumps everywhere it touched. “In those fucking shorts, bent over that car. Dripping wet. I saw you on that yoga mat, every fucking stretch. I saw you in that bikini.” Each sentence was a soft, searing indictment. “I saw it all.”

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes again. His own were black pools in the dim light, devoid of any gentleness. “And you know what I did? I went inside. I closed the door. I took a cold shower. I read the goddamn financial section twice.” His jaw ticked. “Because you’re my neighbors’ daughter. Because you just graduated college. Because I’m supposed to be the responsible one. The adult.”

His words were a confession, but they were hurled at you like accusations. Every denial, every dismissal, recast as a brutal act of restraint.

“But you,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, becoming a husky, intimate scrape against your nerve endings. “You didn’t make it easy, did you? Parading yourself around. Testing me.” His eyes flicked again to the hickey. A muscle in his neck corded. “And then you go and bring that home.”

He leaned in again, but this time, he didn’t speak near your ear. He brought his face to the side of your neck, right next to the mark that the other man had left. You felt the whisper-soft brush of his nose against your sensitive skin. It wasn’t a kiss. You shuddered violently, a whimper escaping your lips.

“Do you have any idea,” he breathed, the words vibrating against your throat, “how hard I’ve been holding back?”

The sound that left you was pure, undiluted need. All the fight drained out of you, replaced by a wave of such intense, shocking desire it left you weak. His large, warm body surrounded you, his heat seeping into your chilled skin, and you could feel the tension thrumming through him, a live wire of suppressed want that mirrored your own.

His nose traced a path from the hickey up to the hinge of your jaw. “You wanted some boy to fuck you?” he murmured, his lips so close they brushed your skin with every syllable. His voice was thick, laced with a possessiveness that made your knees buckle. “That’s what you were after? A quick, messy fuck?”

You couldn’t answer. You could only press yourself back against the counter, as if trying to escape the intensity of his proximity, but only succeeding in arching your chest closer to him.

He made another low sound. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.” One of his hands left the counter. He didn’t grab you. His fingers, warm and slightly rough, came up to lightly trace the line of your collarbone, exposed by your slipping dress strap. The touch was electric, a brand. “I’m not some college kid just looking to get his dick wet.”

His fingertips trailed down, over the swell of your breast, just above the neckline of your dress. You stopped breathing. Your nipples hardened into aching points, straining against the tight fabric.

“If I touch you,” he said, his voice now a dark, solemn vow in the dark, “it won’t be a game. It won’t be you trying to prove a point.” His hand slid around to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at your nape. It wasn’t a gentle hold. It was firm, anchoring. He forced your head back just a fraction, exposing your throat fully to him. “If I touch you, I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. Do you understand that, Y/N?”

His words should have scared you. They should have sent you running. Instead, you felt so desperate you thought you might die if he stepped away now. You managed a tiny, jerky nod, your eyes wide and fixed on his shadowed face.

He searched your eyes for a long, agonizing moment. Looking for hesitation. For fear. But he must have only found the same wild, reckless hunger that was tearing him apart, because with a groan that seemed ripped from the core of him, he finally gave in.

His mouth crashed down on yours.

It was nothing like the sloppy, impatient kiss in the Uber. This was a conquest, hard, hungry, and devastatingly skilled. His lips moved over yours with a ferocious certainty, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. The hand at your nape held you steady, while his other arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against him. The feel of his hard, muscular body against yours, the proof of his arousal pressing insistently against your belly through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, made you moan into his mouth.

He swallowed the sound, kissing you deeper, his tongue tangling with yours in a fierce, silent battle. It was all heat and pressure and the faint, tantalizing scrape of his teeth. He kissed you like he was starving, like he was trying to drink you in, to consume the weeks of frustration and denial in a single, searing act. Your hands, which had been limp at your sides, flew up to clutch at the solid planes of his back, your fingers digging into the muscle beneath his t-shirt.

He broke the kiss as suddenly as he’d started it, both of you gasping for air. His forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in ragged gusts against your lips. His eyes were closed, his features taut with strain. Then his mouth was on your neck again, but this time, it was on the unmarked side. His lips were hot and seeking, his tongue tasting your skin. Then his teeth scraped lightly over your pulse point, and you cried out, your head falling back against the cupboard behind you.

“This,” he growled against your skin, his breath scalding. “This is mine.” He sucked hard, a sharp, deliberate pain that melted instantly into a pooling, liquid heat between your legs. You knew he was leaving his own mark, erasing the other one, branding you as his. The possessiveness of it should have felt archaic, oppressive. It felt like absolution.

