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Your wrists are pinned above your head, tied to the headboard of the bed. Your legs are spread wide with Heeseung between them, holding your thighs open for him, exposing your needy, dripping pussy.

"Fuck, you’re already so wet." Two fingers slide slowly over your folds. "And we haven’t even started yet. Pathetic." He teases your entrance before pushing inside. His long fingers stretch you open and curl to reach that sweet spot that makes you squirm.

He takes his time, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you. His thumb rests on your clit, not moving, just applying pressure to the sensitive bud. You let out a shaky moan, your hips lifting to meet his hand, wanting more, needing more.

"Mmm… feels good, doesn’t it?" He murmurs with a wicked smile before adding a third finger and picking up the pace, fucking you deeper and harder. "Your pussy is sucking my fingers so well, baby."

His thumb finally starts moving, rubbing slow, torturous circles on your swollen clit while he continues to fuck you with his fingers. The wet sounds echo through the room.

It doesn’t take long for your thighs to start trembling and for that tight pressure to build in your lower belly. "Don’t stop, please don’t stop."

He leans down, taking one of your breasts into his mouth and sucking hard on your nipple. "You’re getting so close already? How embarrassing." Then he sucks even harder, his teeth grazing and lightly biting your nipple.

The mix of pleasure pulls you closer and closer to the edge. Your walls are already clenching around his fingers and your back is arching when he suddenly pulls his fingers out. You whimper and push your hips up, desperately chasing his touch again. "No… please, I was so close."

He laughs, mocking you. "I know you were, baby. That’s exactly why I stopped." His slick fingers move to your lips, brushing against them lightly. "Open your mouth for me." You obey, just like you always do.

Your lips close around his fingers, sucking them gently, tasting yourself. "Good girl, clean up your mess." You start sucking harder, swirling your tongue around his fingers.

While you suck his fingers clean, he reaches over to the nightstand, opens one of the drawers, and takes out a wand vibrator. He turns it on to the lowest setting. The moment the low buzzing sound fills the room, you release his fingers with a wet pop. "Heeseung…"

He smiles widely, feeling completely in control, and he really is. He presses the head of the vibrator against your clit. The vibrations are gentle since it’s on the lowest setting, but they still send shocks through your body.

He holds it still at first, then begins moving it in slow circles. "How does that feel? Feels good, baby?" He is rock hard inside his sweatpants because watching you writhe with irregular breathing turns him on so much.

The constant pleasure making your clit throb under the toy is too much to control. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably and that tight pressure in your belly returns, this time even stronger and more intense. "I’m… getting close again." Tears of overwhelming stimulation form in your eyes.

He mocks you again. "Already? You really are such a desperate little thing." He presses the wand harder against you just to watch you squirm in pleasure. You are right on the edge of orgasm, shaking, about to fall apart.

Then he pulls the toy away.

You let out a sob and your hips move uselessly against the air. "Why are you doing this to me?" A tear rolls down your cheek. You feel humiliated and your body aches with need.

Meanwhile, Heeseung is enjoying himself more than ever. "Because watching you suffer like this is fucking hilarious." Seeing you cry and desperate makes his cock twitch.

He leans closer and presses a kiss where the tear had fallen. "You’re so beautiful when you cry for me." His mouth finds yours in a slow, soft kiss that quickly turns hungry.

Without breaking the kiss, he brings the vibrator back, this time on medium speed. The stronger vibrations make you scream against his mouth while your body arches off the mattress.

He presses the toy firmly against your oversensitive clit. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the edge again. "Please, please, please. I’m so close."

"No, not yet." And then he pulls the wand away again. Before you can protest, he pushes three fingers back inside you and turns the vibrator to the highest setting, pressing it against you once more.

The double stimulation is overwhelming and pulls loud moans from you. "Oh my god." His fingers fuck you hard, curling against your g-spot every time he thrusts deep. Your body shakes violently and you feel like you’re going to explode from the overwhelming pleasure.

He watches every single reaction attentively, loving having you tied to his bed and completely at his mercy. "You look so fucking stupid right now. Beg properly if you want to cum."

"Please, please fuck me. I need your cock inside me. I’ll do anything, just let me cum. Please, I’m begging you." You cry out.

He stares at you for a few seconds, considering whether he should make you beg more or give you what you want. But he can’t hold back anymore. He needs to be inside your greedy pussy right now.

That’s exactly what he does. He puts the vibrator aside, frees his cock, already leaking precum and hard against his stomach, and pushes into you with one brutal thrust. A raw moan tears from your throat.

He fucks you hard, each thrust pushing you deeper into the mattress. His tip keeps hitting that perfect spot, making your eyes roll back and knocking the air out of your lungs.

It doesn’t take long before he brings the wand back, circling it against your clit while he fucks you mercilessly. "Cum for me, baby. Make a mess like the pathetic slut you are." He keeps laughing at how broken you look.

When you finally get his permission to cum, you do. Your walls tighten around him and the pressure breaks. You can’t control it, a hot jet of squirt gushes around his cock. The next spasm sends another stream against his lower stomach and thighs, making a mess of the sheets.

But he doesn’t stop. He continues fucking you with brutal thrusts, chasing his own orgasm while wet, filthy sounds fill the room.

His eyes are fixed on your pussy, watching the fluid squirt out with every contraction of your walls around him. The sight makes his cock twitch inside you, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. "Fuck… look at the mess you’re making. Squirting all over me like a broken little toy. Such a pathetic girl."

His thrusts become erratic and sloppy. With one final deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and cums with a low groan. His cock pulses as he fills you with thick, hot spurts of cum.

He collapses beside you and pulls you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "You did so good. Such a good girl for me."

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( 🪽 ) —— TY FOR READING! worked on this baby for a WHILE... finally posting it FAHH. do comment if u wanna be tagged in the next part :P i'll try my best to post the next part asap (as i literally have 3 ongoing smaus rn..)

This is purposeful. You're being purposeful.

He'd already been dreading the camping trip assigned to his department as a fun, required team building exercise. Drowning in repeated deadlines, endless meetings that could've been an email and enough screen time to worry himself of his vision, this is the last thing he wants to do when everything's said and done. He's been neglecting you too, deep-seated exhaustion coming with work and age that once he trudges through his home's doorway, he wants nothing more than to loosen his tie and pass out. You'd been understanding ─ as you always are ─ noting how sweet it'd be when you'd get to be together again, schedules cleared, devoted to each other like before. 

You had your own life. Settling into life's rhythm after uni, meet-ups with friends planned months in advance, making your shoebox apartment a home, perhaps taking on more than you should at work because it's your first real job. You wanted to do well, seem worth hiring, and it comes at the expense of seeing Heeseung. Of course, you'd call and text and when the stars aligned, spend a rooftop lunch together at Heeseung's work, gentle spring sun soaking into your skin as your smiles get in the way of eating, lunch only halfway eaten before he's due at his desk again. You'd talked, about various things ─ music releases you were anticipating, video games he'd felt shy about still playing, locals spots you'd love to visit once the dust settled.

It's nice. Comfortable. Everything involving you comes with comfort, your smile easy as you stare up at him with something like adoration, casting your head sideways as timidity gnaws at your nape, posing as if you'd been caught with your hand in a cookie jar. 

It's a joke co-workers he didn't associate with would make, having seen you around once or twice and drawing their own conclusions. That Heeseung couldn't charm women his own age, so he sought companionship four years his junior. He never indulged, office gossip and politics is never something he bothered partaking in. Why would he, especially over this? When you two were adults making a conscious decision, every step of the way questioned by Heeseung, only to be silenced by the press of your lips, your fingers woven into his hair as you whisper against his lips, 

"Overthinking will age you," you joke, his amused exasperation huffed through his nose, mirrored smiles between your lips. "Then you'll really give them something to talk about." 

Safe to say, you didn't mind. You apparently didn't mind the whispers and stares too, particularly when he'd mentioned the trip, inviting yourself since some colleagues were bringing their partners, a notion seemingly approved by his company. 

Some team-building event. 

"I think I have that weekend free," you mention, scrolling through your calendar to see the empty space over the dates. "Mind if I tag along?"

He'd been in the middle of cooking dinner for two, the rare night you two weren't too exhausted to see each other, especially since he'd finished his latest project. Over the sink, he turns the tap off, ringing the cutlery meant to be used and lets out a breath. Runs the logistics over in his brain, if the benefit of bringing you along is worth the whispers of his colleagues. 

It's a no brainer.

The trip is up North, where mountains scrape the blue sky and woods stretch on for miles, woven in greenery, marked by the hiking boots you track through the rich pecan-coloured soil. Customary of the June weather, sweat trails on the underside of Heeseung's jaw, narrowly missed by the back of his hand, only to venture further, dropping down his collarbone and collecting at its centre. He sighs with a slump, not knowing the trip entails more exercise than his desk job requires, his hands bracing against his knees as he regains his breath.

An abrupt coldness blends into his nape, jolting his spine upwards as his head does a half circle, hearing your giggle before hearing your boots trudge through the boots, stopping right in front of him.

You owned the shortest hiking shorts known to mankind, the flesh of your thighs stretching on further than his overworked heart could take, a forceful turn of his head done every time your limbs stretched to cross more land, the tiniest sliver of forbidden skin seen with a gulp. After the last time he had to finish the hike with a semi, he hadn't not looked since. But it's hard doing so now when you're stood before him, sunkissed skin glittering with sunscreen and a veil of sweat, a slow descent down the middle of your chest, down into the crevice your simple tank top does very little to disguise.

He might die on this trail.

"Have some water," the same water that's migrated to his cheek, smushed against the flesh in a welcome press. You'd left it the cooler longer than intended, chilled before all the ice could melt. Relief sighs out his chest at the arctic temperature. "Can't lose you when we're so close to the top."

He chances it. A look at you and regrets it immediately. Seeing the lax spread of your smile, one lip corner more lifted than the other and like this, you standing grand and tall with him nearly on his knees, he feels the friction. The words left unsaid, weeks on end without each other's touch and how much of a mess it'll be once indulged in again. 

It's entirely his fault. You'd initiated plenty times beforehand ─ a trailing foot up his shin on lunch dates, slow kisses over his lap over at his, pressure pushed into the flesh of his shoulders that'd make him moan shamelessly. You'd been so patient, so putty in his hand that it irritated Heeseung himself that he couldn't summon the energy to comply with your wishes. Because he knew, if one thing led to another, that journey would stretch on. For miles, for hours. He didn't half-ass anything, and he never half-assed you or your pleasure. 

So, the half-excuses came, and you understood every time, climbing off his lap and cuddling into his side, kissing the mole on his arm before you'd continue watching TV together. In the chatter of onscreen actors, you'd been blissfully unaware the man next to you was at war with himself, regretting the words he spoke. Counting down the days until he could have you all to himself. 