His mouth trailed lower, down over your collarbone, to the straining neckline of your dress. His free hand came up, his fingers hooking under the thin strap and dragging it down your arm, followed by the other. The top of your dress pooled at your waist, leaving you bare from the waist up in the cool, dark kitchen. The air prickled against your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he looked down at you.

He went perfectly still, his eyes devouring the sight of your breasts, heaving with every ragged breath you took. “Christ,” he breathed, a reverent curse.

Then his head dipped, and his mouth closed over one taut, pebbled peak.

You gasped, a sharp, shattered sound. His tongue was hot and wet, laving over your nipple before he drew it deep into his mouth, sucking strongly. The sensation was so intense, so direct, it arrowed straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. Your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him to you. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same devastating attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud until you were writhing against him, little pleas falling from your lips.

He lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes black with lust. “You’ve been driving me out of my fucking mind,” he said, his voice guttural. He leaned in again, his mouth finding yours in a slower, deeper kiss that was all tongue and shared breath and desperate, building need. His hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh there, and he lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the cold granite countertop. The shock of the cool surface against your bare thighs made you jolt, but then he was there, stepping between your legs, pushing them wider with his hips.

The thin fabric of your dress and your flimsy underwear were the only barriers left. He was so close you could feel the hard, thick length of him pressing against your damp center. You rocked against him instinctively, seeking friction, and a ragged groan tore from his throat.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his hands sliding up your bare thighs, pushing the bunched dress higher. His thumbs brushed the edges of your panties. “Tell me what you wanted that boy to do to you.”

His hands were on your bare thighs, his thumbs a hair’s breadth from the soaked fabric of your panties. The demand hung in the air, thick with the promise of humiliation and reward. You were laid bare on the cold granite, half-naked and utterly at his mercy, and the words he wanted were like ash in your mouth—but you wanted to give them to him. You needed to.

“I…” you started, your voice a breathy, broken thing. You swallowed, your throat dry. His dark eyes watched you, unwavering. “I wanted him to—to touch me.”

Jay’s expression didn’t change, but his thumbs began a slow, maddening stroke along the crease of your thighs, just outside the lace of your panties. “Too vague,” he chided, his voice low. “Be specific. What did you want his hands to do?”

The heat of his touch was a brand. You squirmed. “I wanted… his hands on me. Here.” You gestured weakly toward your core, cheeks burning.

“Here?” he murmured, and finally, finally, his hand slid up, his palm cupping you over your panties.

A sharp, punched-out gasp left you. The pressure was firm, deliberate, and the thin, damp fabric did nothing to mute the sensation. You could feel the heat of his hand searing through the lace, the rough texture of his palm.

“Like this?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

You nodded frantically, your hips canting up into his touch, seeking more. “Yeah,” you breathed out. “Yeah, just like that.”

“And then?” he prompted, his other hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your fevered cheek. The gentleness of the gesture was at odds with the intensity in his eyes. “You brought him home. What did you want next?”

You were drowning in his gaze, in the scent of him, in the possessive pressure of his hand. The truth spilled out. “I wanted him to fuck me,” you whispered. “I wanted to not think. I just wanted to be—hngh—used.”

A low, dark sound rumbled in his chest. It wasn’t quite a laugh.“You wanted to be used,” he repeated, his fingers flexing against you, making you whimper. “By some boy who wouldn’t know what to do with you. Who wouldn’t know how to make it last.” He leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Who wouldn’t even know how to make you beg for it.”

His mouth captured yours again. It was hard, consuming, possessive, his tongue sweeping in. At the same time, his hand began to move. He rubbed you through your panties, the lace scratching deliciously against your swollen flesh with each slow, deliberate circle of his palm. You moaned into his mouth, a desperate, hungry sound. He swallowed it, his other hand sliding into your hair, holding you still for his kiss. He was everywhere, overwhelming all your senses. The taste of him, the feel of his hard body between your thighs, the scent of his skin, the pressure of his hand—it was a sensory assault that left you boneless and wanting.

He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down your jaw, to your neck, to the new mark he’d left. He kissed it softly, then bit down gently, making you cry out. “You wanted to be touched?” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot. “You have no idea.” His hand on you became more insistent, the circles tighter, faster. The fabric was soaked through, a slick, hot barrier. “Is this what you needed? Hmm? This little bit of friction?”

“Jay,” you gasped, your head falling back. Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, clutching the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You were already teetering on an edge, weeks of pent-up frustration coming undone under his skilled hand.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice a dark rasp in your ear. His mouth was on your neck again, kissing, sucking, marking you further as his hand worked you. “Tell me what you want now. Right now.”

You were beyond pride, beyond games. You were a live wire of need. “More,” you choked out, grinding yourself against his palm. “Please, Jay. I need more.”