Except camping doesn't pan out as expected. Sure, you're glued to his side, an obvious assertion, but you're mingling too. Not strange, because some of his other colleagues are plenty nice, the centre of conversation as you laugh, throwing your head back with that infectious laughter that makes everyone gravitate towards you. Even the same co-workers that'd been slating him for dating you, a running joke he reconsiders now only having presence because the men were jealous themselves. It's made clear in their immediate fold to help you any time you need assistance ─ wood to kindle the fire, clarification on the hiking trials and gear you'd bought brand-new, a set of steady hands stabilizing you as you're hauled up a boulder. 

It's stupid. So stupid, how at the end of every such interaction, your eyes will find him, his already on yours. You'll brim nothing but a smile of innocence and at first, Heeseung believes it. However, back at camp after they've scaled their latest trail, his belief begins to dampen. Watches you become friendly with his own colleagues, laughing too hard at unfunny jokes, swatting shoulders and making a spectacle of yourself, eyes sparkling in learned helplessness, earning yourself the act of being fawned over, men having no shame in helping you even with the slightest things. 

It's purposeful. You must know, revel in it too when your gaze never fails to find his. He hasn't the slightest clue what you're scheming or what your end goal is ─ maybe a hunch or two ─ but if it's what he has in mind, the games end tonight. 

You come back to your shared tent after rinsing the day's sheen off, beads of water still caught on the column of your neck and left to soak into the material of his shirt ─ the only thing you seem to be wearing, shorts adorned barely peeking through from the hem of the shirt. You see it, the fall of his eyes down to your exposed thighs, having the audacity to grin to yourself before zipping the tent back up behind you, the zip sounding strikingly final. 

He ditches his Switch, not even bothering to save his game's progress before it's tuned off, his body shuffled upwards as he goes to speak. "Hey," 

"Today's trail really took me out," you make a show of yawning, one eye closed with a hand over your mouth, putting away your toiletries in the midst of your charade. "Must've been all that time in the sun too."

When they'd finished their hike ─ the team-building activity for the day, hours at the lake feels like a reward. Submerged in cold water, mindless chatter, soaking in the sun's rays. It's a well-deserved break from the city's hustle and bustle, except you don't afford him such a break. While he lounges mindlessly under one of the company-bought parasols, Switch in hand, you shimmy off the clothes you'd worn on the walk over.

A bikini. Harmless in nature, if not for the skin exposure it provides. Somehow it does unnecessary favours for your already flawless figure, covering all necessities but notably teasing in nature. He's sure some heads turn, but all he concerns himself with is you, beaming that sick grin again while his heart punches against his chest's bruises, body fizzing like livewire. 

"I can never get my back," you complain, dramatics in the pull of your features, sunglasses clouding the mischief dancing in your eyes, hands unscrewing your sunscreen. "Wouldn't wanna get your hands all sticky. Maybe I should ask someone else…"

Not even trying it yourself, asking someone else. And he knows who you'll ask, because they've had their eyes on you ever since you sat down.

"Let me."

It's final. The only question raised in the tilt of your head, intrigued or mocking, he'll never know, but he takes your bait. Lathers your back in sunscreen that lingers long after he's rubbed reminiscent on himself, playing your stupid game and taking his sweet time, paying close attention to pressure points that make you sigh, biting back a whimper. 

It's your small dose of karma, confronting you when his hands finally leave you, lips parting in a sentence you never utter. Only slump into its death, clicking your tongue before you put sunscreen on more accessible areas, making the decision afterwards to sunbathe metres away from him. 

You're doing the same now. Pretending to sleep off the day's fatigue as if there's no elephant waiting to be addressed, the roll of Heeseung's eyes harmless before he crowds your space, laying with you like he always has before he closes his eyes too, hoping the last day of his camping trip will give him a break from your childishness.

You have no such plans. 

Some time later, whilst some other colleagues still linger around the campfire, crackling beyond the poor insulation of your cheap tent, you adjust. For comfort, one would assume, but like everything you've done thus far, it carries purpose. You end up shuffling towards him, because his blow-up bed is only so big, and it's immediate. The press up against him, the friction of something so minute, the flesh of your ass grazing against him, weighing with a lasting effect. The lapse of his breath, the force of his opened eyes. 

He's only to blame. Turning his back to you even when you'd been acting like this felt like cruel and unusual punishment, something his body couldn't allow as it thrived off your touch, so he finds himself here. Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, willing himself to think of anything else ─ anything else ─ but your laid-out figure. 

He has a go-to list to cycle through ─ details of his latest work project, his favourite video games' releases in chronological order, then alphabetically ─ anything that'll keep his mind occupied in the presence of the semi he's already filled into, but it's no use. You're shuffling again, ass pressed so far into him his pelvis bone feels your body heat, the thin material of your shirt a barrier taunting him with the same shit-eating grin you've given him all weekend.

The tent's temperature scorches beyond a comprehensible amount, clouding his thoughts and senses in a puff smelling eerily similar to you ─ marshmallows, something edible, something his teeth ache infusing into, burrowing into hot flesh, only to hear you mewl, make the sounds he only wants to hear. 

He can't take it anymore. 

He calls for you, whispered, fraying at its end. A sleepy hum resounds from you, a lick of his lips done as his hand hesitates, burning at its fingertips, but itching no less. 

"You're─too close," he croaks, feeling warm all over. Hand hovering, the slump between your hip and waist, shown in the lift of your (his) shirt. "Please." 

Heeseung doesn't know what he begs for ─ for you to have mercy, to leave him to his devices so he can creep into the night for a sad jerk-off, or push further. Grant you your wishes because this must be apart of the game you're playing too, right? Starving him of affection, attention, seeing what he'll do in retaliation.

Your back bows, shoulder blades making a home into his chest as your body burrows into him, a measly sound escaping you. You've grazed again, intentional too because it's a graze no longer, your arm's moved to catch over his hand seized mid-air and he swears he hears you smirk, in the darkness of the night, and like that, there's no comprise. 

No choice left. 

His hand commits to your hip, magnetized. It comes with a hum, buried deep in your chest, but sounding so much like satisfaction, a breath of relief as his fingertips hinge into your skin, memorizing its grooves with his own before a breath shudders out him. 

"You and your fucking games," he grumbles, speaking to a wall only capable of movement. Of attention as you again burrow, hip shifting for his fingers to travel further, fingertips skimmed against the lace waistband of your underwear, electricity conjured at his fingertips. "I'm getting sick of them, honestly."

A snicker. He hears it clear as day, short-lived but undeniable there. His neck cranes, attempting to catch you out but all he sees is your closed eyes, prayer hands beneath your cheek and a smirk on your face.

Unbelievable.

His nose teases along your nape, your hair skirting with the break as you shudder, a breath taken from in front of him, in no way muffled. Warmth licks at the cleared spot, Heeseung's tongue tasting the salt of your skin, the vanilla lotion you'd lathered on, savouring the taste with a hum coursed through you, goosebumps rising in his wake. 

"Tastes just like I remember," his eyebrows furrow, fingertips toying with the bow knotted on your waistband, teeth teasing. Dragging along your flesh, thinner at the nape so his mouth moves, piercing into plush skin. You moan at the sink, warm against his fingertips venturing further, hand eclipsing your cunt to feel you. 

"Oh baby," he can only coo, warmth of your cunt felt as you push into his hand, a helpless whimper escaping you. His greed lights him aflame, middle finger dipping into your entrance through the thin material, finding you soaked all the way through. "If you wanted some attention, all you had to do is ask,"

"Instead, you wanted to be funny," his finger dips further, taunting you now, feeling your walls attempt to grip him, but to no avail. Humour skirts out his lips, airy and feather-light, spurred on by ego as his finger retreats, doing a torturous drag up to your clit where he feels you ─ aching for him, yearning. "Not so funny now, is it?"

Frenzied, his fingers grip the side of your underwear, pulling them back to nestle where they're hassle-free, trembled hand moving back to feel you. Caress with one lone finger from your slicked entrance, caught more by the subtle opening of your legs to your clit, delicate touch wracking a shiver down your spine.

He feels it, braced against his chest and only an exhale can leave him before his hands seek again, three fingers gathering click before he makes circles over your clit, painstakingly slow, like you have all the time in the world. He does it more to catalogue your reactions ─ your poorly muffled whimper, how your hips rock to feel him more, the echo of your cunt closing around nothing, amplified by the duvet loosely draped over your figures. You feel so good under him, and you let him know this, besides the fact of your closed eyes. He doesn't know what you're playing at, but if you think the veil of night and shut eyes will push him past his breaking point, well…

Heeseung only proves your point, fingerpad tracing your entrance, obsessed with the way you melt into his embrace before two fingers move in, lathered in slick and engulfed by your walls, a desperate squeeze of his fingers pressing further, searching and finding the place where you're most weak. His hooked fingers make you squeal, in no way dampened by feigned slumber and he gets off on it, the slick echo between your legs, the moans you try keeping to yourself, how shadows cast over their tent, some colleagues still awake yet blissfully unaware of what occurs in their proximity.

He fills out behind you, teeth gritted as his fingers nudge up into your pleading cunt, teeth buried into your lips letting your pleasure be known, flow of slick dripping down into his palm and onto your thighs. Your walls never want him to leave, constantly clenching with hips rocking into his fingers, huffed breaths panted from your pouted lips. 

He does it anyways. Leaves you high and dry, in a way making your disappointment audible, a whined sigh encouraging the stretch of his lips as he chuckles to himself. Heeseung doesn't let it simmer too long, his own patience worn thin as his hand goes to shimmy your underwear down, helped by the minute lift of your hips before the material's pooled down at your knees, giving him enough space to have you where he wants. 

Drawing closer to you, his cock slips into the sliver of space between your thighs ─ warm and inviting ─ leaking tip teasing past your entrance, chuckling at your cunt's attempt to catch him before his tip nudges against your clit, a withered whimper your response. 

"My perfect girl. So pretty for me," he rolls his hips again, bumping over your sensitive clit, earning more of your concealed moans. His hands are feverish, one slithering up under your shirt and kneading your breasts, running his fingers over your nipple to make you cower. "Starved for affection, aren't you?'

"It's okay, baby," he coos, pouring the words into a kiss as he kisses up and down your neck. "You may piss me off, but I love you all the same. I'll take care of you."

And he does, rocking and back forth, making you tremble each time his head bumps against your clit. He massages your breasts with all-consuming, greedy hands, nimble fingers working to flick and pinch your nipples, its response being the leak down his cock, your folds slippery yet snug, dousing his length in slick. 

"God, you feel good," he sighs, slowly losing himself to the feel of you, lips brushing against your nape. "Soaking my cock like that, poor thing. You wanted this so bad, huh?" 

A wounded whimper is all he hears. A yes to his ears.

He jumps at the opportunity.

"Want me to put it in?" he proposes, knowing it'll make your ears perk. He gets his answer in the stutter of your subtle hip rocks, a jut forward and meek whine all he needs to know. 

It won't suffice this time. 

"Those little sounds aren't gonna cut it, princess. I need your words."

Nothing but the echoes of nature respond back, the hoot of an owl and the crackle of an ongoing fire. 

"I'll leave you the mess you are if you keep at it," he says, tone stern and seemingly unforgiving. "Take your pick."

Then, as he comes down from your clit, his tip catches at your entrance, another claw done to him to make him stay. He pulls back, robbing you of the friction you're aching for, feed up with your own charade as pry your hazy eyes open, tilting your head back towards him, features pinched to garner sympathy.

"Hee," your hand frantically searches for him, yielding nothing but your own folded over palm. The defeat collapses you back to the airbed, dealt a final blow. "Please?"

"Please what?" 

You whine, deprived. "Put it in," you drawl, pushing back for friction "I need it."

Silence settles, weight gained to your words that you sink in their humility, eyes pinched shut in the laboured breaths you do, stunted when a kiss presses down at your nape.

"See? Was that so hard, princess?" you hear him say question, shuffling behind you as he lines himself with your entrance, anticipation simpering in the cells of your body. "Got me so hard, I'll just─"

It slips in. Without push back or more torment, a smooth glide into your walls welcoming him warmly, engulfing him in the sweetest embrace as your mouths fall open, sighs of relief falling from their hang. 

"Fuck," he grunts, burying himself to the hilt where you scratch at the airbed, whimpering. "It's been too long. You're so…"

The words die on his tongue, left behind as he chases pleasure intertwined with you, arm circling your waist to keep you in place as his hips piston into you. He works like the weeks gone have hit him all at once, plunged so deeply in you that it makes basic bodily functions crumble to nonsense, a choke at the back of your throat echoed each time he hits deepest in you. 

"What's the matter baby? Hm?" he noses along your ear, smirk ringing through your eardrums before he does a nibble of your lobe, loving the way you squeal. "Don't want them to know how good I've got you? Thought you were the shameless type, no?"

It only makes you clench harder around him, shame washing over you at the thought. And he's right, not everyone's gone to bed, hushed conversations still heard from your tent thumping with the slick pooled between your legs, the volume of its sound with his needy thrusts curling you into a meek ball.

"Come on, princess," he goads, a grit to his tone he knows will make you give in. "Let me hear you." 

Not that you'd been doing a good job of keeping sounds to yourself, you relinquish the firm press of your paled lips, leaving them loose enough to let how good you're feeling hit his ears. As calculated as you may have thought yourself to be, he one-ups you with a particular notch that barely keeps you together, nails scrambling for a claw at the airbed as you squeal with wild eyes.

'There you go," he encourages, so sickeningly sweet in your ears. "There's my good girl." 

And in between your ears, your brain melts. The words he says, the names he calls you swirling the pool of arousal spinning like a windmill, deceivingly slow but swift to you and Heeseung as he feels your cunt flutter against him, a series of quick squeezes.

"You're so cute when you don't hold back," he chuckles, not sparing a centimetre of space between you as he chases your orgasm, helpless whines seeping from your pouted lips. "Makes me wanna pump you full." 

A pin drops at his words, a boulder sinking to the pits of your stomach.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, already knowing your answer. "To keep you stuffed?"

You're helpless at this point, thoughts far and few between, cast over in unbearable lust. "Pleasepleaseplease," the pleas barrel out your lips, smacked together to taste the desperation on them. "It's all I want, I─" 

A twig snaps. Words and movements cease, the sound dangerously close to your tent putting you on high alert as silhouettes cast over the fabric of your weekend-home, Heeseung's co-workers discussing tomorrow's plans as they depart for the night.

You're trying to hear them, see if the coast is clear over the muffle of your hearing except Heeseung doesn't grant you the opportunity. Instead, he uses the chance to resume rutting into you, slow at first because he's cautious himself, but building back the frantic speed he worked up before, your head on swivel, eyes widened. 

"Looks like we've got company," he can only bring himself to whisper, a glimmer of his wicked smirk the only thing your peripheral catches. "I'm not stopping though." 

Despite your initial fear, you realise you don't want him to stop either. So, you let him have his fill, knowing you'll get yours too as he brings you closer to the edge, canines hinging so deep into your bottom lip you taste metal on your tongue, not helped with the whines spilling through gritted teeth. 

"Come for me, princess." he sings like a siren, your body meeting its maker, circled arm bringing you impossibly close as he knocks into you again and again. "Let me make you come." 

He undoes you, a master of the craft as your vision streaks with white, head falling back as a long, throaty groan drones out you against your will, legs kicking at the burst of ecstasy ravaging your body. Heeseung follows close behind you, last few thrusts spared before he buries himself to the hilt again, knocking where you'll squeeze against him hardest, cunt fluttering around him as he coats your walls in white, the slow hot spill soothing satisfaction past your lips as your body floats back to earth, collapsing onto the lumpy air bed, breathing in the humid air of your tent once again.

Night creaks with its nocturnal creatures, rustling in the forest not far away, the fire doused in water and extinct, your only source of light from the moon hanging above. Regardless, it catches onto Heeseung's features, a sight you grant your eyes the wish of admiring when you've turned on your side, him pulling out beforehand to leave a sticky trail between your legs. 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing the skin with care as he looks at you with the same admiration, lip corners lifting in a subtle brush.

"I love you," he says, his heart bared to you before amusement lifts his lips higher. "But I'm never bringing you on a work trip ever again." 

You laugh with him, head ducking into his chest where his hand smooths over the back of your head. When you come back up for air, your lips press a kiss to his nose tip, delicate and sweet before you pull away, slumping into the mattress as your fingertip traces absent patterns into his chest. 

"You love me too much not to," you reason, teasing eyebrow raised when he huffs, rolling his eyes as if your words aren't true. "Okay, okay. I love you too, I guess."

"Go to bed." he argues, two fingers gentle as he pushes your eyes shut, your giggles unconcealed as you open your eyes shortly after.

"I would if someone didn't make a mess." 

"You begged for it, mind you."

"Yeah. Still, your mess." 

He groans, mumbling about how insufferable you are but still coming out the tent with you, holding your hand in the moonlight as you venture to clean off the brunt of his jealousy. You're grinning throughout, thought to be an after-sex glow, only to be brought by the satisfaction of him complying to your wishes.

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the waiting room is cold and quiet.

too clean and too bright, and your heart is beating just a little too fast. 

you’re here for your first gynecologist appointment, and your nerves? 

they were nearly impossible to hide, written all over you.

but when the nurse finally calls your name and walks you down the hallway, you try to calm yourself.

until you see him.

dr. kang taehyun.

his frame is imposing, tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled to the elbow under his white coat, hair perfectly styled, and glasses perched on his nose like he walked straight out of a drama. 

his eyes flick up when you step in, and his smile is warm but so polished it almost feels unsettling.

“you must be my new patient,” he says, standing and holding out his hand. 

“i’m dr. kang. come sit, we’ll go over a few things before your exam.”

you nod, swallowing hard as you sit in the little chair beside his desk. 

your heart’s racing. 

there’s just something about him—calm, professional, but his gaze lingers just a second too long. 

like he’s reading more than just your chart.

“so,” he starts, flipping through a clipboard. 

“first things first. have you been sexually active in the past… let’s say, three months?”

you blink. “um… y-yeah.”

“with men, women, both?”

you hesitate. “…both.”

he hums softly. 

“okay. partners multiple or singular?”

your cheeks burn. “m-multiple…”

he glances at you, smiling gently. 

“nothing to be embarrassed about. this is a judgment-free zone, i promise.”

you nod quickly, eyes darting to the floor.

“have you noticed any discomfort? pain? unusual tightness or sensitivity during intercourse?”

you blink again, lips parting. “…tightness?”

“mm. some patients experience spasms or clenching when nervous,” he says smoothly, scribbling something down. 

“especially if their partners are… well… significantly sized.”

you nearly choke.

“w-what?! i—uh—i mean, i guess—”

“totally normal,” he says, looking unbothered. 

“and when was your last orgasm? solo or partnered.”

your entire brain crashes.

“…sorry, what?”

he adjusts his glasses without looking up. 

“it affects pelvic muscle tone. i ask all my patients.”

“o-oh. um. last night…”

“solo?”

you nod, voice tiny. “y-yeah…”

“were you using penetration? or just clitoral stimulation?”

you stare at him.

he finally glances up, calm as ever. 

“i can rephrase if you’re uncomfortable.”

“no! i mean, um. clitoral…”

he nods, jotting it down. “thank you. and when aroused, would you say your natural lubrication is average? or do you tend to dry out quickly?”

your legs are glued together now. 

your whole body is buzzing and he hasn’t even touched you.

“average…” you whisper.

he hums again. “we’ll confirm that during the exam.”

confirm that?

he said that like he was checking your blood pressure. 

like it wasn’t the filthiest sentence you’d ever heard in a medical office.

“go ahead and undress from the waist down,” he says, standing. 

“the gown’s on the table. and don’t worry, i’ll be gentle. i always am on the first visit.”

he gives you one last slow glance, then slips behind the curtain.

you sit there for a second, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight, stomach flipping.

this man is dangerous.

and you haven’t even laid back in the stirrups yet.

you’re already trembling by the time you slip out of your skirt and panties, gown rustling as you slide onto the padded exam table. 

the stirrups wait at the end—shiny, cold, and intimidating. 

and you? 

you’re already warm between the thighs, even though nothing’s happened yet.

“you can place your feet up now,” taehyun says from behind the curtain, voice calm.

like he’s asking you to take a deep breath and not bare yourself completely to him. 

“just relax. i’ll only be a moment.”

you do as you’re told—carefully placing your feet in the stirrups, parting your legs like instructed, heart in your throat.

then the curtain slides open.

and he walks in.

clipboard in hand, gloves already on, face unreadable. 

like this is just another wednesday.

“how are you feeling?” he asks, stepping between your legs, pulling up his stool so he’s eye-level with your most private place. 

“any discomfort?”

“n-no,” you whisper, voice shaky.

he nods, glancing up at you through those perfect lashes. 

“let’s begin.”

he snaps open a small bottle of lube and coats his gloved fingers, the cool sound of it enough to make your thighs tense.

“relax for me,” he says gently, one hand resting on your inner thigh. 

“if you clench, it makes it harder for me to be thorough.”

you try—god, you try—but when his fingers brush your folds, you twitch.

“sensitive?” he murmurs, brows raising slightly.

you nod quickly, face flushed.

“don’t worry,” he says softly, fingers beginning to part you open. 

“i’ll be gentle.”

the first finger slips inside slowly, and you gasp, muscles instinctively clenching.

he doesn’t scold you. 

he just hums, voice like silk.