He chuckled, the sound condescending and darkly thrilling. “More? You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that, baby.” He slowed his hand to a torturous, teasing stroke. “Use your words. What does this greedy little pussy want?”

The vulgarity, the sheer meanness in his tone, sent a shock of pure, liquid heat straight to your core. You were so wet you could feel it begin to trickle down your thigh. “I want your hand,” you begged, the words tumbling out. “Under my panties. I want you to touch me, Jay, please touch me.”

“Good girl,” he purred, and the praise was like a drug.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. In one smooth, ruthless motion, he dragged them down your thighs and let them fall to the floor. The cool air kissed your bare, exposed flesh, making you gasp, and then his hand was back, but this time, there was no barrier.

His touch was electric. His fingers, warm and slightly rough, slid through your slick folds with an intimate familiarity. A deep, guttural groan left him. “Fuck, you’re dripping.” He stroked you, gathering your wetness, spreading it, his touch agonizingly slow. “All this for me? After your little field trip?”

“Yes,” you whined, bucking your hips, trying to force his fingers where you needed them. “Only for you. It was always for you.”

He made a sound of dark satisfaction. His index finger circled your clit, a feather-light, maddening touch that had you seeing stars. You were panting, little punched-out noises—hngh, ngh, ah—escaping with every breath, grinding shamelessly against his hand, against the hard ridge of his cock still trapped in his sweatpants, anything for more friction.

“So eager,” he mused, his voice thick with lust. He watched your face, your desperate movements, with a predatory focus. “Can’t even control yourself, can you?” His finger dipped lower, sliding through your entrance, coating himself in your arousal, but not pushing in. “Is this what you do in your room at night? When you think no one can hear? You touch yourself and think of me?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, the admission torn from you. “Every night.”

“Pathetic,” he breathed, but there was no disgust in it, only a raw, hungry pride. Finally, he gave you what you craved. He pushed a single finger inside you, deep and slow.

Your cry echoed in the quiet kitchen. It was a stretch, a delicious, filling invasion. Your inner muscles clenched around him instantly, gripping his finger with a shocking tightness. He groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Christ. You’re so fucking tight.” He began to move, a slow, deliberate pump in and out, his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust.

It was too much and not enough. The coil inside you was winding impossibly tight, your hips meeting every stroke of his finger.

Then he added a second finger.

You screamed, the stretch a blinding flash of pleasure-pain. He scissored them inside you, stretching you wider, curling them just right to brush that spot deep inside that made your vision blur at the edges. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles.

“You’re going to come on my fingers,” he murmured into your ear, his own breath ragged. “Aren’t you? You’re going to scream for me and come all over my hand like a good girl, and then you’re going to get on your knees and show me just how grateful you are.”

Your orgasm made your whole body shake, your back bowing off the counter, a strangled, wordless scream tearing from your throat as you convulsed around his fingers, your walls milking them as wave after wave of electric pleasure crashed through you. It seemed to go on forever, your body shaking with the force of it, your cries dissolving into broken sobs.

He held you through it, his fingers still moving inside you, gentling now, drawing out every last shuddering pulse. When you finally went limp against the counter, he slowly withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, his dark eyes locked on yours, and slowly, deliberately, sucked them clean.

The obscenity of it made a fresh jolt of desire spear through your sated body. You watched, mesmerized, as he tasted you.

“Sweet,” he said, his voice raspy. He leaned down, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. When he pulled back, his eyes were blazing. “Now,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Get on your knees.”

A shiver of pure anticipation raced down your spine. You slid off the counter, your legs wobbling, but he caught you, his hands firm on your hips. He guided you down until you were kneeling on the cool tile floor of the kitchen, right between his feet. From here, you were eye-level with the prominent bulge straining against the front of his grey sweatpants. The sight made your mouth water.

He looked down at you, his expression a mix of fierce desire and dark amusement. “Were you going to suck him off?” he asked, his voice soft. “That boy. Were going to get on your knees for him in your pretty little dress?”

You shook your head, your eyes wide. “No, no—not him,” you vehemently denied. “Only you.”

“Prove it,” he said, the challenge clear.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. You hooked your fingers in, and he didn’t help, just watched you, his hands now resting at his sides. You tugged, and the soft fabric slid down his hips, taking his boxer-briefs with them.

His cock sprang free, and you actually whimpered.

It was thick, long, and beautifully veined, the head flushed a deep, angry red and already wet with pre-cum. It curved upwards slightly, imposing and perfect. You’d fantasized about it, sure, but the reality was much, much better than any figment of your imagination. You almost drooled.

A low chuckle above you. “Fuckin’ cockslut.”

You looked up at Jay, your lips parted. He was watching you with a heated, expectant gaze, one hand coming to rest on the top of your head.

You didn’t need to be pushed. You leaned forward, your eyes locked with his, and pressed a soft, reverent kiss to the tip of his cock. You heard his sharp intake of breath.

Encouraged, you opened your mouth and took just the head inside, sucking gently. His fingers tightened in your hair. You swirled your tongue around the sensitive ridge, licking away the bitter-salt pre-cum, giving little kittenish licks along the underside. You were exploring him, worshiping him. Just the power of having this formidable, composed man at your mercy, even for a moment, was intoxicating.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk.

You took him deeper, relaxing your throat as you’d practiced in fantasies, letting his thick length slide into the wet heat of your mouth. You couldn’t take all of him, not yet, but you took as much as you could, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. One of your hands came up to wrap around the base of him, stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach.

He let out a string of low, guttural curses, his hand in your hair now guiding the pace. You followed his lead, bobbing your head, sucking him properly, the sounds lewd and wet in the silent kitchen. Fuck, it felt so good. You couldn’t help but be turned on by the act itself, by the weight of him on your tongue, by his groans of pleasure, and before you knew it, you began to move. Still on your knees, you started to rock your hips, grinding your aching, sensitive pussy against the hard leather of his shoe.

He noticed, of course. He looked down, saw the desperate, shameless movement, and he laughed. It was a dark, condescending, mean laugh. “Look at you, baby,” he said, his voice rough with lust. “Rutting against my shoe. You’re so fucking easy, Y/N.” he remarked incredulously.

His words were gasoline on the fire of your arousal. You moaned around his cock, the vibration making him curse again. You ground harder against his shoe, the pressure against your clit through the thin leather sending jolts of pleasure through your oversensitive body. You were close again, so close, just from sucking him and frotting against his shoe like a mindless slut.

You pulled off him with a wet pop, your lips swollen, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his glistening cock. You were panting. “Do you—” you gasped, looking up at him through your lashes. “Do you want to fuck my mouth? You don’t have to hold back.”

His eyes darkened to near-black. A raw, hungry groan was torn from his chest. His hand tightened in your hair. “Open,” he commanded, his voice strained. “Wider.”

You obeyed, dropping your jaw, sticking your tongue out, presenting yourself. There was a wild, almost feral look in his eyes as he looked down at you, his cock in his hand, poised at your lips. Then he pushed forward with a firm, controlled thrust that buried his cock deep in your throat.

You gagged, tears springing to your eyes, but you forced yourself to relax, to take him. He held himself there for a moment, letting you adjust, his thumb stroking your cheek with faux-gentleness. Then he pulled back and thrust in again. And again. He set a relentless, deep rhythm, fucking your mouth in earnest, his hips pistoning, his grip on your hair keeping you perfectly in place.

The sounds were obscene—wet, guttural, choking sounds from you, groans from him. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t try to stop him. You looked up at him, your eyes watering, and the sight of his face, taut with pleasure, his gaze locked on where he disappeared between your lips, was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen. You brought your hands to his thighs, holding on as he used your mouth.

All the while, you kept grinding against his shoe, the rhythm of your hips matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The sensations—the fullness in your mouth, the pressure on your clit—were driving you insane. You were a mess of need, a tool for his pleasure, and you loved it.

You felt his rhythm stutter. His thrusts became harder, deeper, less controlled. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice a ragged snarl.

You didn’t pull away. You looked up at him, pleading with your eyes, and took him even deeper, humming around his cock.

That was his undoing. With a half-growl, he came, hot jets of bitter salt flooding your throat. You swallowed desperately, gulping down every drop, not letting a single bit escape until he was spent, until he was softening in your mouth, his body shuddering with the aftershocks.

Only then did he gently pull himself free. You slumped back on your heels, panting, your lips bruised and wet, your throat sore. Your own climax had been cresting the whole time, and the frantic grinding against his shoe finally tipped you over the edge. With a choked, silent moan, you came again, your body convulsing as you soaked your own thighs and the floor beneath you, your orgasm somehow more intense for being so utterly debasing.

He looked down at you, kneeling in the stickiness of your own release, face tear-stained and mouth used, and he shook his head, a slow, condescending smile playing on his lips. “You came from that?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “From humping my shoe while I fucked your throat? You really are a desperate little whore.”

He reached down, his hands under your arms, and hauled you to your feet. Your legs were like jelly. He kissed you hard, tasting himself on your tongue, his hands roaming your bare back. “So fucking dirty,” he muttered against your lips, backing you up until your ass hit the cold granite counter again. He lifted you, seating you on the edge, and stepped back between your spread thighs.