“tight. that’s normal… especially for someone with your partner history.”

your head spins. 

your hips shift. 

you feel too much all at once.

“i’m going to add a second finger now,” he says, sliding deeper. 

“let me know if the pressure is too much.”

you moan. 

it’s quiet, but it slips out before you can stop it.

taehyun pauses.

you swear you see the ghost of a smile.

“you okay?” he asks again. pretending he doesn’t know.

“y-yeah,” you breathe. “just… it feels…”

“intense?” he offers, voice lower now. 

“that’s common, especially when the nerve endings are highly responsive.”

his fingers curl slightly.

your thighs jerk. “f-fuck—!”

he lifts one brow, watching your face carefully. “that’s too much?”

“n-no—just… surprised me,” you stammer.

he moves again, so slow, the pressure just enough to make your walls tighten around his fingers.

“you’re very responsive,” he murmurs. “good circulation. very soft.”

you bite your lip hard enough to leave a mark.

“i’m just checking for internal swelling,” he adds, fingers now pressing against that spot, 

“it may feel… unfamiliar.”

it doesn’t feel unfamiliar. 

it feels dangerously good.

your hips lift slightly off the table.

taehyun’s hand steadies you, palm firm against your pelvis. 

“easy,” he says softly. “i need you still.”

you’re already panting, thighs trembling in the stirrups, heartbeat so loud it echoes in your ears.

“you’re doing great,” he whispers, voice like honey. “just a little longer…”

his fingers curl again.

your head falls back against the table, breath catching.

“mm. very sensitive indeed,” he says thoughtfully. 

“i’ll make a note of that.”

note it?

he just fingered you halfway to an orgasm and he’s writing it down like it’s a weather update.

you’re soaking.

you’re aching.

and he just gently slides his fingers out and removes the gloves like he didn’t just ruin you.

“we’ll schedule a follow-up next month,” he says, smoothing your gown back down like a gentleman.

“just to make sure everything’s… progressing well.”

he gives you a final glance—cool, calm, knowing.

“you can get dressed now.”

♡

the next month comes faster than you’d like to admit. 

your nerves are still there when you return, but they’re tinged with something else this time.

anticipation. 

you tell yourself it’s just a routine. 

just another appointment.

but when dr. kang greets you again, there’s a shift. 

he walks in, same crisp white coat, same clipboard, same unreadable expression. 

but this time? 

his sleeves are rolled higher, collar unbuttoned slightly. 

casual. 

like he’s gotten comfortable with you. 

familiar.

“good to see you again,” he says, giving you that same gentle, charming smile. 

“i reviewed the notes from your last visit. are you still having tension during penetration?”

you nod slowly. “a little…”

“mm.” he hums, flipping through your chart. 

“let’s do a more focused evaluation today. i’d like to try a technique that helps with internal resistance and muscular tightness. we’ll approach it a bit… differently.”

you blink. “d-differently?”

he glances at you, so calm. “just trust me. it’s all clinical.”

he tells you to undress again.

only this time? 

he dims the lights slightly.

“helps with overstimulation,” he says smoothly. “makes the exam more comfortable.”

you’re already warm before your back even hits the table. 

feet in the stirrups, robe parted. 

he puts on his gloves again—but this time, instead of sitting like before, he stands.

closer.

looking down at you.

“try to breathe slowly,” he says, voice gentle. 

“i’m going to use a few different techniques to assess your response.”

you nod, already flushed.

his gloved fingers glide between your folds, slow and deliberate. 

he massages your entrance in soft little circles, way gentler than last time—more soothing. 

and that should be a red flag, but his voice is so calm, so steady, you just breathe through it.

“you’re already very warm,” he murmurs. “any discomfort?”

“n-no… it feels… nice.”

he smiles softly. “good. that’s what we want.”

his finger slips inside you—just one, curling a little as it moves. 

then two. 

the same as last time… until he hooks them slightly and stays there.

“mmm,” he hums. “still very tight here.”

you squirm.

“don’t worry. i’m going to help stretch you internally, just enough to improve elasticity.”

stretch you?

but before you can ask what he means, his fingers start moving in slow, deep, purposeful motions—not like last time.

not clinical at all.

“you’re responding well,” he murmurs. “body temperature elevated. muscle tension decreasing…”

his fingers press deeper.

your hips lift without permission.

“f-fuck—”

“language, sweetheart,” he scolds gently. “i need you focused.”

you’re panting now, legs trembling in the stirrups.

your soaked folds clench around his fingers like they know it’s wrong but want more anyway.

“still sensitive,” he notes, curling harder. “are you close?”

your breath catches. “i-i don’t know—yes? i think—”

he leans closer, voice low. “don’t hold back. it’s important i observe your full response.”

and just like that—you snap.

your body arches, cunt pulsing hard around his fingers as the orgasm rushes over you, deep and sudden, lips parted in a shocked little cry.

“good girl,” he whispers, not stopping. “let me finish the internal massage. almost done.”

he keeps going.

your whole body shudders, hips twitching uncontrollably as he works you through it like it’s routine.

like he didn’t just make you cum in under two minutes.

when he finally pulls out, you’re dizzy. 

flushed. 

soaked. 

ruined.

he peels off the gloves slowly and looks up at you with that same soft smile.

“your body responds very well to pressure,” he says, voice even. 

you blink at him, still panting. “t-that was… part of the exam?”

his smile deepens, just a little. “of course. i take patient care very seriously.”

you just came for the first time in his office that day. and he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break character, doesn’t falter. 

he simply notes your reaction like it’s another symptom. 

another line in his chart.

“we’ll try this weekly,” he says, a subtle warmth flickers across his face, “it seems effective.”

♡

by the third visit, you don’t even bother pretending. 

you arrive already warm, already aching, already aware of what’s coming.

and so is he.

you’re back on the table—robe already off, feet in the stirrups, legs parted. 

no hesitation. 

no nerves this time. 

just a quiet, burning ache between your thighs and the ghost of last week’s orgasm still living rent-free in your head.

taehyun walks in with that same smooth, unreadable face. 

but his eyes?

they flick lower immediately. 

and he notices.

“already wet?” he asks quietly, gloves snapping on.

you bite your lip and nod, barely able to meet his gaze.

he smirks.

“i see.”

he moves between your legs again, but this time—he doesn’t sit. 

he leans over, face level with your heat, fingers gently parting your folds.

“mm,” he hums softly. “definitely still too tight. but responsive. we’ll try a new method today.”

you tilt your head. “n-new?”

he looks up at you, eyes calm but dark. 

too dark.

“direct oral stimulation,” he says smoothly. 

“it helps with nerve relaxation. very effective… in patients who can handle it.”

you blink, mouth dry. “…handle it?”

“it’s more intimate,” he says, pulling his stool close. 

“and very invasive. but judging by your current level of arousal… i’d say you’re more than ready.”

and you are.

you don’t even try to argue. 

your thighs fall further apart, cunt dripping and on full display. 

you just nod, breathless.

“good girl,” he murmurs.

and then he leans in.

no gloves.

no instruments.

just his mouth.

his tongue.

he licks a slow, flat stripe up your folds and your entire soul leaves your body. 

your head hits the table, hands gripping the edge, legs twitching.

he hums softly. “sweet.”

his tongue circles your clit in lazy, practiced motions, each pass making your hips jolt, your breath catch.

and then—he pauses.

pulls back just slightly.

“you’re really letting your doctor eat your pussy?” he says low, voice dark and amused. 

“so easy for me now, huh?”

you whine, face burning, but you don’t close your legs.

“letting me do this,” he says, licking your entrance slow, fingers spreading you wider. 

“like a fucking slut…”

your moan is shameless.

“mm, don’t be embarrassed,” he chuckles softly, mouth brushing your clit. 

“you’re soaking my face, and we haven’t even started.”

he dives back in—messier now. 

hungrier. 

like he needs it too. 

his tongue flicks and circles and sucks until you’re gasping, whimpering, your body straining against the stirrups.

“d-doctor please—i’m gonna—!”

“cum,” he growls against your cunt. 

“right now. i want to feel you pulse on my tongue.”

you cum hard.

legs shaking, cunt clenching hard, body arching off the table as you cum so hard you swear the world blinks out. 

and he keeps licking, soft and slow, like he’s memorizing your taste.

when he finally pulls back, mouth glossy with your arousal, he peels off his gloves and wipes his face casually.

“mm. that should help reduce tension,” he says smoothly. 

“but we’ll need to repeat this weekly. maybe twice a week.”

he tilts his head, watching you shake on the table.

“you okay, sweetheart?”

you nod, wrecked and breathless.

“good,” he smirks. 

“next time, let’s see how you handle penetration with the tongue."

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 , 𝗂𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

⌞🏷⌝ : ￫ 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇

𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 : 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒.

Everyone who knows you have two boyfriends often say the same thing.

'oh my god that must be fun!'

And it is!

except when they decide to test your limits.

First it was Taehyun, when you you go on tiktok, on their groups page, a simple tiktok — wrong.

You were unfairly ambushed by him at the fucking gym, biceps out.

immediately switching to your messages, texting him away, because how dare he hide that photo from you — his innocent girlfriend.

his reply a simple 'you see them all the time at home.' as if that changed anything.

Then it was Soobin.

Scrolling twitter mindlessly, waiting for said boyfriends to get home, then you see it.

At the gym, posed innocently as if he hasn't sent half of his fandom into shambles — and you are no better.

Whats the point of being their girlfriend if you don't even get girlfriend privileges, a simple photo, and you know he knew what he was doing, sending you a text when he got out of the gym, coincidentally with Taehyun, sending you a cute selfie of the two of them.

This is psychological warfare by the boys you love the most, and you know they did this on purpose, to rile you up — or turn you on, not the point.

Deciding that it was time you had some fun for yourself — while you definitely were a kpop idol who had millions of followers, you still decided to post something just for them.

Changing into the skimpiest panama set you own (the ones the boys bought for you btw.) Posing on the bed, the selfie not inherently seductive but definitely something they wouldn't want anyone else to see.

The texts flood instantly, you know they have your notifications on — you expected this, they were at an unavoidable practice, couldn't be home for another hour — you thought.

You don't even bother replying, or even viewing the messages, leaving them on delivered just to piss them off.

mindlessly scrolling on your phone, the notifications silencing after 10 minutes, assuming they were practising.

So when another 15 minutes pass you think nothing of the sounds in the living room.

Then you hear it — footsteps.

Two sets actually — you check the time, they shouldn't be home for anther hour at least.

"F-fuck Soobin —" You let out a choked moan, barely able to mutter out the words, the bicep pressed carefully around your neck — enough to have your brain fuzzy.

Soobin's chest is pressed to your back, your body settled between his thighs, feeling his harden cock press against your ass, his arm curled around your neck.