His eyes were ravenous again, his cock, though spent, already beginning to harden once more. His gaze dropped to your glistening, swollen folds. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick and full of awe. “You’re a complete mess, baby.”

He leaned in, kissing you hungrily, one hand coming down to cup you again. This time, he didn’t tease. He slipped two fingers back inside your soaked, sensitive cunt, his thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy, and you cried out into his mouth, your body jerking. You were so sensitive it was almost painful, but at the same time, you couldn’t get enough.

He started fingering you again, his thrusts deep and sure, his thumb rubbing tight, relentless circles. “You’re still so greedy for it,” he observed, his lips trailing down your neck to your breasts. He took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, as his fingers worked you. “Can’t get enough, can you? Are you going to take everything I give you? Hm? Gonna be my good girl?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head thrown back, your hands clutching at his shoulders. Your moans were loud in his ear, heavy, panting breaths. “Jay, please, I need you. I need you so bad.”

“You need what?” he prompted, curling his fingers inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

“I need you to fuck me,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please, Jay, fuck me. I need your cock inside me,” you sobbed. “I can’t wait anymore.”

He groaned, pulling his fingers free and resting his forehead against yours, his body trembling with the effort of his control. “I can’t, baby,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t have a condom on me. I wasn’t exactly planning this.”

The denial was a physical blow. You whined, a high, pathetic sound, grinding your hips against his, feeling his renewed hardness press against your belly. “Please, I need it. I don’t care. I need you.”

He gripped your hips, holding you still. “It’s not safe, Y/N. I’m clean, but you—”

“I don’t care!” you cried, your desperation breaking through. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I want you inside me. Raw.” you whined, too far gone to care what you were saying. “I need your cock in me, please.”

Jay let out a tense breath. “Yeah, baby?” he asked. You could almost feel his self-control slipping.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you canted your hips towards him again. “Hn—yeah, Jay,” you wrapped your arms around him, pressed your mouth to his ear as though you were about to tell him a secret. “Want you to come inside,” you whispered breathlessly. “Want you to put a baby in me.”

Your words, your utter, shameless abandon, were the final blow to his self-control. His eyes snapped to yours, wide and shocked for a split second before they darkened with a ferocious, primal hunger.

“Such a dirty fucking mouth,” he breathed, awe and lust warring in his voice. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He reached between you, taking his thick, hard cock in his hand. He guided it to your entrance, the swollen head nudging against your slick, swollen folds. He rubbed it up and down, coating himself in your wetness, slapping the heavy length of it against your clit a few times, making you shiver and cry out with each sharp impact.

“You want it raw?” he growled, his eyes locked on yours. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Hngh—yeah—”

With a final, guttural curse, he positioned himself and thrust forward, burying himself inside you in one long, deep, searing stroke. The sensation of him filling your cunt, completely unhindered, was so profound it stole the air from your lungs. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, your eyes wide, as he seated himself to the hilt, his pelvis grinding against yours. There was a split second of pure, blinding stretch—a hot, perfect ache that bloomed into a consuming, liquid heat. You could feel everything, every ridge and vein, the throbbing pulse of him buried deep inside you. It was more intimate than anything you’d ever experienced before.

“Fuck,” Jay groaned, his voice a shattered rasp against your neck. His whole body shuddered, his arms trembling where they braced on the counter beside your hips. He didn’t move for a long moment, just stayed sheathed within you.“You’re… god, you’re so tight, baby. It’s so fucking hot.”

You finally remembered how to breathe, a ragged, choking gasp. Your inner muscles fluttered around him, a helpless, welcoming clench. “Jay,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back. “Oppa.”

That broke his stillness. He pulled back, a slow, dragging retreat that made you cry out at the loss, then slammed back in. The force of it jolted you up the counter, your shoulders scraping the cold granite.

“Yeah,” he growled, his eyes dark and wild. “That’s it, good girl. Take it.” He drove into you, deep, hard thrusts that knocked the breath from you. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider, holding you open for his relentless pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, wet and obscene, filled the kitchen, mingling with your high, desperate whimpers and his guttural grunts.

It was too much. The weeks of frustrated longing, the humiliating attempts at seduction, the searing jealousy—all of it combusted into this. You couldn’t think, couldn’t form a coherent sentence—right now, you were nothing but a fucktoy for him, each thrust sparking white-hot pleasure deep in your belly, radiating out to your fingertips and toes.

He leaned over you, his mouth at your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Look at you,” he snarled, his voice thick with a vicious, possessive delight. “Look what you’re doing. What would your parents say, huh? If they walked in right now?”