Pressing comedically soft kisses to the side of your head, his eyes trained on Taehyun whos between your thighs, his hands holding onto the plush of your thighs, squeezing the delicate skin — tainted with deep purple marks, scattered around your inner thigh, leading down to your pussy.

Your eyes locked on his boxers, noticing the small wet patch forming at his tip, begging to come out.

Instinctively you move to try and relieve him, quickly getting stopped by Soobin tightening his arm around your neck, a pathetic moan escaping your lips.

"Nobody said you could touch yet." he scoffs, smiling at the small desperate whine you let out.

"You've already been a brat today, gonna ignore Binnie to his face too?" Taehyun's words mock you, the small tug on his lips only confirming that.

His palm grazes over the tent of his boxers, flexing his muscles just to mess with you, letting out the prettiest sound when he grazes over his tip.

You can feel Soobin twitch against you, clearly enjoying this just as much as you, a small groan escapes him when you accidentally grind back against him, his arm tightening around you neck hard — making your vision blur — the moan that ripped through your throat only making Taehyun suck in a breath.

Taehyun's fingers skim over his boxers, making a show of it just to tease you.

Pulling down his boxers, enough to pull out his cock — his tip flushed an angry shade of red, cum leaking from the tip making your mouth water — automatically trying to squeeze your thighs together — trying to relieve some of the heat between your thighs.

"No." His words echo, pulling you out of your state, your eyes glossy — the feeling of your airways being restricted and the denial of anything — its too much.

"P-please.." Your voice is broken — too desperate to even care if you seem needy, you need him — you need anything — your boys both denying you of that.

"You were the one who decide to pull that, you posted something slutty for everyone to see and expected us to be okay with that?" Soobin's voice is low — barely above a whisper, but it sends shivers down your spine.

You don't answer — you cant, your brain clouded with everything happening.

The feeling of Soobin's arm leaving your throat makes you whine — missing the heavy weight of his bicep pressed your throat, your whines cut off shortly after when Soobin leans over to your bedside table, pulling out the pretty pink silk kept there.

Quickly tying your wrists together, keeping you from squirming around. Before you realise Soobin's arm wraps around your torso — stilling any movements.

His other hand leaning over, meeting Taehyun half way, his fingers tugging at the younger boys hair, pulling him into a heated kiss — Both of them moaning into the kiss — mere inches from you, forcing you to sit there and watch, unable to do anything.

Taehyun's hand leaves your thigh, cupping Soobin's jaw, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue deep into his mouth, only making Soobin moan.

You cant do anything besides watch — moaning at the sight of your boyfriends, so close — but not enough.

Watching as Taehyun pulls back, a string of spit connecting them, both of their pupils fully blown.

Soobin's chest is heaving behind you, feeling his heart beat rapidly against you.

Soobin reaches forward — pushing you forward too, his hand wrapping around Taehyun's cock abruptly, pulling a deep moan from Taehyun.

Soobin's thumb rubbing over the slit, stroking his cock, the delicious sounds Taehyun lets out only fuelling him further, tracing the vein on the underside of his cock — eliciting a sharp groan to escape his lips.

Taehyun pulls Soobin off him, only for Soobin to let out a sound of displeasure, just to be silenced with a look from Taehyun.

His hands perch on your thighs, soothing the skin before hooking them around his waist, his hand wrapping around his own cock, stroking himself a few times before lining up with your sopping hole, smearing your slick around your swollen cunt.

He pushes in all at once — giving you no time to adjust, your cunt taking him with ease. His cock ramming into your warm cunt, the weight of his cock in your cunt addicting — barely able to contain your moans — Soobin moaning against your neck, your ass grinding against his cock — Taehyun's thrusts only sending jolts of pleasure though him too.

His hips, rolling against yours, his tip nearly kissing your cervix with every mean thrust. Unable to stop himself, his fingers snake down between you — even if you're being a brat he will always make sure you cum first — and hard.

His fingers rubbing harsh figure 8s onto your aching clit, using the slick dripping from your cunt to ease it.

Hes close too — you can feel it, his thrusts hurrying and the groans slipping from his lips becoming frequent.

The tight knot forming in your stomach snaps as soon as you feel Soobin's fingers tug on your hardened nipples, twisting them between his fingers, his voice dripping with lust.

"Thats it, baby — come for us, good girl."

Your orgasm crashes over you — the whines echoing through the room, knowing damn well the neighbours are sick of you.

Taehyun comes quickly after you, your warm walls sucking him in — the feeling of you cumming all over his cock his breaking point. He doesnt stop — fucking you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing on your clit.

Once his movements stop he looks over at you, cheeks wet with tears, Soobin's hands still on your tits.

After a moment you come back to reality — the pleasure from your orgasm dulling slightly, noticing Taehyun looking at you when you open your eyes.

A small, dangerous smirk on his lips.

"Your turn."

He wasn't looking at you — no, he was looking at the boy behind you, and when you look back at him you're met with a small smug smile.

Maybe you should post more often.

general taglist: @nanilis @hoonsocks @sweethoons @beomiracles @izzyy-stuff @yvampyr @kookiesnkim @owlieuwu @seungminsslut @hyukascampfire @yawngnab @hoonicon @rianzysworld @soobabbee @nainai112 @drkbl00d @lottiesls @xhoinicx

You wake up when the floorboards creak in the hallway. You wait in bed for five minutes, listening to the silence of the house, before you pull on a grey sweatshirt and walk downstairs.

In the kitchen, Jake is already sitting at the island, hunched over his laptop. His oversized black hoodie bunches around his neck, and his shoulders are rounded forward. When you step onto the tile, he flinches and quickly pushes his glasses up his nose.

"Oh. Hi," he says. His voice is quiet as he stumbles over the greeting. "Good morning."

"Morning," you say, walking to the counter. "Is there coffee?"

"Yeah. I made a pot." He points to the machine before he tucks his hands back into his sleeves. "It's still hot."

You pour yourself a mug. The ceramic is warm against your palms. You lean against the counter and look at him. "You have that midterm today?"

"Yeah, quantum maths. It's a pain in the ass." He types three keys and stops. "I've been awake since 5. My head hurts from looking at the formulas."

"Are you ready for it?"

"I think so. If I don't mess up the proofs." He looks up at you. His eyes blink rapidly behind his thick lenses and a faint red color spreads across his cheeks. "What about you? You have that group project presentation today, right? With the guy from your marketing class."

"Yeah, Damian. He hasn't sent me his half of the slides yet."

Jake's hands freeze on the keyboard. "He's a fucking idiot."

The sudden change in his tone makes you pause. His voice is flat and direct, without his usual wobble. When you look at him, he quickly slumps further into his hoodie, his eyes darting back to the screen.

"I mean," he mumbles, his voice rising back to its nervous pitch. "He just...he seems lazy. I see him sitting by the library sometimes, just talking on his phone."

"He is lazy," you say, taking a sip of the coffee. "I'll probably have to finish the presentation myself before noon."

Jake watches you drink. His head is turned toward you, his eyes fixed on your mouth, then your throat as you swallow. His face is completely still, devoid of the nervous twitching he usually does.

"You shouldn't have to do his work," Jake says.

You set your mug down on the granite. The sound makes him blink, and he immediately looks down at his keyboard again, his shoulders tensing.

"It's fine," you say. "I just want to get it over with."

"I could...I could look at your slides," he says, stammering slightly on the first word. "If you want. I can check the layout or make sure the alignment is correct."

"It's marketing, Jake. We just used a template."

"Right. Yeah. Of course." He nods quickly, his head bobbing four or five times. "Just...if you needed help."

He presses a key to lock his laptop before sliding it into his backpack. When he stands up, his actual height is obvious, he is clearly taller than you, but he immediately curves his spine, lowering his head as he zips the bag.

"I'm going to go to campus early," he says, his eyes focused on the floor near your feet. "I need to study more."

"Okay. Good luck on the test."

"Thanks." He walks past you, leaving a wide space between your bodies as he heads for the front door. "See you later."

The front door clicks shut and the kitchen is quiet again.

──────

You pull into the gravel driveway at the exact same time Jake’s car stops in the space next to yours. You both get out of your cars. Jake immediately ducks his head, grabbing his heavy backpack from the passenger seat and hoisting it over one slouched shoulder.

"Hey," he says, his voice quiet. He stands by his door, waiting for you to walk first.

"Hey," you say, walking toward the stone steps of the mansion. "How was the math midterm?"

"It was...hard. I think I got a B. Maybe a B-minus." He follows a few paces behind you, his sneakers squeaking on the stone.

Inside, the house is silent. Your mother is in Chicago for a week-long business conference, leaving just you, Jake, and his father.

Jake’s dad is already sitting at the long mahogany dining table when you walk into the dining room. A roasted chicken and some sides are laid out on silver platters.

"There they are," he says, looking up from his phone. "Sit down. How was it today?"

You both sit. Jake takes the chair directly across from you. He immediately pulls his plate close, keeping his eyes on his food as he serves himself.

"It was fine," you say. "Just a bit busy."

"That’s good. So, we need to talk about summer," his dad says while carving the chicken. "I’m booking a villa in Ibiza for July. You two are coming."

You set your fork down. "Oh, I don't think I can go. I wanted to take summer classes. I need to catch up on my biology credits."

Jake’s dad sighs, waving his hand. "You work too hard. Take a break."

You look at Jake. He is chewing slowly. He swallows and looks up, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. He clears his throat twice.

"You, um...you can take the classes online," Jake says. His voice is small and hesitant. "The villa has high-speed internet. I looked at your syllabus on the counter yesterday. It's mostly reading and quizzes. I can...I can help you study if you get stuck. It wouldn't be a big deal."

He looks at you through his eyelashes, his expression nervous as if he is waiting for you to shut him down.

"See?" His dad says. "Jake will help you. It's settled."

Under the table, your knee accidentally bumps into Jake's. He doesn't pull his leg away immediately. He holds the contact for three seconds, his leg completely still against yours before he slowly flinches back and looks down at his plate.

"Okay," you say, looking at him. "I'll go."

After dinner, his dad goes to his study to make business calls. You and Jake sit in the main living room. A reality TV show plays on the flat-screen, yet neither of you is really watching it. Jake sits on the far end of the leather sofa, his knees pulled together and his laptop open on his thighs.

The air conditioning is on but the room feels stuffy. You pull at the collar of your t-shirt.

"It's fucking hot in here," you say.

"The compressor downstairs is old," Jake says, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. "Dad refuses to replace it."

"Let's go swim," you say while standing up. "The pool is clean. It'll feel better than sitting in here."

Jake looks up from his screen. He blinks. "Now?"

"Yeah, now. Come on, don't be boring."

He hesitates, his eyes darting to the door and back to his laptop. "Okay. I'll go change."

Ten minutes later, you meet by the outdoor pool. The blue lights under the water are on, casting bright reflections across the concrete patio. You are wearing a simple black bikini. Jake comes out in dark swim trunks and a white t-shirt.

"You're wearing a shirt?" you ask, dipping your legs into the water.

Jake sits on the edge, a foot away from you, letting his feet dangle in the pool. He looks at the water, keeping his eyes away from your body. "I don't want to get sunburned."

"It's 9 o'clock at night, Jake. There is no sun."

"It's a habit," he mumbles, his shoulders curving inward.

You splash a bit of water at his feet.

"Seriously, though," you say, leaning back on your hands. "Do you ever do anything fun? Do you even like girls?"

Jake freezes. His feet stop moving in the water. "What?"

"I've lived here for two years, and you've never brought a girl home. Not even a friend who is a girl."

He keeps his eyes on the water. His voice is very quiet. "I don't have time for that. I'm focusing on my degree."

"Right. Sure."

There’s a silence settling in between you two. So you decide to eventually break it.

"I haven’t heard anything from Jay. What about him?" you ask, watching his profile. "He came over last week to drop off your textbooks. You should invite him over more often."

The nervous and slouched posture Jake has maintained all night vanishes in an instant. His spine straightens. He turns his head to look at you, and the movement is fast, completely lacking his usual hesitation. His jaw is clenched so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek.

"Jay is a fucking jerk," Jake says.

His voice isn't high or shaky anymore. It is dry and perfectly steady. You stare at him, surprised by the sudden bite in his tone. "He was nice to me though."

"He's a dumbass who fails half his classes and spends his weekends getting black-out drunk just because he has the money for it," Jake says, his eyes locking onto yours. "He isn't coming back to this house."

"Why are you saying things like that?" you ask, your heart beating a little faster against your ribs. "He's your friend."

Jake stares at you for another second. The expression on his face is cold, without any of his usual softness. He looks down at your collarbone and slowly back up to your eyes. He clears his throat and slumps his shoulders back down, his head dropping as he rubs the back of his neck. The nervous stutter returns but it sounds slightly forced.

"I just...I don't want him around anymore," Jake stammers, his voice rising back to its soft and shaky register. "He's...he's being annoying. He makes a mess. And he's loud."

He slides into the pool, letting the water come up to his chest, hiding his frame. But even underwater, his eyes stay on you, tracking your every move.

──────

The house was unnervingly quiet. One week before summer break, and the entire afternoon stretched before Jake, empty and ripe with opportunity. Not for studying nor packing, it’s actually for you.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he pushed open the door to your bedroom. The air was filled with the scent of your perfume and he loved it. He breathed it in deeply, his eyes scanning the room. Your bed was perfectly made. However it was the walk-in closet that called to him.

He stepped inside, the soft carpet muffling his footsteps. Your dressing room was a sanctuary of all his desires. Dresses hung on one side, blouses on the other. But his gaze fell to the dresser, its top neatly arranged with perfumes and jewelry. He pulled open the top drawer. There they were. Rows and rows of your panties. Lace, silk, cotton. Thongs, briefs, boyshorts.

His hands trembled as he reached in, his fingers brushing against the delicate material. He pulled out a black lace pair. He brought them to his face, inhaling your scent that made his cock twitch in his pants. He was sick, he knew he was. A depraved and obsessed freak, but he just couldn't stop. He snapped picture after picture with his phone, capturing the intimate details of your underwear drawer for his own personal collection.

Next, he moved to your desk, your laptop left open and sleeping. He shook the mouse, and the screen lit up. He was in. Your social media was already pulled up. He clicked on Instagram, his eyes scanning your feed. Pictures of you with your friends, selfies from class, a few with your mom and his dad. Then something immediately catched his eyes. A private message thread with Jay. ‘That motherfucker’ he thought.

He clicked on it, his stomach clenching. The conversation was ambiguous, full of inside jokes. Jay had sent a picture of himself, at the gym, probably to show you where he was and what he was doing. You'd like the picture and replied that he looked pretty good. After that, a message from Jay that made Jake's blood boil cold : "Can't wait for summer break. Maybe we can see each other."

A low growl rumbled in Jake's chest. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he muttered to the empty room. "Fucking asshole. You think you can have her just like that? You’re fucking dead." He slammed the laptop shut, the sound echoing in the quiet room. He had to see you. He had to watch you.

He retrieved the tiny camera he'd bought online, his hands shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and rage. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on the bookshelf across from your bed. Perfect. He climbed onto a chair, his fingers working quickly as he positioned the camera between two dusty hardcovers, the lens pointed directly at your bed. It was so small and almost invisible. He connected it to his phone, the live feed popping up instantly. He adjusted the angle, a sick sense of satisfaction settling in his gut. Now he could see you whenever he wanted, he could have you, in his own twisted way.

Hours later, he heard the front door open. You were home. He scrambled to his room, his heart pounding and locked the door. He grabbed his phone, opening the camera app, his eyes glued to the screen. He watched as you entered your bedroom, dropping your bag on the floor with a sigh. You looked tired, your hair slightly messy from a long day of classes. You stretched, your arms reaching for the ceiling, your shirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin on your stomach. Jake's breath hitched.

You turned your back to the camera, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. His eyes were glued to the screen, his hand already palming his hardening cock through his pants. You stood there in your t-shirt and a simple pair of cotton panties, the ones he'd seen in your drawer that morning. You reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, revealing a plain white bra. You unhooked it, letting it fall to the floor, and Jake's cock sprang to life, straining against the fabric of his pajamas.

He freed himself, his hand wrapping around his thick shaft, his eyes still locked on the screen. You were just in your panties now, your body even more perfect than he'd imagined. He watched as you walked to your dresser, pulling out a silk nightgown, the fabric shimmering in the soft light of your room.

He started to stroke himself, his movements slow and sharp, his eyes never leaving the screen. He imagined it was his hands on your skin, his lips tracing the line of your collarbone. He imagined you looking up at him, with your beautiful eyes, whispering his name.

"Fuck, Y/N." he grunted, his strokes becoming faster, more urgent. He was so close. He watched as you slipped the nightgown over your head, the silk clinging to your body like a second skin. You climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, and switched off the lamp.

The screen went dark but it was too late. With a final groan, Jake came, his release spurting onto his stomach and chest. He lay there, panting, his phone still clutched in his hand. He was sick, twisted, obsessed. As he stared at the dark screen, a satisfied smile spread across his face. He had you now. He had a piece of you, a secret part of you, all to himself. And he would never, ever let you go.

──────

Finally, summer break. The villa in Ibiza is built from white stone that holds the heat long after the sun goes down. You are sitting at the glass table on the terrace, squinting at your laptop screen while the Mediterranean wind tosses the pages of your textbook.

The biology quiz on the screen is full of red marks. You click an answer, get it wrong, and hiss a curse under your breath.

"That’s the third time you’ve picked the same protein synthesis pathway," Jake says. He’s sitting on the lounger behind you, hunched over a thick paperback. He’s clearly been tracking your failure.

"I know what I'm doing, Jake," you snap, clicking through to the next question.

"You clearly don't. You're forcing it because you're frustrated." He sighs, his voice thin and shaky. "If you just...if you looked at the diagram on page 214, it would—"

"I don't need the diagram, I need this to be over so I can go outside." You click another random answer. Wrong again. "Fuck this."

The chair behind you scrapes harshly against the stone. Suddenly, Jake is standing right over you. He grabs the back of your chair and spins it around so you’re forced to look at him.

"Stop clicking," he says.

The stutter is gone. His voice is flat. He leans down, placing one hand on the table and the other on the arm of your chair, effectively pinning you in place. His eyes are cold and intensely focused, stripped of their usual nervous blinking.

"You are wasting your time," he says, his gaze boring into yours. "Open the book. Read the section I told you to read. Do not click another button until you can explain the process back to me. Okay?"

You stare at him, your mouth slightly open. The quiet side of him is nowhere to be found; in his place is someone who looks like he could dismantle your entire argument with a single sentence.

"I—" you start but the words catch.

Jake blinks. The sharp lines of his face suddenly go soft. He recoils as if he’s been burned, his shoulders hitting his ears as he slumps back into his usual posture. He looks at his shoes, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"I...I mean," he stammers, his voice jumping back up higher. "It would just...it would save you time. S-sorry. I didn't mean to be...whatever that was."

He won't look at you now and he edges back toward his lounger. "I’m going to go down to the beach in 10 minutes. If you want to come. But, uh...finish the work first. I'll wait at the cove."

It takes you 40 minutes to finish. By the time you trek down the private stone path to the beach, the sun is beginning to dip, turning the sand into a pale gold. You spot him standing near the water's edge. He’s taken his shirt off, and the sight stops you in your tracks. Without the oversized hoodies to hide in, his frame is lean and surprisingly muscular, his skin tanned from the few days you've been here. He’s standing tall, looking out at the horizon, his posture relaxed and confident.

"Took you long enough," he calls out. He doesn't turn around but he knows it's you.

"The quiz was a bitch," you say, walking up to him. Up close, he looks different. His hair is pushed back by the wind and he isn't wearing his glasses.

He turns to look at you and grins. "Maybe you’re just a slow learner."

"Excuse me?" you laugh, shoving his shoulder.

"I'm just saying. I finished my credits two years ago." He dodges your next shove with a quick movement.

"You seem...different today," you say, eyeing him. "Did the salt air fix your brain?"

Jake shrugs, kicking a bit of foam toward you. "Maybe. Or maybe there’s just nobody here to perform for." He steps closer, his shadow falling over you. "Is it a problem?"

"No," you murmur. "It’s just...weird."

"Life is weird, you know." he says. Without warning, he reaches down and hooks his arms under your knees and around your back.

"Jake ! Put me down !" You shriek, grabbing his shoulders for balance. His skin is hot and slightly grit with salt.

"You need to cool off," he says. He’s not struggling with your weight at all. He walks into the surf, the water splashing against his thighs.

"Jake, I swear to God—"

He drops you. You hit the water with a splash, coming up gasping and shivering. You immediately lunged for him, grabbing his waist to pull him down with you. He loses his footing, and you both go under, treading water in the shallow break. You come up laughing, wiping hair from your face. Jake is right in front of you, his hands resting on your waist to steady you against a coming wave. The playfulness vanishes as the water settles between you.

The wave pushes you forward, flush against his chest. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer instead of letting you drift back. You look up, expecting to see his nervousness on his face, his eyes are fixed on your lips.

He leans in, agonizingly slow, giving you every second to move away. But you just feel like you don't want to.

When his lips touch yours, it’s not an accident of the waves. It lasts only a second where the world disappears, before he pulls back just an inch. His breath is jagged.

"S-sorry," he whispers, the stutter returning like a ghost. "The wave...pushed us."