A fresh wave of heat, shameful and thrilling, washed over you. You moaned, your head thrashing side to side.

“They trusted me,” he continued, each word punctuated by a hard, deep stroke that made you see stars. “Their good neighbor. Keep an eye on our daughter while we’re out, Jay. Make sure she’s safe.” He laughed, a dark, humorless sound. “And here you are. Spreading your legs for me. Letting me fuck your slutty little cunt raw. Aren’t you?”

“Yes!” you sobbed, the admission torn from you. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, to take more of him. “Yes, I am—ah—I’m your slut, please—”

“That’s right,” he hissed. He shifted his angle slightly, and on the next thrust, he hit a spot so deep and sensitive your vision blurred. A broken scream ripped from your throat. “Scream for me. Let the whole fucking neighborhood hear what a whore you are for oppa’s cock.”

You were babbling, a stream of filth and praise and pure, unadulterated need. “It feels so—hngh—good, Jay oppa, you’re so deep—hah—you’re gonna ruin me for anyone else, please—ah—don’t stop, fuck me harder, make me yours—”

He obliged, his pace becoming brutal, animalistic. The counter was rocking with the force of his thrusts. One of his hands left your thigh and fisted in your hair, pulling your head back to force you to look at him. His face was a mask of carnal intensity, sweat beading on his temple, his jaw clenched. “Mine?” he growled. “You want that, baby, wanna be mine? Want me to breed you, so everyone knows you’re mine?”

The words sent thrills of excitement and arousal down your spine. Your inner muscles convulsed around him, a prelude to an orgasm that was already building, getting closer and closer with every punishing stroke. “Yes,” you gasped, your mind fracturing. The thought, the dangerous, impossible thought, spilled out. “A-and then if you get me pregnant,” you smiled, dazed and cockdrunk. “You’ll—ah—have to make me your wife.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, his hips still buried deep within you, his eyes widening in stunned surprise. Then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. It wasn’t kind. “Yeah?” he rumbled, his voice dropping to a low, thrilling register. He began moving again, slower now, but with even more deliberate, grinding force, rotating his hips to press against that magical spot with every inch of his cock. “You wanna be oppa’s pretty little wife? Hmm? You’d like that? Wearing my ring while you walk around swollen with my kid?”

“Yes,” you mewled. “Please, Jay oppa, please.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a searing, dominant kiss. When he broke it, his lips were against yours as he spoke. “You’d wait for me to come home every night? Have dinner ready?” His breath was hot against your mouth. “And then what, baby? You’d get on your knees the second I walked in the door? Or would you just bend over the table and let me take what’s mine?”

“Anything,” you promised, your voice trembling. “Anything you want. I’d be so good for you. I’d be so much better than her.”

The mention of his ex-wife slipped out, fueled by a sudden, fierce jealousy that cut through the pleasure haze. You felt him stiffen inside you again. His eyes searched yours, and you saw a flicker of something vulnerable before it was swallowed by a darker, hotter fire.

“Is that right, Y/N?” he murmured, his thrusts becoming deep, purposeful rolls of his hips that rubbed every nerve ending inside you just right. “You think you could be better?”

You nodded frantically, your nails scratching down his back. “Wouldn’t I?” you demanded, the possessiveness in your own voice surprising you. “Won’t I? Tell me I will.”

He laughed darkly then, a rich sound of satisfaction. He kissed you again. “Of course you will, baby,” he whispered against your lips, his tone shifting into something filthy and reassuring all at once. “You already are. Look at you. Taking my cock like you were made for it. Fuck.” His composure cracked on the last word as you clenched around him instinctively. “Fuck, oh—I’m close, baby. Are you sure? Are you sure you want this?”

You whimpered, your body trembling, your mind hazy and drunk on him, on everything he was giving you. “Yes, yes, please,” you begged, your voice a broken moan. Begging. That’s all you could do now. “I need it. I want it. Fill me up. I wanna feel you come inside me, wanna feel you dripping out of me later. Please—oh—don’t stop, don’t hold back. I’m yours, oppa, I’m all yours—”

His breath hitched, and you saw the conflict flicker in his eyes—the last shred of restraint warring with the dark, possessive hunger that had taken over. But with your words, your begging, your shameless need for him, he buried himself to the hilt, his hips grinding against yours. His hand slid between your sweat-slicked bodies, and he rubbed your clit unerring accuracy in fast, tight circles, the pressure perfect, relentless. At the same time, his thrusts became shorter, harder, frantic, losing all rhythm as he chased his own peak. It was the final trigger—the build-up inside you snapped, and your third orgasm of the night wracked your body, a supernova of pleasure. You screamed, a raw, continuous sound, as your body arched off the counter, convulsing around him, your inner walls fluttering and clenching in rapid, uncontrollable pulses, milking his cock.