He lets go of your waist and turns toward the shore, his shoulders already starting to hunch as he retreats into the surf.

The walk back up to the villa was silent.

Inside the villa, the air was cooler than a few hours ago. Jake disappeared into his suite immediately, leaving you standing in the foyer with damp hair and a racing pulse. You waited, leaning against the wall, until you heard the shower stop. When he finally stepped out into the hallway, he was wearing a fresh white t-shirt and grey joggers, his hair still dark and dripping.

"Jake," you said, your voice sounding thin in the high-ceilinged hall.

He stopped, his hand tightening on the towel around his neck.

"About the beach," you started, crossing your arms. "The kiss. It was...a mistake. The waves, everything…we should just forget it."

Jake was quiet for a long beat. He finally looked at you, his eyes unreadable behind the droplets of water clinging to his lashes. "It’s okay," he said. His voice was dull, almost sounding empty. "I already forgot."

He brushed past you, the scent of his soap lingering in the air, and disappeared into the kitchen. You retreated to your room and threw yourself onto the bed. You stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on your biology notes, but your mind kept looping back to the feeling of his hands on your waist. You tried to convince yourself that the spark was just a fluke, a side effect of the sun, yet the memory of his gaze in the water felt like a bruise that wouldn't stop aching.

Restless, you eventually left your room to wander in the villa. You ended up in a wing you hadn't explored yet. You pushed open a heavy oak door and found yourself in a studio bathed in the blue light of the moon. The room was filled with art pieces. Large canvases leaned against the walls, and stone statues, half-finished figures emerging from marble that stood on pedestals like in a museum. This was Jake’s mother’s space. You knew she had been an artist, but the sheer raw emotion in the room was overwhelming.

Jake stood perfectly still. He looked like one of the sculptures himself, a silhouette carved out of the darkness. You stopped a few feet away from him, your eyes wandering over the canvas near his shoulder.

"She stayed in here for days at a time," Jake said. His voice echoing through the room. "Dad hated it. He thought it was a waste of energy to create things that didn't have a profit margin."

"It’s not a waste," you said, stepping closer to a marble bust. You reached out, running your thumb over the cold and polished cheek of the figure. "It’s honest. You can feel how much she cared about this."

Jake turned his body toward you. He leaned his lower back against a heavy wooden workbench, his long legs stretching out across the floor. He wasn't hiding in his hoodie tonight, he was wearing a simple t-shirt that showed the sharp lines of his shoulders.

"Honesty is dangerous," he said. "People spend their whole lives building walls so they don't have to be honest. Then they come in here and realize they’re transparent."

"Is that why you’re in here?" you asked, looking at him. "To feel transparent?"

He watched you, his gaze moving from your eyes down to the hand you still had resting on the statue and back up again. The air in the room felt like it was thickening, becoming harder to breathe. He looked like he was taking you apart, piece by piece, analyzing the way the moonlight hit your skin.

"I’m in here because it’s the only room in this house where I don't have to pretend," he said. The honesty in his voice was a physical weight. He took a step toward you, closing the distance until you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. The height difference you usually ignored felt overwhelming now.

"You look pretty," he said. "Especially in this light. With your hair like that."

Your throat went dry. You expected him to look away, to blush and stammer a retraction, to go back to being the boy who couldn't look you in the eye at breakfast. But he didn't. He kept his eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable and heavy.

"Jake," you breathed, the name more of a question than anything else.

"Oh please," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, sounding like velvet. "Don't look at me like you're surprised. You've been watching me just as much as I've been watching you."

He reached out, his hand hovering near your face for a second before he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were warm, and they lingered there, his thumb ghosting over the shell of your ear with a slow pressure.

He let his hand drop yet he didn't move back. He stood there, looking satisfied with just being close to his prey, close to you. "Go to bed," he said, the command soft but absolute. "Before I stop being nice about it." You froze in an instant to his tone. He slightly turns before leaving. His voice suddenly softens. "If you’re searching for me, I’ll be at the pool. Goodnight."

──────

You shut the door to your suite and leaned your back against the wood, your lungs struggling to find a steady rhythm. The heat from his thumb against your ear felt like it had been branded into your skin. You walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led to your private balcony, needing the cold air to snap you out of the haze.

The moon illuminated the entire grounds, turning the pool into a glowing sapphire rectangle against the dark stone of the terrace.

A ripple broke the surface. He was there.

You stayed in the shadows of your room, watching. He moved through the water with a fluid, powerful stroke that was completely the opposite of the clumsy and apologetic boy who tripped over his own feet in the kitchen. He reached the edge of the pool and hauled himself out in one smooth motion.

Water cascaded down his back, defining the muscles of his shoulders and the lean taper of his waist. He stood there for a moment, dripping, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.He looked nothing like what you were thinking he was during those two years. He looked athletic, confident, and entirely too comfortable in his own skin.

You watched the way he ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead. You found yourself wondering if he had ever been with anyone. The stutter, the hunched posture, and his awkwardness, it all felt like a clever lie now. If he could fake his entire personality, what else was he hiding? Could someone who looked like that, who moved like that, really be as inexperienced as he claimed to be?

He reached for a towel on a nearby chair, rubbing it over his face. Then, as if he could feel the weight of your stare from the second floor, his head snapped up. He didn't look startled. Not at all. He looked directly at the spot where you were standing in the darkness.

The distance was too great to see his eyes clearly, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable. A slow, knowing smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth ; a look of pure arrogant satisfaction. It was a silent acknowledgement that he knew exactly what you were doing. He knew you were watching, and he knew you liked what you saw.

Without a word, he slung the towel over his shoulder and walked toward the sliding doors of the villa, disappearing inside and leaving you alone with the sound of your own beating heart.

──────

The next morning, you sat at the breakfast table, picking at a plate of fruit while Jake’s dad scrolled through his emails at the head of the table.

Jake was sitting across from you, the nerd act back in full effect. He was slouched, his glasses slightly crooked, staring intensely at a bowl of cereal. But under the table, his foot found yours. He hooked his ankle around yours and began to slowly slide his foot up your calf. You stiffened, your fork hovering in mid-air. You looked at him, but he was mid-stutter, answering a question from his dad about the stock market.

"I-I think the tech sector is just...it's volatile right now, Dad," Jake mumbled, his face a mask of awkward concentration.

Beneath the tablecloth, his foot pressed harder, his toes tracing the sensitive skin behind your knee. You shifted in your seat, your face heating up. You tried to pull away, but he followed, his movements precise and unrelenting. He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips the only sign he was enjoying your frustration.

"Are you kay?" His dad asked, looking up. "You're barely eating."

"I'm fine," you said, your voice a bit too sharp. "I’m just not hungry."

Jake finally pulled his foot away, sitting up straight. "Actually, Dad, I'm g-going out today. Some guys from the engineering department are in Ibiza for the week. They invited me to a beach club."

His dad looked surprised. "Good for you, Jake. You need to get out more. Why don't you take her with you ?"

Jake turned to you, his eyes wide and blinking. "Oh, yeah. Do you...do you want to come? It might be b-boring, but..."

"Will Jay be there?" you asked, leaning back. "He mentioned to me that he was coming to Ibiza."

The change was instantaneous. Jake’s expression flattened. His shyness didn't just fade, it evaporated into a cold and hard wall. He stood up, grabbing his phone.

"Nevermind," he said, his voice dropping into that low, steady register. "You're not coming."

He walked out of the dining room without looking back.

By 10:00 PM, the villa felt like a tomb. Jake’s dad had gone to bed early, and Jake hadn't returned. You tried to watch a movie, but the silence of the house was grating. On a whim, you grabbed your purse and headed out. You needed noise.

You took a taxi and got toward the town, the neon lights of the coast beginning to blur. You got out of the car and dialed Jake’s number. He picked up on the third ring. The background noise was a low thumping bass.

"Where are you?" you asked. "I'm bored out of my mind."

"I'm at a place called The Vault," he said with no stutter, the noise of a party in the background. "Come if you want. I'll put your name at the door."

He hung up.

When you pulled up to The Vault, you noticed the blacked-out windows and the massive security guards, but you didn't think much of it, everything in Ibiza was over-the-top. You walked past the velvet rope and into the red-lit interior.

As soon as you entered you saw the stage. It was a platform where a woman was slowly spinning around a chrome pole. You froze. It was a strip club. A high-end and discreet one, but a strip club nonetheless.

You scanned the room, your heart hammering. In the far corner, a raised VIP section was cordoned off. You saw Jay first, laughing with a drink in his hand, a girl in a minimal outfit leaning against his shoulder. A few seconds after you saw Jake.

He was leaning back in a deep leather booth, a glass of liquor in his hand. He looked like he owned the entire building. His black button-down was open at the collar, and he looked relaxed, dangerous, and entirely in control. He caught your eye across the smoky room. He didn't look shocked to see you, he smiled and signaled for the guard to let you up.

"Damn, Y/N? Is that really you ?" Jay shouted over the music as you reached the booth. "Jake said you were too much of a ‘good girl’ for this place."

Jake didn't say a word as he shifted over, patting the leather seat right next to him. "Sit down." You sat, your thigh pressed against his. The heat from his body was immediate. The tension from the morning hadn't vanished, it had condensed into something much sharper.

"You didn't tell me what kind of club this was," you hissed into his ear.

Jake leaned in close, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "I told you exactly where I was. You're the one who decided to show up."

He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on the stage where a dancer was performing. He didn't look away but his hand moved, his fingers splaying across your knee.

"Since you're here," he murmured, his voice voice through the loud music, "you might as well watch. It’s educational, isn't it?"

Jay was busy talking to someone else, leaving you trapped in Jake's orbit. His hand started to move, his thumb tracing slow and rhythmic circles on the fabric of your skirt. Every time the bass dropped, his grip tightened just a fraction.

"You're different here," you say, looking at his profile.

He turned his head slowly, his face inches from yours. The red light of the club made his eyes look almost black.

"I'm the same as I always was," he said. "Maybe you weren’t just paying attention to that."

He leaned back, his arm draping over the back of the booth behind your head, effectively caging you in. He looked over at Jay, then back to you, his eyes narrowing.

"Do you still think he's handsome?" Jake asked, his voice low. "Or do I have your full attention now?"

──────

The night air was a welcome shock after the suffocating heat of the club. It clung to your skin, cool and sharp, doing little to sober you up but clearing your head just enough. The world tilted pleasantly as you walked, Jake's hand a firm, grounding pressure on your elbow, steering you through the loose crowd of people lingering on the sidewalk.

"I had no idea you were that much fun," you said, the words bubbling up, loose and unrestrained. You leaned your head against his shoulder for a moment as he unlocked the car door. "Like, genuinely fun. That’s crazy."