The sensation of you clamping down on him, so tight and hot and wet was what made him finally let go. You felt it—the hot, pulsing release of him deep inside you, painting your walls. His head dropped to your shoulder, his breathing ragged, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. The feeling prolonged your own climax, drawing out the waves of pleasure until you were sobbing, oversensitive and utterly spent.

“God,” he muttered, his voice thick and rough against your skin. “You’re gonna feel me for hours, baby. You’re gonna remember this every time you move.”

“I really am,” you groaned, your head lolling back against the cool cupboard door, your body a soft, pleasantly ruined mess.

Jay’s soft chuckle vibrated through his chest, where your cheek was pressed. He was still inside you, softening, both of you sticky and spent and tangled together on the kitchen counter. His arms were looped loosely around your waist, holding you up more than you were holding yourself.

“Serves you right,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “Terrorized the neighborhood all summer.”

You pinched his side, but there was no strength in it. “You loved it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His expression was softer now, the fierce, possessive edge smoothed into something warm and sated. He looked more amused. He traced a finger down your cheek, catching a stray tear track from earlier. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Shut up,” you retorted, but you couldn’t help smiling.

He kissed you then. It was nothing like the earlier kisses—not the desperate crash of his mouth on yours in the hallway, nor the filthy, panting exchanges against the counter. This was slow and sweet and romantic. You sighed into it, melting against him all over again.

When he pulled away, you chased his lips for a second, making him laugh—a real, genuine laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes. You’d never heard him laugh like that before. It did something funny to your chest.

“So clingy,” he teased, bumping his nose against yours.

“You just fucked me senseless on a kitchen counter. I think I’m allowed to be clingy,” you mumbled, grinning, your noses still touching.

He hummed, his hands sliding up your bare back in a slow, soothing stroke. “I did, didn’t I?” He said it with a note of wonder, as if he was just realizing it himself. “Your parents’ kitchen counter.”

A giggle bubbled out of you, absurd and giddy. “They eat breakfast here.”

Jay shook his head, laughing. “Oh my god, Y/N. Don’t. I’ll never be able to look your dad in the eye again after this.”

“He thinks you’re such a nice, responsible young man,” you said, doing a poor impression of your mother’s voice.

“Was,” Jay corrected, grinning. “Was a nice, responsible young man. Then his neighbor’s daughter decided to destroy his sanity with a pair of booty shorts.”

You swatted his arm. “As if. Until today, I thought you had the self-control of a saint.”

“Saint Jay,” he mused, kissing the tip of your nose. “Patron saint of cold showers and repressed desire. I should get a medal.”

“You just got your reward,” you said, shifting slightly and wincing at the sticky, oversensitive feeling between your thighs.

He noticed immediately, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. “Alright, come on. Up you get.” He lifted you easily off the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist again as he carried you like you weighed nothing. You yelped, clinging to his shoulders.

“I can walk!”

“Humor me,” he said dryly, navigating out of the kitchen and down the dark hallway towards the bathroom. “All you have to do is hang on, baby.”

He pushed the bathroom door open with his foot and set you down carefully on the closed toilet lid. The light he flicked on was mercifully dim. He rummaged in the cabinet, pulling out a clean washcloth. You sat there, watching him, feeling strangely shy now in the aftermath. You were naked except for the dress still tangled around your waist, covered in sweat and him and your own release. He was still mostly dressed, just his sweatpants and boxers around his ankles, his t-shirt rumpled.

He ran the washcloth under warm water, wringing it out. Then he knelt in front of you, his movements deliberate and tender. “Okay?” he asked softly, looking up at you.

You just nodded, words stuck in your throat.

He started gently, wiping the smudged makeup from under your eyes, cleaning the tear tracks. His touch was so careful, so at odds with the man who had just been snarling filth in your ear. He moved the cloth down your neck, cleaning the new, tender mark he’d left, then over your collarbones and shoulders. He cleaned your breasts with a sort of gentleness that was incredibly intimate, wiping away the sweat and the faint stickiness. You shivered.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Not really,” you admitted.

He smiled, a small, private thing, and pressed a kiss to your knee before continuing. He nudged your thighs apart and began cleaning between them, his touch light and respectful.

When he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the hamper and stood, offering you his hands. “Shower?” he suggested.

“You’re asking?” you teased, taking his hands and letting him pull you up.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman now. The monster has been sated,” he said, pulling his t-shirt over his head and finally kicking his pants the rest of the way off. You got a proper look at him—all taut muscle and smooth skin, dusted with dark hair. He was beautiful. He saw you looking and raised an eyebrow.