He let out a short, amused breath as he helped you into the passenger seat. "Gee, thanks. I'll cherish that compliment forever." He didn't sound offended, he was entertained. The engine rumbled to life and the city lights smeared across the windshield as he pulled away from the curb.

The ride home was comfortably quiet, the sound of the radio a distant melody beneath the sound of your own breathing. You watched him, noticing how he was so familiar, a constant in your life for years, but tonight, he felt different.

Inside the villa, instead of disappearing in his room like he usually did, he followed you into the kitchen, his movements quiet. You sank onto a barstool, resting your head in your hands.

"Here," he said softly. A glass of water appeared in front of you, along with two little white pills. "You'll thank me tomorrow."

You looked up at him, at the genuine concern etched on his face in the soft lighting. He was actually taking care of you. A warmth bloomed in your chest, a feeling so intense and sudden it almost took your breath away. It wasn't new, you realized with a jolt. It had been there for a while, buried under layers of the step-brother status and growing quietly in the dark. Tonight, the alcohol had simply stripped away the camouflage.

"Jake," you said, your voice barely audible.

"Hmm?" He was leaning against the counter opposite you, arms crossed and watching you.

You stood up, the stool scraping softly against the floor. You closed the small distance between you until you were standing so close you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "I really want to kiss you."

The words hung in the air between you. For a split second, you saw it ; a hint of something in his eyes. Hesitation ? Maybe conflict ? It was there and now it’s gone, replaced by a thing you’ve never seen before. He didn't move, like he just froze. So you took the initiative. You rose onto your toes and pressed your lips to his.

For a terrifying moment, he was still, a statue under your touch. And with a soft groan that sounded like surrender, he gave in. His hands shot out, one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist to pull you flush against him. The kiss was nothing like you'd imagined. It was hungry, a little desperate, a release of all the tension that was built since then. His tongue swept against yours, claiming your mouth, it was possessive and a little bit angry.

He walked you backward out of the kitchen and down the hall, his lips never leaving yours, guiding you with his body until your back hit the door of your bedroom. He fumbled with the handle, pushing it open and kicking it shut behind you. He broke the kiss, both of you breathing heavily in the darkness of your room.

"Y/N," he breathed, his voice rough. "I can’t—"

However he was already moving, pushing you gently towards your bed. You sat down on the edge, looking up at him. He stood before you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you on the bed. The sight of him there, sent a jolt of pure arousal straight through you. He placed his hands on your knees, spreading them apart. Then, he lifted one leg, placing his denim-clad thigh firmly between yours, right against the core of you.

"Go on," he urged, his voice a low command. "Take what you need."

It was an invitation you couldn't refuse. You began to move, rocking your hips against the hard muscle of his thigh. The friction of your core against him, the pressure right where you needed it, was intoxicating. Your hands gripped his forearm, your head falling back as you found a rhythm, chasing the pleasure that was building rapidly inside you.

"That's it," he murmured, his hands sliding up your thighs to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Just like that. Fuck, you look so good riding my thigh."

His words were gasoline on a fire. You moved faster, grinding against him, the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening, until you were right there, hovering on the precipice of your release. You could feel it, so close you could almost taste it.

But he moved.

He shifted his leg, just enough to break the perfect, maddening pressure. A whine of protest escaped your lips, your eyes flying open to meet his. He was watching you, his expression dark, a look of cruel satisfaction on his face.

"Jake," you begged, your hips still twitching with need.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not tonight, angel." he whispered, his voice a soft, devastating blow. He placed a gentle, almost chaste kiss on your cheek. Then he stood up, leaving you cold and wanting on the edge of your bed.

He walked to the door without looking back. "Goodnight, Y/N."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you in the sudden, deafening silence of your room, your body humming with unfulfilled desire and the shocking, undeniable truth of your feelings for him.

──────

The villa felt larger and colder with Jake’s dad gone. The morning light was flat and grey, a sharp contrast to the blistering heat of the previous week. You sat on the edge of the sofa in the main living area, watching the dust motes dance in the air.

Jake had been a ghost all morning. He’d walked past you three times without a word, his eyes fixed on his phone or the floor, his shoulders back in their defensive, rounded slump.

The glass doors slid open, and Jake stepped inside from the terrace, dripping wet. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and a towel was slung loosely around his neck. He started toward the hallway, his head down, intending to bypass you entirely.

"Why are you ignoring me ?"

The question came out of nowhere. It was born from a week of mounting frustration and the strange, electric silence that had followed the night at the club.

Jake stopped, not turning around immediately. He stood with his back to you, the water from his swim trunks pooling on the stone floor. When he finally looked over his shoulder, he had the shy mask pulled tight. His eyes were wide, and he blinked rapidly behind his damp glasses.

"I...I'm n-not," he stammered, his voice thin. "I just have a lot of...work. From the university. The fall semester is starting soon, and I—"

"Stop it, Jake." You stood up, walking toward him until you were only a few feet away. "You’ve been avoiding eye contact since breakfast. You didn't even say good morning."

"I was just...busy, that’s all." he mummurred, looking at his feet.

"Why do you do that?" you asked, your curiosity finally overriding your caution. "How do you do it? One minute you're the guy who can't speak a full sentence without shaking, and the next you’re the person I saw at that club. And we even—" you stop yourself, the memories of the night before coming back to life in your head.

Jake stayed silent but you could notice how he stopped blinking frantically.

"It’s just us, Jake," you stepped closer, your voice dropping. "Nobody is watching. You don't have to play the part. It’s exhausting to watch you switch back and forth."

He still didn't speak, his breathing shallow.

"Something is happening," you said, the honesty of the statement making your heart thud. "Between us. It’s been growing during the whole summer break, and you know it. Why are you pretending it’s not?"

Not a single recoil. He slowly stood up straight, the hunch in his spine vanishing as he reached his full height. He pulled the towel from his neck and used it to slowly wipe the water from his face. When he dropped the towel onto a nearby chair, the shy boy was gone. His expression was unreadable. He didn't deny it nor did he confirm it. He looked at you with a terrifyingly calm intensity that made the air in the room feel unbearable.

Then, the corner of his mouth ticked upward into a slow, smug smile. It was the look of someone who had been caught but didn't care.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said. His voice was a steady vibration, completely devoid of any tremor. He started toward his suite, but as he reached the door, he paused and looked back at you over his shoulder. He let his gaze wander down your body before meeting your eyes again.

"You could always come with me," he murmured, his tone mocking and sharp. "If you’re so worried about being ignored."

Before you could answer, he stepped into his room and closed the door, the click of the lock echoing through the empty villa.

──────

Beyond all of this, you decided to cook. Not because you were hungry, it’s just because it was the only thing you could do to keep your mind off what happened these previous days. You focused on the task, deliberately keeping your mind off the shower running down the hall or the way he had looked at you before closing his door. You weren't going to wait for him.

The scent of his soap hits you a second before the heat of his body did.

You didn't hear his footsteps, but suddenly, thick arms slid around your waist, pulling you back against a solid, damp chest. You froze, the knife still in your hand, as his chin came to rest on your shoulder. He smelled of clean skin and a faint, expensive cologne.

"What's for dinner?" he asked.

His voice was a deep vibration against your ear, devoid of any stutter. He tightened his grip, his hands splaying across your stomach, pulling you flush against him so you could feel the dampness of his fresh t-shirt.

"Pasta," you managed to say, though your voice sounded strained. "And let go of me, Jake. I’m holding a knife."

"You're so tense," he murmured, ignoring your request. He shifted, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. "Your heart is going like crazy. Why is that?"

"It’s hot in here. The stove is on."

"Right. The stove." He let out a short, dry laugh ; a sound that was more of a scoff. He turned you around in his arms, forcing you to face him. He leaned back against the counter, trapping you between his legs. His glasses were gone, and his eyes were dark, tracking the way your breathing had become shallow. "You’re a fucking liar."

"And you're a fucking prick for playing these stupid games with me," you snapped, trying to push against his chest.

He didn't budge. He watched you, his hands moving to your hips to hold you in place. The shyness was nowhere to be found ; he looked at you with a heavy-handed confidence that felt predatory.

"You could eat something better than pasta," he said.

Before you could ask what he meant, he tilted your head back. He leaned down and captured your mouth with a raw, dominant intensity. This was deep and unapologetic, his tongue sliding against yours as he tasted you with hunger. He kissed you like he was finally claiming something he’d been watching from the periphery for years, his hands gripping your hips hard enough that you knew there would be marks the next day. The air in the kitchen felt like it was disappearing, leaving only the heat of him and the sharp, sudden reality that the mask had finally stayed off.

His hand slid from your waist to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair with a gentle but possessive grip. He pulled you toward him, and the next thing you knew, you were on your knees on the cool tile. The transition was seamless. You looked up at him, his presence towering over you, and reached out lower his sweatpants and his boxers. He wasn't interested in a slow and teasing exploration. He wanted it now.

You took him into your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses. You started with a slow, prudent rhythm, your tongue tracing the vein along the underside, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn't in the mood for patience. His hand tightened in your hair as a silent command, and he guided your head downward.

You gagged slightly, the sudden intrusion making your eyes water, yet you didn't pull away. You let him take control, his hips thrusting forward, setting a rhythm that was faster than you expected. The kitchen was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your mouths, a deafening contrast to the peaceful scenery of the villa.

"That’s a good girl," he growled, his other hand gripping your cheek.

You looked up at him through glazed eyes, a soft, pathetic whine escaping you around his cock. It was a sound of pure surrender, of being overwhelmed by sensation. He groaned again, the sound low and feral, and began to face fuck you with ruthless precision. Each thrust was harder than the last, his cock hitting the back of your throat, forcing you to take it all.

You couldn't do anything but hold on, your hands gripping his thighs for support, your breath coming in short and ragged gasps. You were completely at his mercy, his tool a piston driving into your mouth with increasing speed and ferocity. The heat of the room seemed to spike, the air feeling thick and charged with desire.

"That's it," he commanded, his voice strained. "Take it all. You love this, don't you? You love getting fucked in the mouth."

You whined again, a mix of pleasure and desperation, your body trembling as he bottomed out. You couldn't speak or couldn't form words, surrendered to the rhythm he set, letting him use your mouth exactly the way he wanted.

He stopped and pulled out, bringing his fingers to your mouth. You suck on his finger, swirling your tongue around the tip like it’s the most delicious thing in the world, desperate to taste more of him even as you gasp for air. He watches you with a smirk, pulling his hand out slowly and watching you chase it, lips parting in a pathetic whine. "God, look at you," he scoffs, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're dripping all over the floor like a desperate little slut."

He lifts his pelvis, dragging the slick, angry head of his cock against your wet, swollen lips. He doesn't let you swallow him this time. He taps the tip rhythmically against your mouth—tap, tap, tap—teasing you, denying you the fullness you're begging for. "You want it ? Sorry, baby."