“Like what you see?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, stepping out of the puddle of your dress and letting it fall to the floor. You reached past him to turn on the shower, the pipes groaning to life.

He stepped in first, holding the curtain for you. The water was blissfully hot, and you both sighed as it cascaded over you, washing away the last physical remnants of the kitchen. He reached for the shampoo, pouring a generous amount into his palm.

“Turn around,” he said.

You complied, leaning back against his chest as his strong fingers worked the lather into your scalp. It was possibly the most luxurious feeling you’d ever experienced. His thumbs massaged your temples, then worked down the tense muscles of your neck and shoulders. You sighed, your head lolling back against him.

“You’re good at that.”

“I’ll have you know that I have many hidden talents,” he said, his voice a rumble against your back. He rinsed your hair carefully, shielding your eyes from the soap with his hand. Then he took the body wash, lathering up his hands before sliding them over your shoulders, down your arms, over your stomach, washing you with thorough, tender care.

“Your turn,” you said, turning around and taking the bottle from him.

You mimicked his actions, lathering your hands and washing his chest, his arms, his back as he turned for you. You scrubbed at the faint red marks your nails had left on his shoulders, and he chuckled. “Battle scars.”

“You started it,” you countered, soaping up your hands again and, with a bravado you didn’t entirely feel, sliding them down his stomach, to his hips, and taking him in hand. He was soft now, but you washed him gently, thoroughly, and he let out a soft, appreciative sigh, his head bowing to rest against yours under the spray.

“Feels nice,” he mumbled.

You finished, rinsing him off, and for a few minutes, you just stood there under the hot water, wrapped in each other, letting the steam and the warmth seep into your bones.

Finally, he turned off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping you in it first and rubbing you dry before briskly drying himself. He found two more towels for your hair. Back in your room, he dug through your drawers without asking, pulling out an old, soft t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts for you, and borrowing a pair of your dad’s sweatpants he found in the laundry room for himself. They were comically short on him, hitting mid-calf.

You both collapsed onto your bed, the sheets cool and clean. He pulled you into his side, your head on his chest, his arm around you. The digital clock on your nightstand glowed 3:47 AM.

“So,” he said into the quiet darkness, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. “Operation Seduce-Jay. Was it a success?”

You snorted. “I’d say it was a catastrophic, overwhelming success. I think you broke me.”

“You broke me,” he reminded you. “With your fuckin’ cookies. And the yoga. And that goddamn red bikini,” he sighed. “Should be illegal.”

“You went inside!”

“I had to!” he protested, laughing. “I was two seconds away from jumping the fence to get to you. I had to go read about municipal bond yields to calm down.”

You giggled, the absurdity of it all washing over you. “Ew, you’re such a dork.”

“And you are a menace.” He kissed the top of your head. “A beautiful, frustrating, incredibly sexy menace.”

You were quiet for a moment, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “What happens now?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

He was silent for so long you thought he might have fallen asleep. Then, “Well, your parents get back tomorrow afternoon. So I should probably not be here when they arrive.”

Your heart sank a little. “Oh. Right.”

“But,” he continued, his voice thoughtful, “I was thinking. My aircon is making a weird noise. A rattling sound. Very concerning. I might need a second opinion on it.”

You lifted your head to look at him. He was smiling, a playful glint in his eye. “You need a technician.”

“I need a helpful neighbor,” he corrected. “Maybe tomorrow evening, after they’re back and settled, you could come over and listen to it? I’d make dinner. As a thank you.”

A slow smile spread across your face. “I don’t know anything about air conditioners, Jay.”

“That’s okay,” he said, pulling you closer. “We’ll look it up on YouTube.”

You laughed, burrowing back into his side. “That sounds like a very thorough plan.”

“I’m a very thorough guy,” he said, his voice growing sleepy. “As you’ve recently learned.”

You lay there together, in the quiet dark of your childhood room, and for the first time all summer, the aching, frantic need was gone. You lay there a little longer after that, listening to the house breathe around you—the faint tick of cooling pipes, the birds and insects outside, the steady rhythm of his breathing slowly evening out against your shoulder. It felt unreal, how ordinary it all was, how gentle.

Jay’s arm tightened around you in his sleep, and you stared into the dark and smiled to yourself.

Tomorrow, there would be a thousand practicalities to untangle: how to tell your parents without making it weird, how to explain the age gap without making it sound wrong, how to navigate dating when one of you still lived down the hall from their childhood bedroom and the other woke up early for meetings. But that was tomorrow, a distant land, far away from tonight, from this moment with Jay’s hair brushing your neck and his breath soft on your skin.

Because tonight, the summer finally felt complete.